Gentlemen Prefer... Brunettes

‘Well, far be it from me to discourage you from buying a copy of my book, but I’m rather inclined to agree with Beth. It’s hardly the kind of present a girl expects for her birthday.’

‘Well, this is just a little extra. Helen loves to cook—she collects new cookery books the way some women collect jewels. She’s a great fan of yours—which is why I came in when I saw the poster. Now I’ve met you, I can understand why.’

Cassie ignored the smooth compliment. She strongly doubted that he had ever heard of her and she was positive that he was not the kind of man to waste time discussing cookery with his sister.

‘I think I’d rather buy my own cookery books and have someone give me jewels for my birthday,’ she said feelingly.

‘Don’t worry, Cassandra, I’ll find her some exciting surprise to go with it. I’m not that cheap.’

No. She’d never thought he would be cheap. On the contrary, she was certain that he was a man who would be overwhelmingly generous with the little treasures that money could buy. But something warned her that he would be as mean as Scrooge with anything as important as emotional commitment.

‘Would you like me to sign it for her?’ she asked, holding out her hand to take the book, but he was apparently in no great hurry, turning the book towards her so that she could see the picture he had been looking at.

‘Sussex Pond Pudding?’ he queried, eyebrows raised just a fraction. ‘Is that for real?’

Cassie was not convinced by his apparent interest in recipes, certain that he had further dalliance on his mind. But she was determined not to be drawn into further flirtation with a man who obviously thought he was irresistible—who quite probably was irresistible to anyone looking for a meaningless flirtation. But that was not her. However, she had to clear her throat before she could attain sufficient briskness to answer him.

‘Have you never tried it? It’s a traditional English pudding,’ she explained, as if lecturing a class of fourteen-year-olds at the local comprehensive. ‘The pond is a lemon and butter sauce that forms a moat around the pudding when it’s turned out of its basin. It’s loaded with calories, of course—but it is quite delicious. Maybe,’ she added, ‘if the surprise is exciting enough, your sister will make it for you.’

‘Maybe she will,’ he acknowledged, continuing to flip through the book. ‘And what about fluffs and fools and flummeries?’ he enquired, stopping at a page near the end of the book. ‘Are they stuffed with calories too?’

She shrugged. ‘They’re certainly stuffed with cream.’

He closed the book with a little snap and turned it over. ‘Maybe you should print a health warning on the cover.’ He raised the book slightly as once more his smile deepened the creases around his mouth, sending tiny crinkled fans out from the corners of his eyes.

‘They’re also full of good fresh fruit. Have you never heard the expression that a little of what you fancy does you good, Nick?’

‘Certainly. It’s a philosophy I subscribe to most heartily. But not necessarily in regard to food. Besides, I thought it was all low-fat, no-added-sugar that did you good these days?’

Cassie discounted the smile. There was no denying that the man was gorgeous, but he was just a little too aware of the fact. Besides, she wasn’t a tall, willowy blonde so he was presumably just using her to practise on until something more to his taste came along.

‘Frankly, I’d rather go without. And no one is suggesting you eat them every day. You can have too much of a good thing, particularly flummery,’ she said pointedly.

‘Is that a particularly rich dish?’ he asked, a touch dangerously.

Coming from him it was; the glint of mischief in his eyes betrayed him. She was quite certain he was aware that the word had another meaning, one that he would be far more familiar with...nonsense, humbug, empty trifling.

Beth, who had dealt with her customer, returned in time to witness the sudden flush of bright pink spots that had appeared on Cassie’s cheeks. ‘If you think flummery is rich, my friend, you should try Cassie’s toad-in-the-hole,’ she interjected hurriedly.

‘Should I?’ Nick asked, continuing to look straight down into Cassie’s eyes. ‘If I catch the toad will you cook it for me?

‘Buy yourself a copy of the book, Nick,’ Beth advised him. ‘It will be an investment. One day you’ll run out of women to charm and then you’ll have to learn to cook for yourself.’

‘I’ve never charmed a woman for her talents in the kitchen, Beth,’ he said, without taking his gaze from Cassie. ‘This town is full of good restaurants.’ He hadn’t missed the hectic colour that had seared her cheekbones, confirming that despite her very cool manner he was making some kind of impression on Miss Cassandra Cornwell. Quite what kind of impression he wasn’t sure, which was unusual enough m itself to interest him. ‘But I’ll buy one if Cassie will inscribe it for me.’

‘Of course she will,’ Beth said, suddenly businesslike. ‘What would you like her to write?’

‘Oh, I’ll leave that to Cassie. I’m sure she’ll think of something appropriate,’ he said, offering her the book.

‘How about, “To Nick Jefferson, the most accomplished—?” ’

‘The most accomplished cook in town,’ Nick completed, cutting Beth off before she could say something completely outrageous.

‘But you can’t cook,’ Cassie reminded him, with excessive politeness. Nick had a feeling that she would have preferred to throw one of her cookery books at him. A whole pile of books, perhaps. He rather thought he would like to see her try.

‘Won’t your book teach me how to turn out perfect meals in minutes?’ he asked, provoking her some more. ‘That is the dream you’re peddling’

‘On the contrary. Anyone can heat up some fancy cook-chill meal from the supermarket these days.’ She laid her hand on the pile of books beside her. ‘I write about the kind of old-fashioned cooking that takes time and love to produce. My readers cook for pleasure, Nick, and so do I, not for the instant gratification of fast food.’

‘I can see why your television show is so popular, Cassandra. Nostalgia is really big right now.’

‘Don’t you sometimes long for a taste of rice pudding the way your mother made it? With butter and sultanas and freshly grated nutmeg?’

‘No, I always preferred fresh picked strawberries. And if the strawberries were stolen...’

He wasn’t talking about puddings any more. ‘That’s nostalgia too,’ Cassie interrupted, just a touch crossly. ‘And what about the dreams you’re selling?’ She indicated the floors above her, the glass tower of Jefferson Sports headquarters, glistening in the summer sunshine, dominating the town. ‘Buy this great new tennis racquet, or these expensive golf clubs, and you too can be the world champion? Where’s the reality in that?’

Beth choked. Neither of them noticed.

‘Not world champion.’ He lifted one corner of his mouth in the kind of smile that would have had most women gasping for more. ‘Club champion, maybe. But Jefferson Sports sells more than one kind of dream. We sell the great outdoors, too. Camping gear, fishing rods, hiking and sports equipment, in fact the complete antidote to over-indulgence in your kind of cooking.’

‘You’ll be needing a tent, won’t you, Cassie?’ Beth put in swiftly, before things got totally out of hand. ‘If you ask him nicely, I’m sure Nick will show you his entire range.’ She paused, a wicked little twinkle appearing in her eyes. ‘You never know, he might even offer to pitch it for you.’

‘Are you going camping’ he asked Cassie.

‘You bet she is,’ Beth said, answering for her. ‘In fact she’s going with three perfectly adorable young men.’

‘Boys,’ Cassie muttered, refusing to allow Beth to make something out of this stupid flirtation. ‘And I already have a tent.’

‘Three boys?’ He glanced at her ringless hand, not that it meant anything these days... ‘Yours?’ he asked.

‘My nephews. They want a taste of the big outdoors and since my sister and her husband are going away for a week I volunteered to take them.’

‘Just you and three boys? Beth could be right. You’ll need someone who knows what he’s doing to put up the tent.’

‘Will I? Is it that difficult?’

‘A nightmare if you don’t know what you’re doing.’

‘Do you warn your customers about that when you’re selling them one of your dream tents?’

‘We do advise them to have a practice run at home in the garden before they go trekking up the Amazon. Have you done that, Miss Cornwell?’

‘Trekked up the Amazon?’

‘Had a practice run—in the garden?’

‘Not yet.’