Page 46 of A Winter Kiss on Rochester Mews
Mattie turned round. ‘Really, Steven, why are you here?’ she asked, her voice absolutely devoid of expression or emotion so she couldn’t be accused of being too emotional, too hysterical, just too bloody much.
He put a hand to his chest, eyes wide as if to imply it was an unjust question bordering on an accusation. ‘I already told you: to catch up.’
‘We’re caught up,’ Mattie said flatly. ‘I have my tearooms—’
‘Notyourtearooms. You only rent it, isn’t that what the pregnant woman said?’
‘—and I don’t really care what you’re doing—’
‘A word of advice, Matilda. Nobody likes a bitter woman. It’s a very unattractive quality,’ Steven said. ‘But actually, I’m doing very well.’ He paused expectantly, for what?
For Mattie to say that she was pleased for him? Well, he was going to have a long wait.
‘Good for you,’ she said in the same flat voice. ‘Now that we’re properly caught up—’
‘Yes, it’s actually very exciting,’ Steven said, preening a little. ‘I’ve got a cookbook and a TV show in the works. The commissioning editor reckons I could be the male Nigella. Quite flattering, I suppose, though I’d prefer to be known for my baking rather than for my good looks. Perhaps I could tell you about it over that cup of tea …?’
Mattie had dreamed, still dreamed, of her own cookbooks, her own TV show, but the expected knife-twist pang of jealousy never came. Steven was many things, notallof them bad, but above all he wasn’t a grafter. Mattie knew only too well, that he preferred to get someone else to do the heavy lifting and then take all the credit. If and when she was in a position to have her own cookbooks published, her own TV show, a chain of tearooms, it would be because she’d earned them through her own hard work.
So she was pleased, and proud of herself that she could smile and say, ‘Congratulations, you must be thrilled,’ in a voice that didn’t waver.
‘Thank you, Matilda. That means a lot, coming from you,’ Steven said and he looked past Mattie to the door that was still ajar. Mattie stood firm.
‘So, was there anything else? Because I really am tired, far too tired to make a cuppa for you,’ she said, folding her arms.
Steven smiled and Mattie had to catch her breath. When Steven smiled his face creased in the most beautiful way, teeth gleaming, eyes so bright as if he was the sun and everyone else was just a lonely planet revolving around him.
It was dazzling but Mattie had learned the hard way not to be blinded by that smile but instead to shield herself from its damaging rays.
‘Now, I know things ended badly between us, and I really am sorry for any distress Imayhave caused you,’ Steven said, which was the closest he’d ever come to an apology. Then his tone hardened. ‘But I need to know that you’re not going to cause trouble for me.’
‘Cause trouble for you? Why would I do that?’ Mattie asked, stung. Her revenge fantasies about Steven were never about inflicting hurt on him; they were more about Mattie living well and fabulously, then bumping into Steven one day only to discover that he was so down on his luck that he was selling dodgy batteries out of a suitcase on Oxford Street. ‘If you think that’s my style, then you never really knew me.’
‘Well, I’m glad to hear that,’ Steven said and before Mattie realised what he was doing, he grabbed her hand so he could squeeze her fingers in a tender gesture. ‘I’m so relieved that you wouldn’t go around saying, for example, that my recipes are yours.’
This –this– was the real reason for Steven rocking up. She could finally launch into her speech, even if she had to start somewhere in the middle.
‘But Steven, those recipesaremine, aren’t they? Because you stole them from me when you took—’
‘You can’t copyright a recipe, Matilda.’ He spoke over her, just as he always had done. ‘Any reasonable person would agree that you need a set quantity of flour, sugar, butter and eggs to make a sponge.’ His hold on her hand tightened, so if she hadn’t been spluttering in disbelief, she might have cried out.
‘You … You …’
‘Honestly, can you two keep it down?’ The door, which had been merely ajar, was now wrenched open by a furious Tom. ‘I’ve had a long day at the coalface of bookselling and I just want some peace and quiet.’ He glared at Mattie. ‘Anyway, I thought we agreed that we weren’t going to have dates round.’
‘He’s not my date!’ Mattie said just as furiously, yanking her hand free from Steven’s crushing grip.
‘Well, in that case, apologies,’ Tom said stiffly. ‘But please have your conversation at a more considerate volume.’
He nodded, then leaving the door open, he strode down the corridor towards the kitchen. Mattie had never been so sorry to see him go. She turned back to Steven, who’d dropped the smile and thinned his lips.
‘As I was saying, you can’t copyright a recipe, so if you sign a non-disclosure agreement that says that the recipes aren’t yours, then it would be in both our interests,’ he said. ‘I’ll make it worth your while.’
‘You’ll pay me for the recipes you stole?’ Mattie clarified. That didn’t make things right, but at least she’d get something back for all that time she’d spent on them, not to mention the cost of her ingredients.
Steven wagged a finger at her. ‘I didn’t steal them. Christ, you’re like a dog with a bone. Poor Mattie, I’m sure I could get you some work on my show.’ He put the finger to his chin as if he was trying to think of a solution that would benefit them both.
It was a gesture that he’d always employ when he was coming up with a way to repair the damage after they’d fought. Usually after he’d done something to humiliate Mattie, whether it was flirting with another woman in front of her or passing off her madeleines as his. Then after Mattie had cried and shouted and said that she was leaving him, Steven would give her the silent treatment so she felt as if everything in her, everything she touched, had turned to frost. As if their fight had all been her fault.
