Anything but Vanilla.... Liz Fielding

Чтение книги онлайн.

      THREE

      There are four basic food groups; you’ll find them all in a Knickerbocker Glory.

      —from Rosie’s ‘Little Book of Ice Cream’

      ‘I was in a rush. There was an emergency.’ It was no excuse, Sorrel knew, but you had to have been there. ‘I told her she could give me the receipt when I picked up the order.’

      He didn’t say anything—he clearly wasn’t a man to strain himself—but an infinitesimal lift of his eyebrows left her in no doubt what he was thinking.

      ‘Don’t look at me like that!’

      No, no, no... Get a grip. You’re the professional, he’s the...

      She wasn’t sure what he was. Only that he was trouble in capitals from T through to E.

      ‘I’d called in to tell Ria that the Jefferson contract was signed,’ she said, determined to explain, show him that she wasn’t the complete idiot that, with absolutely no justification, he clearly thought her. That was twice he’d got her totally wrong and he didn’t even know her name... ‘I had the list of ices the client had chosen and we were going through it when my brother-in-law called to tell me that my sister had been rushed into Maybridge General.’ His face remained expressionless. ‘As I was leaving, Ria asked if she could have some cash upfront. It was a big order,’ she added.

      ‘How big?’ She told him and the eyebrows reacted with rather more energy. ‘How much ice cream did you order, for heaven’s sake?’

      So. That was what it took to rouse him. Money.

      Why was she surprised?

      ‘A lot, but it’s not just the quantity,’ she told him, ‘it’s the quality. These ices aren’t like the stuff she sells in Knickerbocker Gloria, lovely though that is.’ Having finally got his attention, she wasn’t about to lose the opportunity to state her case. ‘Certainly nothing like the stuff that gets swirled into a cornet from our van.’

      ‘You have an ice-cream round?’

      Oh, Lord, now he thought she was flogging the stuff from a van on the streets.

      ‘No. We have a vintage ice cream van. Rosie. She’s a bit of a celebrity since she started making a regular appearance in a television soap opera.’ Put that on a postcard home, Alexander West.

      ‘Rosie?’

      ‘She’s pink.’ He didn’t exactly roll his eyes, but he might as well have done. So much for making an impression. ‘The ices we commission from Ria are for adults,’ she continued, determined to convince him that she wasn’t some flaky lightweight running a cash-in-hand, fly-by-night company. ‘They need expensive ingredients. Organic fruit. Liqueurs.’

      ‘And champagne.’

      ‘And champagne,’ she agreed. ‘Not some fizzy substitute, but the real thing. It’s a big outlay, especially when things are tight.’

      ‘So? What was the problem with your debit card?’

      ‘Nothing. Ria’s card machine was playing up and, since I couldn’t wait, I dashed across the road to the ATM.’

      ‘You fell for that?’ he asked in a way that suggested she could wave goodbye to her credibility as it flew out of the window.

      Sorrel let slip an expletive. He was right. She was an idiot.

      Not even her soft-as-butter sister, Elle, would have been taken in by that old chestnut. But this was Ria! Okay, she was as organised as a boxful of kittens, but so warm, so full of love.

      So like her own mother.

      Right down to her unfortunate taste in men.

      She sighed. Enough said. Lesson learned. Move on. But it was time to put this exchange on a business footing. Alexander West hadn’t bothered to ask who she was, no doubt hoping he could shoo her out of the door quick sharp, and forget that she existed.

      Time to let him know that it wasn’t going to happen.

      ‘How is your sister?’ he asked, before she could tell him so. ‘You said she was rushed into hospital? Was it serious?’

      ‘Serious?’ She blinked. Hadn’t she said?

      Apparently not. Well, his concern demonstrated thoughtfulness. Or did he think it was just an excuse to cover her stupidity? The latter, she was almost sure...

      ‘Incurable,’ she replied, just to see shock replacing the smug male expression that practically shouted, ‘Got you...’ ‘It’s called motherhood. She had a girl—Fenny Louise, seven pounds, six ounces—practically on the hospital steps. Her third.’ She offered him her hand. ‘I know who you are, Mr West, but you don’t know me.’ Despite a kiss that was still sizzling quietly under her skin, ready to re-ignite at the slightest encouragement. ‘Sorrel Amery. I’m the CEO of Scoop!’

      Her СКАЧАТЬ