The Real Romero. Cathy Williams
came here to grab something to eat? Are you completely crazy? You can’t just go rummaging around in their fridge, eating their food and drinking their wine. Have you taken a look at the bottles in that wine rack? They look as though they cost the earth!’
Lucas was already heading for the fridge.
‘Bread…’ He opened the fridge door and turned to look at her. ‘Cheese… Both in plentiful supply. And I’m pretty sure there’ll be some salad stuff somewhere.’
Milly sprang to her feet. ‘I can, er, cook you something if you like…if you’re sure. After all, cooking was to be part of my duties.’
Lucas looked at her and smiled and that electric charge zipped through her again. It was like being struck by a bolt of lightning.
Had Robbie the creep ever had this effect on her? She didn’t think so, but then again disillusionment might have put a different spin on her memories of their somewhat brief courtship.
She and Robbie had attended the same small school in remote Scotland until they were fourteen, at which point grander things had beckoned and he had moved with his family down to London. At fourteen, gauche and way too sporty to appeal to teenage boys whose testosterone levels were kicking in, she had had a secret crush on him.
They had kept in touch over the years, mostly via social network with the occasional visit thrown in whenever he’d happened to be in the city, but his sudden interest in her had only really kicked off six months ago and it had been whirlwind. Milly, still finding her feet in her job, had been first pleased to see a familiar face and then flattered when that familiar face had started take an interest in her. Ha! The reason for that had become patently clear after he had dumped her for leggy Emily.
Lucas had slammed shut the fridge in favour of opening a bottle of the expensive wine from the wine rack, much to Milly’s consternation.
So, women cooking for him had never been part of the deal; tinkering in the kitchen smacked of just the sort of cosy domesticity he had never encouraged. On the other hand, this was a unique situation.
‘I’m actually a chef by profession.’ Milly grinned and joined him by the fridge, the contents of which she proceeded to inspect, although she made sure not to remove anything. She could practically feel Skipper Sandra peering down at her, about to ask her what the hell she thought she was doing.
‘Would-be professional skier, chef… Is there no end to your talents?’
‘You’re teasing me.’ Their eyes met and she blushed. ‘I still don’t feel entirely comfortable digging in their cupboards but I suppose we do have to eat. I mean, I’m sure Sandra wouldn’t expect me to starve…’
‘This Sandra character sounds like a despot.’ Lucas removed himself from her way as she began extracting bits and pieces. He had no idea what she intended to do with the stuff. He himself had zero interest in cooking and had never really seen fit to do much more than toast a slice of bread or, in dire circumstances, open a can of something and put it in a saucepan.
‘Like you wouldn’t believe.’ She began hunting down utensils whilst reminding him, just in case he reported back that she had made herself at home, that she still didn’t feel 100 percent good about using stuff from their fridge. ‘Want to help?’ She glanced over her shoulder to where he was lounging indolently against the kitchen counter with a glass of red wine in his hand.
Talk about making himself at home!
‘I’m more of a spectator when it comes to cooking,’ Lucas told her. And from where he was standing, the view was second to none. She had removed her thick jumper and was down to a clingy long-sleeved T-shirt that outlined every inch of a body that had been woefully kept under wraps.
‘We’ll eat quicker if you help.’
‘I’m in no hurry. You were about to tell me about Sandra the despot…’
‘I had to have three interviews for this job. Can you believe it? Three! The Ramoses are just about the fussiest people on the planet. Oh, sorry; I forgot that you’re their regular ski instructor. You probably see a different side to them.’ She sighed, her throat suddenly thick as she thought of the neatly packaged life she had been looking forward to flying through the window.
And yet, in a strange way, she was sure that she should be feeling sadder than she actually was.
Mortified, yes. She was about eleven out of ten on the mortification scale, although less so here where her well-meaning friends weren’t hovering around her, hankies at the ready, as though she was on the verge of a nervous breakdown.
But sad?
The presents had all been returned; the dress had been sold online because the shop had refused to have it back; the small church in Sunningdale where his parents had lived ever since they had moved from Scotland had been cancelled. But she didn’t get a lump in her throat when she thought about the details.
The lump came when she thought about the fairy-tale future she had had planned, when she thought about being in love and then being let down…
‘I doubt that.’ Lucas recalled the last time he had seen the couple at his mother’s house in Argentina, where Julia Ramos had spent most of the evening lording it over anyone she thought might be a lesser mortal.
Despite being wealthy beyond most people’s wildest dreams, his mother had a very solid streak of normality in her and frequently hosted parties to which all and sundry were invited, regardless of their income or status. She had never forgotten that both she and his father had come from nothing and had made their fortune through hard graft.
‘There aren’t many complex sides to Alberto and Julia Ramos. They have money and they insist on showing the world, whether the world wants to know or not.’
‘Poor you.’ Milly looked at him sympathetically. ‘I guess it must become a bit of a drag if you’re having to deal with people you don’t especially like…’ She returned to her chopping and he dragged one of the bar stools over so that he could see her as she worked. By now, she had given up on being appalled at the liberties he took. Perhaps that was the relationship he had with his employers. Less of an employee and more of an equal.
‘But,’ she continued as she tried to focus on the onions in front of her and ignore the fact that his dark eyes roving over her were making her feel a bit dizzy, ‘we all have to do stuff we don’t particularly like for the sake of earning a living. What do you do when you’re not instructing?’
‘This and that.’
Milly didn’t say anything. Maybe he was embarrassed because being a ski instructor might be glamorous but it was hardly a ladder-climbing job, and she wasn’t sure why, but Lucas struck her as the kind of guy to have ambition.
‘Why are you doing a two-week stint as a chalet girl when you’re a professional chef? You’re not drinking your wine. You should. It’s an excellent vintage.’
‘I hope you don’t get into trouble opening that bottle…’ But the cooking was now done so she wiped her hands on one of the towels by the range, took the proffered glass of wine and followed him out of the kitchen and into the sprawling sitting area, where, through the vast panes of glass, they could see the spectacular sight of night settling on the snowy mountain ranges.
‘I never get into trouble,’ Lucas assured her as he joined her on the sofa. The white sofa. The white sofa that she would probably have to pay for if she made the mistake of spilling her red wine on it.
She perched awkwardly on the edge and made very sure to keep a firm hand on the stem of her wine glass.
‘You never get into trouble…ever? That’s a very arrogant thing to say!’ But strangely thrilling.
‘I confess that I can be arrogant,’ Lucas told her truthfully, eyes steady on her face as he sipped his wine.
‘That’s an awful