She shrugged, that mischievous look back on her face. ‘Hey, a girl’s gotta eat and I hear the food is good here.’
Chapter Twenty-Two
Stephen
The foodwasgood. I had stone-oven-baked eggs with ratatouille, and Elle went for ricotta hotcakes with raspberries that made the pale pink of her lips darker. We followed Elle’s plan and the waitress fetched the manager afterwards who also happened to be the owner. He was a small man, balding, with a pair of glasses perched on the end of his nose. He dabbed frequently at his forehead with a spotted handkerchief but was very pleased to hear the compliments on the food.
‘How long have you owned this place, if you don’t mind me asking?’ Elle was on her second glass of wine, legs crossed, leaning forward, all eager interest. If he was getting the view down her cleavage that I couldn’t help imagining, it was no wonder he was overheating.
‘I bought it from my wife’s brother. Twenty five years ago.’
‘Was that how you met your wife?’
He shook his head. ‘We both worked here before that. As youngsters. I cooked. She served. Her brother wasn’t keen on us dating but…’ He gave an expansive shrug. ‘Love is love.’ He smiled between Elle and I, as though he thought we were a couple.
‘So true. Nothing can stop it.’ Elle gave me the kind of smile smitten people usually send their partner’s way and reached out for my hand, acting up to it. Her fingers were cool from the wine glass, slender but sure as they curled around mine. A swooping sensation cascaded through my chest the same way it had at the bar when she’d clung to me. I’d dismissed it then as relief but this time I didn’t have such a convenient excuse and I was torn between the impulse to clasp her hand tighter andretreat rapidly. ‘Your story sounds so romantic.’ She turned her attention back to the owner.
No, it didn’t. It sounded like the normal start to a relationship and awkward for his brother-in-law. If it went wrong, he would’ve had to sack his chef. Or kill him – depending onhowwrong it went.
‘So, did you buy the place to woo her?’
‘Not entirely.’ He pulled up a chair from the empty table next to us. Elle had worked her magic and drawn him in to telling us his story. ‘My brother-in-law’s wife wanted to move back to Italy. She didn’t like it here. He wanted to make her happy but didn’t want to sell to someone who might lay off all the staff – my wife included. I borrowed some money and he sold it to me. Then I asked my Isabella to marry me.’
‘That’s wonderful. Does your wife still work here now?’
‘No. She helps me with the accounts, but she has her own business. One of these internet things.’
‘What an entrepreneurial family!’
‘It’s the American way.’
‘Have you ever had anyone English work here? We’re looking for someone and heard he worked at a restaurant in Little Italy, probably around the time you took over? As a delivery driver.’
‘That’s a long time ago.’ He wiped his forehead again. I wanted to borrow his handkerchief and mop my own brow. Elle still hadn’t let go of my hand and I was beginning to feel like there was only one area of my body with nerve endings. ‘Why are you looking for him?’
‘He was a friend of my mother’s. She left some money to him in her will,’ I jumped in with the explanation to attempt to focus my mind on something else.
‘Oh. I see. I’m sorry to hear your mother has passed on.’ He gave me the kind, sad smile I was familiar with. ‘My dear mamaleft us only a couple of years ago.’ He sighed and sent a kiss up to heaven. ‘What was his name?’
‘Trevor Moorcroft. I have a photo, too.’
He released a heavy breath. ‘You know, my wife would be able to help more. I have a terrible memory for names and faces, whereas she never forgets a thing. Wonderful for situations like this – not so much when we are arguing.’ He laughed and Elle joined in, her smile lighting her up.
‘May we speak to her?’
‘Let me call up. See if she’s free. Just a moment.’
As soon as he went through the door into the restaurant, I pulled my hand from hers.
She frowned at me. ‘OK, OK, I don’t have cooties.’
‘Was the hand-holding really necessary?’
‘I was just trying to make us more relatable – less like we come from a government department.’
‘Don’t worry - I gathered there was an ulterior motive,’ I responded dryly. She straightened her back like she was getting ready to respond but the restaurant owner hurried out of the door again.
‘She said, yes. Of course. She’s upstairs, fiddling with her website. Come.’ He led us through the restaurant, all the way out the back where there was an alleyway for dumpsters and deliveries. We followed him up a fire escape, our footsteps clanging on the metal. I kept my eyes on Elle’s bottom swaying enticingly as she walked before me, until I could see their front door. There were worse ways to distract myself from heights.
