Recipe For Disaster
Well, he knew what that felt like.
But it was more than that. He had trained his instincts to observe body language in the finest casinos in the world, and every one of those finely honed instincts was screaming out to him that there was no way Bunty Brannigan was going to give in and open her present any time soon.
She was as stubborn as he was. And that was something like stubborn.
He needed to catch up with Jerry in person. Time to make a move.
‘Hi, Fabio. Do you want some coffee? Just made some.’
Maria strolled up to Bunty carrying a steaming beaker, and she turned around to see her friend, just as Fabio stepped forward.
His free hand connected with Bunty’s arm to steady her for just long enough for her to step back and look into his face as though she had just that minute realised that he was still there.
His senses reeled in overload.
Her hair smelt of onions and the long joint of beef he had seen her frying earlier. And herbs. He could have smelt her hair all day. And her eyes were not only green but the colour of forest leaves in the spring tinged with copper and gold. The moment expanded, and then closed as she moved away back to her work.
‘Thank you, but no. I have to pop back to the hotel for a meeting, but I shall be back this afternoon, Bunty, and that is a promise.’ He lifted his laptop bag higher onto his shoulder, and with an embarrassed cough strolled away through the deli, well aware that the two women behind him were suspiciously silent.
Um. Maybe he should take to wearing long coats.
‘Right. Of course.’ Bunty rolled her eyes and followed Fabio out into the shop, checking out his spectacular rear as he walked through.
Incredible.
Those jeans could not have been tighter.
Bunty watched Fabio stroll away as the beginnings of a pressure headache started to build behind her eyes.
Luca would be calling soon. Her day was mad and Fabio was turning out to be more of a distraction she could not afford to take.
Bunty had just turned to go back to the counter to talk salami with Maria when a distinctive Italian male voice boomed out from behind her.
‘Bunty! Darling. Looking fabulous. Hope you don’t mind me dropping in but I simply couldn’t wait a minute longer to hear what you thought about my ideas.’
Luca Caruso. And this time he wasn’t alone.
‘Bunty! Come and meet my newest best friend. Irina Usova.’ Luca beamed and wrapped his arm around the shoulders of a very slim, stunningly pretty blonde whose hand hovered over his bottom as though it was used to being there before moving to his waist.
‘Irina is one of the best photographers I have met in a long time and she cannot wait to start work on your deli for our new marketing campaign. Isn’t that exciting?’
Chapter Six
Maria flashed Bunty a lightning glance from behind the counter and bit down on her lower lip but the message had been received and understood.
The lovely Irina might well be a talented photographer but she was clearly more than a new best friend to the very, very married Luca.
Bunty shuddered to think what would happen to Luca if his wife, Sophie, even caught sight of the lovely Irina. Sophie was the kind of woman who had been known to scare even Alex and discreet was clearly not a concept that Luca understood very well.
Irina smiled sweetly and stepped forward to shake her hand and had just started to explain in broken English that she was actually a photography student who had just started her course in London, when Luca grabbed Bunty around the waist and practically propelled her towards the kitchen and as far away as possible from the public area of the deli where they could be seen from the street.
‘Bunty, I have been tossing and turning all night thinking about the new idea for the Caruso Family Kitchen. All night! And seeing you yesterday having your birthday tea with Alex brought it all home to me that the two Caruso cousins are the best possible advert for the loving wholesome family image that I know is going to work.’
Bunty wiggled out of Luca’s grasp and took firm hold of the worktop in her kitchen, which was covered in meals at some stage or another.
‘Wholesome? Luca, are you on medication?’ Bunty asked, putting both hands on her hips. ‘Because there is nothing wholesome at all about your current image and that is not going to change, no matter how many stylists you bring in.’
‘Bunty. Darling.’ Luca grinned and waved one arm in the air. ‘Why do you think I came to you first? What a story. A one-woman entrepreneur driven by her love of fine food inspired by the Caruso family traditions. What. A. Story.’
He fluttered his eyelashes and sighed dramatically. ‘The media are going to go totally mad for you. You’re a natural. The public will love you.’
Then as though suddenly galvanized by talk of the media, Luca started pacing up and down the kitchen, peering into pots and trays and talking to himself in a strange sort of running commentary.
‘This is perfect. Ideal. Magical.’
Then he stopped and held up one hand like a traffic cop and Bunty had to stop herself from laughing out loud.
‘I have had a vision. Irina, sweetie, I need you to write this down while it is still alive.’
He sucked in a breath. ‘Luxury home dining. The Caruso family at home. Restaurant quality food as cooked in the Caruso family home. Yes, that’s it. The Caruso Family Kitchen. I am thinking promotional videos filmed at the house in Biella.’
One of his hands started flapping and his head dropped back a little. ‘I can persuade Sophie and my mother into using their home kitchen for the magazine editors. Bunty can do the actual cooking, chopping and frying and the like, but I can toss wonderful fresh salad if need be while chatting to the camera.’
Luca opened his eyes and grinned at Bunty. ‘I am drooling just thinking about the photo stills. My parents laughing around the table as they eat. Sophie arranging plates and flowers. Lovely Bunty working chocolate and other clever things. We could drive an entire campaign for the cook book and the luxury ready meals using those images. It will be huge. All launched at the same time. A new brand. Fresh and original and so genuine. And that is why I would not dream of going to any other food writer apart from my cousin Bunty.’
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