Bargaining With The Boss

‘It didn’t mean anything,’ he said in consternation. ‘I only brought Bella’s name in to it to explain getting fired—’

‘How did a holiday fling get you fired, for heaven’s sake?’

‘I’ll tell you if you’ll let me finish!’ He shook his hair back. ‘To cut a long story short, I boasted a bit about juggling with millions in my job, and Bella said what a shame I was on holiday, because she had a hot tip to give me. About the Merlin takeover the following Tuesday. Her family own Merlin Ales. Or did.’

‘So you leapt from her bed and caught the next plane home!’

‘I didn’t do anything of the kind! I merely flew back on Monday instead of yesterday,’ he said, injured. ‘It seemed the perfect way to recoup my losses—I wasn’t even out for personal profit.’

‘How very high-minded of you. But aren’t you leaving something out, Toby?’ she asked.

He frowned. ‘I don’t think so.’

‘It was Northwold who took Merlin over, not the other way round,’ she said angrily. ‘And just in case it slipped your mind, I work for Northwold. Or did until today. Your little escapade cost me my job.’

Toby stared at her in horror. ‘What? How the hell could it do that?’

‘They think your inside information came from me.’

He swore colourfully and at some length. ‘What can I say, darling? I never thought about you.’

‘Which is glaringly obvious! You know someone called Sam Cartwright at Renshaw’s, I believe?’ she demanded.

‘Damn right I do. He’s the chief executive—the swine who told me to clear my desk,’ said Toby bitterly.

‘And although you gallantly shielded Miss Pryce by withholding her name, you did say the information came from the brewery. But you forgot to say which one.’ Eleri glared at him in fury. ‘Sam Cartwright happens to be the brother-in-law of James Kincaid—the man who was my boss until this morning. The boss who concluded I was your source!’

‘The man fired you because of me?’ Toby flung himself on his knees in front of her and caught her hands. ‘Eleri, I’m so sorry.’

‘He didn’t fire me. I resigned.’ Eleri freed herself and sat up straight. ‘Cut the drama, Toby. Penitence doesn’t suit you.’

He jumped up and stood over her, the picture of misery. ‘What a mess. I wish I’d never set eyes on Bella.’

‘Toby, don’t try to shift the blame.’ Eleri eyed him with distaste. ‘The lady was indiscreet, maybe, but you were the one who acted on the information.’

‘Don’t rub it in!’

‘What will you do about a job now?’

‘I’ve got contacts—in fact I’m seeing someone on Monday.’ He grinned sheepishly. ‘Old school chum.’

Eleri shook her head. ‘Someone may strangle you with that old school tie of yours one day.’

‘Is there anything at all I can do to put things right for you?’ he said, sobering.

‘No fear. You’ve done enough already.’ She jumped to her feet. ‘Right. Ring for a cab for me, please, Toby. If I leave in a few minutes I’ll make the next train home.’

‘What’s the point of going home?’ he demanded, looking so crestfallen she almost laughed. ‘I thought you were staying with Vicky as usual. We could go out to dinner, then see that new Branagh film if you like, and tomorrow I’ll get tickets for the theatre—’

‘You do that, by all means. But not with me.’ Eleri shrugged into her coat, then handed him his key. ‘Our platonic little arrangement—pleasant and diverting though it was—is terminated as of today.’

‘You don’t mean that!’

‘Oh, but I do.’ She smiled up into his sulky, good-looking face. ‘You’re a clever lad in a lot of ways, Toby—Cambridge first in Maths included. But the key word there is “lad”. You need to grow up a bit.’

He coloured angrily. ‘I’m not that much younger than you!’

‘Not in age, maybe. Otherwise you’re still a baby,’ she assured him acidly. ‘By the way, Toby, isn’t there something you should be asking me?’

He stiffened, eyeing her apprehensively. ‘Er—what, exactly?’

Eleri laughed in his face. ‘What did you think I meant? Wouldn’t it be good manners to enquire about my own plans now I’ve lost my job?’

‘Oh, hell—you make me feel like such a worm,’ he muttered, reddening. ‘But someone with your experience shouldn’t find it hard to get another job.’ His blue eyes widened. ‘This Kincaid chap you work for wouldn’t withhold a reference, would he?’

‘I’m afraid he might,’ she sighed, wanting him to fry a little. Her smile was as wistful as she could make it. ‘But don’t worry about me, Toby. I’ll get by. Somehow.’

CHAPTER TWO

ELERI locked the door to the street, switched on the lights and the coffee-machine, then moved round the pretty, bright café to check the tables, making sure all the menus and condiments were in place. Satisfied all was ready for the next day, she pulled down the blinds and went back behind the counter. Next door in the restaurant she could hear the waiters talking as they performed similar tasks to hers, except for them work was only just beginning, and customers would soon come in to choose from a three-page menu of dishes from various regions of Italy, plus a list of British favourites to suit less adventurous tastes.

Eleri’s domain was the coffee-shop, where customers came in from early morning onwards to drink capuccino and eat teacakes and pastries and the cinnamon toast which was Conti’s speciality. At lunchtime the café served pizzas, or huge flat buns filled to order with salad and seafood or thin Italian ham, and in summer tables were set outside under umbrellas in the cobbled square in front of St Mark’s church—like a small piece of Italy set down in the Englishness of the shire town of Pennington.

It was a mere two weeks since Eleri had resigned her job at Northwold to return to the fold, and already she felt as if she’d been back in the family business forever. Her father had come to Britain from Italy thirty years earlier to work in his uncle’s restaurant, where he met Catrin Hughes, a black-haired Welsh beauty on the same catering course. As soon as they finished their training the pair got married, and with their combined skills formed an unbeatable team. They took over the running of the restaurant, revamped the menu and the decor, and rapidly attracted a much larger clientele. When Mario’s uncle died he left the business to them both, whereupon the ambitious young Contis took over the premises next door to add the kind of coffee-shop the holidaying British public had learned to appreciate on trips to Italy and ‘France.

In the first years of their marriage Mario and Catrin Conti were blessed with two daughters, Eleri and Claudia. Then, after a long interval, Niccolo Conti opened large blue eyes on the world and Mario Conti finally gained a male heir to his small, but profitable empire.

These days Mario left the actual cooking to four skilled chefs and confined himself to the financial side of the business, but he put in an appearance at the restaurant most nights. Until her marriage Claudia had run the coffee-shop, but Eleri, from the first, had never wanted to work in the family restaurant in any capacity. After gaining a degree in English, she followed it with a business course with her friend, Victoria Mantle, who made straight for a career in London afterwards. But Eleri had always worked within travelling distance of Pennington and lived at home, her annual holidays and occasional weekends in London with Vicky her only breaks from her close-knit Italianate family background.

Now Claudia was married, and Eleri’s resignation from her job had been greeted with passionate enthusiasm by her family. She’d decided to make the best of it and began to run the coffee-shop with the efficiency previously brought to her job at Northwold. Within days she’d taken over the ordering for the entire business, which prided itself on using the freshest of produce from local suppliers wherever possible. Each day she ordered meat, fish and vegetables from the local market and bread from a nearby bakery, while the ice-cream for which Conti’s was renowned came from an Italian supplier based in the Welsh valleys.

At six o’clock, as she did every evening, Eleri locked up, popped her head round the door of the restaurant and had a chat with Marco, the head waiter, then took herself off to the family home tucked away in a quiet cul-de-sac behind the trattoria.

‘You look tired,’ said her mother, giving her a kiss. ‘Finding it hard, cariad?’

‘My feet find it hard, but the rest of it’s easy enough.’ Eleri sank into a kitchen chair, watching as her mother stirred sauce in a pan. ‘The trouble is Mamma mia, that although I like dealing with the general public, especially the regulars, and I quite enjoy the ordering and haggling with the suppliers and so on—’

‘You miss your work at Northwold.’

‘Exactly.’ Eleri smiled. ‘Clever old thing.’

‘Not so much of the old,’ said her mother, then looked up with a smile as her husband came in. ‘Good timing, Mario, your dinner’s ready. Eat it now so you can digest it before you go over to the restaurant. Eleri, you can have a bath before you eat, if you like.’

‘I do like, Ma. My feet are killing me.’ Eleri yawned widely.

Mario Conti was an elegant, olive-skinned man with a head of thick, greying blond hair and heavy-lidded blue eyes. He kissed his wife lovingly, then turned to his daughter. ‘So, cara. How was your day?’

‘The same as usual. Quite busy, in fact. The takings were well up on yesterday.’

Mario Conti looked at his daughter’s tired face, frowning. ‘I was asking how you were, not the takings.’

‘I’m fine,’ said Eleri, heaving herself out of her chair. ‘And I’ll be even better after dunking my poor aching feet in a hot bath! Nico’s at football practice, I assume?’

‘Where else?’ said Mario dryly.

Eleri laughed, and went upstairs, knowing perfectly well her parents would be deep in discussion over their elder daughter the moment she was through the door. In the bathroom she shared with Nico, Eleri let herself down into hot, scented water with a sigh of relief, grateful that her mother appreciated her need for time to herself. She loved her family, but, unlike Claudia, who’d been perfectly happy to live at home and work in the family business, Eleri had enough of her independent Welsh mother in her to need her own space from time to time. She missed her work at Northwold—and James—so badly that sometimes it was a struggle to disguise the fact from her parents, who knew nothing of her fight to forget James Kincaid. Eleri’s sloe-black eyes kindled at the memory of his suspicions. Forget him she might. In time. But forgiving him was something else entirely.

At least she was lucky to get the bathroom to herself tonight, she thought with a grin. Nico wanted to be a football star, not a restaurateur. But whether he achieved his ambition or not the security of the trattoria would always be waiting for him. Just as the coffee-shop had lain inexorably in wait for herself.

Eleri sighed, got out of the bath, and pulled on jeans and thick yellow sweater. She dried her hair, anchored the front strands behind her ears, then thrust her throbbing feet into soft boots bought on a visit to her grandparents in the Veneto the previous spring. She stared into the mirror moodily. She was the odd one out in the family in more ways than one; the only one with the Welsh name Catrin had insisted on for her first child. Claudia had fair curling hair and blue eyes, like their father, but Eleri’s straight black hair and wide-set dark eyes came from her Welsh mother. It was a family joke that Eleri looked more Italian than any of the family—even Nico, whose mane of wild black hair and brilliant blue eyes played havoc with the girls in school.

When Eleri was clearing up after her solitary, peaceful supper the phone rang.

‘Cara,’ said her father. ‘Marco told me a man was asking for you in the restaurant earlier.’

‘Who, Pop?’

‘Like an idiot Marco forgot to ask—it is busy in there tonight.’

Eleri was curious as she put the phone down. Surely Toby hadn’t been misguided enough to come looking for her at the trattoria? She’d been forced to tell her parents why she’d resigned from Northwold, and her father had needed much spirited argument from his womenfolk to prevent him rushing up to London to confront the young man he’d never approved of for his daughter, however casual the relationship. Not that Mario approved of any man for his daughters. Fortunately Claudia had married a solid, dependable young man with a steady job in an accounting firm. But secretly Eleri knew very well she was Mario’s darling, partly because she was the one who argued with him most and stood up to him, but mainly because she was the image of her mother at the same age. And because of it he was harder on her than on his other children. A man would have to be something very special indeed before Mario Conti approved of him for his elder daughter.

Not, thought Eleri morosely, that her father had need to worry on that score at the moment, if ever. After confronting Toby in London she’d refused to speak to him on the phone, and after the first few days he’d given up. Nowadays she worked a six-day week, which ruled out weekends in London with Vicky. She did her best to put on a good face, but sometimes she felt claustrophobic, even caged, and missed James Kincaid far more than she missed Toby. The day James arrived at the Gloucestershire plant of Northwold Eleri had taken one look at him and known that she would stay with him all her working life if he wanted her to. But in a few short minutes of trading Toby Maynard had put an end to her time at Northwold, and changed her life for ever.

The coffee-shop was very busy next day. Saturday always brought more shoppers into town and a gratifyingly large number of them came into Conti’s for hot drinks to keep out the biting January cold. Just before midday, when Eleri was taking a few minutes in the little room at the back, glad of some coffee and a breather before the lunchtime rush resumed in earnest, one of her assistants popped round the door.

‘Sorry to interrupt—a customer’s asking for you.’

‘Who is it, Luisa?’ said Eleri, getting up. ‘Anything wrong with her meal?’

‘No.’ The girl grinned. ‘It’s a him, not a her, and he hasn’t had a meal yet. Gianni’s just making a sandwich for him. I thought you might prefer to serve it to this particular customer—table ten.’

The table was against the window in the far comer of the café, and seated at it, reading a newspaper, was James Kincaid. Eleri’s heart turned a somersault under her dark red sweater, but her hand was steady as she set a beautifully garnished sandwich in front of him. He put the paper down and jumped to his feet, smiling in a way which did nothing to slow her heartbeat.

‘Eleri—thank you. I hoped you’d spare me a minute. Won’t you join me?’

She smiled politely. ‘I’m afraid not. This is our busy time. Do sit down again.’

‘I can’t if you don’t.’

Eleri cast a swift glance towards the counter, where her two assistants were trying to hide their curiosity while they worked. For the moment the café was only half full, and it was obvious they could cope.

‘Mr Kincaid—’ she began, seating herself.

‘Now we’re on your territory couldn’t you make it James?’ He bit into the sandwich with appreciation. ‘Mmm, this is good. Where do you get the salmon?’

‘From the market. We buy all our produce there.’ She sat, composed, waiting for him to explain his presence. He looked very different in sweater and heavy tweed trousers, a waxed jacket slung over the back of his chair. The mere sight of him gave Eleri a sharp pang of longing for Northwold, her job—and James.

‘How are you?’ he asked.

‘I’m fine,’ she assured him, knowing she sounded cold in her effort to hide her pleasure at the sight of him.

‘It took some detective work to find out where you were. This, I take it, was the job waiting for you whenever you said the word?’

Eleri nodded. ‘My parents were shocked by my resignation from Northwold, of course, but otherwise they were delighted to welcome the prodigal back to the fold.’

‘Which brings me to my reason for coming here,’ he said, leaning forward.

‘Excuse me, Eleri,’ interrupted a diffident voice. ‘The bakery’s on the phone.’

‘Right, Gianni.’ Eleri got up, smiling at James in rueful apology.

‘Excuse me.’

The phone call was lengthy, involving confirmation of extra supplies for the wedding party they were catering for next day. By the time Eleri was free every table in the café was full, and James Kincaid was on his feet, dressed ready for the street as he handed her the bill and money for his lunch.

‘I won’t hold you up any longer,’ he said as she gave him his change.

‘Sorry. We’re always busy on Saturdays.’

‘I called in last night, but you’d already gone.’ He paused. ‘Do you work in the evenings?’

She shook her head. ‘Only in emergencies—like tomorrow, when there’s a wedding party. Otherwise I work an eight-hour day, six days a week.’

‘No sinecure then—longer hours than Northwold,’ he commented, and raised an eyebrow. ‘Which brings me once more to the reason for my visit. I’d like a talk with you. It’s short notice, I know, but would you have dinner with me tonight?’

Eleri stared at him in astonishment, and only managed to control instant, rapturous consent by turning. away to deal with a customer waiting to pay for lunch. She made the transaction, exchanging a few pleasantries, glad of the respite to gather her wits together, very conscious of the tall man studying the family photographs on the wall in the little foyer between the coffee-shop and the restaurant. When she was free he turned back to her.

‘I suppose it was too much to hope for on a Saturday night.’

That wasn’t the point, she thought, knowing perfectly well she ought to refuse. She was doing her utmost to get over James Kincaid. A dinner date was hardly the way to go about it. ‘It’s very kind of you—’ she began.

‘Not in the least,’ he interrupted. ‘You’d be doing me a kindness if you would.’

Why? she wondered. Perhaps he was at a loose end because Camilla Tennent was skiing in Gstaad or sunning in the Bahamas or wherever. ‘I’m afraid—’

‘Don’t say no,’ he said swiftly. ‘Look on it as a business appointment.’

Aware that Luisa and Gianni were in a frenzy, trying to cope with the lunchtime rush, Eleri gave in. To James and herself. ‘Oh, very well—’ She broke off to smile at a customer. ‘Just one moment, sir, I’ll be with you directly.’

‘What time shall I pick you up?’ asked James, and handed her a banknote. ‘Give this to your staff.’

‘How kind, thank you. But don’t come for me. I’ll meet you somewhere.’

‘The Mitre about eight?’

‘Yes. Right. Now I really must go.’ She turned away and plunged back into the business of heating pizzas and pouring coffees, and anything else necessary to relieve the beleaguered young pair who worked so willingly for her.

‘You’re going out?’ said her mother in surprise when a very weary Eleri went home later that evening.

‘Yes. Not that I feel like it. I’m done in.’

‘They why go?’

‘Curiosity, I suppose.’

Catrin Conti eyed her daughter warily. ‘It’s not with that Toby, I hope.’

‘What would you do if I said yes?’

‘Worry my head off.’

Eleri relented, giving her mother a hug. ‘Don’t, it’s not Toby. Though you’ll never guess who. I can’t believe it myself. The person asking for me last night was James Kincaid.’

‘Your boss at Northwold?’ said her mother, astonished. ‘Never!’

‘He came to the coffee-shop lunchtime, but I was too busy to talk to him much, so he asked me out for a meal tonight. Said it was business.’ Eleri thrust her hands through her hair, then looked at her watch. ‘Heavens, it’s later than I thought—better get my skates on.’

‘Business, is it! Where’s he taking you?’

‘The Mitre.’

Catrin sniffed. ‘You’d eat better here.’

‘Very possibly. But not with the same privacy, Mamma mia,’ said her daughter mockingly. ‘Where’s Nico?’

‘Gone to the pictures with the usual gang.’ Catrin smiled. ‘He’s helping out with the wedding party tomorrow night, by the way, to earn extra pocket money.’

‘New football boots, I suppose.’ Eleri laughed and went upstairs for a bath, more excited than she cared to admit, even to herself, about the forthcoming evening with James Kincaid.

She took enormous care with her hair and face, then went downstairs to find her father still at home.

‘Pops, my car sounds a bit funny. I think I’d better take a taxi.’

Her father’s eagle eye took in her wool tunic and long, clinging skirt, the soft kid boots and heavy gold earrings.

‘Lady in black—bellissima,’ he said, eyes narrowed. ‘All this for the man who fired you from Northwold?’

Ouch, thought Eleri. ‘He didn’t fire me. I resigned. I’m curious to know what he wants, that’s all. He said it was business.’

‘A man takes out a woman who looks like you, he does not think only of business,’ declared her father wryly. ‘Not if he has blood in his veins.’

‘Don’t judge all men by yourself, Pa!’ she said.

He laughed, and kissed her. ‘I’ll ask Luigi to look at the car in the morning.’

‘Come on, Mario,’ said Catrin. ‘We’re needed in the restaurant. Enjoy yourself, Eleri!’ She kissed her daughter’s smooth olive cheek. ‘You look gorgeous, love.’

Eleri waved them off, knowing she looked her best. The tiredness of the day had vanished after her leisurely bath. She’d left her hair loose to skim her shoulders, added a touch more emphasis to her eyes than usual and, best tonic of all, she was spending the evening with James Kincaid. She grinned at her reflection in the hall mirror. ‘You’ll do, Conti. Ring for a taxi.’

When Eleri arrived at the Mitre James was waiting for her in the courtyard, and had paid off her driver before she had time to ask the fare.

‘Eleri, hello,’ he said, smiling, as they went inside the inn. ‘Thank you for coming.’

‘I said I would.’

‘I thought you might have had second thoughts.’

‘If I had I’d have rung to let you know,’ she assured him.

James managed to secure a small table in a corner of the crowded bar for a lengthy perusal of the menu over the drinks he ordered.

‘I’m told the restaurant here is rather good, but with you it’s a bit like taking coals to Newcastle. I hope it comes up to your standards,’ he said, raising an eyebrow at her.

‘As long as it’s not pasta in any shape or form I don’t mind,’ she assured him, smiling. ‘No one does pasta dishes like our chefs. Though my father’s the master,’ she added, ‘when he’s in the mood to cook.’

‘Does your mother cook, too?’

‘Brilliantly. But only at home. She cooks dinner about four times a week, and the other nights we fend for ourselves, or they send something over from the restaurant. Nico eats like a horse.’

‘Nico?’

Eleri smiled, her eyes soft. ‘He’s fifteen, clever, and pretty gorgeous, actually.’

‘And his big sister obviously dotes on him!’

She flushed. ‘I suppose I do. Nico dreams of playing soccer for Inter Milan—though he might just deign to sign for a top English club if begged, of course.’

‘Big of him!’ James grinned. ‘Though I can sympathise. I always wanted to play international rugby—wear the white shirt for England and all that.’

‘Then you’re the enemy! I cheer for the Welsh.’

His eyebrows rose. ‘Really? Italy I could understand, but why Wales?’

‘Because my mother’s Welsh. Hence my name,’ she explained.

His eyes gleamed ruefully. ‘Is Eleri Welsh? I thought it was something obscurely Italian. I went on calling you Miss Conti at first because I wasn’t sure I was pronouncing it properly.’

‘I remember. You addressed all the other girls by their surnames, too!’

‘I had to,’ he confessed, ‘once I started it with you.’

Eleri chuckled. ‘How funny. We all thought you were too high and mighty to descend to first names with the hired help.’