A Dash of Romance. Elizabeth Harbison

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СКАЧАТЬ you worked with her long?” He had a great voice. Low, smooth, perfectly modulated.

      “Just about a year.”

      “Ever think of striking out on your own?”

      She looked at him. “As what?”

      “A caterer.” He laughed. Very nice laugh. “You are the cook in this operation, aren’t you?”

      Marta didn’t like anyone to know that she didn’t cook. “One of them.”

      “One of them,” he repeated and gave a broad white smile. “You’re good. Loyal. If I were in the food business, I’d try to steal you away right now.” At her puzzled look, he explained, “My assistant set this whole thing up, and she says that Serragno never cooks, she just hires the best.” He gave a shrug. “Which is why I hired her. And if she hired you, you must be the best. At whatever it is that you do.”

      Rose gave a wan smile. “I made the artichoke salad.”

      “Ah.” He laughed outright, and several people looked over at them. “I’m sure it tastes far better than this foot I’ve been chomping on.”

      Rose couldn’t help but chuckle. “If it doesn’t, I’m in the wrong business.”

      “There you are.” Marta swooped in between them, still holding a ramekin of artichoke salad. She turned to face Warren and took what looked like a deliberate step backward into Rose, loudly knocking the platter to the floor.

      Rose’s heart sank. All that food, smashed into the carpet.

      “Rose Tilden!” Marta snapped. “That was very clumsy. Look what you’ve done to Mr. Harker’s carpeting.” She turned to Warren with what Rose could only imagine was a look of condescending disgust.

      “It wasn’t her fault,” Warren said, with a slight edge to his voice. “Someone ran into her.”

      Marta acted as if she hadn’t heard him. “Don’t worry about a thing, Rose will get that cleaned up.” She snaked her arm through his and tried to lead him away. “Why don’t you show me your view?”

      Warren pulled back and went to Rose. “Let me help you with this,” he said, kneeling down in his two-thousand-dollar suit.

      “Thanks, but it’s not necessary,” Rose said quietly.

      “No, it isn’t.” Marta stood over them. “She dropped it, she can pick it up. Now, about that view—”

      “Go to any wall,” Warren said, helping Rose anyway. “Look out a window. You can’t miss it.”

      Rose felt, rather than saw, Marta’s wrath surround them like a cold mist.

      “I can get this,” she said to him, pulling a mini quiche off the floor. “Please. Go back to your party. I’d feel awful if I kept you from it because of this.” And she would be terribly self-conscious if Warren Harker stayed on the floor next to her, picking up bits of food.

      “To tell you the truth,” he said, his voice quiet, “this is more interesting.”

      Her face went warm again, and she looked down, hoping he wouldn’t notice. “Aren’t you enjoying your party?”

      “This isn’t what I’d call a party,” he went on. “It’s more of a social obligation. Every summer I have one of these,” he nodded at the room, “soirées for the New York bigwigs and corporate head honchos. Got to keep in touch with them, know who’s who. I’m in the real estate business, you see.”

      She was tempted to tell him she knew all about him, thanks to Marta, but decided instead to say, “I heard something like that.”

      He studied her for a moment before continuing. “So this is what you might call good business. Bad party, good business. It happens a lot. I’m sure you see it all the time.”

      Rose laughed in admission. “You’re right. But most people don’t admit they’re having a miserable time.” She picked up the last fallen appetizer, plopped it on the platter and stood up. “But why bother if you know you’re not going to like it?”

      He stood up beside her. “See that woman?” He indicated a matronly-looking woman, perhaps in her eighties, dripping with diamonds. The woman had a sour expression on her face, with thin lips, pursed tightly together. “That’s Mrs. Winchester, the mayor’s mother. Word is, he doesn’t make a move without her approval.”

      “So you need her to approve of you.”

      “Bingo. So I’m plying her with good food and wine.”

      “What if she just doesn’t like you?”

      “She does.” He was absolutely confident. “At least for now. She does have her moods, and if she turns against you,” he gave a low whistle, “look out.”

      “She reminds me of a woman I knew when I was a kid. Mrs. Ritter. She owned a flower shop in Brooklyn, which was ironic since she always looked like something smelled funny.”

      “You’re from Brooklyn?”

      She nodded. “You?”

      He hesitated, then said, “I’ve spent most of my life right here.” He eyed her. “What’s your name anyway?”

      “Rose. Rose Tilden.”

      Surprise flickered across his features. “Tilden?”

      She nodded.

      He frowned. “That’s not a name you hear every day.”

      “I do.” She smiled. Almost every day, that is. Since she was two years old. The Barrie Home for Children was on Tilden Street in Brooklyn. All the children who came in without names or identification of any sort were assigned “Tilden.” Rose and her sister had come in wearing bracelets that identified their first names but not their last, so they became Rose and Lily Tilden.

      “I guess you do,” he conceded, but the easy smile he’d worn a few minutes earlier was gone. “Interesting.”

      “Rose, dear.” Marta’s voice sounded as if she were two inches behind Rose. “Could you please help Tonya in the kitchen?”

      Rose turned to see a look in Marta’s eye that she had never seen before. It was sheer anger. “Is something wrong?” Rose asked.

      Marta gave a thin-lipped smile. “Certainly not. Tonya simply needs help preparing the dessert tray.”

      Rose gave Marta a long, hard look, then glanced at Warren and said, “Please excuse me.”

      He gave a slight nod, then lowered his gaze onto Marta.

      Rose didn’t see what happened next. She walked to the kitchen resolving with every step to quit this job. She loved the work and really enjoyed most of the people she worked with, but Marta had become more and more of a tyrant lately. Every time a party guest so much as asked Rose if she knew where the ladies’ room was, Marta was there, nosing her way in, trying to find СКАЧАТЬ