‘Meatballs,’ she said, smiling as Harry grinned and licked her lips.
‘Just meatballs?’ Amber sat back in her chair.
‘With a couple of variations. . .’ Isabella continued. Sinead made a quiet ‘oh’ sound.
‘So, we’re a meatball restaurant?’ Naomi asked blankly.
‘I’ve never been to a meatball restaurant,’ Paul said.
‘I’ve never even heard of a meatball restaurant,’ Angie agreed.
‘We are not just any old meatball restaurant!’ Isabella laughed. ‘We will be the best, most authentic meatball restaurant this side of London.’
The team glanced at each other. Isabella tried again.
‘Let me ask you all– do you like meatballs?’ Everyone nodded.
‘Would you like them with spaghetti or rice?’ Everyone answered; it was a hung jury.
‘What about in a sub for lunch?’
‘Oh yes,’ said Meryl, literally licking her lips.
‘Or meat-free meatballs if you’re vegetarian?’
‘I’m in!’ said Naomi.
‘What about mini meatballs for the children?’
‘Ah, cute,’ said Australian Angie.
‘And maxi ones for the super hungry?’
‘That’s me sorted,’ said Denzil.
‘Washed down with the best Italian wines?’ Isabella said with a nod to Paul, who saluted her in return.
‘And followed by some of the best Italian desserts, biscuits and ice creams, which I’m still perfecting. . . ?’
Everyone looked enthused. Isabella grinned. It was the first time she’d told anyone since Gabi and Jesse and the reaction was good. In fact, it was better than good.
‘So, all I have to know about is meatballs?’ Naomi laughed.
‘Yep.’
‘Meaty, meat-free, maxi or mini?’
‘You’re an expert already,’ Isabella said and Naomi took a bow. Isabella checked her watch and stood. It was almost time for her next important announcement.
‘So– confidential, please. Until we launch.’ Everyone nodded gravely.
‘That brings us on to the elephant in the room,’ said Amber before breathing out slowly. ‘Who will be cooking these meatballs? Where’s the chef?’
The twenty-four-million-dollar question. Isabella had wondered about this since the day she had the idea for the restaurant. The recipes were precious to her. They needed treating with the care and respect they deserved. She wanted someone who would continue the family ways and keep them secret. What she didn’t want was a chef who felt the need to put their own stamp on something. To add a pinch of turmeric because it was the latest ‘wonder spice’. She’d toyed with the idea of being the chef herself, but knew she wouldn’t have the time– or skill– to do the job properly. What she needed was an expert.
A car tooted outside in the drop-off zone of the square and Isabella hurried to the window. She clapped her hands in delight as she watched a taxi drive away.
‘Right on time,’ she said and pulled the door open wide.
