The Secret Ingredient (5 page)

Then she leant forwards a little and winked. ‘I worked in banking for many years. So the hard approach is wasted on me. Same goes for sighing loudly and frowning. Been there, done that. Not putting up with it a moment longer.’

Rob’s eyebrows shot up and he stared at her in what looked like real astonishment.

To her delight the hard line of his mouth lifted up into the tiniest of smiles. ‘Okay. Let’s try it your way,’ he replied in a low, hoarse voice that almost trembled with suppressed energy. ‘Excuse me, Miss Rosemount, but could you please direct me to the back way out of the gallery through the kitchens?’

Her hands got busy stacking her bakery platters into a wide plastic crate. ‘Of course, Mr Beresford. If you go through those two swing doors and walk about ten metres past the dishwasher there is a fire door to the main staircase to the building. It comes out at the loading bay at the back of the gallery.’

His reply was a quick ‘thanks’ as he strolled past her at jogging speed, one hand in his pocket as though he were boarding a yacht.

‘You’re welcome,’ she murmured to his back.

What was that all about?

Or rather
who
was that all about?

Lottie swung the final platter and table cover into the carry crate and looked up to scan the room.

He certainly did not want to see someone here this evening. But who? Most of the critics had left when the food ran out and Adele had been around the gallery at least ten times over the last two hours, explaining each and every piece to them before returning to the bar for a refill.

Perhaps he had seen a former girlfriend he did not want to be photographed with? Or maybe one of the rival chefs on the bake-off contest had turned up and was itching for extra publicity.

There must be someone. Then a flash of blue sparkle just in front of one of the largest paintings caught her attention, followed by a peal of very loud and very over-the-top female laughter.

And Lottie’s heart sank.

Because suddenly the reason for Rob Beresford’s desire to explore other exits from the gallery became startling clear.

It was Adele Forrester.

And she had just staggered into one of the major installations from a very famous artist. It was by pure chance that the gallery owner had caught it in time to prevent a major disaster. On their opening night.

Ouch.

The problem was that Adele was treating it as a huge joke. Her hands were waving in the air but as she stepped forwards it was only too obvious that she was way too unsteady on her feet to be standing up.

Oh, Adele! Cold tablets plus champagne were a bad combination.

Any minute now she was going to fall over and embarrass and humiliate herself, which was the very last thing she needed!

Yep.
Back door.

In a second she whipped off her apron and dropped it into the crate.

‘Adele.’ Lottie smiled as she strolled as casually as she could manage up to the stunningly dressed woman who was clinging on to the slightly intoxicated and more-than-slightly terrified gallery owner.

Adele turned towards her a little too quickly and her legs gave a definite wobble but Lottie stepped forwards, hooked her arm around Adele’s, and took her weight before anyone had a chance to notice. ‘I feel so guilty. I promised to save you some of that lemon drizzle cake you loved so much and now there are only three pieces left.’ Then she grinned and snuggled closer as though they were the best of pals and intent on a girl huddle. ‘I have kept them hidden in the kitchen for you. If you are ready?’

With one final laugh in the direction of the very relieved gallery owner, Adele clung on to Lottie and chatted merrily about how much she loved London. And cake. And champagne. But somehow Lottie held Adele mostly upright as they very slowly and sedately crossed the gallery and with one push they were through the doors and into the kitchen.

One bar stool and a plastic cake box later, Lottie could finally catch her breath and rub some life back into her arm. Give it five minutes and they would be on their way.

The sound of heavy male footsteps taking the stairs two at a time echoed up and Lottie closed her eyes.

Rob burst into the kitchen, his gaze taking in the scene, eyes flashing, dark and powerful. Accusing and angry. Full of that same fire and mistrust as the last time that they had met.

‘What’s going on?’ he asked, and he jerked his chin higher with every word.

‘Adele needs some air and lemon drizzle cake. I was helping her to get both. Okay?’

The Rob she had met three years ago had been obscenely confident of who he was. Master of the universe. Demanding and expecting everyone to worship his talent and magnificence. And that man was right here in the room all over again.

‘I can take it from here. She’s fine. Just fine.’

But as she nodded Lottie was incapable of dragging her gaze from those stunning eyes.

And the longer she looked, the more she recognised something so startling and surprising that it unnerved her.

Rob might appear to be the most confident and put-together and in-control man that she had ever met, but in those eyes she recognised anxiety and concern.

Something was worrying him. Something she did not know about.

‘Have you organised some transport?’ Lottie whispered, trying to sound casual so that Adele would not be scared.

‘Don’t worry about that,’ Rob snapped. ‘The most important thing is to get her out of here before she makes a fool of herself.’

Lottie smiled down at the lovely woman who was half leaning against the dishwasher and nibbling delicately at the cake, apparently oblivious to their conversation.

‘Why? This is her party. Her work. Surely she is allowed to have fun at the opening night?’

‘Not in front of these people. They are looking for any excuse to pull us down and sell the photographs to the highest bidder. They know me. And they know where to find me. The last thing I need is a scene. Not good at all.’

‘
You.
They know
you
.’

Lottie stared at him open-mouthed and then shook her head in disbelief. ‘Oh, I have been so stupid. I actually thought that you were concerned that your mum might embarrass herself on her big night. When all of the time you were more concerned about how this might look to the press pack waiting outside the front entrance. You and your precious image are the only things that matters.’

‘You don’t know what you are talking about,’ he whispered, and she saw something hard and painful in those dark and flashing eyes.

‘Oh, don’t I? You would be surprised. I know a lot more about men who put their so-called appearance above everything else than you think.’

She could feel her neck flushing red but there was nothing she could do to stop it.

How many times had her father used the same expression? The last thing he wanted was a scene. How often had she stood next to him at company functions afraid to speak or even move, because he had given her strict instructions to stay silent and keep in the background? Don’t make a fuss. You are an embarrassment. No one likes a show-off. And never, ever, do anything that would put him in a bad light.

The one time she got drunk after a multimillion-dollar client signed with her and she arrived home in the middle of her parents’ bridge party, happy and loud and laughing, her mother was so disgusted that she asked her to go to her room and stay out of sight in case her guests saw her.

No mention about her happiness. It had all revolved about her father’s carefully stage-managed and totally fake image. Everything her family did was to make sure that the rest of the world never saw a crack in the carefully constructed outside persona.

He had been a tyrant, a bully and a liar. And a con man.

And now Rob was acting in exactly the same way.

She felt so angry with him she could hit him. The egotistical creep. Her fingernails pressed into her palms as she fought the urge to throw open the kitchen door and leave Rob to sort this mess out on his own.

‘This is really good cake. Is there any more?’

Adele!

Guilt and shame shot through Lottie so fast that it blasted away her contempt for Rob and left her with a lovely lady who needed help.

In a click the fog that was clouding Lottie’s brain cleared. It was Adele that mattered here, not Rob.

‘Absolutely,’ Lottie replied. ‘In fact I am on the way to the bakery right now. Would you like a lift? I can drop you off at the hotel later if you like? When you’re feeling a little steadier.’

‘Great idea,’ Adele replied and tried to pick up one of the wine glasses draining in the dishwasher tray. ‘Oh. My glass is empty.’

‘No problem. I have lots of lovely coffee and tea back at the bakery. And then when you get back to the hotel, your son here—’ and at this point she flashed him a narrow-eyed squint ‘—can make you some lovely hot chocolate. How about that?’

Adele staggered to her feet and held out her arm. ‘Lead the way. Cake ahoy.’

* * *

‘I’m coming with you.’

‘No can do. This is a two-woman delivery van. And Adele is quite happy in the passenger seat.’

Rob grunted and waved back to his mother, who was sitting quite sedately in the van with her seat belt already fastened, looking vacantly and very glassy-eyed down the lane behind the gallery.

In the end Lottie had given way and skipped ahead with her bakery crate while Rob had helped his mum negotiate the quite steep staircase to the delivery bay.

‘Then drive to the hotel and I’ll follow in a black cab.’

Lottie took a calming breath and then lifted her chin and leant closer to Rob so that she could talk to him through clenched teeth. ‘And watch Adele fall out of the van onto her face in front of the cameras? Oh, that would be a good idea. Not a chance. Your mother needs somewhere to go for a couple of hours to rest and recover before she heads back to the hotel.’

Her hand flipped up. ‘Dee is away in China and I have a spare room your mum can use if she likes. Next question.’

He stepped up so that their chests were almost touching.

‘My mother is my responsibility. Not yours.’

Lottie narrowed her eyes and stared up at Rob. His face was in shadow from the street lights and security lamps, making the hard planes of his cheekbones appear even more pronounced.

‘Let me make something very clear. I am not doing this for you. I am doing it for Adele. Bully.’

‘Let me make something clear. I am not letting her out of my sight. Kidnapper.’

They stood there, locked in a silent stand-off as the air between them positively crackled with the electricity that sparked in the narrow gap.

And into that gap drifted a completely obvious but daring idea.

She needed a replacement chef for Valencia Cagoni at the charity fundraiser and Rob needed transport in her van. Maybe there was a way they could both get what they wanted?

Lottie inhaled a long slow breath through her nose as the plan took shape.

‘There might be one way you could persuade me to let you travel in the back with my bakery trays. If you can lower your pride, of course. I realise that would mean coming down in the world from the kind of transport that you are accustomed to.’

A thunderous look and a lightning-sharp glare were joined by a hand-on-hip move that would no doubt terrorise any lesser female. But Lottie held her ground as he slowly walked around to the back of her white delivery van and peered inside.

‘The back of the van?’

She nodded slowly up and down. Just once. ‘There is a charity fundraiser on Saturday evening at the catering college we both went to. You were notorious. I was a star. The big-name chef who was lined up to attend can’t make it. So I have to find a second-best alternative. I suppose you would do as a last-minute stand-in. Or do you want to go home in a taxi?’

His nose twitched. Ah. Perhaps there was still a faint sense of humour lurking there behind the scowl.

‘One evening. Charity fundraiser. That’s it.’

‘Absolutely.’ She grinned. ‘Leap in.’

FOUR

‘Well, the way
Sean tells it, Rob was squeezed into the back of your delivery van all the way back to the bakery and you took every corner at speed just to make sure that he would be tossed around in the back as much as possible.’ Dee giggled down the phone. ‘Shame on you, Lottie Rosemount. Although...I would have liked to have been there to see it.’

‘I don’t know what you mean,’ Lottie replied, with the phone jammed tight between her shoulder and her ear. ‘A good dry-cleaner should be able to get the stains out of his trousers. Although chocolate and double cream sticky smears can be tricky, especially on cashmere.’

‘You should try getting soy sauce out of a silk top!’ Dee laughed and Lottie could visualise her friend wiping her eyes before sniffing. ‘Now here is the thing, sweetie. I haven’t told Sean that Rob was the head chef who fired you from your job when you were an apprentice. Secret squirrel, just like you asked. So the boy wonder is still in the dark at why his devilish charm is being wasted on you. At the moment. But you know how much chefs love to gossip and the fundraiser is at a Beresford hotel. Rob is bound to find out one way or another. So-o-o...it might be time to fess up and call it equals before the big night.’

‘Equals? Oh, no. Rob Beresford doesn’t get away that easily. A twenty-minute van ride through central London does not match up to being fired from your dream job for something you did not do. I think I can stretch the retribution out for a little bit longer.’ Then Lottie put down her mixing spoon and took the phone in one hand before asking in a low voice, ‘Does that make me a bad person? Because I don’t want him to turn me into an evil witch.’

‘True. That coven look is so last year. But don’t worry. You just want to make the boy suffer as payment for the horrible mistake he made when he let you go. His loss. I understand that perfectly. You have to get it out of your system and this is your chance to do it. And maybe have a little fun in the process. Am I right? And now I am going to be late. Email. Later. Bye.’

Lottie put down the telephone and thought back to that moment when she had turned around to find Rob Beresford sitting within striking distance of her and fun was not the first thing that came into her mind.

The sound of laughter rang out from inside the tea rooms and Lottie looked up as one of their regular gentlemen customers held open the door for two elderly ladies whose hands were full of shopping bags and the three cake boxes containing all they needed for a spectacular sixth birthday party for a very special grandson.

Her regular crowd of early shoppers were still enjoying the special-offer breakfast special. Cheese and ham panini followed by a freshly baked and still-warm blueberry and cinnamon muffin washed down with as much tea as they could drink. Good tea, of course. Dee Flynn might not be spending much time in the tea rooms these days but she made sure that the tea was as good as ever.

Sunlight flooded into the cake shop from the London street and bounced back from the cream-and-pastel-coloured walls.

This was how she had imagined it. Years ago when she was working the corporate life and popping into coffee shops for a triple espresso and a paper sack full of carbohydrates, fats and sugar just to get through the morning.

Her bakery. Her cake shop and tea rooms.

It was all real. She had done it. No, correction. She had not done this all on her own.

Lottie smiled and reached out for a spatula but then let her hand drop onto the worktop.

She missed Dee more than she would ever admit. Dee had been the one and only person she had asked to join her and it had been such fun planning the cake shop and tea rooms together. A girl who had a passion for baking and an Irish girl whose idea of heaven was the contents of the wonderful mystery packages that used to arrive from tea gardens all over the world.

But then Dee had fallen for Sean Beresford and now her life was one huge adventure. Exciting and thrilling. Her tea import company would go live by the end of the year and she was loved by a man who was almost good enough for her.

One day soon Dee would be off for good, leaving her alone. Again.

A woman’s voice lifted up from the chatter and Lottie looked up in time to see a handsome couple in business suits laughing together as they strolled hand in hand down the pavement, a cake box swinging from the man’s arm like an expensive briefcase.

From the side view the blonde in the designer suit and high heels looked so much like the old version of herself that Lottie clasped hold of the workbench for support.

Not so many years ago she had been that girl. Hardworking and driven, but happy to eat out in fine restaurants several times a week with the man her father thought was suitable boyfriend material.

Strange. She had taken it for granted at the time that one day she would move to the next step and marry the young executive, take the standard maternity leave and create a pristine and perfectly run home of her own with her two perfectly mannered children around her. One boy. One girl. All part of the grand master plan her parents had slotted her into.

The problem was she had bought into the whole family thing from the start and she still wanted it. Only this time the family she wanted was going to be very different from the one she had grown up in. That was not negotiable.

Cold, icy silences at torturous formal mealtimes would be replaced by warm, real interest in what the people around the unpolished practical pine kitchen table were thinking and doing. Helpful and supportive. Wanting the best for her children and being there for them no matter what happened and what choices they made. Working with a man who she could love as a real partner for the long haul.

A man who did not insist that every surface in the house was sanitised and polished daily in silent obedience by the slaves of women who were his token wife and daughter.

So, overall the precise opposite of what she had grown up in and survived.

Yeah. Well, that was the dream.

And her life at that moment was the reality.

No boyfriend. No family. No children of her own. And no prospects for creating that family unless something changed in her life or she made it happen.

When was the last time she had shared a meal cooked by someone else with a man who she could call her boyfriend—or even a lover?

When was the last time she had even gone on a date?

Lottie stood on tiptoe to watch the young executive couple press their heads together, happy and oblivious to how blessed they were, before they turned the corner and moved out of sight.

Drat Dee for showing her just what she was missing in her life.

One day she would find someone who she could trust enough to share her life and dreams with. One day.

When the phone began to ring again, Lottie had to take a moment to blink away stupid tears before picking it up.

‘Lottie’s Cake Shop and Tea Rooms.’

‘Good morning, Miss Rosemount. I trust that you slept well.’

It was Rob!

Her foolish girly heart skipped a beat and her stomach flipped so hard that she had to grab the mixing bowl of icing before it slithered off the worktop.

Sleep? How did he expect her to sleep? It had taken hours to settle a very bouncy and over-stimulated Adele into Dee’s room and persuade her not to munch the entire contents of the biscuit displays. Followed by several hours of tossing and turning as she replayed the scenes with Rob on repeat inside her head.

Breathe. All she had to do was breathe normally. Keep it casual. That was the key. Lottie’s mouth curved up into a smile. He was totally in her control, and that felt disgracefully good.

‘Splendidly, thank you,’ she lied. ‘Good morning to you, too. I hope that the bruises have faded?’

‘Not yet,’ a low rough voice replied. ‘Those packing crates were lethal.’ Then he gave a low cough. ‘I was wondering if my mother was awake yet. We had agreed to catch up about her plans for the day.’

Ah. So that was why he had phoned. He was worried about how his mother was.

Okay. She got that. As long as Rob remembered that
she
was the person who had invited his mother to stay in Dee’s room overnight, for the simple reason that she liked Adele Forrester and the poor woman was in no fit state to face the press.

And definitely
not
because her son Rob had looked desperate.

‘As of ten minutes ago your mum was snuggled under Dee’s duvet and snoring lightly. That cold medicine and champagne combination make a very effective knock-out potion. It may be a while before she surfaces.’

‘Fine. See you in an hour. Try and get her up in time.
Ciao.
’

And then he put the phone down on her.
Unbelievable!

Lottie glared at the handset in disbelief for a few seconds before shaking her head and returning it to the wall bracket.

That man had no manners whatsoever.

Lottie sniffed and picked up her spatula and got back to work filling an icing bag with the luscious soft-cheese-and-orange-zest icing for the mini carrot cakes that were already lined up in their cases and waiting for a soft swirl of Lottie’s special recipe topping.

The cheek of the man. Just because he was a celebrity chef with his own TV show and food awards up to his armpits did not mean that he could simply order her about and expect her to say, ‘Yes, chef,’ like one of his kitchen brigade!

Lottie tossed the spatula back into the bowl and squeezed the piping bag down until she had formed a perfect swirl in the bowl.

But at least one good thing had come out of it all. Robert Beresford, international chef and gossip-columnist golden boy, had promised to turn up for the fundraiser at the hotel. And she was going to hold him to that, no matter what happened.

‘Oh, can I lick the bowl out? Please? You know I cannot resist your icing! Mmm, delish.’

Lottie chuckled as her friend and part-time waitress wiped her fingertip around the scrapes of icing left in the glass mixing bowl and popped it into the mouth. ‘Oh, that is
so
good,’ Gloria moaned. ‘When are you going to give me the recipe, woman? My girls would love me for ever.’

Lottie threw her head back and laughed out loud. ‘What are you talking about, Gloria? Your three girls already think you’re a goddess because you work here and go home loaded with edible swag every afternoon. And what about that handsome husband of yours? How did the chocolate melting-middle brownies go down last night?’

‘Go down? Oh, yes. I am going to need a regular supply, if that boy has the stamina to keep up with me,’ Gloria replied with a waggle of her eyebrows.

Lottie glanced quickly at the tables, then leant across and wiped the icing from Gloria’s cheek. ‘You are terrible! And setting a bad example for the customers.’

Then she flicked her head towards the counter. ‘How are we doing out there? Ready for the carrot cakes?’

‘Girl, we are always ready for that carrot cake. Pass them over and turn the oven on to make the next batch. They’ll be gone in an hour. And before I forget, the gals have been asking me about the Bake and Bitch club meeting next week. What special treat do you have lined up?’

Lottie winked and started washing up. ‘Wait and see, Gloria. You are just going to have to wait and see.’

* * *

Rob stared out of the floor-to-ceiling office window at the overcast sunless skies of central London in June. It was hard to believe that only thirty-six hours earlier he had been eating barbecue in the glorious Californian sunshine with his restaurant brigade.

His eyes felt heavy, gritty, and ready to close, but just as Rob rolled back his shoulders his talent agent, Sally Richards, finished the call on her mobile phone.

‘Good news. The first reviews and photos of the exhibition are all looking brilliant. The only photographs I have seen are when she left the hotel for the event last evening. Adele smiled sweetly on the way out and gave them a lovely wave before jumping into the limo. Not a word about her staggering home early the worse for wear. So relax, Rob. You got away with it.’

‘By the skin of my teeth and through the back door. What a nightmare,’ he replied and then covered a yawn with one hand.

‘So are you ready to rock and roll? Because I have to tell you, I have a tube of under-eye concealer in my bag and you need it more than I do. Did you get any sleep at all on the flight? Eight hours, wasn’t it? Nine?’

Rob snorted a reply to the one talent manager he had used since he first stepped out from his dad’s Beresford hotel chain and started making a name for himself.

‘That was the New York leg of the journey. I had to stop en route from California to check up on a few things at the Beresford New York office. Then the traffic was horrendous. So I missed my flight to London and had to battle with the usual airport media scrum. So all in all just about a typical day’s travel in the crazy world I live in.’

‘Hey. That’s why you love it so much!’

Rob looked around and blinked at Sally a few times before collapsing down on the leather sofa with a grin. ‘If you say so, but these past few months have been a nightmare, Sally. My mum...well, you know my mum. Hates medics. Always has done. She promised me that she would start taking the medication as soon as she finished the final piece for this exhibition, but I don’t know. I called her from the airport yesterday and she sounded high as a kite. But last night she was so doped up with cold medicine it was hard to know what was going on inside her head.’

Rob ran his hand back and forth over his mouth and chin. ‘It’s been eight years since her meltdown at the last exhibition. Eight years, Sally! And the press are still baying for something juicy to say. I thought that if I came here I could provide some sort of diversion. You know what they’re like. Why bother with a clever artist with a fading reputation when she has a TV celebrity as a son? Who knows? If we goad him enough we might be able to set off some of those fireworks and get some photographs to sell to the highest bidder. And they have the perfect ammunition to do it with.’

Sally walked around and perched on the edge of the desk.