Anything but Vanilla

chapter TEN



Strength is the ability to open a tub of ice cream and eat just one spoonful.

—from Rosie’s ‘Little Book of Ice Cream’

‘Graeme?’

Sorrel blinked, slowly. He’d said that in exactly the same way as Graeme had said, ‘Alexander?’

‘Graeme Laing,’ she said. ‘He’s my financial advisor.’

His eyes searched her face, so close that she could see the starburst of navy blue that gave his eyes their ocean depths. The flecks of turquoise around the outer edge of his iris that lent a gemstone intensity to the colour. ‘A little more than that, I think.’

‘No...’ The denial sprang to her lips, heat to her cheeks. It wasn’t that she didn’t blush, apparently, only that the occasion hadn’t arisen before. But whereas Graeme had accepted her dismissal of Alexander as ‘just a friend of Ria’s’, Alexander had instantly sensed that there was something more. ‘I met him when he gave a lecture on business start-ups at university. I talked to him afterwards, asked his advice. He’s been my mentor ever since.’

‘He’s not keen on dogs, I understand.’

Thank you, Gran...

‘He’s not wild about dog hair,’ she admitted, ‘but right now he’s more concerned about Knickerbocker Gloria. He’s advising me to let Ria go to the wall so that I can pick up the pieces for peanuts, then pay students the minimum wage to produce her ices. Pretty much what you suggested, in fact.’

‘It’s good advice,’ he said, his hand slipping away from her shoulder. No-o-o... ‘You should take it.’

‘Probably,’ she managed, through a throat thick with words, explanations that had no meaning. He had kissed her as if he had no ties, no bond. And she had responded as if Graeme did not exist because at the moment, when Alexander’s lips had touched hers, he hadn’t. ‘He’s helping me attain my ambition to be a millionaire by the time I’m twenty-five.’

‘Then you should definitely take it.’ He didn’t look impressed by her ambition, but at least he hadn’t laughed. ‘How much time do you have left?’

‘Only a couple of years,’ she said. ‘And while my business brain knows that Graeme is right, that you are right, given a choice between friendship and ambition, there’s no contest. I’ll take on Knickerbocker Gloria, but only if I can have Ria as a partner.’

He regarded her thoughtfully. ‘Are you sure about that?’

‘I’m not sure about anything, Alexander.’ It wasn’t just her business world that was falling apart; her life plan was crumbling to bits. ‘The only thing I’m certain of right now is that you should have worn cricket whites instead of shorts. You’re going to make my students look pasty.’

‘I didn’t realise it was an option but don’t worry about it. No one is going to be noticing what those boys are wearing. Everyone will be looking at the girls.’

‘All the men will be looking at the girls,’ she said as he turned those blue eyes on the young women in their ribbon-trimmed ice-cream-coloured dresses. All the women would be looking at him. ‘Would you like me to introduce you?’ she asked. ‘From left to right we have raspberry ripple, lemon cheesecake, Mexican vanilla, cherryberry sundae, coffee mocha cream and strawberry shortcake, also known as Lucy, Amika, Kylie, Poppy, Jane and Sienna.’

‘Very pretty, but you were right about too much sweetness being cloying,’ he said. ‘I’ll stick with cucumber surprise.’

‘What’s the surprise?’

He grinned down at her. ‘Crisp and cool on the surface but with a soft centre and an unexpected kick of heat when you bite into it.’

That would be the heat burning in her cheeks. She had to put a stop to this before everything spun out of control. Now!

‘You’ve got it totally wrong,’ she declared. ‘This dress is pistachio praline.’

He shook his head. ‘Pistachio has more yellow in it and mint,’ he continued, before she could argue, ‘has more blue. That dress is definitely cucumber. Trust me. I’m a doctor.’

‘Are you?’ Stupid question. Of course he was. One who was intimately acquainted with plant life and undoubtedly knew what he was talking about. ‘Then, I’m afraid, Dr West, you’re a little over-qualified for this job,’ she said, her own eyes straight ahead. ‘You do know I wasn’t expecting you to turn up today?’

‘Basil thought you were.’

Basil thought nothing of the sort... ‘I’m afraid you’ve been put upon by a past master in the art.’

‘I don’t do “put upon”.’

Confused, she looked up at him. ‘Then why are you here?’

‘Because this mess is my fault, because you promised me home cooking—’

‘Oh, right!’ Well, that was all right, then. Guilt and food. She could handle that and she let out a shaky little breath, ignoring the tug of disappointment that flooded through her.

‘And because I couldn’t stay away.’

For a moment their gazes locked in a silent exchange that surged through her body. Hot, powerful, unstoppable as a lava flow, it left her aching with hunger for this stranger who had erupted into her life.

She wanted this. Wanted him...

‘Sorrel...’ It took a moment for her to realise that Coffee Mocha Cream was speaking to her. ‘I’m sorry to interrupt,’ she said, blushing, not quite meeting her eye, ‘but I think it’s time we started.’

‘Yes... Yes, of course...’ She was too shaken to think of the girl’s name. ‘Jane...’ It was Jane. ‘Thank you.’

Alexander, as if knowing her legs were all over the place, casually took her arm as they headed up the hill towards the conservatory, supporting her until she could sit at one of the small tables, pull herself together. She had to write his name on a badge...

It didn’t help that he sat in the chair beside her, his knee nudging against hers beneath the table, the froth of skirt between them no barrier to dizzying connection.

‘Tell me what you need me to do,’ he said, taking the pen from her useless fingers and doing it himself.

‘I can’t think...’ He looked up, a slight frown creasing his forehead, and she realised that he was talking about the event. ‘It would really help if you moved your knee...’ Then, not quite able to believe she’d said that, ‘I’m sorry...’ She wasn’t entirely sure what she was apologising for. Her inability to spell his name, or for being so completely lost in lust that she had forgotten the time, or for exposing her feelings so blatantly that she’d made Jane blush. ‘I don’t... It’s not...’

‘Breathe,’ he murmured, fastening the badge to his shirt pocket. Shifting his knee a fraction, easing the pressure. Leaving only the heat... ‘In and out. It helps—’

He was right. Remembering to breathe helped a lot. That, and the fact that he’d fastened the badge on upside down, proving that she wasn’t the only one struggling to focus.

‘What does Basil do, exactly?’ he asked.

‘Exactly?’ That was it. Think about her uncle in his stripey blazer, making the women feel special... No, making everyone feel special. She took a breath. Okay. She could do this. ‘Basil is a bit of a showman. He acts as a maître d’ at this kind of event, keeping an eye on what’s in demand and what isn’t.’ She managed a casual little shrug. ‘Well, you’ve met him...’

‘Yes,’ he said, wryly. ‘I’m sorry you’ve been lumbered with me.’

‘I don’t do “lumbered”,’ she said, and was rewarded with a smile. It should have made things worse, but, oddly, it didn’t. It wasn’t that kind of smile. It was a reassuring, we-can-handle-this smile. ‘You’ll be fine, Alexander.’ More than fine... ‘It’s little and often with ices, as you can imagine. The trick is to keep the circulation going, make sure there’s always something being offered and whisking away anything before it begins to lose its crispness.’ She managed a wry smile of her own. ‘There’s nothing that ruins a celebrity’s day like ice cream dripping on her designer dress.’

‘Ria’s accounts are beginning to look more attractive by the minute.’

‘Too late,’ she said. ‘For the next two hours you are all mine.’ And she concentrated on the exquisite tiled pattern of the conservatory floor so that he shouldn’t see just how happy that made her.

‘I imagine this is an equal opportunities company?’

‘Of course it is,’ she replied, then, realising that she’d missed something, she looked up. For a split second their eyes connected and the effect was like an electrical surge shorting her circuits. For a moment she couldn’t move, couldn’t speak...

‘Two hours of your time... I’ll tell you when,’ he said, and this time his smile was definitely one of ‘those’ smiles.

Her hand flew to her heart to stop it hammering. ‘I...um... Small quantities and speed of delivery is the answer, which is why I need so many waiters,’ she managed to get out in a breathless rush. ‘The students have all done this before so you shouldn’t have any problems.’

‘Why aren’t they at class?’ he asked.

Breathe... Air... ‘I have a work-experience arrangement with the local college.’ Better. Ordinary conversation would edge them out of the danger zone. Keep her focused on the job in hand. ‘It’s good for students doing catering and hotel management courses to have some hands-on experience to put on their CVs.’

‘The money must come in handy, too.’

‘Well, yes, and quite a few of them have found full-time jobs through me.’ Yet another reason why it was so important that Scoop! didn’t fail. ‘I’ve organised a couple of them to help out in the ice-cream parlour, by the way. Basil is fit enough, but Gran can’t work all day. Just in case you call in and wonder who they are.’

‘Right... So where will you be?’

‘I’ll be in Wales. First stop Myddfai,’ she said, and this time earned a grin for her pronunciation. ‘Unless you can offer an alternative?’

‘That will do as a starting point, but I was actually asking where you are going to be while I’m keeping the drips off the designer clothes?’

‘Oh...’ Stupid... ‘Now that you’re here, I can supervise the service. Did you know that you’ve got your badge on upside down.’

‘Have I?’

‘Oh, for goodness’ sake. Everyone, this is Alexander,’ she said, unhooking his badge and turning it around, fumbling a little as her fingers came into contact with the hard wall of his chest, the thump of his heart a slow counterpoint to her own racing pulse.

‘Breathe slowly, Sorrel,’ he murmured, putting his arm around her waist to steady her. As if that helped...

‘Alexander...’ she protested. He smelled so good. Nothing out of a bottle to obliterate the scent of fresh linen, warm skin... ‘He’s standing in for Basil today so if you have any problems he’s your man.’

‘I’ve got a problem,’ one of the girls said, provoking a round of giggles.

‘Raspberry ripple,’ Sorrel muttered, under her breath, focusing on the badge. ‘A bit of a handful.’

‘That’s what I thought about you.’

‘That I was raspberry ripple? Or a bit of a handful?’ He didn’t answer and she looked up. ‘Which?’ she demanded.

‘Both. But I was wrong. You’re not raspberry.’

And remembering exactly when he’d last said ‘not raspberry’, she blushed again.

* * *

Alexander had no trouble keeping the flow of ices moving. The sorbet, mouth-wateringly pretty in chilled miniature cocktail glasses, didn’t have time to melt before it was seized upon, while the mouth-sized bites of strawberry shortcake, little cups of Earl Grey granita, cucumber ‘sandwiches’ and all the other little teatime treats disappeared as fast as Sorrel and her team could dish them out.

Despite his teasing, he was seriously impressed and picked up some of her business cards to pass on to guests who asked him who was providing the ices.

* * *

Sorrel caught sight of Alexander from time to time, talking to guests, answering their questions, making sure that everyone was being served, keeping the flow of ices moving, just as Basil would have done. Making everyone feel special. With that smile, he was a natural.

He paused, occasionally, to exchange a word with guests, pass on one of the cards she’d left on the counter of the ice-cream bar.

‘I was wrong about the cucumber,’ he admitted, at one point in the afternoon, when he brought back a few glasses that hadn’t been returned to a tray.

‘I told you I was pistachio,’ she said.

‘Not your dress, the ice cream,’ he said. ‘It’s very popular, especially with the women.’

‘Is that right? So are you ready to concede defeat?’

‘That depends. Did we decide what your forfeit would be if you lose?’

‘If I lose, I pay the full rent,’ she reminded him, finding it easier to keep her head with the width of the ice-cream bar between them. ‘Is there something you want, Alexander?’

His smile was slow, sexy and she was wrong about the ice-cream bar. It was nowhere wide enough.

‘Ice cream?’ she prompted.

‘I have a special request for a tray of the Earl Grey granita for the ladies watching the tennis.’

‘I suspect it’s you rather than the ice they want.’ Especially the junior royal who had been flirting with him whenever he came within eyelash-fluttering distance.

‘Maybe you should send someone else.’

‘And disappoint the paying customers? I don’t think so,’ she said, taking a tray of tiny cups and saucers out of a chiller drawer and piling in spoonfuls of granita, decorating each one with the thinnest curl of citrus peel, before adding a lemon tuile biscuit to each saucer with the speed of long practice.

‘You’ve done that before.’

‘Once or two thousand,’ she said.

‘They look very tempting.’

‘Don’t keep Lady Louise waiting,’ she said, waving him away as she began scooping out the strawberry shortcake and lemon cheesecake into bite-sized biscuit cases. ‘She won’t be happy if her tea gets warm.’

‘No, ma’am.’

When she allowed herself to look up again, he had been waylaid halfway across the lawn by a blonde weather-girl whose string of high-profile romances had ensured her permanent place on the covers of the lifestyle magazines. She leaned forward, offering a close-up of her generously enhanced cleavage, and, her hand on his arm, whispered something in Alexander’s ear. He whispered back and she burst out laughing as she took a cup from the tray. Which was when the Celebrity photographer seized his moment.

Barring any outrageous incident, it seemed likely that her Earl Grey granita, bracketed by their favourite cover girl flirting with an unknown but attractive man, would make it onto the cover of next week’s Celebrity.

She knew she should be ecstatic about that—it was more than she’d dared hope for—but, with Alexander still grinning as he headed for the tennis court, she couldn’t bring herself to feel as happy about it as she ought to be.

* * *

‘Fabulous, Sorrel,’ Nick said, dropping by once everyone had gone. ‘Thanks for a wonderful event.’

‘It seemed to go well. We were lucky with the weather.’

‘Well, I can’t deny that helped. Alexander...’ he said, turning, as Alexander handed her a couple of cups and a spoon that had been missed. ‘I thought I saw you, earlier, but assumed I must be hallucinating.’

‘I flew in a couple of days ago.’

‘Actually, I was referring to the fact that you’re moonlighting for Sorrel.’

‘Blue moonlighting,’ he said.

‘As in “once in a blue moon”,’ Sorrel chipped in, seeing Nick’s confusion.

Unsure what to make of that, he said, ‘Well, thanks again, Sorrel. I’ll be in touch very soon. It’s my niece’s eighteenth birthday in a couple of months and she’s dropped heavy hints that she expects Rosie to put in an appearance at her party.’

‘No problem. Just let me know when so that I can put it in the diary.’

‘I’ll phone you next week. Are you going to be around for long, Alexander?’

‘A week or two.’

‘Well, give me a call if you have time so that we can catch up.’

‘Is there anything I can do?’ he asked, when Nick had gone.

She shook her head. The students were a well-drilled team and everything was already cleaned down and packed away, ready to be picked up by Sean.

‘You’ve been brilliant. I am very grateful. Truly.’ She tucked the cups and spoons into their crates inside the ice-cream bar. ‘Thanks for finding these. The staff are good at spotting stuff tucked away in the weirdest places, but it’s always tougher keeping track when the event is outside.’

‘I can imagine. So,’ he said, ‘what’s the score? Who won?’

‘Won?’

‘What went first, the champagne sorbet or the cucumber ice cream?’

‘Relax, the trust will get its rent. The sorbet had it by a country mile. We were down to the last scoop.’

‘Perfectly judged, then. What happens to the ice-cream bar now?’

‘Sean and Basil will come with a trailer and take it back to the estate.’

‘Sean?’ And there it was again. That same, slightly possessive tone.

‘Sean McElroy. My brother-in-law,’ she said, quickly, trying to ignore the little frisson of pleasure that rippled through her.

Bad, bad, bad...

‘So he would be married to Elle? Father to Tara, Marji and Fenny?’ He looked up as someone approached them. ‘Yes?’

‘I want a word with Miss Amery.’

‘Graeme?’ For the second time that day her heart catapulted around her chest at the sound of a voice. The first time it had soared. This time the reaction was confused. She should be delighted that he’d taken the trouble to come and see how the event had gone. Instead there was a jag of irritation that he should decide to choose today. ‘What are you doing here?’

‘Last night...’ He made the smallest gesture with a well-manicured hand, a suggestion that what he had to say was for her ears only. That the help should take a hint and leave.

The ‘help’ ignored him and stayed put.

‘Last night?’ she repeated.

‘You seemed keyed up, edgy, not at all yourself.’

‘Really?’ Why could that be? Because she’d invited herself into his bed and he’d chosen not to hear, perhaps? Because this was a relationship that he controlled and that until Alexander West had turned up, turned her on, she had been content to allow him to control. Because it was safe.

‘When you didn’t come back for dinner I was concerned.’

‘Were you?’ He hadn’t been concerned enough to come looking for her. ‘I walked along the river. I was safe enough with the dogs.’

‘It wasn’t your safety I was concerned about, but your state of mind,’ he said. ‘To be frank I’m concerned that you’re going to do something foolish.’

‘Why?’ Alexander asked.

Graeme gave him a cold ‘are you still here?’ look, then said, ‘We’ll have tea here—’

‘You’ve missed tea,’ Alexander said. ‘Shame. The cucumber sandwiches were a hit. Why do you think Sorrel would do something foolish?’

‘Come along, Sorrel.’ He used pretty much the same tone as she’d use to call one of the dogs to heel.

‘Only I would have said that Sorrel Amery is one of the most level-headed women I know,’ Alexander continued as if he hadn’t spoken. ‘I’ve seen her deal with a crisis with humour, compassion and a lot of hard work.’

‘Who are you?’ Graeme demanded.

‘May I introduce Alexander West, Graeme? Ria’s friend,’ she added, quickly, before he said anything outrageous about her. ‘He very kindly volunteered to step into Basil’s shoes today. Alexander, Graeme Laing is my financial advisor.’

Graeme dismissed the introduction with an impatient don’t-waste-my-time gesture. ‘Where is Basil? Is he unwell? He was fit enough yesterday evening.’

‘He’s absolutely fine. He and Grandma are running the ice-cream parlour for me today.’

‘For you?’

‘I’ve rented it for a month while we sort things out. I need the facilities.’

‘But that’s ridiculous! Basil should be here.’ He sighed. ‘This is exactly what I was talking about. You’ve become emotionally involved, Sorrel. You have to distance yourself from that woman.’

‘I can’t do that. I need her.’

‘Of course you don’t! I’ve explained what you’re going to do...’ His voice was rising and, realising that he was attracting attention, he said, ‘We need to talk this through in a quiet atmosphere. I’ll go and reserve a table on the rose-garden terrace.’

Alexander said, ‘Now, Sorrel.’

She reached back, a hand on his arm to indicate that she’d heard him. Sun-warmed, sinewy, it felt vital and alive beneath her palm, but she forced herself to focus on Graeme. She had to explain. She needed his support. Needed him to be onside.

‘Distance is the last thing I want,’ she said. ‘I’m passionate about my business.’ There had been plenty of time to think as she’d walked across the common, along the river bank in the gathering dusk with only the dogs for company. ‘I want it to grow. Not just this,’ she said, making a broad gesture with her free hand, taking in the sweeping parkland of Cranbrook Park, guests lingering after the event that had just taken place. ‘I want everyone to be able to have a little piece of what we do. I want Ria to be my partner.’

She’d continued thinking as she’d soaked in the bath and then she’d spent a large part of the night drafting a proposal to put to Ria. A proposal that Graeme would understand—if he would just look beyond his prejudice and see the potential.

‘I’m going to commission Geli to create a retro design for Knickerbocker Gloria and, once we’ve made it the best ice-cream parlour ever, I’m going to franchise it.’

‘Franchise it? Are you mad? Have you any idea what that would entail?’

‘I did some research last night and I got in touch with—’

‘Sorrel.’

She turned to Alexander and he took her hand from his arm and held it in his. ‘Now,’ he said.

‘Now?’ she repeated, distractedly.

‘I said I’d tell you when.’ He raised one of those expressive eyebrows and the penny dropped. Two hours of her time. He’d tell her when.

Could he have chosen a worse time? Couldn’t he see that this was important, not just for her, but for Ria?

She glared at him and then turned to Graeme. The contrast between the two men couldn’t be more striking.

Graeme looked as if he’d just stepped out of an ad in the pages of one of those upmarket men’s magazines. Whipcord slender, exquisitely tailored from head to toe, hair cut to within a millimetre, the faintest whiff of some fabulously expensive aftershave and an expression suggesting he’d sucked on a sour lemon.

Alexander had a touch of lipstick on his cheek, a smear of what looked like strawberry-shortcake ice on his sleeve and an expression that suggested he was enjoying himself.

Right at that moment she wanted to smack them both.

‘I’m sorry to spoil your plans, Mr Laing,’ Alexander said, before she could do anything, ‘but Miss Amery and I have unfinished business and she’s promised me a couple of hours of her time.’

‘What business?’ he demanded.

‘Don’t worry, Graeme,’ she said, furious with him, furious with Alexander and, aware that she’d made a complete hash of it, not exactly thrilled with herself. ‘It’s got absolutely nothing to do with money.’