Page 6 of Sparring Partners
“It’s not a problem, or at least not yet. Problems are what I’m trying to avoid,” she grumbled.
“Good, because we don’t want another hash—I mean issue, like we had with the basil. Perhaps we should be speaking to some of the larger farms.” Even as he said it, Luca knew it wasn’t an option.
The larger farms, and therefore biggest suppliers of fresh produce, were either contracted to the national supermarkets or they used intensive farming methods and chemical fertilisers. The New House Spa Hotel prided itself on using, as far as it could, locally grown, reared, and fully traceable organic produce.
Rhonda vehemently shook her head. “There are a few smaller producers we can approach, but there’s one in particular we should bring onboard. The guy’s got a small farm up towards the high ground. Top quality produce. I know that because I did a taste test. He also has a regular stall at the farmers’ market in the village. His stuff sells fast. An hour after the start of the market, it’s all gone. He’d be perfect for The New House. Or at least his produce would be.”
“Do I sense an issue?”
Rhonda harrumphed and rolled her eyes at the same time. It was an impressive combination. “You do, and it’s with him. He’s a right grumpy so and so. And so rude. I spoke to him in the farmers’ market last week. I told him to put some samples together and to bring them up to the kitchen, and then we’d discuss a contract for him to become a preferred supplier. Our terms are excellent, and I told him he’d be a fool to turn away from doing business with us.” Rhonda glared at Luca.
Bloody hell… Rhonda may have won god alone knew how many awards for the quality of her kitchen, and could have taken her expertise and experience anywhere in the world, but she’d only ever taken the booby prize when it came to tact.
“And let me guess. He wasn’t too keen on entering into an arrangement with us?”
“No! I couldn’t believe it.” Rhonda threw her hands up in the air.
Luca bit down on his irritation as he tilted his head to the side. Picking up the slim silver pen that sat on his desk, he turned it between his fingers as he waited before speaking.
“You run the kitchen, Rhonda, but you need to speak to me first if you want to contract with any new suppliers. I might appreciate your straightforward approach, but then we’ve known each other for years.”You’re a bloody bull in a china shop, woman…It was the unspoken subtext they both understood.
“Okay, okay.” Her glare turned into something that might have been a rueful smile. “I wouldn’t let anybody else say that to me, but as it’s you…”
“Like you say, as it’s me.” Luca’s irritation waned. “Perhaps you should let me have the details of your grumpy farmer and I’ll approach him.”And try and undo the damage.
“I’ll text you. I’d best get back to the kitchen. Breakfast service is all but over, but we need to get on with lunch prep,” she said as she stood. “Only hope I find the place in one piece.”
Luca puffed out a long breath as Rhonda closed the door. A blunt and blundering executive chef, and a grumpy farmer who needed his feathers smoothed.
Great. Just great.
The text came in minutes later.
“May as well get on with it.” He sighed, not relishing the prospect of all those ruffled feathers.
An answerphone clicked in. The recorded message was short, the well modulated voice with barely a trace of the local accent asking him to leave his name, number, and the reason for calling. Luca left an equally short message in response. Cutting the call, the rest of the day shouted for his attention. For now, all he could do was wait for Rhonda’s grumpy farmer to call him back.
The day wore on. Meetings and phone calls, forensically going through spreadsheets, walking the hotel, again, checking all was well with the kitchen, with housekeeping, with the spa, and the grounds.
Making his way back to his office, to squeeze more hours into the day, the deep voice of a man drifted through the closed door, followed by a click. Too late to catch the call, Luca pressed the flashing button on the answer machine.
“This is a message for Luca Graham. You wanted to discuss Ladywell Farm potentially supplying your hotel. I’m open to having an initial meeting. No doubt you’ll want to see the farm, so I can spare you an hour this afternoon. I’ll expect you at four o’clock. Don’t be late.”
“What the hell?” Luca stared at the now silent answerphone. How in god’s name did this man ever get any business? Not direct, just rude. And arrogant.
Luca picked up the phone, ready to call back and tell the farmer thanks but no thanks, with a graphic suggestion of exactly where he could stuff every one of his soft and fragrant herbs. But what he wanted to do, and what he would, were two different things. Luca pulled in a long breath and closed his eyes. He’d dealt with all sorts of difficult suppliers, trades people, guests and staff over the years; a local farmer was small fry in comparison. What mattered was the hotel securing what it needed, so he’d obey the summons for four o’clock even if it did make him want to grind his teeth until they were little more than stumps. Opening up his computer, he jabbed hard at the keys.
Rhonda’s damn grumpy farmer had better be worth it.
CHAPTERFIVE
Luca pulled into the gravel driveway, the car crunching its way towards the farmhouse where he pulled up and switched off the engine. He glanced at the time on the dashboard. Over half an hour late. He grimaced, remembering the farmer’s terse instruction to be on time. The underarms of his shirt, beneath his suit jacket, were sweat soaked, despite the icy blast from the air con, and he swore under his breath.
Getting out of his car, he pressed his key fob and the door locked. No fading battery this time. The driver’s side was covered with mud, and god alone knew what else, from being drenched by the wheels of a tractor when he’d got lost the second, or maybe third time, along one of the many narrow, winding roads that weren’t much more than rutted tracks.
Why the hell had he jumped to the summons for a meeting? He liked to do his research before he met prospective suppliers, but Ladywell Farm had drawn a blank online, leaving him feeling unprepared for the meeting. But prepared or not, he was here. Making his way towards the old, sprawling farmhouse, his apologies at the ready, a tall, muscular figure emerged from around the corner of the house, wiping his hands on a ragged cloth.
Luca stopped dead.No. No way. The urge to jump back in the car and drive off as quickly as he could gripped him. The heat of embarrassment pulsed in his cheeks. Rhonda’s grumpy farmer, and the rude, smug bastard of the previous night, the man who’d made him feel so bloody stupid, had, like him, stopped in his tracks.
