by Unknown
‘You are behind the times, Araminta cara.’ Luca popped one of the icy tomato balls into his mouth and tasted the sharp, sweet hit of tomato, the herby crumbs tempering the sweetness. Delicious. It had taken months to get the texture right, not so sloppy a sorbet that it couldn’t be finger food, nor so creamy that it overshadowed the taste. ‘Food experimentation, playing with perceptions, sweet and savoury combinations, is huge right now; this product allows any party-giver to show how modern and sophisticated they are. However, a girl whose idea of a perfect meal is a fishfinger sandwich can’t be expected to appreciate something so adventurous.’ He waited, an eyebrow raised, for the inevitable reaction.
‘Actually...’ Luca grinned as Minty rose to the bait just as he had known she would. Some things never changed. ‘I think you’ll find that fish goujons served with rocket, aioli and ciabatta is a staple in any self-respecting gastro-pub.’
He repressed a shudder. ‘And that is why I will never eat in England.’
‘Snob.’
‘Philistine.’
The tension crackled between them. Minty was standing close, so close it would take less than a second to pull her to him, to silence her the only way that had ever proved effective. The blood thrummed in his ears as his eyes fastened on the full curve of her mouth, wide, provocative, tempting.
It would be a lie to say that the memory of kissing Minty Davenport had haunted him for the past six years; a lie to say that he had wasted those years yearning to taste her again. And yet the oddest things would remind him of that night; remind him how gloriously right it had felt, how right she had felt.
How right they had felt, as if all the years of competition and antagonism had led them to this point.
But she had been too young. Grieving. He couldn’t, he wouldn’t, have taken advantage of that. Of her. Stopping might have been hard but it had been the right thing to do.
And in the morning she had gone. No note; no word for six long years. Until today, waltzing in as if she had never been away, as unpredictable, as selfish, as ever.
And just because the memory of that night, that kiss, hung heavily in the atmosphere didn’t mean he had to act on it. Not at all.
Luca had a plan for his future, for his business, for his home. Minty didn’t figure anywhere.
Just two weeks and she would be gone. He needed to keep his distance and never, ever let himself forget who and what she was.
It was time for him to take control.
* * *
Fifteen minutes later the room was filled with the remaining board members. Luca, his Uncle Gio and Minty were the only stockholders. Having taken up the reins at such a young age, Luca had carried on with Gio’s practice of having an independent board made up of professionals with very different skills, from an expert in international law, whose only connection with Di Tore Dolce was these meetings, to Giovanna, a woman in her early sixties who had made gelato for the Di Tores since her teens.
He might not always take their advice but he valued it.
The meeting began informally, as always, and the room was filled with the usual hubbub of chit-chat, greetings and animated conversation as the board members caught up whilst sampling the food on offer. With one eye on the clock, Luca managed to back Minty into a corner, keeping her engaged in conversation and making it hard for her to mingle. By the time the others had taken their places at the table, she was well and truly relegated to the position of visitor, the object of everyone’s gaze and curiosity.
Thank goodness Gio was running late; he would have swept her into the midst of the conversation before Luca could say ‘ciao’.
‘Everyone,’ Luca said in English, ‘I would like to introduce Araminta Davenport. Although you may not know her by sight...’ He bestowed a smile on the silently fulminating Minty. That was right; mark her out as an outsider from the off. ‘You may be aware that she was left a sixth of the company by my aunt. It’s lovely to see her take an interest in the company at last. Come on, Minty, let’s find you a seat.’
Luca took care to spend some time ensuring she was comfortable, deliberately continuing to emphasise her visitor status. ‘Would you rather we held the meeting in English?’ he asked solicitously and had the pleasure of seeing her practically bare her teeth at him as she assured him that, really, her Italian was quite adequate, thank you.
One-nil to Luca.
Over the next half-hour Luca almost forgot that Minty was in the room. Almost. The occasional glance of her neatly coiffed head nodding earnestly as someone made a valid point; the sight of her typing rapid notes onto her iPad; the small wrinkle at the bridge of her nose when the conversation became more animated or technical than her rusty Italian could follow would make him falter, check his notes, regroup.
But so far she had said nothing. Not even a murmur of agreement. Luca felt the slight weight of worry lift. Maybe she was just here to observe; maybe he had seen trouble where there was none.
The niceties were soon dealt with: apologies, minutes, agendas, a few small points all despatched. It was time for the main event.
It was time to address the international expansion, the biggest change to Di Tore Dolce since they had made the decision to produce not just the traditional gelato but the full range of Italian desserts. And this expansion was all Luca’s.
He pressed a button on his laptop and pulled up the presentation, adrenaline flooding through his veins. The business was profitable, successful and flourishing under his leadership despite the difficult financial conditions. It was time to take it global. He smiled confidently at the table and opened his mouth, ready to begin. But before he could speak the first carefully prepared word, the door opened.
Gio had arrived, smiling, full of apologies, bestowing embraces all round. Minty rose to her feet, ready for his embrace as he walked in, but Luca could tell that behind her smile and hug she was shocked. Shocked at how the bear of a man had shrunk, at the lines on his face, the greyness of his hair. Shocked that the twinkle in his eyes was just a faded reflection of the real thing. Luca recognised the shock; he felt it too every time he saw his uncle.
When Rose had died, Gio’s heart had died too.
What did that feel like, to be halved like that? Luca knew what he wanted and it wasn’t such grand emotion, such all-or-nothing passion.
He wanted compatibility, comfort.
Almost against his will, his glance slid over to Minty, still enfolded in Gio’s arms. Resolutely Luca wrenched his eyes away again.
Minty was many things but she had never been comfortable.
‘Okay, everyone.’ It was time to call this meeting back to order. ‘Gio, lovely to see you.’ He tried not to allow the anxiety his uncle’s appearance caused him to show in his voice. Was he eating enough? Drinking too much?
When would he stop grieving for a woman who had been dead for six years?
‘As you know, I have been investigating expanding into some of the English-speaking territories,’ he began, projecting confidence as he spoke, looking round the table to catch and hold every single person’s eye. They were all nodding and smiling back at him. All except Minty, who was frowning down at her iPad. A surge of irritation ran through him. She had seemed so keen on the expansion back in his office.
Instantly heat flamed through his body as the memory of her impulsive embrace hit him: the lean length of her, impossibly, incredibly soft; the way she fit into him, around him.
Luca took a hurried gulp of water.
He took care to avoid looking at Minty as he carried on, spending the next twenty minutes taking the board through the figures, projections and risk analysis of the project. They seemed engaged, approving. And so they should; Luca had been working on this for months.
‘Any questions?’ he finished. There were just a few hands: some clarifications, double-checking of the fi
gures; nothing major, nothing to worry about.
And why would there be?
‘Bene.’ He beamed round at the assembled company. ‘If we are all agreed, then...’
‘I’m sorry.’ Luca looked up in shock. She chose to speak now?
‘Si?’ he bit out impatiently.
Minty smiled apologetically but those blue eyes were steely. Whatever she intended, she planned to see through. The long-buried antagonism began to force its way back into Luca’s consciousness. What act of sabotage was she plotting?
‘I have something to say. There’s actually a presentation.’ She gestured towards the iPad. ‘Do you all mind?’
‘Of course not,’ Gio broke in. ‘Help Minty set up, Luca. Let’s hear what she has to say.’
Lips set, mind whirling furiously, Luca obeyed. To shut her down would seem churlish, as if he had something to hide. The cunning little minx: she had set him up. The clothes, the lowered eyelashes, the hair—it was all an act, just as he had guessed. Of course, he thought darkly, the leopard doesn’t change its spots.
But what did this particular feline want this time and, more importantly, what did she want with his company?
* * *
Minty’s pulse was racing, her palms slippery with nervous sweat as she stood up and walked towards the head of the table, putting as confident a swagger into her walk as she could manage.
She couldn’t let him shut her down. Not this time.
It had taken six years, three broken engagements and the loss of everything to bring her back here. But, now she was back, she suddenly, desperately, wanted to succeed. Needed to succeed.
She needed to show Luca she was worth more than a quiet ‘no’.
She needed to show herself that she was worth something. Worth anything.
One of her ex-fiancés was a musician; another a politician. They had nothing in common apart from having presented Minty with an engagement ring and then telling her she could keep it, a last act of patronising kindness as they’d walked away. But both men knew how to work a crowd. Very different crowds, true, but they both had the knack of commanding the attention of everyone in the room with the sheer power of their personality.
It was all in the presentation.
And confidence. ‘If you believe you can do it,’ Joe had said, ‘anything is possible.’ The trite, predictable sound bite of a politician, but Minty was going to take his words at face value.
She could do this.
‘Buongiorno,’ she said and, taking a leaf out of Luca’s book, she smiled around the table, making sure she caught every single person’s eye before she moved on. Even Luca’s, although it took every ounce of determination she had to meet that burningly intense gaze.
His eyes were smouldering gold, promising slow, painful retribution. Just like the time she borrowed his rare Batman comic and dropped it in the swimming pool. Not entirely by accident.
Enough dwelling on the past; this was about the here and now. About impressing them, proving that she had a right to be here; that despite everything she belonged.
‘Expanding into the UK is a great idea,’ she began smoothly, pulling up her first slide as she spoke. ‘As you can see, the UK has been getting more and more serious about food over the last couple of decades with a much bigger variation in both restaurant types and meals cooked at home. Traditional Italian ingredients such as pasta are now a British staple.’
She gave a quick smile to hide her nerves. Gio caught her eye and gave her a broad wink of approval and Minty’s spirits rose. She didn’t sound like an idiot.
Confidence buoyed, she carried on, taking them through statistics on British dietary habits, eating-out spend and grocery spend. Luca lounged back in his chair, the anger in his eyes simmering down to annoyance. So far she was covering no new ground.
Minty was fully aware of that.
‘The expansion as it stands is a two-pronged plan,’ she said. This was it, when she deviated from the ideas and costings Luca had put together. Butterflies tumbled through her stomach, making it hard to catch her breath. ‘Restaurants and specialist food-outlets. I’m not going to discuss restaurants, as they buy different quantities and are sold differently, but I am going to tell you why I think focussing on the specialist outlets is a mistake.’
The challenge was thrown down.
Minty didn’t intend to look at Luca at this point but she felt his gaze on her and, like a magnet, it drew her in. He was no longer leaning back, no longer simmering. He sat bolt-upright, those disquieting eyes fixed on her face, a tiger ready to pounce. Her mouth dry, she carried on, moistening her lips with her tongue, resisting the instincts that screamed at her to back away slowly. To stop right now.
Too bad she always ignored her instincts.
‘Supplying ready-made gelato and Italian-made puddings to the UK is the right course,’ she said. ‘Although we love to talk about cooking, to watch cooking programmes and to buy vast libraries of cookbooks, most people in the UK don’t really enjoy cooking. Not day-to-day. Or people are too just too busy to cook properly. Also, at weekends they feel like they deserve a treat, a break from the kitchen, but the recession has meant that the old staples of going out or ordering takeaways are no longer weekly treats but monthly indulgences.’
Minty took a deep breath. ‘This in turn has given rise to the gourmet ready-meal. Dine in for ten pounds for two, or kits that you put together in your kitchen and that take five minutes to cook but make you feel like you actually made the meal.’
There were a few murmurs at this. Minty looked round the incredulous-looking people who sat opposite her and had to restrain a laugh. They could as little comprehend a world where people bought their lasagne ready-made as they could imagine a talking dog. Which was exactly why they needed her; they just didn’t know it yet.
‘Some gourmet food shops do provide ready meals,’ she continued. ‘But the people who shop there have different values. They care about food, which is great for us, but they also care about origin. A York deli will want to sell ice cream made with cream from Yorkshire cows, not Italian cows, to cut down on food miles and support local economies. And the food miles will be exorbitant; supplying a few delis here and there will cost a fortune, eating into our margins.’
Minty took a deep breath. The table was silent, every person hanging on her every word. Excitement surged but she ruthlessly dampened it down. She wasn’t there yet.
‘One solution would be to concentrate on London, which has a huge amount of delis and a sizeable Italian population. But then we haven’t really tapped into the UK, just a tiny part of it.
‘So we should consider the supermarkets.’
There. It was said.
There was a stunned silence. Minty pressed on, ‘Not every supermarket, not even the most popular supermarkets, but the most up-market supermarkets, to fit in with the aspirational and fresh appeal of the brand. There are two who will manage our prices, sell-by dates and image without cheapening and demeaning our brand. Their endorsement will make us desirable to the delis and specialist food-outlets you prefer and, crucially, raise our profile with the consumer.’
Minty looked up at the last slide, a stock image of a laughing, loving nuclear family gathered around a table, bowls of ice cream in front of them.
What would it be like to be part of such a family?
She thrust the thought aside and lifted her chin. ‘Any questions?’
She risked a look over at Luca’s chair opposite. He was leaning back again, relaxed. To all appearances, open to ideas and opinions.
Unless you looked closely at his eyes. A chill shivered down Minty’s spine. She was no coward but she couldn’t sustain eye contact of any length with such contemptuous anger blazing out at her. She wanted to challenge him, to sustain the advantage her height and position gave her a
s she stood at the front of his boardroom, but she quailed before him and lowered her eyelids, blocking out the unleashed fury.
Submitting.
Idiot; coward, she admonished herself. You have a right to be here, to make your point.
But when she steeled herself to take him back on, plastered on her most guileless expression and raised innocent eyes back to his face, it was too late. His expression was bland, his eyes hooded. Emotionless.
Maybe she had made up the earlier anger, seen only what she was expecting to see. But the hairs still stood up on her arms; a disquieting prickle at the back of her neck was a reminder. Luca could have been a formidable ally. Instead she had made a dangerous enemy.
There was no time to dwell on her tactics as the questions began. If Minty had thought she could get away with making her presentation unchallenged, she was wrong. The board members might not have had a chance to prepare their questions but that didn’t stop them. Which supermarkets? Prices, margins, market penetration, rival brands? Minty had done her homework, had spent the past two weeks preparing, but the level of detail they wanted at this stage astonished her. Frightened her.
It was very different from sitting down with the three women who managed her cupcake cafés. From the cosy chats over coffee and cakes about new recipes, promotions, staff. Her accountant took care of the finances, the staff the social media and marketing. The shop managers were responsible for all the day-to-day issues.
She was just a trust-fund baby with a vanity business, after all.
The door was so close. She could just leave, sell the damn shares. With the money she could travel, start again, open up a new vanity project: design handbags, maybe, like many a socialite before her. She wouldn’t need her trust fund.
But Aunt Rose had left her the shares. She had believed in Minty, had wanted her to be involved. She had never believed Minty could let her down, would let her down. Maybe she’d been the only person who had ever believed that?