Turning Up the Heat. Ashley Lister
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someone like you on my books –’
‘A producer?’ Didn’t producers usually make films?
She didn’t give Harvey a chance to respond to her interruption. ‘Someone like me?’ What did that mean? Blonde? A size ten? Scorpio? ‘I don’t understand,’ she complained. ‘You’ll have to break this down into the simplest terms for me. I’m not that bright.’
Harvey shook his head. His smile was patient. ‘Billy said you were modest.’
‘I have a lot to be modest about,’ she said.
He laughed, but Trudy didn’t smile. She hadn’t been joking.
‘I didn’t think I was being modest,’ she admitted. ‘What are you asking of me, Harvey?’
This time his laughter was full and genuine. ‘You’re a successful entrepreneur,’ he explained. ‘Sweet Temptation is already a well-known national brand and it hasn’t finished its first year of trading. You’re also working in a prestigious Michelin restaurant. From what Billy tells me, three days of the week you’re here in the esteemed role of chef de cuisine.’
Trudy shrugged. It only sounded like a big deal when other people talked about her career. To her it felt like nothing more than the things she usually did through the day. Harvey was talking as though her working week was some sort of phenomenal achievement.
‘Who’d want to know about stuff like that?’
Harvey laughed and picked up the tablet he’d taken from his jacket pocket. He was from Bill’s era – a mature man twice her age. And yet he handled the sleek technology with the assured confidence of a teenage gamer. The glossy tablet did not look out of place in his large, masterful hands. It looked as though it belonged there.
He opened a screen and started to show her the text of an article written by one of Trudy’s favourite celebrity chefs. Before she had read halfway through the column – a piece of writing that sat somewhere between a diary and a recipe – Harvey had opened a second screen and was showing her a similar feature from another noted culinary expert.
Her first thought was: there are a lot of celebrity chefs out there. This was followed by a puzzled question. How many webpages had Harvey prepared in readiness for this casual conversation?
‘I have two national newspapers currently interested in hosting a weekly column from a female chef who knows what she’s talking about,’ Harvey told her. ‘I’d love to put your name forward for one of those positions.’
Trudy hesitated.
It sounded glamorous and exciting. If she wrote for a newspaper it would be an additional piece of income and it might be something Sweet Temptation could use to add prestige to their brand name. But would it be sensible to take on the extra responsibility?
She wondered if she should consult with Bill and then realised he probably had enough to worry about with his own career without having to tell her how she should reply to Harvey’s offer.
She also wondered if she could really claim to know what she was talking about when she couldn’t even identify the rogue ingredient that was spoiling her coffee and pumpkin-pie-spiced muffin. But she put that consideration aside. Part of the pleasure in finding the right flavour came from discounting the wrong flavours.
‘I suppose I could try,’ she said guardedly.
He chuckled. His grin seemed genuinely triumphant. ‘Get me five hundred words of copy for tomorrow evening. We’ll pitch to the tabloid first. Admittedly, the tabloid lacks the gravitas of the broadsheet but it pays better. I’ll get onto the radio producer this afternoon and we’ll organise a convenient date for you to visit the studio and chat about potential projects. Maybe they can see how you work behind the microphone on Tuesday or Wednesday? You might also want to think about a title for the cookbook you’re working on and the brand image that best promotes your style and values.’
Trudy blinked.
Had she just agreed to do all of that?
Harvey placed his business card in front of her and then touched a couple of buttons on the screen of the tablet. He handled the technology with a fluid ease that looked decidedly slick.
‘I’m sending you a contract,’ he told her. ‘I’ll also send you links to those articles we just glanced at so you can see the style that other writers have used.’
‘Am I going to regret this?’
He glanced up from the tablet and grinned. ‘You’re on my books, Trudy. What could you possibly regret?’
‘That was neither a yes nor a no,’ she pointed out.
He laughed and nodded in Bill’s direction. ‘A couple of months from now you’ll be as big a celebrity as Billy.’
Trudy blanched. She wasn’t sure that was something she wanted. She was about to say as much and find a way to tell Harvey that, perhaps, she might need to think about his offer, or maybe reflect on it before giving him a decision. Her mobile buzzed again to remind her she still had a waiting text message.
The distraction interrupted her train of thought.
Rolling her eyes and quietly apologising to Harvey, she finally decided to see who had sent her the message.
It was a text from Donny: I’ll make you pay, bitch.
Aliceon, Bill’s ex-wife and Boui-Boui’s super-efficient maître d’, stepped to Trudy’s side and placed a hand on her shoulder. Aliceon was tall, imposing and meticulous in her formal black business suit. Even though she wasn’t working today, and had only been summoned to Boui-Boui with everyone else to provide background for the photo shoot, she had still dressed like the restaurant’s most commanding official. Her narrow features, and the rarity of her thin-lipped smile, always made Trudy think she might be austere and unapproachable. In the six months Trudy had known her, Aliceon had done little to dispel that idea.
‘You asked me to let you know when the time was close to six o’clock.’
Trudy glanced at her wristwatch. The time wasn’t just close to six o’clock. It was six o’clock precisely. She blinked in amazement. Aliceon was also a master of punctuality.
‘It’s six o’clock already?’ Where the hell had the day gone? She flashed an apologetic smile at Harvey and said, ‘I need to make a start on something in the kitchen. It’s very important I get it done on time.’
He nodded. ‘Of course it is.’
He mumbled something about not having expected the photo shoot to go on for so long. Then he was picking up the business card he had handed her earlier and pushing it firmly into her fingers.
‘Take care of this. Please. If you have any questions you can call me anytime and we’ll talk. Anytime,’ he insisted.
It annoyed Trudy to see Aliceon pointedly observing the exchange. The maître d’ watched with unblinking eyes. Her inscrutable features didn’t show whether she approved, disapproved or even understood what she was watching. Without saying a word, Aliceon simply made it known that she was observing and not missing a single detail.
Trudy quashed her sense of indignation.
She took the card, thanked Harvey and started towards the kitchen. As she was moving away, weaving artfully between tables, acknowledging friends and acquaintances and avoiding waiters and waitresses, she half expected the photographer to call her back and tell her she must remain at her table until the set was complete. The further she walked, the more it surprised her that the man who was so meticulous about having a couple on each table in the background hadn’t noticed that she’d left Harvey alone.
Glancing