Page 5 of Sparring Partners
“Thank you.” His tone was clipped and frosty. “You’re now free to leave, and I’m free to continue with my meal. Even though I’m soaked to the skin and will no doubt end up with pneumonia.”
“Something of an exaggeration. It’s warm enough in there for you to dry out. And I offered you my car to wait in, which you declined. It’s your fault you’re wet through, not mine.”
“Good night,” the guy said through gritted teeth. “I’d like to say it’s been a pleasure meeting you, but it would be a barefaced lie.”
Adrian laughed. The guy was sparky, he’d give him that much.
The guy’s jaw twitched, before he turned and began to stride back to the pub.
Adrian’s eyes narrowed and he called out to the guy’s retreating back. “Might be a good idea to stop watching those videos on how to drive. There’s an instructor in the village, and she’s good from what I’ve heard. Do yourself a favour and book some lessons.”
The guy paused, just for an instant, his back ramrod straight, before he carried on crossing the carpark, and disappeared inside the pub.
CHAPTERFOUR
Luca had hoped the walk from his cottage, in a private part of the hotel grounds, would clear his head of the previous night’s encounter. It’d been a vain hope. The encounter had left him angry and humiliated, but he’d also been reluctantly fascinated by the bad tempered, rude, arrogant — and insanely attractive man.
When he’d got back to the pub, soaking wet and flustered, he’d given an edited version of the events. Ryan had hustled him upstairs, explaining that parking for pie night had become a nightmare as he’d foisted a towel and a too big sweatshirt and a pair of jogging pants on him. Jonathan had made a fuss, wanting to confront the man. Luca had told him the guy was long gone, as he’d finished his meal quickly before making his excuses and leaving, dashing off before Jonathan could insist on walking him to the car.
The New House Spa Hotel reared up at him as he emerged from the pathway and onto the gravel drive, blotting out for a moment all thoughts of the man who’d invaded his dreams.
Under the soft early morning sun, the Georgian former mansion house was stunning in its classical simplicity. It was so different to when he’d first seen it, bounded by scaffolding as it transformed from an unloved and rejected inheritance into the understated thing of beauty it now was.
He’d worked all over the world, and in many truly breathtaking locations, but there was something about The New House that had called to him from the first moment he’d laid eyes on it. Alex Love, the owner and Luca’s oldest and most trusted friend, had pulled out every stop, used every enticement, to lure him from London to the depths of the Devonshire countryside to mastermind The New House’s launch.
Not, of course, that he’d needed much to make him turn his back on his life in the city.
At the short flight of steps leading up to the entrance, Luca paused for a moment and pulled on his cuffs, snowy white and peeking out from beneath the sleeves of his dark grey suit, before he swept away a non-existent fleck from the lapel of his jacket. Taking a breath, he made his way inside, for the start of another long working day.
* * *
Luca rubbed his eyes. It wasn’t even 9.00am, but he’d already put in a couple of hours’ work, which had included his regular morning tour of the hotel to check all was as it should be. A quick, sharp knock on his door, it was flung open before he could call to come in. A harried looking woman, the hotel’s executive chef, stomped in, and flung herself into the seat in front of his desk, her chef’s whites smeared and splattered.
“Good morning, Rhonda.”
“Not so sure what’s good about it.” Rhonda crossed her arms over her chest and glared at him. “Those bloody sous chefs are a nightmare.” Her glare deepened before it ironed out and she huffed. “They’re not so bad, I suppose. A few rough edges, that’s all,” she muttered.
“I’m sure you have everything in hand. And they’re privileged to work under your direction.”
Rhonda huffed, and Luca suppressed a smile. It was part of their ritual and had been for as long as he’d known her. She enjoyed bitching about her staff, but woe betide anybody else who criticised them.
“What can I do for you?”
Rhonda leant forward. “Herbs.”
“Herbs?”
They’d had a long meeting just a couple of days before to refine the hotel’s upcoming autumn menu, but herbs had definitely not been an item for discussion.
Rhonda nodded, her expression serious. “Herbs are proving to be a particular problem.”
“They are?”
“Yes. We need to open up our supplier base to ensure steady and reliable deliveries year round. Especially for the softer leaf varieties. They’re always abundant in the spring and summer, but from now onwards, it’s a different matter. I also want to secure and strengthen our salad leaves supplies. We’ve got good arrangements in place with the co-operative and local farmers, but even the smallest disruption in supply is a huge headache. We can’t afford another basil incident.”
Ahh…HashtagBasilGate, as he’s privately named it, when a local supplier cocked up and hadn’t been able to fulfil his contractual obligations. Freshly made, organic pesto had been in very short supply in the hotel’s restaurant for a few days. The stress levels in the kitchen had gone sky high.
“If you’re experiencing supply issues, Rhonda, I want to know before they become problems.”
