WARM WINTER KISSES a feel good Christmas romance novel (5 page)

‘I promise,’ I said smiling, feeling that if I didn’t I’d be letting him down in a big way and, for some inexplicable reason, I really didn’t want that to happen.

A little while later, as we made our way home with our brimming basket of produce and came in sight of the house, Rocco’s sexy black Hunter boots stopped abruptly in their tracks.

‘Shit!’ he exclaimed, running a hand through his curls, which were charmingly wayward that morning. ‘That’s the last thing we need.’

‘What?’

‘Pandora,’ he said darkly, gesturing to a Mercedes coupe parked on the skew-whiff in the driveway.

My heart sank. I’d known this introduction would have to come at some stage, but not now, not in my wellies. I was so not ready for it.

His girlfriend didn’t exactly get a heartfelt welcome from Rocco either, but then I supposed he had other more pressing matters on his mind. Besides, seven o’clock in the morning isn’t the best time to open your house to visitors. He went striding off in the direction of the house, leaving Millie and me to follow behind.

I looked down at the brown fur-ball and couldn’t help but smile at her adorable expression. Our relationship was developing. I wouldn’t really call myself a doggy person, but she was like a beguiling child, desperate to be liked and unwilling to take no for an answer. If she wasn’t glued to Rocco’s side, then she was scrabbling for attention at mine.

At the back door, I hovered for a moment, anxious about the reception waiting inside. I prised off my wellies and hung the coat on the rack in the lobby. Millie’s soulful eyes looked up at me as if to say, ‘Come on, we’ll do this together,’ so with a big smile on my face, I wandered into the kitchen feeling like the proverbial lamb to the slaughter.

Rocco was at the sink washing his hands and Pandora was standing beside him, observing me savagely.

‘Jesus Christ!’ she sneered, in a thick Eastern European drawl, ‘is this another one of your girls? What are you playing at now, Rocco?’ She aimed a sideways kick at Millie, who slunk towards her basket and then thought better of it, coming back to huddle at my side.

I glanced at Rocco, but my gaze returned automatically to Pandora’s perfect face. I didn’t want to appear rude, but I couldn’t take my eyes off her. Of course, I’d seen photographs of her before so I knew she was beautiful, but in the flesh her beauty was jaw-droppingly breathtaking. I don’t think I’d ever seen anyone so absolutely without any kind of noticeable flaw.

In her teetering high-heeled boots, she matched every inch of Rocco’s six-foot-two frame. Her body was lithe and willowy and looked as though it had been poured into her designer jeans, and a white t-shirt of the skimpiest proportions had been sculpted to her chest. Her pert nipples stood to attention through the clinging fabric. Over her arm hung a crushed velvet damson jacket and her long, luscious hair, shining with health, rippled like a waterfall over her shoulders.

‘Pleased to meet you,’ I said, rather formally, attracting a cold glare from Rocco. It did cross my mind that maybe I should curtsey, but I just managed to stop myself in time. ‘I’m Beth, Rocco’s new PA.’ But any credibility I might have had was upstairs along with my business suits.

‘Is thiz
’
ow you dress for all your employers, Beth? In your pyjamas?’

Attempting to lighten the atmosphere, I smiled and shrugged my shoulders, doing my best,
“Oh silly me, I’ve forgotten to get dressed
”
impression. Pandora glared from under her impeccably groomed eyebrows.

I quickly ascertained that Rocco and Pandora were a match made in heaven. He was pretty scary and she . . . there was no question. She was absolutely scary.

Giggling nervously, I looked down at my crumpled attire, but Pandora didn’t join me in the joke.

Honestly, I really had forgotten I was in my pyjamas, along with just-out-of-bed hair and an unwashed look. The words
, hedge, backwards
and
dragged
, sprang to mind. I felt certain Pandora would never let herself be seen in such a state, but then I couldn’t imagine her any other way than in all her glorious loveliness as she stood in front of me.

Her olive skin was silky smooth, her cat-like eyes green and penetrating and her long, straight nose was in perfect proportion. No wonder she photographed so well, staring out from hundreds of magazines covers like a hunted gazelle.

‘Well, Rocco and I, we were just . . .’

‘Thank you, Beth,’ Rocco said, rather too firmly. ‘Just go and get dressed, would you please.’

The smirk of satisfaction that crossed Pandora’s face as she watched me slink out of the kitchen, gave her pretty face an unbecoming cast. She may have looked like an angel, but it was clear she was lacking in heavenly virtues in other areas.

Upstairs, I turned on the shower full blast. Stepping into the pounding water felt invigorating and drowned out the raised voices below. Damn Pandora, I seethed, as I attacked my legs with the exfoliating brush. Rocco and I had been getting along famously until she’d arrived and turned the thermostat down from an encouraging lukewarm to a very uncomfortable frostiness.

I should have stood my corner, but I’ve never been one for confrontation. Besides, I had a feeling I’d have come off worst in a one-to-one with PP.

That’s probably why Martin and I lasted so long, I mused, as I rinsed the soap suds from my body. We didn’t so much have rows, as long drawn-out silences where our only exchanges, such as “
would you like a cup of tea?
” were made in exceedingly polite tones. Maybe that’s where we went wrong. Perhaps if we’d thrown a few plates, hurled some abusive accusations and dished out a few home truths, then our relationship might have sustained some fire, rather than fizzling out like a used sparkler. And I’d heard that making up after a high-octane bust up was worth all the heartache. Sadly, we could never get ourselves worked up to those dizzy heights of ecstasy.

I sighed, pushed open the glass door of the shower and stood dripping in front of the floor to ceiling mirror. It didn’t have to be like that, surely? It hadn’t been that way for Mum and Dad. Their relationship had never depended on those big-dipper moments, the teetering highs or sunken lows. There’d never been any plate smashing at home, only a deep and mutual understanding and respect. Theirs was the perfect love match, and one I suspected was impossibly high to live up to. Lexi and I often joked that we were only there to make up the numbers, witnessing on numerous occasions over the years, the giggling, the friendship and the intimate displays of affection between our parents. Would I ever find a relationship that came close to what they’d had? My reflection shrugged back at me. It was looking unlikely.

In the bedroom I threw on some clothes, the first ones that came to hand. A pair of black bootleg trousers and a red, open-necked blouse. There wasn’t any point in spending too long obsessing over what to wear. Next to Pandora I was going to look like a refugee from a fashion famine whatever I put together. I mean, how can you compete with a supermodel?

By now the loud voices had quietened and I couldn’t hear any plate smashing going on either. Maybe they were at the drawn-out silence stage, I mused. Grabbing my handbag and steeling myself for another run-in with Pandora I went downstairs to face whatever the day was about to sling at me.

But it wasn’t Pandora I needed to be wary of, but Rocco who, it seemed, was right in the middle of a hissy fit.

He was striding up and down the kitchen, steam fizzing from his ears.

‘BETH! What the hell are this lot doing here?’ He stabbed his finger at a bemused-looking group of production crew. Through the window I could see the equipment vans cluttering up the drive. ‘Get them out of here! They should be down at the wharf. Do I have to do everything around here? Jesus Christ! It was in those notes I gave you. First two days of shooting. On the boat. At Briar’s Wharf. What’s so fucking difficult about that?’

I flinched inwardly.

I had the schedule in my hand. I’d checked it yesterday and again this morning. It clearly stated that we would be meeting at the house. Did he really think I was so gormless I wouldn’t check something that fundamental? Still, going by his flaring nostrils and flailing arms, I sussed this probably wasn’t the best time to make an argument out of it.

‘Right,’ I said, calmly. ‘Well, it’s not a problem.’ I looked at my watch. ’We’ve still got plenty of time before we’re due to start. I’ll just send everyone down to the boat now. I’ve got some maps here.’ I knew I was sounding like a prim headmistress, but I was desperate to regain some kind of control. I dug out some sheets of paper from my folder. ‘I’ll just go and get it sorted.’

‘Hopeless,’ sighed Pandora, in a show of sisterly support. She ran crimson fingernails through her long hair. ‘Like all the others, Rocco. I don’t know why you bother.’ She sighed dramatically, wrapping her long arms round Rocco’s shoulders. ‘How long will this one last? The day? Or maybe even a week?’

He pulled himself clear of her embrace.

‘Leave it, Pandora.’ He glared daggers at her. ‘Just make sure you take these with you.’ Rocco turned to me, handing over the basket full of produce we’d picked earlier that morning. ‘I’ll see you there in about half an hour.’

I turned away, not daring to look at Pandora. How dare she, I thought fuming. Who did she think she was, passing comment when I wasn’t even working for her? She was just his girlfriend, for God’s sake. Okay, so a drop-dead gorgeous, clothes-horse kind of a girlfriend, but that didn’t give her the right to slag me off in front of him like that. Making me look a complete idiot.

And what was that about all the others? How many PAs had Rocco been through exactly?

Well, if they were thinking of me in those kinds of terms then they could stick their poxy job where the sun doesn’t shine. I could do without the aggravation. It wasn’t as if I was that desperate for money. I could always go home.

‘Look, Rocco, I really think . . .’ I started.

‘Not now,’ he said, holding up a hand, his dark eyes defying me to continue. ‘Just go, would you please.’ His voice had softened. ‘I’ll see you there.’ He took Pandora by the arm and marched her into the living room.

I was hit by an awful sinking sensation. I could have made the grand gesture and waltzed out the door, but where the hell would I have gone? The family house where I’d grown up had been deserted by my parents and was being let out to a nice family from the Netherlands. And my little flat in London would be depressingly lonely without Martin’s presence.

Thinking about it, I had no one and nowhere to go back to. I could have cried. Since the break-up, I’d been struck by these random moments of empty despair, realising I was on my lonesome with no one who really cared what I was doing. Okay, so Lexi was around, but it wasn’t the same as having someone special in your life whose happiness depended only on making you happy.

I was having one of those moments now, only it was interrupted by my vague awareness of a damp patch creeping across my thigh. I looked down to see Millie hugging my side. She’d been skulking around the edge of the kitchen ever since we got back, giving Pandora a very wide berth. I could completely understand her wariness.

‘Oh Millie, what a mess!’ She gave me an encouraging nudge with her nose.

To hell with it. No, I wouldn’t go home, I thought, bending down to ruffle Millie’s coat. I hadn’t walked away from an assignment yet and I wasn’t about to now just because Pandora had taken a dislike to me. Besides I had something to prove to Rocco. I was a bloody good PA, even if he had his doubts about my capabilities. He might not have realised it, but I was just what he needed right now. And what I needed was a change of scene and a really good friend. Okay, so perhaps she wouldn’t have been my first choice, but in Millie, I knew I’d found the perfect one.

Chapter 6

According to the map, Rocco’s boat was moored on the Grand Union Canal at a point nestled between two small hamlets a short drive from the house. The nearest parking was in the yard behind the local pub, The Anchor, a picturesque old thatched building that was prettily festooned with hanging baskets. It really was picture postcard territory. Outside the pub there were plenty of benches overlooking the canal, a kiddies’ playground and a small enclosed garden. I could imagine it heaving with people in the summer, but now it was deserted, the last of the morning mist casting a ghostly haze over the ground. Parking up, we unloaded all the gear from the car and vans. We trudged along the towpath, me with a laptop, the production schedules and various other bits of paper I’d acquired on the way, a basketful of mushrooms and Millie who, with Rocco’s permission, had hitched a ride. The crew stumbled behind, lugging along their various bits of cumbersome equipment.

I’d been pleased to get away from the house and Pandora whose very presence had made me feel like the fat, unpopular girl at school who never got picked for the netball team. On the way out, feeling suitably bruised, I’d run into Sylvia who was just arriving for work.

‘So, you’ve had the pleasure of meeting PP, have you?’ she whispered, her eyes shining mischievously.

I rolled my eyes and shook my head.

‘Don’t worry about it, lovey,’ she chuckled, ‘and don’t take it personally. PP is more regal than the queen herself.’ She popped her coat on a hook. ‘Just ignore her, that’s what I do. I hope I’ll see you later. I did enjoy our little chat yesterday. Perhaps we’ll have another.’

Back on the towpath, I smiled at Sylvia’s friendly words. Coming after the spat with Pandora they’d been especially welcome and reminded me that after all, there could be worse places I might be spending my working day. And with any luck, Pandora wouldn’t be hanging around for too long. Surely she had a catwalk somewhere to saunter down, some camera to seduce.

Pulling my cream puffa jacket tightly around my chest to ward off the sharp nip in the air, I realised that the clothes I’d brought with me were woefully inadequate for all this outdoorsy stuff. Most of my clothes had been bought with the air-conditioned offices of London in mind, or the throbbing nightclub scene. Certainly the black patent strappy shoes I had on today were not the best choice for traipsing along a muddy canal bank.

We passed a couple of boats moored on the side of the canal and I admired their brightly decorated shabby chic. The area was a hotbed of activity with washing blowing in the breeze, people inside the cabins filling kettles, dogs running along the decks. What surprised me was how friendly everyone was. Without exception, they all gave a warm welcome, a smile or a cheery wave as we passed. In London, you didn’t dare make eye contact with anyone for fear of causing offence.

Then at last we came upon the most magnificent boat I’d ever seen. Rocco’s, I thought smiling, without a doubt. It was the largest and shiniest and its name, elaborately painted on the side in a scripted design, made me smile. The
Painted Lady
. I guessed he’d come across a few of those in his time.

She suited her name though. The sleek red and blue lines of the hull gave her a classy elegance set off nicely by the small brass ventilation domes on the roof. Dotted in-between these were verdigris planters overflowing with a shock of pansies. She was a beautiful sight. Millie jumped aboard and the rest of us, me and the crew members, followed in her wake.

‘My God,’ said Dave the cameraman, climbing down into the cabin, ‘this has got a higher spec. than some five star hotels I’ve stayed in.’

I giggled. It was luxurious, all white oak panelling, wooden floors and gleaming brass, and surprisingly large. There was a well-equipped kitchen, a saloon area, two berths and a large bathroom. We dumped our gear in the kitchen and then Paul, the director, and I ran through the running order for the day.

When Rocco arrived some time later, I was relieved to see he didn’t have Pandora with him.

‘What do you think, then?’ he asked, as he greeted Millie and shook hands with Paul and Dave, his mood considerably lighter than it had been back at the house.

‘It’s lovely,’ I said, truthfully, ‘and so peaceful.’

‘Yeah.’ He let out an audible sigh of relief. ‘That’s why I love it so much. If I want to, I can get away from everyone here. It’s a real retreat. There’s no phone, emails or faxes. Just me, the water and the wildlife — and Millie of course. I can’t think of anything nicer.’

Even as a true townie I could appreciate the sentiment. Once you snuggled inside one of those cabins, closing the chequered curtains on the outside world, you could leave your worries far behind.

‘Do you stay here often?’

He shook his head. ‘I don’t really get the chance, but it’s a great bolt hole if I need it. We’ve had a few good parties down here too. There’s a really good community spirit among the boat folk.’ I nodded, surprised Rocco was that way inclined. ‘Anyway, feel free to come and stay the night down here if you ever want to get away from the house. It can get a bit heated up there at times.’

‘Thanks.’ I smiled before returning to my paperwork. Was that Rocco’s way of apologising for what had happened earlier? Or maybe he’d prefer it if I was down here out of the way, so that he and Pandora could carry on as normal without me cramping their style. Mind you, I wasn’t sure how I’d feel about sleeping alone on the boat. True, it was very peaceful, but I’d found sleeping in the house spooky enough. Being alone at night on this floating oasis would probably freak me out completely.

‘Shall I make us some coffee while you’re getting ready?’ He was busy unearthing pots and pans from the cupboards and I felt a bit like a spare part.

‘Good idea.’ He winked at me and smiled. Just as I was trying to be as professional as possible and with the reminder of Rocco’s recent outburst fresh in my mind, my heart performed a treacherous triple salko and my cheeks flushed a fetching red.

Rocco set up his gear on the woodblock worktops while Dave and Paul discussed the lighting and tried out different positions for the camera. When they were satisfied that everything was ready, filming began.

For a chef, Rocco made an excellent television presenter. He was a natural in front of the camera, and his passion for his subject showed clearly through the lens. I’d noticed earlier that when he spoke to you it was as if all his attention was focused on you and you alone, as if you were the most important person in his stratosphere and that intensity
—
his integrity
—
shone through on film.

Thankfully, I had a good excuse for just standing there, gazing in admiration as Rocco showed his adoring public what to do with a basketful of mushrooms. It was my job after all. Occasionally I ran my pencil down the checklist on my clipboard, but I couldn’t believe I was being paid for this. Honestly, I felt like pinching myself.

“These mushrooms have been picked fresh this morning in some woods not far from here.
”
He held them up to the camera as if he was showing off precious jewels.
“But I’m not suggesting you go out and pick your own. All these lovely varieties are available in our supermarkets now. Forget those bland button mushrooms your mum used.
”
He laughed, his eyes flashing over in my direction.
“Instead pick up some morels, chanterelles or porcinis. They all have their own intricate flavours, rich, nutty and woody, but most of all they’re fantastically versatile. Delicious too. Put them in a sauce to serve with some pasta or throw them into a risotto. The list of things you can do with them is endless. But today what I’m going to show you is something very simple. Wild mushrooms on toast.”

His voice, without any noticeable trace of accent, was deep and warm, and he had a way of making the names of those mushrooms roll off his tongue as if he was reciting a love sonnet.

He didn’t have a script, just some hastily scribbled notes, but the words flowed effortlessly, as if he’d been rehearsing all night.

As he threw some olive oil and garlic into the pan on his stove, his eyes flashed with that passion he was so well known for. I wondered if the rest of the female population would be hanging on to his every word, like I was now, salivating at the sound of his earthy culinary suggestions.

I shook my head, took a sip of the coffee that had grown cold in the cup and tried to concentrate on the job in hand. It wasn’t easy, not with those heady smells filling the small cabin, reminding me again that I’d missed breakfast. I was beginning to make a habit of it and my poor tummy was crying out to be fed. I hoped its gurgling would be drowned out by the sounds coming from the kitchen.

“This makes a fantastic quick meal. Delicious and nutritious. What could be better?
”
He spoke straight into the camera lens, as he pushed his finished dish of wild mushrooms on lightly toasted brioche to one side and beckoned me to try it. I wondered if, after all, he’d heard my stomach grumbling noisily in the background.

‘Breakfast,’ he said to me, off camera, as he turned his attentions to his next recipe, an interesting sounding cep soup.

It would have been rude to turn it down so I pulled up a stool just opposite to where Rocco was doing his bit and tucked into the meal he’d prepared. For a moment, I thought I’d died and gone to heaven. I mean, really, did it get any better than this? Breakfast prepared by a top Michelin-starred chef. Some people pay hundreds of pounds for the privilege and here was I enjoying the pleasure, in the company of the great man himself on a floating oasis. Oh, and did I mention how heart-meltingly gorgeous he was? Yes, I’d really landed on my feet with this job, I thought, as my tongue licked the remains of the creamy mushroom sauce from my lips.