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And, besides, things changed. One day he might just break his self-imposed silence and provide her with the answer to yet one more question plaguing her. Wasn’t it worth it to keep this going, to hope that he might just open up and talk to her, give her the opportunity to defend herself? It might be his last parting shot but it would be worth it. For him, unfinished business would be done and dusted when he was sick of sleeping with her, tired and bored of bedding the one woman he had been prematurely forced to jettison. For her, unfinished business could only ever be finished when she had heard what else had been said about her, when she had had the chance to air her point of view.
“I need to check the vegetables in the Aga,” she said stiffly, lowering her eyes so that she couldn’t witness the flare of triumph on his face. When she sneakily glanced up at him, there was no triumph there and he was right behind her. Instead, he gently ran his finger along the side of her face. The gesture was so tender that she had to gulp back tears.
Angelo knew that he had won. The relief nearly knocked him off his feet. She was his. Could that be called sweet revenge? Strangely, the concept of revenge couldn’t have been further from his mind.
“Okay. So tell me all about these people you cater for. Do they pay the bills?”
“I’m doing okay.” Rosie moved away. With her back to him, she chatted about her days, about the meals she had cooked, about some of her quirky customers, about all the stuff she knew he wanted to hear. Inconsequential stuff that papered over the big issues at the heart of their relationship which he had no intention of dealing with.
“And you don’t miss the bright lights at all?” He hadn’t realised how much he enjoyed the way she talked to him, without any of the ingratiating subservience he encountered pretty much every day from everyone in his life.
“I yearn for night clubs and bars,” she said, reluctantly laughing at the outright lie.
“You’re welcome to dip your feet there if you want. Say the word and you can always come down to London for a night. I have a range of apartments you could use.”
Just so long as she didn’t get it into her head that sharing his apartment was an option, Rosie thought, reading between the lines.
“Of course,” he added casually, “you’ll have to take me along for the ride.” He began helping her set the table. He no longer had to think where to find things. He knew where everything was, from the mismatched plates which she had brought with her, to the impractical silver cutlery she had bought three weeks ago at the boot sale she had dragged him to. Who wanted to waste valuable time polishing cutlery? he had asked her. Wasn’t that an outdated practice that had rightly died a death a few decades back? She had ignored him.
“That might be awkward.” Rosie kept it light as she dug into the chicken and vegetables on her plate. Perfect; definitely to be tried out on her next customer in a week’s time. “What if I come across my ideal guy and you’re there lurking in the corner to spoil my party?”
Angelo grinned, although the effort hurt his jaw. “The same might be said for me.”
“Do you have an ideal woman?”
“I could think of a few winning traits.”
Rosie didn’t want to pursue this. She imagined that one of those winning traits would be resisting the temptation to pawn the gifts he bought her, whatever the driving necessity to do so. Along with not doing whatever she was supposed to have done in addition.
Angelo said lazily, changing the subject, “I’m considering hiring you to do some catering for me.”
“Because you think that I mightn’t be making sufficient money?”
“Because your vegetables are the best I’ve ever eaten.”
“You’re kidding, right?”
“Why so shocked?”
“I don’t need a helping hand.”
Angelo wondered how she would react if he informed her that she had already had one of those. “Roughly a hundred people. Can you rise to the occasion?”
“A hundred?”
“Too many? Some locals. Some important clients. Quite a few from my head office who deserve to be royally rewarded for the past six months of gruelling workload.”
Rosie’s eyes lit up. She began planning menus in her head. This vote of confidence was really significant because Angelo would never have thought of using her if he didn’t rate her food. He might enjoy sleeping with her but he was no pushover when it came to good value for his money. Ever since he had casually told her about where he came from, she could see that money was not something he ever took for granted.
“I’ll have to have at least three girls helping me for that number of people,” she said thoughtfully. “Will you want me to arrange waiting staff as well?”
“The lot. We can talk money when you’ve got your menu and shown it to me.”
“Where is the venue?”
“You haven’t seen my house yet, have you?” He knew that he was straying from his own ground rules. He hadn’t planned on taking her to his mansion, even though out of sight, and surrounded by a barrier of sweeping conifers, it was within a stone’s throw of the cottage. He had determined from day one that her greedy little eyes would not clock its vastness, not to mention the eminently saleable items liberally scattered everywhere. Why leave pound coins lying around if there was a thief in the house?
“No, I haven’t. I haven’t even gone for any walks in that direction.” Just in case he started thinking that she was remotely interested.
Angelo refrained from passing the obviously caustic rejoinder.
“And when do you have in mind?” Rosie asked, all business.
“We can get down to the details later,” Angelo murmured. “Right now, I need to work off all the calories from that meal.” After their near disagreement, he relished the delighted flush in her cheeks at his catering suggestion. He was a man who planned life down to the final letter but sometimes, he could now concede, a touch of spontaneity was worth a thousand words.
“There were very few calories in that meal.” She went to the drawer where she kept all her business paraphernalia. “I’m experimenting with healthy-eating options and low-cal alternatives.”
“Fascinating.”
“Maybe not for you, because you don’t need to lose weight.”
“Is that your way of telling me that I’m a perfect specimen?”
“I can give you some basic costs right now. Of course, I’ll prepare a proper invoice, and you can rest assured that I have all the necessary insurance.”
More than anything else, Rosie wanted to prove to him that he was no longer an indispensable part of her life. Not the way he once had been. She might be putty in his hands when it came to the physical side of things, but it was very important that she show him how independent she was in all other respects.
Which was why, a fortnight later, everything she would need for his party was ready, prepared and awaiting transport on the eve of the big day. She had no idea what to expect. She knew that most of her current clients were going to be attending the event. They appeared to be bristling with excitement. Social diaries were being altered, previous engagements cancelled and long-standing friends postponed so that the party of the year wouldn’t be missed.
By now, Rosie was on sufficiently good terms with some of the locals, clients and non-clients, that she was privy to the interesting fact that Angelo had all but abandoned his mansion over the past few years. She reckoned that that would have had something to do with Amanda’s occasional presence in the cottage, although she had kept that to herself.
She was waiting for Beth, her main helper and now her friend who was her right-hand person at many of her catering events, when she heard the sound of cars pulling into the narrow drive: an old banger and behind it a sleek, low-slung silver sports car. Rosie’s eyes popped out and her mouth fell open when she saw Angelo manoeuvring himself out of the old banger with a great degree of difficulty.
“Amazing,” he said. “My sports car is the size of a matchbox and yet I don’t emerge from it feeling as though my legs have been broken in three places.”
“What’s going on?” Outside, it was a fine summer’s afternoon with a perfectly cloudless blue sky. Rosie hadn’t yet donned her catering outfit, which was usually a pair of black trousers and a white shirt: smart, practical and fairly timeless. Instead, she was in a vest and a pair of loose harem trousers. Her feet had been hastily shoved into a pair of old flip flops.
“A couple of hundred quid,” Angelo drawled, walking towards her while his driver, as she could now see, remained in the sports car. “I called in a small favour.”
“You’re not making any sense.” The car was a peculiar shade of yellow, an ancient little box, more like a small van than a car.
“You’re doing my catering. I’ve got you a car. And don’t bother to thank me. Like I said, it barely cost a penny, but I’ve been told that the engine’s tuned up to within an inch of its life and it runs well. One careful female owner.”
“You bought this for me?”
“Make sure the house is back to its original state by the time I leave tomorrow and you can consider the car adequate recompense, in addition to the hourly rate we agreed for your services.”
