The Italians: Alessandro, Luca & Dizo: Alessandro's Prize / In a Storm of Scandal / Italian Groom, Princess Bride

‘I’d like to find restaurant work and lease a small apartment in Milan,’ she intimated, and sought to explain her decision. ‘I have an excellent manager and staff back home, and I’m confident Parisi will continue to operate to a high standard.’

Sophia’s eyes sparkled as she clapped her hands. ‘So you are going to stay. Cara, this is wonderful news.’

It was easy to offer a light laugh. ‘I’m glad you approve.’

‘How could I not?’ Sophia lifted a hand, and the sommelier moved to their table. ‘Wine, please. Today we celebrate.’

‘Indeed,’ Carlo agreed.

The wine was a superb Sauvignon Blanc, with which Sophia delivered a toast to Lily’s Milanese sojourn, followed by a starter that proved a visual art form in presentation and taste. Surpassed, if it were possible, by the main. When it came to dessert, the exquisite meringue concoction defied description.

It was Lily who requested her compliments be relayed to the chef, the highly regarded Giovanni, whose name held a reverence superseded by few, according to Sophia.

Much to Lily’s surprise he appeared at the close of their meal.

‘Sophia. It is good to see you again,’ he greeted with affection. ‘You have a young friend with you today.’

‘My niece and god-daughter, Lily,’ Sophia relayed with a warm smile. ‘Who is also a chef with her own restaurant in Sydney.’

‘You are on holiday? Or do you intend to remain in Milan and find work immediately?’

She hadn’t given too much thought to a time-frame. ‘The latter.’

His interest appeared to quicken. ‘Do you speak fluent Italian?’

‘French, also,’ Sophia enlightened. ‘My niece spent a year in Paris studying French cuisine.’

‘We are soon to close for a few hours. When you have finished your coffee, Giorgio, the maître d', will escort you to the kitchen, and we will talk.’ He inclined his head. ‘Scusi, per favore.’

‘It sounds promising, cara,’ Sophia offered quietly. ‘How would you feel if Giovanni offers you a position here?’

Take it, a silent voice prompted. ‘Let’s not get too excited until we’ve talked,’ she said cautiously.

The coffee was rich, dark, aromatic, a perfect accompanying touch to end their meal.

It was then the maître d’ approached their table to politely enquire if the lunch had met their satisfaction, and received gratifying assurance before he directed his attention to Lily.

‘Signorina, if you are ready, I will escort you to the kitchen.’

Efficient was the first word that immediately came to mind as Lily entered the expansive work-space. Clean, uncluttered long stainless steel benches, good equipment, staff working well together, she noted in one sweeping glance.

Giovanni came forward and indicated a small office at the rear of the kitchen. ‘We will talk in private.’

His queries focused on her training, where, when, including her knowledge and experience. After which he showed her a variety of menus, whereupon they discussed ingredients, detailed methodology, in both Italian and French.

Testing her, she perceived, and she could only admire his professional approach.

‘I require an assistant chef,’ he explained. ‘Would you be prepared to complete a one-day trial tomorrow?’

Tomorrow?

There was no room for hesitation. ‘Yes.’

‘Bene.’ He mentioned hours and rate of pay. ‘If you work well, the position is yours.’ He stood and indicated the meeting was at an end. ‘I shall expect you in the kitchen at seven in the morning.’

It was more than she’d hoped for. Fate, she rationalized as she rejoined Sophia and Carlo, and the benefit of being in the right place at the right time.

‘It is yes, sì?’ Sophia enquired at once, and Lily’s smile said it all.

‘Conditional on a one-day trial tomorrow,’ she added, and found herself caught in an affectionate embrace.

‘In which you will excel,’ her aunt assured.

Such absolute certainty was touching, if a little premature. ‘Possibly.’ Hopefully.

‘Lily, there can be no doubt,’ Sophia gently chastised as she got to her feet. ‘We need to collect whatever you will need for tomorrow,’ her aunt decided as they exited the restaurant. ‘Carlo will arrange accommodation for us in Milan overnight, and he will be available tomorrow to deliver you to and from the restaurant. Meantime I’ll contact one of my friends who deals in the renting and leasing of real estate.’

‘Whoa,’ Lily protested with a cautionary gesture. ‘First, let me get through tomorrow.’

‘Of course.’

Sophia dalla Silvestri on a roll proved to be one very efficient woman as phone calls were made and received as Carlo returned them to Sophia’s Lake Como villa, where Lily packed for an overnight stay and a full working day in Giovanni’s kitchen.

‘Alessandro has offered the use of his apartment,’ Sophia relayed as Carlo negotiated evening traffic approaching the inner city streets of Milan.

You’re kidding me. Lily carefully schooled her expression. ‘How kind of him.’

‘He doesn’t expect to be in Milan until tomorrow.’

Please have him stay there overnight. The thought of sharing time and conducting polite conversation wasn’t high on her list of favourite pastimes when she needed a good night’s sleep.

Perhaps her plea was heeded, for there was no sign of him as she shared an evening meal with Sophia and Carlo … or when she retired to her guest suite.

Yet for some reason sleep appeared elusive, and despite the comfort of a luxurious bed, she tossed and turned, unable to still an active mind bent on a mental review of Giovanni’s menus, matching ingredients with her own preferred method of preparation, while pondering if her work would meet his rigid standard.

Oh, give yourself a break, she mentally chastised as she listed her qualifications, experience, knowledge.

You’ll be fine.

Sure she would, if only she could get some sleep.

Except after what seemed an endless amount of time, she threw aside the bedcovers, pulled a silk wrap over cotton sleep trousers and vest top, and made her way quietly downstairs to the kitchen.

A hot drink, calming meditative thoughts as she viewed the nightscape had to work.

The hot drink was fine … the meditative thoughts, not so much. As to the nightscape of twinkling street lights vying with coloured neon, the tracery of headlights from moving traffic made for minor distraction.

‘Unable to sleep?’