Bride at Briar's Ridge. Margaret Way
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date some time soon. And eventually Chuck would inherit half of Gilgarra; he would get the other half. His dad couldn’t do anything about that. It had been Lincoln money, his mother’s dowry, that had given their father his giant step-up. Never let that be forgotten. They were entitled. Linc wouldn’t believe in Cheryl’s providing their father with yet another heir until he held the baby in his own hands.
When he arrived at the bistro he found it crowded with happy customers. Aldo, a most genial man, caught sight of him and hurried towards him, beckoning. ‘Buon giorno, Linc. You want lunch? I can find you a table.’ His dark eyes swiftly scanned the room for a spot to fit in a single table.
Linc smiled, looking around him. ‘Everyone looks happy. Business is booming.’
‘My darling Daniela must take the credit,’ Aldo said, goodnaturedly leaning a hand on Linc’s shoulder. ‘She’s running the kitchen. Word gets around. We’re banked up Wednesday through Friday. We like her to relax at the weekend. She’s a genius in the kitchen. She is teaching us all such a lot.’
‘In that case, it’s lunch.’ He smiled. ‘And I was hoping to speak to Daniela when she’s not busy.’
‘I don’t see why not.’ Aldo looked closely into Linc’s eyes. ‘You’ve bought the Callaghan farm?’
‘All settled. I was hoping Daniela might like to take a look at the homestead. You, too, when it suits. It’s good to have a woman’s opinion on furnishings. Especially one with such style.’
Aldo blew a gentle breath. ‘The man who wins my Daniela will be getting a goddess,’ he said.
‘Lovely thought!’ Linc smiled back.
For the next hour Linc enjoyed food the gods might order. Aldo was right. His little Daniela was one hell of a chef. He didn’t have to wonder why she had chosen that particular career. Her family had always been involved in restaurants, Aldo had told him. It had been a big upheaval coming to Australia, and they had arrived with little money, but in the end it had been well worth it.
Linc had found that eating and drinking was a national pastime in Italy, and that little bars, cafés and bistros were the mainstay of Italian life. He had loved the markets and all the wonderful fresh produce. Every city, every town, every village had at least one. He remembered how the women had appeared to spend a large part of their day—every day—going to the markets. Food and its preparation was a very serious business.
Daniela would have gravitated to a chef’s career naturally. Not that what was on the menu here was solely Italian food. Definitely no pizzas. Linc started off with smoked eggplant with a marvellous crab sauce, followed by abbacchio alla Romana, which simply meant baby lamb, Roman-style. It melted in his mouth. He thought he couldn’t fit in a dessert—he wasn’t used to eating a big meal midday, or even stopping work a lot of the time—but a slice of the mascarpone sponge with a berry and rum sauce looked irresistible. A man could fall in love with Daniela for her cooking alone, though she looked as far away from being a chef as he could imagine.
Aldo beamed at him, staying to share a glass of wine, treating him as a favourite customer. At least he was in favour with Daniela’s grandad. The mother and father—the Adamis—were an exceptionally good-looking couple but, although charming, weren’t quite so warmly welcoming as Aldo. Linc supposed they were wondering about him. Who he was. What he wanted. On the couple of occasions he had called in he must have betrayed his interest in their beautiful daughter.
He was lingering over his coffee when Daniela surprised him by coming to his table. Most of their customers had left by now, expressing very positive comments and indicating they would be coming back.
‘You wanted to see me?’
That was the biggest understatement of all time, he thought, overtaken by dense emotion, fierce in its strength.
He stood up immediately, his heart wrenching yet again as he looked on her beautiful face. There was such grace about her, such refinement, sensitivity, the promise of passion. She was dressed very simply, in a crisp white shirt and black skirt, her lustrous hair clipped back behind her ears.
‘I did, as a matter of fact,’ he said. ‘Could you join me for a minute?’ He moved swiftly to hunt up another chair.
‘I’m finished for the afternoon,’ she said, sitting down and looking up at him—half expectantly, half what? He wasn’t sure, but her great eyes glittered. ‘So I take it the deal went through?’
He resumed his seat. ‘It was settled yesterday. I am now the master of Briar’s Ridge.’
‘Now, why does that sound like Briar’s Ridge is the first in a chain?’ she asked.
He was a bit startled. ‘I like a challenge.’
‘I know you do.’
‘More of that woman’s intuition?’ His eyes locked on hers. ‘Don’t worry, I’m not knocking it. I have ambitions, Daniela. But you must know all about ambition. You’ve studied and worked hard. Le Cordon-Bleu, wasn’t it, in Paris? Then London? You’re rising to the top of your game. And you’re what—twenty-four, twenty-five?’
‘Does that matter?’ She gave an expressive shrug of her delicate shoulders.
‘Yes,’ he answered bluntly. ‘I can tell you I’m twenty-eight, so why can’t—’
‘Twenty-five,’ she supplied. ‘It is as you’ve said. I did have to study and work extremely hard to rise to the top in a very tough business. There was a time when I wanted other things.’
‘Like what?’ he asked, needing to know.
Her beautiful eyes were distant in thought. ‘I wanted to go to university full-time. I was a good student. I could have got into any course I wanted. I was very interested in art history, psychology, the law—oh, lots of things. I wanted to stretch my wings. But there simply wasn’t the money. I had to accept that. All of us have had to work hard. We’ve had to make a go of things. I was needed at home. It was actually an elderly relative who eventually became my benefactor and sent me to Paris. I had four years of schoolgirl French, which was a help. The deal was it had to be food. I was to become a chef.’
‘Well, do you enjoy it?’ His family had lacked lots of things, but not money.
Her lovely mouth curved in a smile. ‘Of course I do. I’m Italian. I’m a woman. You could say my career was clear cut. My benefactor, for instance, wouldn’t have advanced the money had I wanted to study Fine Arts.’
‘How strange,’ he said, thinking it was. ‘But going on the reaction of your lunchtime customers you’re a big hit. I was one of them, and what I had was superb.’
She gave a little laugh. ‘I can do better. Lots better. I have to consider what our customers would like.’
‘So you’re telling me I don’t know the best?’
‘No, no.’ She shook her head, looking embarrassed. ‘I’m just saying…’
‘I know.’ He relented.
‘You went to university?’ She stared at him, unable to help herself. He was almost a stranger, yet she had a real sense of familiarity.
‘I have a degree in Economics,’ he told her. ‘Not entirely useless.’ Abruptly he caught hold of her fingertips. He hadn’t meant to. It had just happened. ‘Who’s been cruel to you?’
She tried to withdraw her hand.
He held on. ‘Well?’ The tormented look on her face stopped him. He let her go.
‘This is a mistake, Carl,’ she said.
‘Please don’t go.’ He was terrified she would. ‘I’m sorry. I came to ask if you would like to see over Briar’s Ridge.’
She paused uncertainly. ‘What? Out of curiosity?’