Drawing on her inner strength, she got to her feet and went over to the front door to open it again. There, standing in front of her, were the couple who’d visited yesterday, Jeffrey, his wife Jill and their golden retriever. Their faces were ashen.
‘Good morning,’ Jill said politely. ‘Sorry to bother you, but we wanted to ask if maybe there might have been something wrong with that batch of ice cream yesterday. It’s just … ’
‘We started to feel unwell,’ Jeffrey continued. ‘When the vomiting started yesterday we called NHS Direct. We weren’t sure, you see, if we should go into A&E.’
‘Oh God,’ Imogen said, biting her lip. ‘You’d better come
in.’ She motioned for the two of them to take a seat. Their postures were slightly hunched – it was as if they’d gained ten years overnight, and they seemed relieved to sit down. The fine lines on their faces had deepened.
‘I have a horrible feeling this is my fault,’ Imogen said. ‘I’m so sorry.’
‘These things happen,’ Jill said kindly. ‘And we feel a little better today, don’t we, Jeffrey?’ Her voice sounded strained and weak.
‘I managed to eat a cracker this morning,’ Jeffrey said, the tiniest hint of a smile appearing at his mouth. ‘And Jill kept her cup of tea down.’ He reached over to stroke their retriever. Even he seemed less lively that morning, barely reacting to Hepburn, who was skulking around in the kitchen, keeping a low profile.
‘Oh dear,’ Imogen said, guilt twisting her stomach into knots. ‘I’m afraid you’re not the only ones who seem to have been affected.’
‘Is that so?’ Jill asked.
‘Yes, I managed to poison one of the surf classes too,’ Imogen said, feeling mortified. ‘How I can possibly make it up to you?’ she said. ‘Can I offer you some compensation?’
‘Don’t worry,’ Jill said, putting her hand on Imogen’s reassuringly. ‘Everyone makes mistakes, dear. And we know you’re just starting out.’
‘But you’ve been stuck at home, being sick … ’ Imogen said. ‘I feel dreadful about this.’
‘We’re always at home,’ Jeffrey smiled. ‘No difference there.
And while it hasn’t been the most pleasant twenty-four hours, we’re relieved that it’s nothing serious, aren’t we, Jill?’
‘That’s right,’ she said. ‘We’re almost back to our brightest now.’
‘Well, I still wouldn’t blame you if you wanted to see us shut down,’ Imogen said.
‘We know you and your sister are new to this. And we had our share of bad luck, back in the day.’
‘You thinking of that barbecue?’ Jeffrey laughed.
‘Can hardly bear to remember it,’ his wife said, shaking her head. ‘Half our friends were off work after eating some chicken we hadn’t cooked through. We shouldn’t laugh. But you learn from these things, don’t you? To be more careful next time?’
‘Believe me,’ Imogen said, ‘I’ve learned my lesson. I won’t be selling any more.’
‘Well, we’ll be off then. But we thought it was best to check and let you know.’
‘Thank you,’ Imogen said. ‘Thank you so much. And I hope you feel much better soon.’
The couple left the shop, and walked out into the sullen grey morning, weary shadows, but still joking gently with one another.
Imogen slowly let out the breath she’d been holding. Some people had so much kindness in them, she thought, with intense gratitude and relief. She longed for Anna to come home and restore some order. How had she ever thought she’d be able to run the shop on her own? A week was a
very long time, it turned out, when things weren’t going well.
The following morning, Imogen forced herself to get up and dress, and poured coffee into a thermos flask for her walk down to the shop. If she wasn’t about to get sued, then it was back to business as usual. Albeit with no more home-made ice cream.
‘You’re not a quitter,’ she told herself, as she strode along the seafront towards Vivien’s. ‘Today is a whole new day.’ By the time she arrived at the door of the shop, she was feeling ready to open up. Today could be the day that things got better.
There was a pile of post on the doormat, and she bent down to pick it up, putting the bundle of leaflets and a local paper on the counter. She turned on the stereo and propped the front door open to make the place look more inviting.
She sorted through the letters, filing an electricity bill and throwing away a couple of takeaway leaflets. With no customers in sight, she opened the local newspaper and looked at the headlines – pictures of homes damaged by the recent floodwaters, with mournful-looking residents outside. They’d been lucky that Vivien’s hadn’t been affected, Imogen thought.
She flicked to page three, and almost missed it at first. But then her eyes came to rest on the story:
Imogen gasped as she read over the feature – Vivien’s was named, and the story of Sunday’s food-poisoning incident was there in black and white.
Oh God
, Imogen thought, forcing herself to close the newspaper. What were they supposed to do now?
Then, slowly, as she sat down on a stool, her panic turned to confusion. The story itself was quite vague, and the people involved hadn’t been named, but there were details about the shop history and their lease that were oddly specific. Things only another person who worked in the Arches could know. Someone had set out to try and ruin their business, and it seemed likely they were right on Vivien’s doorstep.
Acting on a hunch, she walked into Finn’s surf school, with the newspaper in her hand.
‘Finn. Do you know anything about this?’ she asked him, showing him the article.
Finn looked at her blankly, then took the newspaper from her. He glanced over it. ‘Oh dear, this isn’t good, is it?’ he said.
‘I know the incident the other day shouldn’t have happened, but did you really have to talk to the local press?’
‘It’s nothing to do with me.’
‘Really?’ Imogen said, disbelieving. ‘It’s just it seems strange that you’re the one person who I know has been really annoyed about it. And perhaps you stand to gain something from seeing us go down?’
‘I don’t know anything about it,’ Finn said with a shrug, ‘and I don’t know why you think I’d benefit from seeing Vivien’s suffer. We rely on each other down here, and support each other’s businesses. It’s always been the way. It’s the very reason I felt let down the other day.’
‘But there were things in the article that only one of us business owners could know.’
‘You’re not going to let this go, are you? OK then, Imogen. Find the evidence, and I’ll happily hear you out.’
‘I will,’ Imogen said. ‘Because it’s not fair to do this to us.’
‘So you add in fifty grams of cream now,’ Bianca told Anna, leaning over her workspace and pointing to the large silver mixing bowl.
Anna listened carefully to the Italian instructor, and tried to steady her trembling hand. Here she was, a complete novice, in the presence of Bianca Romeo, a culinary legend. She didn’t want to mess this up. Bianca nodded her approval, and moved on to the next table.
Bianca was an elegant, charismatic woman in her mid-thirties, whose passion for food was evident in every word she said. Paying attention to the quantities, Anna mixed the ingredients together carefully, making sure she followed the recipe exactly.
Over coffee in the reception area that morning, Anna had met her four classmates, an international group – Georgios, a rotund middle-aged Greek; Sian, a friendly art-school graduate from Ireland; and Ria and Hiro, honeymooners from Japan.
Bubbling with nerves and enthusiasm, they’d then filed
into the room, high-ceilinged and elegant with large, tall windows, faded frescoes on the walls and ornate decorations on the white ceiling. Bianca had welcomed them to the class, and then got straight to the point. ‘Unless you are ready to make the highest quality of ice cream, you won’t receive a certificate – and your course will have been a waste of your time and mine.’
She’d then divided the class up into pairs, and Georgios had made a beeline for Anna’s table.
‘You are good at this, eh?’ came Georgios’ booming voice from Anna’s side, accompanied by a nudge in the ribs. ‘I knew I picked a good partner. I can tell you are an expert cook,’ he laughed.
‘You can?’ Anna said, smiling in surprise. ‘I’ve certainly never made gelato. This is all new to me.’ She weighed out the sugar and tipped it into the bowl. ‘What about you, Georgios? Have you ever done this before?’
Anna glanced over at him – he was dressed awkwardly for the kitchen, apron over a formal dark suit and unbuttoned shirt, his tie done up loosely.
‘Never,’ he said. ‘But it is time to try something new,’ he added with a shrug. ‘In Athens … I’m sure you’ve heard. Things are not so good.’
Anna nodded: it had been hard to miss the updates on the news lately.
‘Don’t worry,’ he said, with a grin. ‘Yes, there are problems with the economy – big problems. And my shoe shop – I used to sell high heels for ladies,
beautiful
shoes! You should
have seen them, Anna.’ The volume of his voice rose with his excitement as he described them. ‘Silk – the finest materials … ’ As Giovanna threw him a stern look and he seemed to come back down to earth. ‘Anyway, this is just dreams now,’ he whispered to Anna. ‘We don’t have customers these days.’
‘I’m sorry to hear that,’ Anna said, thinking how heartbreaking it must be to close a shop you had invested so much in.
‘But with every crisis, a new opportunity,’ Georgios continued. ‘It’s not going to be easy, I know that. My wife, she always tells me I’m a disaster in the kitchen. But I have this,’ he said, pointing to his head. ‘A good mind, for the business. In a year – just you see, Anna, I will have a gelato empire going. I have made good money before, and I’ll do it again. It’s just hard work. We’ll go out with our children to the Greek islands, maybe Naxos, and set up a gelateria for the tourists,’ he said. ‘Fantastico!’
‘So, how are we doing here?’ Bianca appeared by their sides, and Anna jumped a little. ‘Anna, is Georgios distracting you from your practice?’
Anna shook her head no, not wanting to get Georgios into trouble.
‘I want to taste some delicious vanilla gelato here by the end of the day. And if you keep on chatting I don’t know how you’re going to have time to make it.’
The door to the class swung open, and Bianca and Anna turned to look. A young man of about thirty, in jeans and a
checked shirt, walked into the room, as relaxed as if it were his own home. Anna’s breath caught as she got a better look at him, his warm brown eyes and dark hair. It was the same man – just with clothes on this time. She’d caught a glimpse of him through her half-open door at Giovanna’s that morning, making his way to the bathroom in a towel. He didn’t appear to have seen her watching.
‘Signora Bianca,’ he said, greeting the instructor with a smile and a kiss on the cheek. He began to chat to her in lilting Italian, as if he already knew her.
‘Matteo,’ Bianca said, in a restrained, professional tone. ‘While we’re in the class, we’ll talk in English – it’s easier for everyone here. You can work with Sian, over there by the window.’
Matteo went over to join his new partner. Anna breathed a sigh of relief when he didn’t acknowledge her and returned her gaze to the recipe. She stripped the seeds out of the vanilla pod she and Georgios had been given, then put them in the bin, adding the pod to the mixture.
‘Anna, I’m sorry, my dear,’ Georgios said, with kindness in his voice, ‘but I think we just did that part wrong.’ She looked at the precious vanilla seeds in the bin, when they should have been in the mixture. Darn it, she thought. What a fool. She’d thrown the best bit away.
‘I’ll ask her for another one,’ Anna said, going to the front of the class and apologising for her mistake. When she got back to the counter, Georgios had turned the ice cream maker on.
‘Did you heat it all up first?’ Anna said.
‘Was I supposed to?’ Georgios said, panicked.
‘Yes,’ Anna said. She quickly switched the machine off and tried to save the mixture, but what was left was a sad, gloopy mess. The only place for it was in the bin.
‘Now, everybody,’ Bianca said, calling the class to order. ‘Let’s look at your grand creations. And more importantly, let’s taste them!’
‘I’m sorry, Anna,’ Georgios said, clocking her disappointment, verging on despair. She wanted the ground to swallow her – and their ice cream disaster – up. Why was it so much harder here, when she had managed perfectly adequately with a simple recipe in her kitchen? They’d created a flat, flavourless mess of an ice cream that she was ashamed to show to anyone.
Bianca was at Sian and Matteo’s counter, and as she took a spoonful of ice cream from their maker, she squirmed in delight. ‘Now that really is delicious,’ she said. ‘Come on, everyone, try this one.’
Reluctantly, Anna made her way over, got a fresh spoon and tried the mixture. It was good. It was really, really, annoyingly good.
‘But you have an advantage –’ Bianca added, talking to Sian – ‘with this Italian on your team. And did he tell you he comes from one of Italy’s most famous ice cream-making families?’
Matteo dismissed the comment. ‘Ah, enough of that, Bi. You know they didn’t teach me a thing. So I’m starting from the beginning like all of you.’
He looked kindly around the class and caught Anna’s eye for a moment. If his family were so good at making ice cream, Anna wondered, then what was he doing here?
‘Not bad,’ Bianca said, tasting Ria and Hiro’s ice cream. ‘There’s real potential here – you just need to make it a little bit sweeter.’
Anna hoped for a moment that Bianca might decide to stop there, decide that she had tasted enough. But she turned next to Anna and Georgios’.
‘So, this – wow,’ she frowned, as if Anna and Georgios’ lack of expertise somehow offended the ice cream-making history of the region. ‘This is quite a mess, isn’t it?’
‘As appearances can sometimes be deceptive, I will, of course, try it,’ she said, but she winced as soon as she put the spoon into her mouth and tasted the concoction.
‘It is the first day,’ Bianca said, her voice softening a little. ‘And really this is what first days are for. So, all of you –’ she turned to the other members of the class – ‘make your most horrendous mistakes now – as Georgios and Anna have been so unafraid to do – and then, please, please, make sure that what you do for the rest of the week is much better.’