The Secret Ingredient (6 page)

‘Did you manage to keep it together?’

There was something in Sally’s tone that made Rob sit back on the sofa and look up. ‘Barely. I would not give them the satisfaction. So don’t give me that look. I played nice and did not punch anyone, no matter how much I wanted to. Happy? Because I know that voice. There’s something else going on here. Fire away. Let’s get it over with.’

‘Observant as ever.’ She smiled and paused long enough to reach across the desk and pass a bundle of printed sheets across to Rob, who glanced at them once before tossing them onto the sofa cushion.

‘You cannot be serious. I’ve just finished filming the final TV series and it practically killed me fitting everything in. I’ve done the interviews and press calls and earned that money. And now they want me to do another series? What is that all about? We’ve been down this road before, Sally. Mum needs me to be close at hand. Travelling across the States then flying back to get her through this exhibition has been tough on both of us. She needs me to be in California. And I really need to get back to work in the Beresford kitchens. Sean has hardly seen me this year and I have been relying way too much on the chefs I trained. Time to get back to doing what I do best. Working with food and creating amazing dishes for the Beresford hotel chain.’

Sally raised both hands in the air. ‘I did what you asked me to. I made it clear to the production company a year ago that you have had enough of the restaurant makeover show for TV. One more series and that’s it. But the audience figures are soaring higher month on month, Rob. Viewers cannot get enough of you. Look at the numbers, Rob. This is crazy money. Sign the new contract and you don’t need to work again unless you want to. Ever. This could be just the opportunity you need to build up that emergency fund.’

Rob paused, then glanced up at the woman who had looked after his interests since he was seventeen. ‘Come on, Sally. You know this was never about the money. Every penny I have earned on the TV shows and personal appearances has gone into my mum’s account.’

‘And last time I checked, the investment plan we worked on was doing very nicely and bringing in a respectable income to cover her not-so-little spending sprees. But how long is that going to last? You are top news at the moment. But once you move back into your kitchen the focus will shift onto the next hot new chef and Rob Beresford will not be the man of the moment any longer. And you can stop glaring at me. Because I’m not the only person who has got their head about that fact. So far I have had three enquiries from documentary film companies. Every one of them wants the exclusive rights to a behind-the-scenes exposé of the real Rob Beresford. And if you don’t take part they will make them anyway. That’s the way it goes.’

There were a few seconds of silence before Rob responded in a low voice. ‘Are you telling me that someone else is planning to write my life story without even asking me?’

‘Absolutely. That’s why you should think about it. Because you know what would happen if they did. They are bound to focus on the one thing we’ve worked hard to keep in the background.’

Rob pushed himself shakily to his feet and walked stiffly over to the window, his shoulders rigid with stress. ‘My mother would not survive. It took her months to pull back from the last bout of depression and I can’t force her to take the medication while she is painting. It has to be her choice. That was what we agreed.’

‘Then tell the story the way you want to before somebody else does.’

‘Tell my story? You think the readers would want to know about all of the gruelling years I spent in hotel kitchens? There is nothing exciting and glamorous about that way of life.’

Rob rolled back his shoulders and winced. ‘Speaking of which, I have an appointment with a baker and something tells me that I had better not be late.’

Sally coughed low in her throat and looked at him over the top of her spectacles. ‘A baker? Today? I thought you would be spending time at the gallery with Adele.’

‘I’ll explain later, Sally...if I survive.’

* * *

It was mid-morning before Rob pushed open the door to Lottie’s Cake Shop and Tea Rooms and stepped inside.

And almost whirled around on one heel and went straight back out again.

Because he had just walked into what looked like a children’s tea party, complete with ear-damaging levels of laughing, calling out and crying, some sort of jangling music, and a group of toddlers swaying their bodies from side to side and waving their hands in the air just in front of the serving counter while the girl he now knew to be Lottie Rosemount was conducting the dancing with a large wooden spoon.

She was wearing wide-leg navy trousers and a floral T-shirt covered with a large navy apron with a picture of a cupcake on it. Her blonde hair was tied back in a high ponytail and a pretty navy-and-white headband drew attention to an oval face that even without a trace of make-up still managed to be stunningly pretty.

This was the place that Sean’s girlfriend, Dee, loved so much?

He had survived restaurant opening nights that were quieter and more in control than this!

After a ninety-hour week and several international flights the last thing he wanted to do was join in a school party. His job was to earn the money so that his mother never had to worry about having nothing in the bank ever again.

But when could he ever refuse her anything?

She was the one and only woman on the planet who he had promised to take care of for as long as she needed him.

And he kept his promises. Even if that meant turning up to a small high-street bakery on a weekday morning.

‘Thank you, ladies and gentlemen,’ Lottie called out. ‘That was simply amazing. Disco dancing and sporting stars of the future. No doubt about it. And don’t forget, the Yummy Mummy club meets at the same time next week. So if you are ready to say the word about the one thing we all love best in the whole world...wait for it, Helena, and please stop doing that, Adam...three...two...one. Let’s have a great big...
cake
!’

Rob winced and half closed one eye as the wannabe dance troupe screamed out the word and then they all burst into a barrage of yelling and screaming and calling and jumping up and down.

All he could do was stand to one side as the actually very yummy mummies wrestled their little darlings into submission and baby buggies and in some cases reins and shuffled past him towards the entrance and the busy London street outside on the pavement.

Holding the door open for them seemed like a good idea. The first time.

Except that the second each lovely mummy spotted him smiling politely at them the forward movement onto the pavement slowed down to the point where a very rowdy and disorderly queue had formed in the cake shop.

‘Hello, handsome. Has anyone ever told you that you look a bit like that horrible rude chef that shouts a lot on the telly?’ The second girl shrugged. ‘Only not as good-looking. Sort off.’ Then she covered her hand with her mouth and laughed before shuffling off.

‘I get that a lot. No problem,’ Rob called after her with a quick wave before helping a very attractive brunette with her buggy. His reward was a beaming smile and a small business card popped into his shirt pocket with a cheeky wink while the little girl in the buggy amused herself by painting the jam from her donut onto the leg of his trousers.

Charming.

Five minutes later he had to physically unwrap the fingers of one charming cherub from his jacket and slide backwards into the cake shop. In an instant he closed the door tight behind him, his back flat against the glass, and exhaled slowly.

‘It must be nice to be so popular.’ A familiar female voice chuckled and Rob opened his eyes to see Lottie staring at him from behind the counter. ‘Are you available next Thursday morning? I’m thinking of doing Zumba for the under-fives. You would be a great hit for the lovely mums.’

‘Sorry. Previous booking. And please tell me that it’s not always like that.’

‘Oh, no,’ Lottie tutted. ‘Sometimes it can be quite rowdy.’ Then she smiled. ‘But brilliant fun for the kids. They have the best time and the mums have a chance to meet their pals. I love it.’ Then she pressed her lips together. ‘Do you drink tea?’

‘Don’t tell Dee but I would love a coffee,’ Rob replied and stepped forwards to the counter.

Lottie pushed her lips out. ‘Let me guess. Double-shot Americano. The breakfast of champions.’

Just for one split second Rob thought about calling her bluff but just the thought of that coffee was making his mouth water.

‘Damn. I hate to be predictable. Hit me.’

‘With pleasure,’ she whispered and then shook her head, rolled her eyes skywards and turned back to face him with a small shoulder shrug. ‘House rule. If you are a guest you have to eat something baked on the premises with your beverage. The donuts lasted thirty seconds but I have grown-up cakes galore.’

Then she turned away and continued talking but he couldn’t hear a word above the hiss and explosive steam from the coffee machine.

‘Sorry, I didn’t catch that,’ Rob said and strolled casually around the counter and stepped up to Lottie as she tapped out the coffee grounds.

In front of him was a kitchen about the same size as the one in his London penthouse apartment, except this kitchen was jam-packed with stainless-steel appliances and what looked like two commercial-size ovens. The air was filled with the most delicious aroma of baked goods. Spices and vanilla combined with the unique tang of caramel and buttery pastry and fresh-baked bread. Rob took a moment to appreciate the aroma.

‘What do you think you are doing?’ she muttered between clenched teeth and whirled around and pressed both hands flat against his chest and pushed hard.

‘Nobody—and I mean nobody—comes into my kitchen without asking me first. Do you let strangers just walk into your kitchen? No. I didn’t think so. Step back. All the way. And stay there. Thank you, that’s better. Take a seat and I’ll be right with you.’

Then she exhaled slowly and stepped back to the coffee machine, mumbling under her breath as she went.

‘Apologies,’ Rob said and raised both hands in the air. ‘My fault entirely. I am so used to walking into other people’s kitchens I forgot my manners.’

‘Um, well, I hope that you remember at the fundraiser,’ Lottie replied and stabbed the coffee spoon in his direction. ‘The whole idea is to raise funds for scholarships to the catering college. Not scare the VIPs away.’

‘Hey. I can play nice when the occasion demands,’ Rob replied and hit her with his sweetest smile.

‘That’s good to know.’ Lottie sighed as she strolled towards his table carrying a tray with two steaming cups of coffee that smelt so good his mouth was practically watering before he sat down.

She took a breath, put the tray onto the table, and then shuffled onto the chair facing him.

Watching him take that long, deep sip of piping-hot black coffee. Just the way he liked it. Perfect.

‘Great coffee. And thank you again for helping my mother out last night. It was very generous of you,’ Rob added with a slight bow of the head. ‘I appreciate it.’

‘No problem. Adele has been no trouble at all.’

Ah. Adele had been no trouble? So why did she think he would be?

With a low growl Rob put down the coffee and folded his arms and sat back in his chair so that he could face Lottie. ‘You don’t have a very high opinion of me, do you? Help me to understand.’

She blinked a couple of times and swallowed a long sip of coffee before her gaze flicked up into Rob’s face and their eyes met. ‘You were right, last night in the gallery. We have met before. About three years ago I was one of the catering students who had won a place in the Beresford hotel kitchens right here in London. You were entertaining guests one night and came in to see us after the meal and...you fired me. Gave me the sack. Threw me to the wolves. Let me go.’

Lottie clasped her hands so tightly around the coffee cup that Rob could see the whites of her knuckles and there was just enough of a tremble in her voice to make the hairs on the back of his neck prickle to attention. ‘Remember the pastry chef? Debra? The one who could barely stand up that night, never mind create something amazing? Debra was the one who had made the desserts. But I was the one who got the blame and the sack instead of her.’

Lottie paused and then lifted her chin, defiance blasting out from those green eyes with all of the heat of a fiery dragon. ‘It was no secret that you were sleeping with Debra at the time so you were not going to fire the person responsible for that particular disaster, were you? So I went. And she stayed. Does that help to make things a little clearer, Rob?’

FIVE

Every sound in
the cake shop seemed to fade into the background as Rob focused on the bitter words that had exploded from the lips of the pretty girl sitting so still across the small table from him.

Of course he remembered Debra.

A shiver of cold regret and bitter disappointment bubbled up.

His rules were simple and easy to remember.

They could have fun. They could have a fling and a great time together and while it lasted he would be the most attentive and faithful boyfriend that a girl could want. Then they would walk away and get on with their lives.

That was how it worked and he made damn sure that any girl he dated was very clear that he was not in the business of negotiating. They were either in or out. Black or white. Their choice.

Debra had lasted longer than most and they had enjoyed a pretty good relationship for a few months. Until the inevitable had happened. She had started pushing for a long-term commitment that he hadn’t been prepared to give. She had kept telling him how much she loved him and how different she was from all of the other girls, so his rules did not apply to her. She was too special and different to be treated like one of the others.

She had not felt so special when he’d packed his bags and had been out of her door an hour later. In fact he recalled crying, screaming, and a humiliating display of begging.

It was weeks later that he’d found out through the gossip channels that Debra had been getting over his breaking up with her with the help of vodka and free hotel wine.

Lottie was the apprentice pastry chef who he fired that night to teach Debra a lesson and try and shock her into taking her life back.

Well, that explained a lot.

‘I remember it well. I ended up taking Debra home to her parents a few days later and finding her the professional help that she needed. It was a great relationship while it lasted and Debra is a remarkable girl. I met up with her and her husband when they were in Los Angeles for a professional chef conference last autumn. They seem like a great couple who have a stunning restaurant together. I am happy for her.’

Rob slowly unfolded his arms and stretched them out across the table.

‘That was a long time ago, Lottie. I made a choice. It was the right decision at the time and I have to stand by that. End of story.’

There was a gasp from across the table and Lottie stared at him, wide-eyed.

‘The right decision at the time? For who? Your squeeze?’

She sat back heavily in the chair and blinked. ‘Is that it? Is that the only apology you have for me? Because I have to tell you that, as excuses go, that is pathetic.’

‘No excuses. It was my job to recruit top talent for the restaurant and Debra is a great pastry chef. I didn’t know about her drinking problems until they impacted her work.’

Rob leant forwards from the waist and pressed the flat of his hand down on the pale wood tabletop.

‘My only regret is that I allowed personal feelings to block my judgement. I should have spotted that Debra was in trouble weeks earlier and done something about it before things got out of hand. Instead I stayed away to give her some distance. The last thing she needed was me standing looking over her shoulder and shouting orders at her. That was my mistake.’

‘What about firing me as some sort of scapegoat? I was incredibly lucky to find another placement the next day after some serious pleading.’

A smile crept over his lips and he tilted his head towards Lottie. ‘Sometimes I’m just too sensitive and caring for my own good.’

‘Really? I had no idea.’ Lottie nodded but every word was dripping with venom. ‘You hide it so very well.’

‘On the contrary.’ Rob shrugged. ‘Take this charity fundraiser you conned me into.’ His hand flipped up into a question before he reached for his coffee. ‘I cannot wait to hear all about it. For a start, I would like to know who’s running the show. Whose idea was it to create scholarship funds for trainee chefs? Because I hope that they know what they’re getting themselves into. That is one hell of a lot of hard work.’

The blonde sitting opposite leant forwards, her forearms on the table until her face was only a few inches away from Rob’s nose, and smiled sweetly. ‘That’s an easy question to answer. It was my idea. I know precisely what I have got myself into and, yes, it is a lot of hard work. And I wouldn’t have it any other way.’

Then she slid back, lifted her chin and smiled before replying. ‘This time I am the one who gets to set the rules and call the shots. And I can’t tell you how liberating that is.’

Then she nodded towards the plate she had slid towards him. ‘Take now, for example. No coffee without something to eat. This time it happens to be my speciality pear-and-almond tart. Enjoy.’

Rob stared at the food, and then looked up into a pair of sparkling green eyes.

Only Lottie’s eyes were not simply green. They were forest green. Spring-bud green. The kind of captivating green that knocked the breath out of his lungs.

It was hot outside, but it had suddenly become a lot hotter in this cake shop.

It must be the heat from the ovens.

Her attention was totally focused on him, and her head tilted slightly to one side as she waited patiently for his reply for a few moments.

Just for a second, her gaze faltered and a chink appeared in the façade through which he got a faint glimmer of something unexpected. Suspicion, maybe, but a fierce intelligence and power. It lasted only an instant. But it sent him reeling, before the closed-mouth smile switched back on.

Lottie polished a pristine fork on a clean corner of her apron before placing it next to the pastry on Rob’s plate. ‘You know how hard it is to make a name for yourself in the catering world. I was lucky and so were you. We had money and backup. A full scholarship is the only way most of these young people can afford to go to college and get the training they need to show what they can do. I happen to think that’s worth spending time on. Just because I chose to become a baker does not mean that I tossed my business management degree into the nearest bin on the way into the catering college.’

She gave a small shoulder-shrug. ‘Relax, Rob. The charity has a full-time administrator and a professional team running it. Any questions, talk to Sean. He has been through the details and offered the use of the Beresford for the event.’

Ah. So that was it. This girl thought that he was going to turn a charity auction into a Rob Beresford promotional event.

Was that really how she saw him? As a self-serving egomaniac? Well, this day was just getting better and better.

And with that she extended her free hand towards him, her eyes locked on his. Her gaze was intense. Focused. ‘We made a trade last evening. One personal appearance in exchange for bed and breakfast. I need to know that we still have a deal this morning and you are not going to walk out on us.’

Rob stared at the food, then looked up into those sparkling green eyes, and took her hand.

It was warm, small, and sticky and calloused, with long, strong fingers that clamped around his. This was no limp, girly handshake. This was the hand of a woman who cooked her own food, kneaded her own bread, and washed her own dishes. The sinews and muscles in her wrists and forearms were strong and toned.

He was accustomed to shaking hands with men and women from all sides of the building trade every day of the week in his job, but this was different. A frisson of energy, a connection, sparked through that simple contact of skin on skin.

‘I gave you my word. I’ll be there.’

Her fingers gripped his for a second longer than necessary before releasing him, her eyes darting to his. The crease in her forehead told him that he was not the only one to have felt it. But to her credit Lottie nodded towards his plate. ‘Good. Now that’s cleared up, why don’t you enjoy your tart? You still look as though you need it. Tough morning?’

He paused before replying. ‘Yes, actually, it has been a tiring morning, and I’m sure it’s delicious but I don’t eat cake.’

Lottie sniffed and tilted her head. ‘Well, that’s a shame. Luckily I am confident that with your extensive culinary expertise you will have observed that this is not cake. This is a tart, which I made today, in this kitchen. At some silly time of the morning.’

Lottie gave her ovens a finger wave, and then moved to sit down on the corner of the table, her arms folded. ‘Speciality of the house. And nobody leaves this kitchen without trying my baking. Including you, Rob Beresford.’

Her eyes ratcheted down to the pastry, then slowly, slowly, came back up to his face. ‘I have heard the words and shaken on it, but now I want to see the proof that you want to cooperate with me. The success of the evening all depends on what you do in the next five minutes. So, what’s it going to be, Rob?’

What Lottie had not expected was for Rob to reach out towards her. She forced herself not to back away as Rob picked up her left hand and kissed the backs of her knuckles before releasing it with a grin.

‘We came to an arrangement. And a Beresford man always keeps his promises.’

Lottie uncrossed her arms and wrapped her fingers around the coffee cup as Rob glared at her for a second before picking up his fork and breaking off a piece of warm, fragrant tart.

Lottie Rosemount had no intention of letting the scholarship students down when it came to the simple matter of organising a fundraising event.

The last thing she needed was a celebrity chef turning up and questioning her abilities.

Even if that chef smelt of warm spice and looked as if he had stepped down from a photo shoot for a fashion magazine. She had never met anyone who could totally rock designer denim jeans and a white shirt.

Her eyes could not move from his wide, full lips wrapping around the cake fork.

She had to see his reaction when he tasted the combination of sweet almonds and warm spice with the aromatic juicy fruit of the ripe pear, which she had poached gently in spiced pear juice syrup until it was almost falling apart.

It had taken six trial batches before she was happy with the variety of pear and the cooking time.

Ah. There it was.

Rob’s eyes fluttered closed for just a fraction of a second and then he chewed a little faster so that he could break off a huge piece of tart with his fork and pick it up with his fingers.

Oh, yes. He had got it. He liked it!

He was staring into her eyes now, the corners of his mouth turned up with a flicker of something that could have been amusement, interest, or more likely frustration that she had forced him into agreeing to come to the fundraiser.

A slight twinge of guilt flickered through her mind. She had been quite shameless. One overnight stay for a distressed artist in exchange for an hour shaking hands and supporting the charity. That was not too terrible. Was it?

‘Mmm,’ he murmured and drained the last of his coffee. ‘Not bad. In fact, seriously good. Where did you say you trained?’

‘Here and there. I finished my apprenticeship with Valencia Cagoni when you fired me. You can check the rest on my website later.’

The creases in the corners of his eyes deepened as Lottie inhaled a powerful aroma of spicy masculine sweat, which was sweet even against the perfume of the fruit and nuts in her food.

His gaze hovered over her ring finger, then flicked back to her face, eyebrows high.

‘Not married? Or are you too rebellious to wear a ring?’

Lottie almost choked on a piece of pastry from her tart and quickly swallowed down a slurp of coffee before wheezing out a reply.

‘Not married, engaged, dating, or anything else. Where would I find the time for that?’

‘If you wanted it enough you would find the time.’ His eyes flashed a challenge that was definitely hot enough to warm the coolest of breezes.

Wanted it? Oh, she wanted it. But it had to be the right man who wanted the same things. And so far they were thin on the ground.

‘Not very high on my priority list at the moment,’ she lied, but not very convincingly because that smile on Rob’s face lifted into a knowing smirk of deep self-satisfaction.

Damn. She had fallen straight into his trap.

‘So it’s all work and no play for the lovely Miss Rosemount. That doesn’t sound like much fun.’

‘And your life is one great circus of constant amusement because your business runs itself. Is that right?’

Damn him for making her snappy.

‘I never said that,’ he replied with a twist of his head towards the door where a young couple was staggering in with a baby buggy and shopping bags.

She couldn’t move. There was something electric in the few inches of air between them, as though powerful magnets were pulling them together.

At this distance, she could feel that frisson of energy and strength of the man whose whole professional life had been spent under the glare of public scrutiny—by choice.

This was the kind of bloke who was accustomed to walking into a cocktail bar or restaurant and having head waiters fawn over themselves to find him the best table.

Well, not this time, handsome!

She could stick this out longer than he could.

It was Gloria who saved him. Her friend came galloping down the stairs from the bedroom and third-floor studio and instantly twisted her mouth into a smile.

‘Well, hello! You have to be Rob. You mum has been telling me
all
about you, scamp. I’m Gloria.’

With a laugh she turned to Lottie. ‘Adele decided to take her breakfast to the studio with Ian. They’re having a great time up there so I thought I would leave them to it.’

There was a sharp intake of breath from across the table. ‘Ian?’

‘My friend Ian Walker,’ Lottie said. ‘You must have met him last night. He was the photographer who worked with your mum on the exhibition catalogue for the gallery. Tall, thin, about forty. And a great fan of your mum’s work.’

Suddenly Rob was standing ramrod-straight next to her, his back braced, and looking horribly tall, as though he feared the worst.

‘Then I think it’s time I caught up with them, don’t you?’ he said. ‘So you have a studio?’ he went on. ‘That is different. I have been to plenty of artists’ studios in my time but above a bakery? My mum and her pals would spend more time scoffing the goods than working.’