‘Don’t sell yourself short, Helen,’ Lorcan said. ‘You’re setting the world on fire one homemade scented candle at a time.’
Meanwhile, Conor was badgering Kate about her career plans. ‘So, what’s next?’ he asked.
Kate hesitated to tell him that she didn’t have any plans. ‘Freddie and I are doingNorthsiderson Monday,’ she said brightly.
‘Right.’ Conor sounded unconvinced. ‘That’s, what, half a day’s work?’
She should have known he wouldn’t be that easily fobbed off. ‘It might be a whole day,’ she mumbled. She knew Conor meant well, but he always made her feel like such an idiot.
‘I meant what are your plans long-term?’
‘I’m going to sign up with a temp agency while I look around for something.’
‘Give the poor girl a break,’ Helen butted in. ‘She’s only just got back.’
The truth was, career-wise, Kate was the failure of the family. Since qualifying as a chef she had worked her way steadilydownthe ladder of success, drifting through a series of short-term, dead-end jobs that allowed her to cook without the pressure of a restaurant. Food was her passion, but she found most professional kitchens terrifying – huge, frenetic places lorded over by megalomaniacal bullies. Between cooking jobs she kept body and soul together by waitressing, catering the odd dinner party and occasionally being a TV extra.
‘Helen could put in a word for you with her producer,’ Conor was saying now. ‘They’re always looking for people to develop new cooking shows – they’re so popular now.’
‘Oh yes,’ Helen chipped in, ‘and I could get you in for a cookery slot on my show any time you want.’
‘There you go,’ Conor said, in his another-problem-solved tone. ‘You could do the odd cookery slot on Helen’s show and build up an audience from there.’
Why, Kate wondered, did everyone in her family assume that she wanted anaudience? ‘I don’t want to build up an audience, Conor. I’m a chef, not an entertainer.’
‘Same thing nowadays, isn’t it? Get known on the box and the world’s your oyster. You could do whatever you want after that – write books, open your own restaurant, whatever.’
Any minute now he’d have her launching a range of cookware or ready meals, Kate thought.
‘And you look terrific – slim but voluptuous. You’ve lost just the right amount of weight but not so much that you look like you don’t enjoy your own cooking. They say you should never trust a skinny chef.’
Kate was aware that Conor was schmoozing her, but she had to admit he was good. She was almost starting to believe she was the next Nigella Lawson, bending over her pots in a low-cut top while she licked sauce off her fingers and made come-hither eyes at the camera. But that was Conor’s talent, bringing out the best in people, making them believe in themselves and getting others to believe in them. His bullying charm had made him the hugely successful producer that he was.
Unexpectedly, Carmen got Kate off the hook, saving her from any further onslaught. ‘My God! Is thatPhoenix?’
They followed her gaze to the door through which Phoenix, the biggest rockstar in Ireland, was entering, accompanied by his stunning Egyptian wife, Summer, an edgy looking, snake-hipped supermodel. A frisson of excitement went around the reception as everyone clocked them. As the singer with Walking Wounded, Phoenix was the most visible member of the band and probably the most famous Irishman in the world, although the legendary excesses of his bandmates, Rory and Owen Cassidy, had earned them more column inches of late. He was swiftly followed by the least visible member of the band, his little sister, Georgie, who played drums. They took up position in a corner, while the rest of the guests acted cool, pretending they weren’t there.
‘Youknowthem?’ Carmen asked.
‘Will is Walking Wounded’s manager,’ Lorcan told her.
All the guests were acting like bad extras, feigning absorption in their conversations and studiously ignoring thestars while their eyes drifted surreptitiously towards them. Nobody missed it when, moments later, Rory and Owen Cassidy came in together with their girlfriends and joined the private party in the corner. They were all dressed down but still managed to look more glamorous than anyone else. Beside them, all the other guests appeared clownishly overdone and frumpy.
‘I don’t know why they were invited to the wedding,’ Conor said. ‘Tom’s partied with them a few times, but they’re not that close.’
‘Rachel wanted to up the ante,’ Helen said drily. ‘They’ll add cool to the proceedings and give her a much better chance of getting the wedding written up on the society pages.’
‘The real question is, why did they come?’ Kate said.
‘Free grub and booze, according to Will,’ Lorcan told her.
‘But they’re loaded – they don’t need free booze.’
‘Ah, you can take the boy out of the tenement, but you can’t take the tenement out of the boy. Will reckons they can’t shake off the ligger mentality.’
‘Phoenix seems to have copied your hairdo.’ Kate grinned slyly at Lorcan. ‘What’s the real story on that? I don’t buy for a minute that it was Tom’s idea.’
‘I could tell you, but then I’d have to kill you.’ Lorcan laughed, and proceeded to tell her anyway.
