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‘You know, the corporate, Hooray-Henry type, career-obsessed, money-orientated. Knows what he wants and goes for it, regardless of whose toes he breaks on the steep stomp to the top, the eye-permanently-fixed-on-the-bottom-line type of guy.’ Charlie’s pithy comments clearly summed up his view of Angus and his fraternity.
Rosie thought of the barren wasteland of her love life in Manhattan. ‘You couldn’t be further from the truth.’ She stood up, staring down at his crown of curls, her hands resting on her hips as he knelt before her.
‘Sorry, Rosie. It’s just that Angus Meadows handled a property sale for one of my mother’s elderly friends when she was forced to accept that she needed residential care. Richmond Morton collected a hefty fee for the sale of her home.’ Charlie’s nostrils flared in dislike at the recollection. ‘His career is money, his hobby is money, his life is money. Just be careful, that’s all.’
Charlie stood to face her, his long fringe brushing against his eyelashes, his hands stuck into the front pockets of his scruffy black jeans that were fraying at the knee. Rosie’s lips curled at the corners as she glanced down at her own attire, and she giggled. What a pair of country bumpkins they were.
‘Fancy a beer?’ she said.
‘I thought you’d never ask! You obviously haven’t worked in the hospitality industry.’ Charlie followed her into the lodge’s kitchen. ‘Mm, what a mouth-watering aroma. What are you baking this time, Nigella?’
‘It’s another one of the recipes from Aunt Bernice’sBake Yourself Betterjournal – lemon meringue pies.’ Rosie indicated the book which lay open on the kitchen table.
‘May I?’ asked Charlie, his chocolate brown eyes raised in question.
‘Be my guest,’ Rosie smiled, delighted at his genuine curiosity in her aunt’s work.
‘Lemon Meringue Pies for Sunshine-Filled Skies.I just love the title,’ Charlie enthused as he continued to read out her aunt’s words from the journal.
‘These little pies are filled with sunshine! I can’t make a batch without smiling at the zinging yellow filling that never fails to brighten up the day. And the lemons themselves are packed with many nourishing vitamins and antioxidants that are very good for you. Who can resist the indulgence of a jug of freshly squeezed lemonade in the summer sunshine? My mouth is watering just thinking of it. And don’t they say lemons repel mosquitoes, too? But even in the rain these delicious pastries will bring a tingle to your tongue. Why not bake a batch, Rosie, and smile?’
‘That’s really lovely. And she goes on to set out the recipe which, I might add, seems to be working, don’t you think? Just look at the sky!’ Charlie snatched one of the delicate little pies from the wire cooling rack and bit into the soft interior. ‘Mmm, a truly harmonious collision of taste, texture, and smell. Delicious! You know, I have a publisher friend who would love to take a peek at your aunt’s recipe journal. I happened to mention it to him after I saw your attempt to murder her sweet basil biscuit recipe.Bake Yourself Betteris a fabulous concept. One which he reckons will strike a chord with a wide range of readers – amateur bakers, self-help obsessives, even rom-com addicts.You do know that baking is the new therapy for the pursuit of happiness, don’t you?’
‘Cake and chocolate and meringues as therapy? Sure, I can definitely see the sense in that,’ Rosie laughed as she crammed one of the little pies into her mouth, crumbs spilling down her chin and onto the table. ‘I’m not sure about the book publisher, though. Let me think about it, eh?’
‘No problem, the ball’s in your court. So, is it okay if I pinch some rosemary and coriander from the garden for the hotel kitchen – I have a couple recipes of my own I need to tweak.’
‘Of course, help yourself.’
Rosie smiled at Charlie’s infectious enthusiasm for experimenting with fresh new flavours in the Somersby Manor kitchen. He might not be head chef yet, but with his passion for cooking it would only be a matter of time, she was certain. Part-time kitchen helper one day, Michelin-starred chef the next! Why not?
‘Bet you’ve got a queue of guys to date back in New York, eh? One long social whirl, is it? Can’t wait to get back and away from this dull backwater? Why are you still doing the rural banishment thing, anyway?’
Rosie shot him a glance and was shocked to find her eyes smart with hot tears.
‘What? What’s up? What have I said?’
Rosie shook her head, biting down hard on her lower lip as she liberated two beers from her aunt’s ancient refrigerator.
‘Go on, Rosie, tell me. It’ll do you good. Spill what horror has maimed your heart. When you escape back to NYC you can forget you ever told me, can’t you?’
She held his eyes for a beat. ‘I don’t have a string of dates lined up back home in New York, as you assume. I was in a relationship just before I left to come to the UK for my aunt’s funeral. But I found… I found him, erm, with someone else, intimately.’
‘And?’
‘What do you mean, “and”? Isn’t that enough?’ she shot back, immediately regretting her candour.
‘Of course it is, but there’s something else you’re hiding.’
‘There’s not.’
‘Yes, there is. Look, you might as well lance the boil completely for the full cure.’
Rosie sighed. ‘The guy, well, he was my boss.’ She cringed with shame. Saying those words out loud to an audience, it struck home what a huge mistake she had made.
‘That’s a regrettable choice of partner, Rosie,’ said Charlie, twisting the beer bottle in his fingertips. ‘And?’
She stared at him, at the challenge that was clearly floating behind his eyes. ‘Pardon?’ Embarrassment spread blotches across her chest as she held Charlie’s gaze before he lowered his eyes to the bottle in his fist.
