wedding cakes, that sort of thing. I’ve done it for years for friends and colleagues.’
He could see in her expression that it was what she loved doing. Which begged another question. ‘You didn’t think about making that your job when you left school?’
‘I did, but accountancy was safe.’ She grimaced. ‘We struggled a bit with money when I was growing up. So I wanted to have a safe job, one where I knew I wouldn’t have to struggle for money all the time—I even trained on the job rather than doing a degree first, so I didn’t have a mountain of debt when I finished studying.’
He’d never been short of money, but he could understand where she was coming from. ‘But what you really wanted to do was to decorate cakes.’
She nodded. ‘I’ve done some part-time courses. I did a week’s intensive course on sugarcraft, the year before last—how to do embroidery and lace-cut work and stencilling.’
He smiled. ‘Embroidery? That sounds more like fashion than baking to me.’
‘No, it’s a special sort of icing.’ She sat up and took out her mobile phone. ‘Like this one—I made this last month for a friend.’ She handed the phone to him.
He studied the photograph of the wedding cake with its delicate lace. ‘You made that?’
She nodded shyly.
‘Wow. Forgive me for being rude—I’m sure you’re very good at your day job—but you’re absolutely wasted there with a talent like this.’
She blushed. ‘Thank you.’
‘So you’re going to work from home?’
‘Sort of. I’ve rented a professional kitchen with a small flat above it. I moved in a couple of weeks before I came to Rome.’
‘So when you get back you’ll be setting up your kitchen?’
‘And making sure I meet all the hygiene standards—I’ve got a meeting booked in for when I get back. I’ve done the food safety courses and I’ve got up-to-date certificates, so it shouldn’t be a problem.’
Rico was intrigued. The way she lit up when she spoke about her cakes … ‘Do you have photographs of your other cakes?’
‘There’s a gallery on my website—except I don’t have Internet access on my phone when I’m out of England.’
‘I do.’ He took his phone out of his pocket and flicked into the Internet before handing the phone to her. ‘Show me.’
She brought up the page for him, and he looked through it. Her website was nice and clear; it had contact details and an enquiry form as well as giving potential customers an idea of prices, and the gallery of celebration cakes took his breath away.
‘These are amazing, Ella. So when did you start making cakes?’
‘When I was a teenager. Like I said, money was a bit tight when I was young—I couldn’t always afford to buy my friends a birthday present, but I could make them a special birthday cake, something nobody else would give them. My mum was a great cook, and she taught me how to do icing. And I worked in a bakery on Saturday mornings when I was at school; I learned more about different sorts of icing there.’
It sounded as if she’d had it hard, growing up. But he had a feeling that Ella had also had something that money couldn’t buy; the look on her face when she talked about her mother told Rico that Ella had been loved for who she was. Something he’d never really experienced. People only wanted him for what he could give them. His mother, for the hold it gave her over his father. His father, for the access to funds for his lifestyle. His grandparents, so he’d be the heir to the business.
What would it be like to be loved just for yourself?
He pushed the thoughts away. ‘What does your mum think about your business?’
Ella’s eyes grew suspiciously shiny and she blinked. ‘I think she would’ve said I was doing it the right way—following my dream, but having a back-up plan in case it didn’t quite work out.’ She swallowed hard. ‘Mum would’ve loved Rome. I just wish I’d had this lottery win a year ago.’
‘Your mother … she passed away?’ he asked as gently as he could.
‘Just over a year ago. She had breast cancer. Otherwise she would’ve come with me and I could have spoiled her—the way she should’ve been spoiled.’
Given that money had been a struggle when Ella was growing up, and she hadn’t mentioned her father at all, Rico guessed that the man had been either feckless or absent. But he wasn’t going to push Ella on that, in case she expected him to trade confidences. He didn’t want to talk about absent or feckless fathers: his had been both.
But he could appreciate that Ella missed her mother badly: a woman she’d loved dearly and who’d loved her all the way back. ‘Ah, bellezza.’ He put his arms round her and held her close. ‘I’m sorry you didn’t get to share Rome with your mum. But I’m selfish enough to be glad that I could share it with you.’
‘Yeah.’ She took a deep breath. ‘Sorry. I’m not going to go all maudlin on you. I’m trying to remember Mum with smiles, not tears. That’s how she was. The more rubbish life threw at her, the more she found to smile about.’
A million miles from his own mother—the more gifts life gave her, the more she found to grouse about, Rico thought. He stroked Ella’s hair. ‘I bet your friends loved their cakes.’ He would’ve been thrilled about someone giving him a present like that—something that had taken thought and time and effort, not just a pile of money thrown at it.
‘They did. Do, I should say.’ She smiled. ‘One of my friends designed that website for me on the understanding that I keep her in cupcakes for a month when I get back from Rome, and I make her a Christmas cake that even her mother-in-law can’t criticise.’
‘Yeah. Families can be too critical.’
She raised an eyebrow. ‘That sounds like experience talking.’
‘Not everyone has a wonderful family.’
‘You’re not close to yours?’
That was the understatement of the century. ‘No.’ And he didn’t want to talk about it. ‘But that’s fine. I’m happy in my job.’
‘So what’s your big dream?’ she asked ‘To write the ultimate tour guide?’
‘Not exactly.’ He didn’t actually have a dream. He’d been going through the motions for the last year, just concentrating on making the business be the best it could be and getting it ready for expansion. London, next; then Paris.
‘OK. Something crazier, then. To be a rock star?’ she suggested. ‘Or to design the best Italian sports car in the world?’
He laughed. ‘No. I’m fine with where I am now.’ Though even as he said the words, he knew they weren’t strictly true. There was something missing in his life. Except he had no idea what it was.
And thinking about that made him uncomfortable.
