Page 53 of Cover Story

‘What’s the plan for this evening?’ Connor said. ‘Both meanings. I could do with a sit rep on the iPad one, as well as the menu. What can I do to help?’

‘OK, if you want to get a seat here …’ Bel ushered him onto a stool at the kitchen island. She set down, in turn, a chopping board, knife, a packet and two jars. ‘Cut this cheese into cubes, then these peppers into strips, and we can bung olives on the cocktail sticks and call it pinchos. Pile ’em up and I’ll find the serving platter.’

‘Got it.’

‘As for the main plan, the mission tonight is try to get them to talk about the Airbnb. It’s not impossible they’ll say “hey, don’t pass it on but the Mayor uses it as a bonking shop”, and boom, there’s the story. There’s the baby delivered into our lap.’

‘Not impossible but also mad on their part? As facilitators?’

‘Yeah, but it’s gossip. Never underestimate how much people like to gossip, something I learned doing the podcasting.’

Bel’s phone on the counter started flashing. She mouthed:Amberand answered.

‘Hi there!’Bel’s body language had changed. Connor remained impressed at her versatility.

‘Uh huh … eesh, tricky … oh God! That’d test any guest’s popularity. No, definitely, bring her! I’ll risk my soft furnishingsand Connor will love her … Honestly– promise, she’ll be on his lap all night. Yep, seven, see you then.’

She rang off.

Connor frowned.

‘I’m being pimped out now?’

‘Gertie, their pug dog, is suffering terrible separation anxiety and did a dump on her babysitter’s Persian rug as they tried to leave. I said you knew dogs and you’d take it all in your stride.’

‘You’ve offered me up to be shat on?’

‘Your view of the Manchester internship experience in a nutshell, am I right?’

Connor laughed. ‘You said that, not me.’

God, he’d had no poker faceat all.

31

Bel put the roasting tin into the built-in wall oven with a satisfying snap of the spring-loaded door and pulled her watch round her wrist to check the time.

‘As for the other plan, I’m not doing starters. I’m with Nigella, I think they make everyone feel too formal,’ she told Connor. ‘My unfailing method for dinner success is start with cocktails and plates of small salty things. Then a hefty main where you can serve yourself second helps, and a dessert that kids would eat. So it’s Greek-style leg of lamb and vanilla ice cream with rum-soaked spiced sultanas. Obviously, I’d give hypothetical kids teetotal ones.’

‘Isn’t that how Danny, Champion of the World, drugs pheasants, rum-soaked dried fruit?’

Bel barked with laughter. ‘OK, didn’t expect that feedback.’

‘Sounds amazing anyway,’ Connor said. ‘Tonight’s dinner represents a major upgrade for me. I’ve only been cooking things that can be topped with fried eggs and strafed with hot sauce.’

‘Strafed. Good word.’

‘I didn’t only go into journalism to be Aaron Parry’s bitch-boy,’ Connor said.

Bel grinned. ‘Why did you go into it? A big change from what you were doing before.’

‘Oh well … there is the sanitised shorter version which I think you had in Platzski’s, about finance being the wrong fit. The longer version, which I’d rather we kept within these walls …’

‘Of course.’

‘It’s a horrible, cut-throat environment where hairdryer bollockings are what you’re expected to withstand in return for the monthly pay cheque. After a particularly stressful quarter, a colleague jumped out a third-floor window. Up until then I’d bought into this idea that buckling was for the weak and it was to be endured. When someone lost their life I thought, no, this is dysfunctional to the point of evil.’

‘Fuck!’ Bel gasped, pausing while pushing ice cubes out of a rubber mould.

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