by B R Snow
“Welcome,” Marco said, then continued. “Sitting next to Emerson is Betty Smithsonian. Betty is from Canada and also hopes to improve her home cooking skills.”
He raised his glass and everyone drank to her.
“Thank you,” Betty said. “I’m very excited to be here.”
“And we are glad to have you,” Marco said, then focused on a young man with a long ponytail. “Next to Betty is Lance Jones. Lance is also from California and has dreams of becoming a professional chef.”
“Actually, dream might be a bit of a stretch,” he said, shrugging. “I’m here to see if I can get my parents off my back.”
“I’m sorry?” Marco said, confused.
“I need to get a career going,” he said. “If I don’t, my folks are threatening to cut me off.”
“I see,” Marco said. “Becoming a chef wasn’t your first choice?”
“Nah,” the ponytailed man said. “Surfing was my first choice, but I blew my knee out a few years ago. After the surgery, I wasn’t able to cut left the way I used to. It pretty much eliminated my chances of turning pro.”
“I see,” Marco said. “So, it was your second choice.”
“Not really,” Lance said. “I just sort of landed on cooking. I tried selling cars at my old man’s dealership, washed out there, then he set me up in a couple of businesses that didn’t make it. Then I did a year in college. Hated it and dropped out. After that, I bought some camera gear and traveled for a year with the idea of becoming a photographer. When I got home, my parents took one look at my portfolio and gave me the ultimatum of getting what they consider a real job or lose my allowance.”
“Allowance?” Josie said, frowning. “You still get an allowance?”
“Yeah, that’s what my folks call it,” Lance said. “Actually, it’s more of a trust fund.”
“Got it,” Josie said.
“One night I was sitting around and hit on the idea of becoming a chef. It makes sense since I love to eat. I’m thinking about doing an Italian food truck. Food trucks are all the rage in California, but most of them serve Mexican food. I think a truck serving Italian food near the water will be a hit with the folks who hang out at the beach. And I figure I’ll still have time to surf in the mornings. How hard can it be, huh?”
“Yes,” Marco said, doing his best not to stare at him. “How hard can it be?” He glanced at Chef Claire. “You started with a food truck, didn’t you, Chef Claire?”
“I did,” she said, nodding.
“Cool,” Lance said. “How was that?”
“Actually, it was a ton of work,” she said.
“Bummer. But I can always hire somebody to do most of the work.”
“You could,” Chef Claire said. “But it’s going to kill your profit margins.”
“No problem,” he said. “As long as it gets my parents off my back, I’ll be fine.” He nodded, pleased with his strategy and glanced around the table for affirmation.
Marco focused on a distinguished, overdressed man sitting across from Betty. “Finally, I’d like to introduce Georgio Russo.”
Georgio beamed at everyone then raised his glass.
“Thank you, Marco,” Georgio said. “I’m honored to be here.”
“Georgio is an inventor,” Marco said.
“Fascinating,” Bronwyn said as she placed her elbows on the table and leaned forward.
“Not really,” Georgio said, flashing her a smile. “But it’s a living.”
“It’s more than a living, and you know it, Georgio,” Emerson said, shaking his head. Then he glanced at his wife who continued to focus on the inventor. “You still find it fascinating what he does for a living?”
“I do,” she said, barely glancing at her husband. “Taking an idea and creating something from scratch is amazing.”
“What does he invent?” Chef Claire whispered to Rosa.
“As far as most people know, he invents gadgets people can use around the house,” she said. “But if you believe the rumors, some of his other inventions are a bit more…deadly.”
“I’m going to need a bit more,” Chef Claire said.
“Weapon systems,” Rosa whispered. “Spy gadgets, that sort of stuff. And he’s not very discriminating about who he sells them to. Again, if you believe the rumors.”
“What on earth is he doing at your cooking school?” Chef Claire said.
“He comes at least once a year,” Rosa said. “Whenever he’s looking for ideas for the next kitchen gadget, he’ll spend the week at our school. He says this place inspires him. Over the years, he’s become quite a good cook.”
“We saw him earlier when we headed upstairs to shower,” Josie said. “He was coming out of the room next to mine. But it’s not his, is it?”
Rosa frowned and eventually gave Josie a quick shake of her head.
“Georgio’s room is at the other end of the hall.”
“Whose room is it?” Chef Claire whispered.
“The Kingsley’s,” Rosa said, dredging a piece of bread in olive oil.
“Interesting,” Chef Claire said, spooning some marinated red peppers onto her plate.
“That explains the look on his face when he saw us,” Josie said.
“What sort of look was it?” Rosa said.
“Like a kid who got caught with his hand in the cookie jar,” Chef Claire said.
“What time did you see him?” Marco said, inserting himself into the conversation.
“It was around five-thirty,” Josie said.
“I told you,” Rosa whispered to her husband.
“They might have just been chatting,” Marco said.
“I seriously doubt it, Marco,” Rosa said with a snort. “What time did Emerson get back from playing golf?”
“It was after six,” Marco said.
“You need to have a chat with Georgio,” Rosa said, sneaking a glance down the table. “I don’t want a repeat performance.”
Josie and Chef Claire looked at each other, thoroughly confused.
“I’ll talk to him after dinner,” Marco said.
Rosa sat back in her chair, apparently mollified for the moment. Then she caught the look Josie and Chef Claire were giving her.
“I’ll explain later,” Rosa said. “How are the peppers?”
“Fantastic,” Chef Claire said.
Everyone continued leisurely noshing from the antipasto platter and sipping Prosecco.
“I love eating like this,” Chef Claire said, glancing out at the evening sky. “It’s so relaxing.”
“It is. Everyone is taking their time,” Josie said.
“They are. It’s the Italian way,” Chef Claire said. “See, you’re learning already.”
“What I’m learning,” Josie said, laughing as she reached for the bowl of red peppers. “Is that they better pick up the pace or get left in my dust.”
Moments later, everyone at the table looked up when a woman strolled out onto the veranda. She waved to Marco and Rosa then sat down in the empty chair next to the inventor.
“I’m sorry I’m late,” she said to no one in particular. “I took a nap and forgot to set my alarm.
Josie and Chef Claire stared at the women then at each other.
“No way,” Josie said.
“I can’t believe it,” Chef Claire said.
“Do you know her?” Rosa said.
“We certainly do,” Josie said. “She was the cause of the worst hangover I’ve ever had.”
The woman began selecting items from one of the antipasto trays then spotted Josie and Chef Claire and sat back in her chair. Her confused stare eventually gave way to a frown almost resembling a small smile.
“Well, isn’t this a small world?” she said.
“Hi, Natalie,” Josie said.
“Nice to see you, Josie,” Natalie said. “Hello, Chef Claire.”
“How are you doing, Natalie?”
“I’m fine,” she said, placing a napkin across her lap. “I can’t
believe it.”
“You’re here for cooking school?” Chef Claire said.
“I am,” she said, scooping grilled squash onto her plate. “Let’s catch up after dinner.”
She began eating and was soon engrossed in a conversation with Georgio, the inventor.
“How do you know her?” Rosa said.
“We met her in Vegas,” Chef Claire said. “Our friend, Suzy, was having her bachelorette party there and Natalie was working for the owner of the casino where we were staying.”
“I see,” Rosa said. “She seems quite severe.”
“She is,” Josie said.
“Is that a Russian accent?” Marco said.
“It is,” Josie said. “And a word of advice, never drink vodka with her.”
Chapter 4
While coffee and dessert were being served, Georgio Russo, the inventor and apparent afternoon acquaintance of Bronwyn Kingsley, got up and headed for Marco and Rosa. He came to a stop behind them, beamed at Chef Claire and Josie then spoke to Rosa.
“I couldn’t help but notice you waving me over.”
“Yes,” Rosa said. “We definitely need to chat.”
“I think I’ll go say hello to Natalie,” Chef Claire said, getting to her feet.
Josie followed suit, and they sat down next to the Russian woman. Georgio was already sitting between Marco and Rosa glancing back and forth at his hosts as they spoke to him in angry, hushed tones.
“I wonder what he did to offend them?” Natalie said, sitting back in her chair as a server removed her plate and placed dessert in front of her.
“Will you be having dessert and coffee here?” the server said to Josie and Chef Claire.
“Yes, please,” Josie said, staring down at Natalie’s dessert. “Chocolate cake?”
“I’m going to guess it’s Torta Barozzi,” Chef Claire said.
“Well done,” the server said, nodding as he poured coffee for all three of them.
“What is it?” Josie said, beaming at the dessert in front of her.
“Chocolate cake,” Chef Claire deadpanned.
“Funny,” Josie said, digging in. She chewed slowly then her eyes went wide. “Oh, my goodness. It’s unbelievable.”
“It certainly is,” Chef Claire said. “And rich. A little goes a long way, huh?”
“Speak for yourself,” Josie said, then took a sip of coffee. “So, Natalie, at the risk of sounding rude, what the heck are you doing here?”
“Learning to cook, what else?” Natalie said, taking a bite of her dessert. “Delicious.”
“Nah, I don’t buy it,” Josie said with a shake of her head. “You’re working here, aren’t you?”
“Working?” Natalie said, going for coy but not quite managing to pull it off. “What on earth would I be working on here?”
“Your spy stuff,” Josie whispered as she leaned in close. “What else would I be talking about?”
“No, I assure you I’m merely here to learn. And eat and drink, of course.”
“You decided to come to Italy and learn how to cook? By yourself?” Chef Claire said as she continued to work her way through her dessert.
“I did,” Natalie said. “But I’m not here by myself.”
“Really?” Josie looked around with a frown then glanced at the other end of the table. “You’re here with the inventor?”
“I am,” Natalie said. “Georgio asked me to come, and it sounded like a lot of fun. So here I am.”
Josie, deep in thought, scratched her chin as she toyed with her dessert. Then she shrugged it off and took another bite.
“You’re dating him?” Chef Claire said.
“I guess you could call it that,” Natalie said without emotion.
“What’s it like having two restaurants?”
Chef Claire looked across the table at the young Italian couple.
“It’s a challenge,” Chef Claire said. “But we have great people working for us. It makes all the difference. You’re Maria, right?”
“Yes,” she said, then placed a hand on her husband’s arm. “And this is Donato.”
“It’s nice to meet you,” Chef Claire said.
“Would you mind if we asked you some questions?” Maria said. “We have so many.”
“Not at all,” Chef Claire said, getting up and carrying her chair to the other side of the table.
Moments later, she was engrossed in conversation with the couple. Josie took another bite of her dessert before turning to Natalie.
“Can I ask you a question?”
“If you must,” Natalie said.
“Are you and Georgio exclusive?”
“Interesting question,” Natalie said, scowling at Josie. “And rather invasive. But, yes, I’d like to think so. Why do you ask?”
“Well, you know me, Natalie,” Josie said, grinning. “Just being nosy.”
“Yes, I remember,” Natalie said, then a deep frown emerged. “And speaking of inquisitive people, I heard about what happened to Suzy’s husband. Tragic. How is she doing?”
“She’s going to make it,” Josie whispered. “But it’s been a tough couple of months.”
“I’m sure it has,” Natalie said, lighting a cigarette. “I like Suzy. She has a big brain and a big heart. An all-too-rare combination. Please send her my best wishes when you talk to her.”
“I’ll do that.”
“I can’t imagine what it’s like to lose a loved one in that manner,” Natalie said, glancing down the table at Georgio who was still in the middle of a tense conversation with Marco and Rosa.
“In your line of work, you must have seen it before, right?”
“Seen it, yes. Experienced it myself, no,” she said, then exhaled audibly. “But we are here to relax and have fun. So, let’s have no more talk of tragedy and loss.”
“Works for me,” Josie said, polishing off the last of her dessert. “Did you arrive today?”
“Yes, I got in late this afternoon,” she said.
Georgio’s chair made a racket when he pushed it back and got to his feet. Everyone at the table reacted to the noise and looked at him. He casually brushed imaginary lint off his sleeves then ran a hand through his salt and pepper hair.
“It was wonderful meeting all of you,” he said, glancing around. “But I think I’m going to call it a night. Tomorrow’s a school day.”
Everyone chuckled and he stared down the table at Natalie and gave her a small nod.
“I’ll see you all in the morning,” he said as he headed inside the villa.
“If you’ll excuse me,” Natalie said, getting to her feet. “An early night sounds like a wonderful idea. Enjoy your evening.”
Josie watched her go then caught a glimpse of the whispered conversation Natalie and Georgio were having in the doorway. Out of the corner of her eye, Josie caught Bronwyn closely watching the conversation the inventor and spy were having. When she made eye contact with Josie, she immediately glanced down and focused on her dessert.
“Is she okay?” Chef Claire said to Josie.
“Well, with Natalie, it’s always hard to tell,” she said, dredging her fork through the remnants on her dessert plate. “What is this sauce?”
“Fig and pomegranate,” Chef Claire said.
“Interesting choice. Let me guess, they’re in season at the moment.”
“Well done,” Chef Claire said, nodding. “I think fig season is over, but I imagine Marco and Rosa made some sort of preserves. And I like the way the pomegranate cuts the sweetness.”
“Are you going to ask for the recipe?”
“First thing in the morning,” Chef Claire said, laughing.
Marco got to his feet and looked around the table.
“It looks like everyone has finished eating,” he said. “If you don’t mind, Rosa and I would like to let the dogs out for a while.”
“Geez, Marco, I don’t know,” Josie deadpanned. “That’s asking a lot.”
He laughed then addressed the ta
ble again.
“All we ask is you don’t feed them,” he said. “Especially any of the Torta Barozzi. Chocolate is a no-no for dogs.”
Everyone nodded and made sure their plates were out of the way. Marco nodded at one of the servers. She opened a door, and all four Goldens trotted onto the veranda. They made a beeline for Marco and Rosa then began saying hello to the rest of the guests.
“They’re beautiful,” Bronwyn said, then reached down to pet one of the dogs. “Now, this is a dog, Emerson. Look at him.”
“For the hundredth time, no,” Emerson said, studying the dog without touching it. “We’re not getting a dog.”
“Maybe,” she said dismissively as she rubbed the Golden’s head. She pulled the dog close then snapped a picture of her and the dog. She set her phone on the table and looked at her husband. “Why don’t you go to bed? You have an early tee time in the morning. I’ll be up soon.”
Emerson Kingsley was about to bark at his wife but remembered where he was. He gave her a dark glare then nodded before addressing the hosts.
“Thank you for a wonderful dinner,” he said to Marco and Rosa. “And have a good time in class. I can’t wait to see what you come up with for dinner tomorrow. Enjoy the rest of your evening.”
He wheeled around and quickly departed.
“He’s not coming to class?” Chef Claire said.
“No, he’s only here for the golf. And the food and wine, of course,” Bronwyn said.
“That’s too bad,” Chef Claire said.
“No,” Bronwyn said, then finished the last of her coffee. “Not really.”
Chapter 5
Marco glanced around the group ringing a massive kitchen island made of stainless steel but topped with a wooden work surface. He took a sip of coffee and waited until he had everyone’s attention.
“Good morning,” Marco said. “And welcome to day one of cooking school. Today we’ll be making pasta. Since pasta plays a central role in Italian cuisine, we always start the week making pasta from scratch. And you’ll be making fresh pasta a few more times during the week so don’t worry if your first efforts aren’t perfect. I’m not going to guarantee you’ll be an expert by dinnertime, but I will promise you by the end of the week you’ll be very proficient at turning flour and eggs into something truly magical.”