The Secret Ingredient. Nina Harrington
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smoochy glances in his direction. Hair flicking and quick-fire reapplication of lip gloss seemed to be the order of the day.
‘So I see,’ Lottie replied with the same fixed, professional smile that she had used all evening, the one that made her jaw ache. ‘The owner has a very useful gallery plan. You will find it just over there. Behind the barman’s head.’
Lottie pointed to the large display on the wall next to the drinks table, which was slowly emptying as the remaining guests wandered out onto the terrace to enjoy the cool late-evening air before heading home.
‘What’s the matter, Rob? Need to make your escape before the girls pounce on you?’
The smile dropped from the handsome man’s face and he half turned and flashed her the withering, contemptuous look that had made him notorious in the hard-nosed cookery shows, but had no place at all in a fine-art exhibition.
It was nothing like as angry as the look he had given her when he had fired her but Lottie reared back and pretended to dodge to one side. ‘Oh, my. Are those daggers aimed at me? I do hope that the wind won’t change because you would not want your face to stick like that.’
Then she leant forwards a little and winked. ‘I worked in banking for many years. So the hard approach is wasted on me. Same goes for sighing loudly and frowning. Been there, done that. Not putting up with it a moment longer.’
Rob’s eyebrows shot up and he stared at her in what looked like real astonishment.
To her delight the hard line of his mouth lifted up into the tiniest of smiles. ‘Okay. Let’s try it your way,’ he replied in a low, hoarse voice that almost trembled with suppressed energy. ‘Excuse me, Miss Rosemount, but could you please direct me to the back way out of the gallery through the kitchens?’
Her hands got busy stacking her bakery platters into a wide plastic crate. ‘Of course, Mr Beresford. If you go through those two swing doors and walk about ten metres past the dishwasher there is a fire door to the main staircase to the building. It comes out at the loading bay at the back of the gallery.’
His reply was a quick ‘thanks’ as he strolled past her at jogging speed, one hand in his pocket as though he were boarding a yacht.
‘You’re welcome,’ she murmured to his back.
What was that all about?
Or rather who was that all about?
Lottie swung the final platter and table cover into the carry crate and looked up to scan the room.
He certainly did not want to see someone here this evening. But who? Most of the critics had left when the food ran out and Adele had been around the gallery at least ten times over the last two hours, explaining each and every piece to them before returning to the bar for a refill.
Perhaps he had seen a former girlfriend he did not want to be photographed with? Or maybe one of the rival chefs on the bake-off contest had turned up and was itching for extra publicity.
There must be someone. Then a flash of blue sparkle just in front of one of the largest paintings caught her attention, followed by a peal of very loud and very over-the-top female laughter.
And Lottie’s heart sank.
Because suddenly the reason for Rob Beresford’s desire to explore other exits from the gallery became startling clear.
It was Adele Forrester.
And she had just staggered into one of the major installations from a very famous artist. It was by pure chance that the gallery owner had caught it in time to prevent a major disaster. On their opening night.
Ouch.
The problem was that Adele was treating it as a huge joke. Her hands were waving in the air but as she stepped forwards it was only too obvious that she was way too unsteady on her feet to be standing up.
Oh, Adele! Cold tablets plus champagne were a bad combination.
Any minute now she was going to fall over and embarrass and humiliate herself, which was the very last thing she needed!
Yep. Back door.
In a second she whipped off her apron and dropped it into the crate.
‘Adele.’ Lottie smiled as she strolled as casually as she could manage up to the stunningly dressed woman who was clinging on to the slightly intoxicated and more-than-slightly terrified gallery owner.
Adele turned towards her a little too quickly and her legs gave a definite wobble but Lottie stepped forwards, hooked her arm around Adele’s, and took her weight before anyone had a chance to notice. ‘I feel so guilty. I promised to save you some of that lemon drizzle cake you loved so much and now there are only three pieces left.’ Then she grinned and snuggled closer as though they were the best of pals and intent on a girl huddle. ‘I have kept them hidden in the kitchen for you. If you are ready?’
With one final laugh in the direction of the very relieved gallery owner, Adele clung on to Lottie and chatted merrily about how much she loved London. And cake. And champagne. But somehow Lottie held Adele mostly upright as they very slowly and sedately crossed the gallery and with one push they were through the doors and into the kitchen.
One bar stool and a plastic cake box later, Lottie could finally catch her breath and rub some life back into her arm. Give it five minutes and they would be on their way.
The sound of heavy male footsteps taking the stairs two at a time echoed up and Lottie closed her eyes.
Rob burst into the kitchen, his gaze taking in the scene, eyes flashing, dark and powerful. Accusing and angry. Full of that same fire and mistrust as the last time that they had met.
‘What’s going on?’ he asked, and he jerked his chin higher with every word.
‘Adele needs some air and lemon drizzle cake. I was helping her to get both. Okay?’
The Rob she had met three years ago had been obscenely confident of who he was. Master of the universe. Demanding and expecting everyone to worship his talent and magnificence. And that man was right here in the room all over again.
‘I can take it from here. She’s fine. Just fine.’
But as she nodded Lottie was incapable of dragging her gaze from those stunning eyes.
And the longer she looked, the more she recognised something so startling and surprising that it unnerved her.
Rob might appear to be the most confident and put-together and in-control man that she had ever met, but in those eyes she recognised anxiety and concern.
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