The Truth Behind Their Practical Marriage. Marguerite Kaye

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       Chapter Two

      Resisting the urge to take her to one of Florence’s more prestigious ristorante, Aidan decided to risk sharing his favourite humble osteria. ‘The food is simple,’ he said, ‘but it’s much more typical of the region. The kind of dishes that would be served at home, the receipts handed down from mother to daughter.’

      ‘I thought you viewed food as fuel, Mr Malahide?’

      He shrugged sheepishly. ‘I’m Irish, a bit of blarney comes naturally. The truth is, I like food well enough, provided it’s honest and authentic.’

      ‘That is precisely the kind of food my sister Phoebe loves,’ Miss Brannagh replied, to his surprise, ‘despite the fact that she trained in Paris, in the kitchen of the great Pascal Solignac’s restaurant, La Grande Taverne de Londres.’

      ‘Judging by the somewhat contemptuous tone in your voice, you are not a fan.’

      They were walking along the banks of the Arno, the more scenic if less direct route to the osteria, and Miss Brannagh stopped to gaze up river to the view of the Ponte Vecchio. ‘I am not a fan of Monsieur Solignac the chef or the man,’ she said, her mouth curled into a sneer. ‘More importantly, I am very pleased to say, neither is Phoebe, nowadays. Excellent ingredients, traditional receipts, that is what she serves at Le Pas à Pas. The kind of food that people enjoy eating, not the kind that is served up to be admired.’

      ‘Is that what Monsieur Solignac does?’

      ‘I’ve never eaten his food, nor ever will. That man is a—’ Miss Brannagh caught herself short, biting her lip. ‘He treated my sister abominably,’ she finished, her eyes sparking fire, ‘but Phoebe—Phoebe has risen like a phoenix from the ashes. To see her presiding over her stove, in her own restaurant as I did just before I set out on my travels, made me immensely proud of her.’ She blinked, turning her gaze back to the river. ‘Excuse me.’

      ‘Don’t apologise. You clearly love your sister very dearly.’

      ‘I love both my sisters very much, we are very close, though of late, seeing them both blossom in their own ways, it’s made me wonder if we’ve been too close.’

      ‘Is that why you decided to travel the world, to escape them?’

      Miss Brannagh laughed. ‘I’m not running from something or someone, I’m looking for something. Inspiration, you could call it. Both of my sisters are happily settled in their different ways. I envy them that—you know, the certainty they have, that they are making something of their lives. I’d like to do the same, but what I want I don’t seem to be able to find, and so far, I’ve not been able to think of an alternative.’

      ‘Would it be impertinent of me to ask what it is you’re looking for?’

      ‘Not impertinent but irrelevant, since I’ve had to accept that I am unlikely to find it.’ She shook her head impatiently. ‘I sound like a malcontent, when I am very much aware that I’m extremely fortunate to be able to do nothing at all, if I choose. You know I can’t imagine how we came to be talking about me again.’

      ‘Because you’re far more interesting than me?’

      ‘I cannot agree with you there. I know everything there is to know about me, and almost nothing about you, save that you are a mathematician—and I’ve never met a mathematician before. What is it about the subject that you find so fascinating?’

      ‘The fact that there is a rational answer to every problem,’ Aidan replied promptly. ‘No ambiguity, no doubt, no guesswork. Find the key, and the problem is solved.’

      ‘If only life were like that!’

      ‘My thoughts exactly.’ The dark shadow of the one question he knew now that he’d never resolve dampened his spirits for a second, but Aidan closed his mind to it. Looking down into the expectant face of the lovely Miss Brannagh, it was an easy thing to do. He felt he ought to pinch himself, just to make sure he wasn’t dreaming, but if he was, he didn’t want to wake up. Though for a man who might be dreaming, he’d never felt so alive. It wasn’t only her looks, though she was quite beautiful, with her heart-shaped face and big hazel eyes, lips that really were the colour of cherries, and that hair—true Titian red. Beautiful—yes, she most certainly was that, but it was her earthiness—dreadful word—which made heads turn as she walked past. Her figure was voluptuous. Her smile was generous. She possessed a certain vibrancy, like the warmth of the setting sun. She positively glowed with life. And she seemed determined to live it too. She could not be more different from…

      ‘You much prefer order, then, Mr Malahide? Mr Malahide?’

      ‘Order?’ He nodded СКАЧАТЬ