resisted, toyed with the linguine she’d ordered. He didn’t leap in, try to push her.
‘The first thing is to establish the brand,’ she said, at last.
‘Brand?’ He frowned. ‘We’re not one of Nash’s fast-food outlets.’
She dismissed his remark with an impatient gesture. ‘Don’t be so narrow in your thinking, Max.’ Then, ‘What do you think brings someone through the door of a Bella Lucia restaurant?’
‘It depends which someone. Which restaurant. They’re each unique. Individual in style, atmosphere. A man who met his colleagues for a business lunch at Berkeley Square would probably choose to take his wife for dinner in Knightsbridge, might have a coming-of-age celebration for one of his children in Chelsea.’
‘Who would he take to Qu’Arim?’
He thought about it. Thought who he’d take there, then shook his head to clear the image he had of Louise there. With him.
‘A woman he was in love with,’ he said. Then, ‘The oasis is the very essence of romance.’
‘A very over-used word.’ She regarded him for a moment, then said, ‘If it was a fabric, what would it be?’
‘A fabric?’
‘Cotton?’ she offered. ‘No? Cashmere? Tweed? Velvet? Linen? Silk?’ She ticked them off on her fingers.
‘Silk,’ he said. ‘With a touch of cashmere.’
‘And if it was a time of day?’
‘Night,’ he said, before she could list the options. ‘Black with a sliver of moon, stars close enough to touch.’
‘Every man a desert sheikh, every woman his captive slave? That’s not romance, Max, that’s a sexual fantasy.’
‘Is that bad?’
‘Probably not,’ she admitted, a touch ruefully. ‘It’s not very PC to say this but sex sells.’ Then, more to herself than him, ‘I wonder what a woman’s response would be.’
His smile was slow, thoughtful. ‘I’ll take you there. Then you can tell me.’
‘I’m the one conducting a market survey,’ she said, swiftly evading the elephant trap she’d so carelessly dug for herself. ‘Tell me more.’
He needed no prompting to describe the setting of the resort, the undiluted luxury. ‘We’re very fortunate, Lou. Surim could have had his pick of international restaurateurs.’
‘The old school tie is still worth something, then.’
‘If you’re going to save someone from a beating, it might as well be a future head of state,’ he agreed.
Louise shook her head. ‘Sorry. I didn’t mean to be quite that cynical. I know you’re good friends. Do you still play polo in his team?’
‘Not recently. It’s tough finding time to keep match fit.’
‘You need to get out from behind the desk, Max. All work and no play—’
‘Says the lady who’s just worked a ten-hour day.’
‘Twelve, actually.’ She pulled a face, shrugged. ‘I was at the office at eight. But it’s only while I’m working on the HOTfood relaunch.’ Then, quickly, moving on before he could say anything about pots and kettles, ‘Okay, tell me about the food at the new restaurant. Mediterranean? Arabic? What is there beyond tabbouleh, hummus, the mezza?’
He smiled at her ignorance. ‘Arab cuisine was once the most sophisticated in the entire world, Louise, embraced by the mediaeval courts of Europe.’
‘Really? I like that. Tell me more.’
As she pushed him for details, forcing him to reach beyond the basics, Max actually began to relax, feel that this was, after all, going to be possible.
‘I meant it when I said I’d take you there. I’d like you to see it for yourself.’
‘And after Qu’Arim, what then?’ she asked, not picking up on his invitation, but not refusing it, either. ‘How far and how fast are you planning to take this?’
‘How big is the world? The Americas, Asia, Europe.’
‘Europe? Have you considered Meridia?’
‘Obviously it’s on the list.’
‘I suggest you put it at the top. Bella Lucia catered for the coronation, and now that your sister is Queen I’d have a bidding war from the gossip mags to cover the opening of a new restaurant there.’
‘We don’t display our clientele for the media, Lou. We give them privacy.’
‘Okay, I could use that as an angle. Pictures of the interior preopening offering a glimpse of something most people will never see. Mystery, privacy, the unattainable. A glimpse of lace is always more intriguing than total nudity.’
Max found himself staring at the cashmere sweater Louise was wearing. It was some complicated wrap-around thing that crossed over her breasts, offering no more than a suggestion of cleavage, a promise of hidden delights. She didn’t have to explain the allure of the unattainable to him. He’d lived with it for as long as he could remember.
CHAPTER TWO
‘THAT rather depends on who’s wearing the lace,’ Max said abruptly. ‘And what she looks like when she’s shed it.’
Louise raised an eyebrow. What was eating him?
‘You’ve spent more time in Meridia than I have,’ he went on, before she could ask. ‘What are the options for us there?’
She shrugged, let it go. ‘What are the limits of your imagination? Somewhere really sumptuous high up in the old part of the capital, near the castle. Or maybe something completely different. A place where families could sit outside and eat in the summer. Maybe somewhere with a dock, since everybody seems to have a boat.’
Seeing it in her mind’s eye, she was suddenly seized with enthusiasm, her thoughts running faster than she could say them.
‘A lakeside pavilion, perhaps. Something…’
‘Something what?’ Max prompted.
‘Um…Something simple, uncluttered, informal,’ she said, suddenly realising that she was using her hands to describe her thoughts. She’d always done that. Her mother used to say it was her Italian ancestry coming out. Nonsense, of course. There was no Italian connection; John Valentine had been born before his father had ever met Lucia. But then her entire history had been founded on lies…
‘How soon can you wind up your business and join us, Louise?’ he asked, cutting into the black thoughts that threatened to engulf her.
Bringing her back to earth.
‘Excuse
