style="font-size:15px;"> ‘Joanna, cara!’ He gave her his usual double kiss.
‘Hi, Angelo, this is March Aubrey.’
‘Good to meet you,’ said March, holding out his hand.
‘Piacere,’ said Angelo, shaking it enthusiastically. ‘Welcome.’ He led them to one of the twin bay windows, and seated Joanna with a flourish at the last unoccupied table in the buzzing restaurant.
‘I shall send someone to give you menus, but do not order drinks. Champagne waits ready chilled for you. On the house, with Molly’s compliments,’ he added.
‘How lovely—do thank her for us,’ said Joanna.
‘VIP treatment,’ commented March, impressed, as Angelo went off to summon a waiter.
‘Partly because I used to work here,’ Jo informed him. ‘And partly to impress the first-time customer who’s paying tonight.’
‘Is that still worrying you, Joanna?’
‘No. So stop looking down your nose at me.’
He grinned and sat back as a waitress put a carafe of water on the table, slid menus in front of them and then gave way to a waiter bearing champagne in an ice bucket. March looked on with approval as the man held the cork and twisted the bottle, and achieved a perfect wisp of smoke instead of a loud pop.
‘What do you recommend, Joanna?’ asked March, when they were left to study the menus.
‘I’ve never eaten any meal here that was less than delicious,’ she told him, fervently hoping that tonight would be no exception.
Eventually they both chose crab soufflé tarts to start, followed by the gin-tenderised lamb, and as they sat back to enjoy their champagne Angelo appeared with an amuse bouche—a liqueur glass of iced tomato consommé.
‘Enjoy your meal,’ he said, and retreated to his post to keep an expert eye on the crowded room.
‘That packed quite a punch,’ remarked March, eying the empty glass with respect. ‘A hint of vodka?’
Jo nodded. ‘And a pinch of cayenne—maybe even chilli.’
‘Augurs well for the rest of the meal.’ March raised his champagne glass in toast. ‘What shall we drink to?’
‘Friendship,’ she said firmly.
He smiled and touched his glass to hers. ‘Close friendship.’
To Jo’s relief the meal was everything she had hoped for. When Molly joined them at the end of it, bearing petit fours to accompany their coffee, March rose to thank her for the champagne, and said, with complete sincerity, that the only meal he’d enjoyed as much in recent memory had been Joanna’s Beef Wellington.
‘Why, thank you,’ said Molly, her face flushed with pleasure. ‘I taught her well, didn’t I?’
Molly stayed chatting for a while, then left to talk with the other diners on her way back to her domain.
‘You see now why I refused pudding,’ said Joanna, eyeing the selection of petits fours.
‘She’s quite a surprise,’ said March, watching Molly’s progress.
‘Because she’s small and blonde?’
‘No, because she’s so young.’
‘Molly must be thirty-three or so now. But she’s always had tunnel vision about owning her own restaurant.’ Joanna smiled. ‘Her success was never in doubt, according to Jack.’
‘He was right. Is a full house the norm here for a Saturday night?’
‘It’s the norm most nights—and Christmas is frantic. Molly does a sideline in seasonal corporate parties and so on, but she would never let me help out at those.’ Jo pulled a face. ‘She kept me firmly in the kitchen, so I refined my cooking skills instead of getting my bottom pinched. Though things rarely get out of hand. Molly’s a terror if anyone hits on one of her girls—or boys, if it comes to that.’
March smiled. ‘And what role does Angelo play?’
‘Peace-keeper. He’s the arch-soother of ruffled feathers—including hers. And don’t be fooled by the movie star looks. He’s got a great head for business, plus an encyclopaedic knowledge of wine. He’s also her partner in private.’
“And that works?’
‘Like a charm. Even Molly admits he’s the one person who can handle her.’
March glanced over to the bar, where Angelo was laughing with some departing customers. ‘You’re right about the looks.’
‘He’s also really loving and funny. They suit each other.’ Jo smiled at him. ‘Shall we have more coffee at home?’
March rose with alacrity. ‘I’ll just settle up.’
As she chatted to Angelo, Jo couldn’t help noticing that March paid the not inconsiderable amount, including a sizeable tip for the staff, in cash, instead of the usual credit card. Not that she would spoil things by mentioning it.
On the way home she couldn’t help wondering if he meant to seize her the moment they were through her door, demanding balm for the wound she’d dealt to his pride earlier. But March merely took her key to unlock her door, then followed her to the kitchen to watch while she made coffee.
‘That was a superb meal,’ he commented. ‘Your friend Molly’s right up there with the best in chef terms. And yet you say she worked for your father before she struck out on her own?’
‘Yes. Jack took her on straight out of catering college. She says she honed her skills on him.’
March hefted the tray to follow her to the parlour, but before he could start doing sums about Molly and her father Jo preempted him with a question of her own.
‘Do you have any siblings, March?’
He took the coffee she offered him and sat down. ‘One sister a couple of years my junior, married to a film producer, and a brother several years younger,’ he added, sobering.
‘Is he a gardener, too?’
‘No.’
Jo waited, but when he said nothing more she drank her coffee in silence, trying not to feel offended.
‘He was in a car accident when he was in college,’ said March at last.
‘Was he badly hurt?’
‘Severe concussion, broken jaw and a mangled leg. The driver got off with a few cuts and bruises, loss of licence and a charge of dangerous driving. He was lucky to get away with a heavy fine instead of a custodial sentence.’
Jo eyed him with compassion. ‘That must have been terrible for you.’
‘I
