‘Where else?’ said Mario dryly.
Eleri laughed, and went upstairs, knowing perfectly well her parents would be deep in discussion over their elder daughter the moment she was through the door. In the bathroom she shared with Nico, Eleri let herself down into hot, scented water with a sigh of relief, grateful that her mother appreciated her need for time to herself. She loved her family, but, unlike Claudia, who’d been perfectly happy to live at home and work in the family business, Eleri had enough of her independent Welsh mother in her to need her own space from time to time. She missed her work at Northwold—and James—so badly that sometimes it was a struggle to disguise the fact from her parents, who knew nothing of her fight to forget James Kincaid. Eleri’s sloe-black eyes kindled at the memory of his suspicions. Forget him she might. In time. But forgiving him was something else entirely.
At least she was lucky to get the bathroom to herself tonight, she thought with a grin. Nico wanted to be a football star, not a restaurateur. But whether he achieved his ambition or not the security of the trattoria would always be waiting for him. Just as the coffee-shop had lain inexorably in wait for herself.
Eleri sighed, got out of the bath, and pulled on jeans and thick yellow sweater. She dried her hair, anchored the front strands behind her ears, then thrust her throbbing feet into soft boots bought on a visit to her grandparents in the Veneto the previous spring. She stared into the mirror moodily. She was the odd one out in the family in more ways than one; the only one with the Welsh name Catrin had insisted on for her first child. Claudia had fair curling hair and blue eyes, like their father, but Eleri’s straight black hair and wide-set dark eyes came from her Welsh mother. It was a family joke that Eleri looked more Italian than any of the family—even Nico, whose mane of wild black hair and brilliant blue eyes played havoc with the girls in school.
When Eleri was clearing up after her solitary, peaceful supper the phone rang.
‘Cara,’ said her father. ‘Marco told me a man was asking for you in the restaurant earlier.’
‘Who, Pop?’
‘Like an idiot Marco forgot to ask—it is busy in there tonight.’
Eleri was curious as she put the phone down. Surely Toby hadn’t been misguided enough to come looking for her at the trattoria? She’d been forced to tell her parents why she’d resigned from Northwold, and her father had needed much spirited argument from his womenfolk to prevent him rushing up to London to confront the young man he’d never approved of for his daughter, however casual the relationship. Not that Mario approved of any man for his daughters. Fortunately Claudia had married a solid, dependable young man with a steady job in an accounting firm. But secretly Eleri knew very well she was Mario’s darling, partly because she was the one who argued with him most and stood up to him, but mainly because she was the image of her mother at the same age. And because of it he was harder on her than on his other children. A man would have to be something very special indeed before Mario Conti approved of him for his elder daughter.
Not, thought Eleri morosely, that her father had need to worry on that score at the moment, if ever. After confronting Toby in London she’d refused to speak to him on the phone, and after the first few days he’d given up. Nowadays she worked a six-day week, which ruled out weekends in London with Vicky. She did her best to put on a good face, but sometimes she felt claustrophobic, even caged, and missed James Kincaid far more than she missed Toby. The day James arrived at the Gloucestershire plant of Northwold Eleri had taken one look at him and known that she would stay with him all her working life if he wanted her to. But in a few short minutes of trading Toby Maynard had put an end to her time at Northwold, and changed her life for ever.
The coffee-shop was very busy next day. Saturday always brought more shoppers into town and a gratifyingly large number of them came into Conti’s for hot drinks to keep out the biting January cold. Just before midday, when Eleri was taking a few minutes in the little room at the back, glad of some coffee and a breather before the lunchtime rush resumed in earnest, one of her assistants popped round the door.
‘Sorry to interrupt—a customer’s asking for you.’
‘Who is it, Luisa?’ said Eleri, getting up. ‘Anything wrong with her meal?’
‘No.’ The girl grinned. ‘It’s a him, not a her, and he hasn’t had a meal yet. Gianni’s just making a sandwich for him. I thought you might prefer to serve it to this particular customer—table ten.’
The table was against the window in the far comer of the café, and seated at it, reading a newspaper, was James Kincaid. Eleri’s heart turned a somersault under her dark red sweater, but her hand was steady as she set a beautifully garnished sandwich in front of him. He put the paper down and jumped to his feet, smiling in a way which did nothing to slow her heartbeat.
‘Eleri—thank you. I hoped you’d spare me a minute. Won’t you join me?’
She smiled politely. ‘I’m afraid not. This is our busy time. Do sit down again.’
‘I can’t if you don’t.’
Eleri cast a swift glance towards the counter, where her two assistants were trying to hide their curiosity while they worked. For the moment the café was only half full, and it was obvious they could cope.
‘Mr Kincaid—’ she began, seating herself.
‘Now we’re on your territory couldn’t you make it James?’ He bit into the sandwich with appreciation. ‘Mmm, this is good. Where do you get the salmon?’
‘From the market. We buy all our produce there.’ She sat, composed, waiting for him to explain his presence. He looked very different in sweater and heavy tweed trousers, a waxed jacket slung over the back of his chair. The mere sight of him gave Eleri a sharp pang of longing for Northwold, her job—and James.
‘How are you?’ he asked.
‘I’m fine,’ she assured him, knowing she sounded cold in her effort to hide her pleasure at the sight of him.
‘It took some detective work to find out where you were. This, I take it, was the job waiting for you whenever you said the word?’
Eleri nodded. ‘My parents were shocked by my resignation from Northwold, of course, but otherwise they were delighted to welcome the prodigal back to the fold.’
‘Which brings me to my reason for coming here,’ he said, leaning forward.
‘Excuse me, Eleri,’ interrupted a diffident voice. ‘The bakery’s on the phone.’
‘Right, Gianni.’ Eleri got up, smiling at James in rueful apology.
‘Excuse me.’
The phone call was lengthy, involving confirmation of extra supplies for the wedding party they were catering for next day. By the time Eleri was free every table in the café was full, and James Kincaid was on his feet, dressed ready for the street as he handed her the bill and money for his lunch.
‘I won’t hold you up any longer,’ he said as she gave him his change.
‘Sorry. We’re always busy on Saturdays.’
‘I called in last night, but you’d already gone.’ He paused. ‘Do you work in the evenings?’
She shook her
