chocolate muffins and Bea out with melon-ball-sized scoops of rich vanilla ice cream covered in white chocolate and served on a cocktail stick.
The platters all came back with just a couple of canapés left on each. Good. She’d judged the quantities just right: enough to leave Felicity’s guests replete but not enough to be wasteful. Years of having to struggle to pay off the overdraft Jeff had run up in her name—an overdraft he’d spent on his mistress—meant that Lily absolutely loathed waste. Quietly pleased, she concentrated on clearing up.
She’d just finished when Felicity Browne came in. ‘Lily, darling, that was stupendous.’
‘Thank you.’ Lily had learned not to protest that no, no, she was just average. There was no room for false modesty, in business. She wanted her clients to feel reassured that they’d made the right choice in using Amazing Tastes for their catering needs, and accepting their compliments helped to do that.
‘Those little choux buns…’ Felicity began wistfully.
Lily smiled, guessing exactly what Felicity wanted. ‘I’ll send you the recipe. And you don’t have to make the choux pastry if that’s a hassle for you. You can serve the mousse on its own, in little coffee cups—just garnish them with a couple of chocolate-covered coffee beans and maybe a sprig of mint for colour.’
Felicity laughed. ‘That’s exactly why I always ask you to do my parties. You’re so good at those little extra touches.’
‘Thank you.’ Lily acknowledged the compliment with a smile.
She stayed just long enough to make the polite social chat she knew was expected of her, made one last check that she’d left Felicity’s kitchen completely spotless, then dropped Hannah at her house on the way home. As she took her equipment out of the van and put it away Lily couldn’t help thinking about Karim. And even though she knew it was crazy and it was way too late to call him, she fished inside her handbag for his business card.
Though it wasn’t in the little pocket where she usually kept business cards. Odd. She’d developed a habit of filing things away neatly—they were easier to find, that way.
She checked the rest of her bag. It wasn’t there, either.
Impossible. She was sure she’d put it in her bag.
And then she thought back. When she’d returned to the mini-crisis in the kitchen, she’d probably put the card on the worktop instead of her handbag, knowing that before she did anything else she needed to reassure her staff and stop them panicking.
Which meant that the card had probably been swept up with the refuse and thrown away.
Damn, damn, damn.
She could hardly phone Felicity and ask if she could rummage through the bin. And she definitely couldn’t ask her for Karim’s number or the guest list, because that would be completely unprofessional and Elizabeth Finch was never, but never, unprofessional.
Well, OK, occasionally she acted unprofessionally. As she had on a certain balcony, a couple of hours earlier that evening, when she’d kissed a tall, dark, handsome stranger. Really kissed him. And if they hadn’t been interrupted, who knew what would have happened?
But it was over now.
Which she knew was for the best. Karim and his exotic amber eyes had tempted her to break all her personal rules. Losing his card had done her a favour—it had saved her from herself.
Karim was working through a set of figures when his phone rang. He answered it absently. ‘Karim al-Hassan.’
‘Your Highness, it’s Felicity Browne. I wanted to thank you for these gorgeous roses.’
‘My pleasure,’ he said. He’d sent Rafiq, his assistant, to deliver a bouquet thanking her for her hospitality, along with a handwritten note of thanks. ‘And please call me Karim.’ He didn’t insist on using his title in England, preferring people to be more relaxed with him.
‘Karim,’ she repeated obediently. ‘Hardly anyone even writes a note nowadays, let alone sends such a lovely gift, especially on a Sunday,’ she continued. ‘Anyway, I won’t keep you—I’m sure you’re busy. But I couldn’t just take these flowers for granted.’
He smiled. ‘I’m glad you liked them. Actually, I had planned to call you later today.’ He’d discovered this morning that he had a problem, and he hoped that Felicity would be able to give him a quick solution. ‘The food last night was fabulous.’
‘Thank you. But I’m afraid I can’t take the credit for anything other than choosing the menu, and even in that I think I was guided,’ Felicity admitted with a little laugh.
‘Your staff?’ he asked.
‘Sadly not—it’s a catering firm, Amazing Tastes.’
A very accurate name, Karim thought.
‘I’ve asked Elizabeth Finch—the owner—several times if she’d come and work for me, offered her stupendous amounts of money, but she won’t let anyone tie her down. I was lucky she could fit me in, because she’s usually booked up for months in advance,’ Felicity confided.
So the cook was freelance. Good. That meant there wouldn’t be a problem asking her to cater for his presentations. Even though Felicity would probably have allowed him to poach her personal cook for a few days, this avoided any awkward obligations.
‘Actually, I’m looking for a good caterer for some business presentations.’ He’d had a caterer lined up. But as her sister had had a baby that morning, two months early, Claire had phoned him in a panic, saying that she needed to drop everything and look after her niece while her sister spent all her time at the special care baby unit. Except Claire’s sister lived in Cornwall, a good five hours away—and as Claire was her only family, there was nobody else to do it.
He knew what it was like when family needed you to drop everything. He’d done it himself. So, although it left him in a jam, he wasn’t going to give Claire a hard time about it. He still had enough time to fix things. ‘I wondered if I could trouble you for your caterer’s contact details?’ he asked.
‘Of course, but, as I said, she’s very in demand,’ Felicity warned. ‘Though if she can’t fit you in she might be able to suggest someone. She’s good like that.’
Better and better.
‘Let me get my contact book.’ There was a pause; then Felicity dictated Elizabeth Finch’s phone number and address.
Karim scribbled it down as she spoke. ‘Thank you, Felicity.’
‘My pleasure. And thank you again for the flowers.’
When he replaced the receiver, he flicked onto the Internet and looked up the address. Islington. A nice part of it. So she’d have a price tag to match.
Though money wasn’t an issue. He needed quality—and he’d tasted that for himself, the previous evening. He glanced at his watch. Right now, a busy freelance caterer would be smack in the middle of preparations for an evening event, so this wasn’t the best time to discuss a booking. He’d call in tomorrow at nine; from experience, he knew that face-to-face meetings were more effective than phone
