no trouble keeping the flow of ices moving. The sorbet, mouth-wateringly pretty in chilled miniature cocktail glasses, didn’t have time to melt before it was seized upon, while the mouth-sized bites of strawberry shortcake, little cups of Earl Grey granita, cucumber ‘sandwiches’ and all the other little teatime treats disappeared as fast as Sorrel and her team could dish them out.
Despite his teasing, he was seriously impressed and picked up some of her business cards to pass on to guests who asked him who was providing the ices.
* * *
Sorrel caught sight of Alexander from time to time, talking to guests, answering their questions, making sure that everyone was being served, keeping the flow of ices moving, just as Basil would have done. Making everyone feel special. With that smile, he was a natural.
He paused, occasionally, to exchange a word with guests, pass on one of the cards she’d left on the counter of the ice-cream bar.
‘I was wrong about the cucumber,’ he admitted, at one point in the afternoon, when he brought back a few glasses that hadn’t been returned to a tray.
‘I told you I was pistachio,’ she said.
‘Not your dress, the ice cream,’ he said. ‘It’s very popular, especially with the women.’
‘Is that right? So are you ready to concede defeat?’
‘That depends. Did we decide what your forfeit would be if you lose?’
‘If I lose, I pay the full rent,’ she reminded him, finding it easier to keep her head with the width of the ice-cream bar between them. ‘Is there something you want, Alexander?’
His smile was slow, sexy and she was wrong about the ice-cream bar. It was nowhere wide enough.
‘Ice cream?’ she prompted.
‘I have a special request for a tray of the Earl Grey granita for the ladies watching the tennis.’
‘I suspect it’s you rather than the ice they want.’ Especially the junior royal who had been flirting with him whenever he came within eyelash-fluttering distance.
‘Maybe you should send someone else.’
‘And disappoint the paying customers? I don’t think so,’ she said, taking a tray of tiny cups and saucers out of a chiller drawer and piling in spoonfuls of granita, decorating each one with the thinnest curl of citrus peel, before adding a lemon tuile biscuit to each saucer with the speed of long practice.
‘You’ve done that before.’
‘Once or two thousand,’ she said.
‘They look very tempting.’
‘Don’t keep Lady Louise waiting,’ she said, waving him away as she began scooping out the strawberry shortcake and lemon cheesecake into bite-sized biscuit cases. ‘She won’t be happy if her tea gets warm.’
‘No, ma’am.’
When she allowed herself to look up again, he had been waylaid halfway across the lawn by a blonde weather-girl whose string of high-profile romances had ensured her permanent place on the covers of the lifestyle magazines. She leaned forward, offering a close-up of her generously enhanced cleavage, and, her hand on his arm, whispered something in Alexander’s ear. He whispered back and she burst out laughing as she took a cup from the tray. Which was when the Celebrity photographer seized his moment.
Barring any outrageous incident, it seemed likely that her Earl Grey granita, bracketed by their favourite cover girl flirting with an unknown but attractive man, would make it onto the cover of next week’s Celebrity.
She knew she should be ecstatic about that—it was more than she’d dared hope for—but, with Alexander still grinning as he headed for the tennis court, she couldn’t bring herself to feel as happy about it as she ought to be.
* * *
‘Fabulous, Sorrel,’ Nick said, dropping by once everyone had gone. ‘Thanks for a wonderful event.’
‘It seemed to go well. We were lucky with the weather.’
‘Well, I can’t deny that helped. Alexander...’ he said, turning, as Alexander handed her a couple of cups and a spoon that had been missed. ‘I thought I saw you, earlier, but assumed I must be hallucinating.’
‘I flew in a couple of days ago.’
‘Actually, I was referring to the fact that you’re moonlighting for Sorrel.’
‘Blue moonlighting,’ he said.
‘As in “once in a blue moon”,’ Sorrel chipped in, seeing Nick’s confusion.
Unsure what to make of that, he said, ‘Well, thanks again, Sorrel. I’ll be in touch very soon. It’s my niece’s eighteenth birthday in a couple of months and she’s dropped heavy hints that she expects Rosie to put in an appearance at her party.’
‘No problem. Just let me know when so that I can put it in the diary.’
‘I’ll phone you next week. Are you going to be around for long, Alexander?’
‘A week