Nikki Logan - British Bachelors - Fabulous and Famous - The Secret Ingredient / How to Get Over Your Ex / Behind the Film Star's Smile

Rob ran his hand back and forth over his mouth and chin. ‘It’s been eight years since her meltdown at the last exhibition. Eight years, Sally! And the press are still baying for something juicy to say. I thought that if I came here I could provide some sort of diversion. You know what they’re like. Why bother with a clever artist with a fading reputation when she has a TV celebrity as a son? Who knows? If we goad him enough we might be able to set off some of those fireworks and get some photographs to sell to the highest bidder. And they have the perfect ammunition to do it with.’

Sally walked around and perched on the edge of the desk.

‘Did you manage to keep it together?’

There was something in Sally’s tone that made Rob sit back on the sofa and look up. ‘Barely. I would not give them the satisfaction. So don’t give me that look. I played nice and did not punch anyone, no matter how much I wanted to. Happy? Because I know that voice. There’s something else going on here. Fire away. Let’s get it over with.’

‘Observant as ever.’ She smiled and paused long enough to reach across the desk and pass a bundle of printed sheets across to Rob, who glanced at them once before tossing them onto the sofa cushion.

‘You cannot be serious. I’ve just finished filming the final TV series and it practically killed me fitting everything in. I’ve done the interviews and press calls and earned that money. And now they want me to do another series? What is that all about? We’ve been down this road before, Sally. Mum needs me to be close at hand. Travelling across the States then flying back to get her through this exhibition has been tough on both of us. She needs me to be in California. And I really need to get back to work in the Beresford kitchens. Sean has hardly seen me this year and I have been relying way too much on the chefs I trained. Time to get back to doing what I do best. Working with food and creating amazing dishes for the Beresford hotel chain.’

Sally raised both hands in the air. ‘I did what you asked me to. I made it clear to the production company a year ago that you have had enough of the restaurant makeover show for TV. One more series and that’s it. But the audience figures are soaring higher month on month, Rob. Viewers cannot get enough of you. Look at the numbers, Rob. This is crazy money. Sign the new contract and you don’t need to work again unless you want to. Ever. This could be just the opportunity you need to build up that emergency fund.’

Rob paused, then glanced up at the woman who had looked after his interests since he was seventeen. ‘Come on, Sally. You know this was never about the money. Every penny I have earned on the TV shows and personal appearances has gone into my mum’s account.’

‘And last time I checked, the investment plan we worked on was doing very nicely and bringing in a respectable income to cover her not-so-little spending sprees. But how long is that going to last? You are top news at the moment. But once you move back into your kitchen the focus will shift onto the next hot new chef and Rob Beresford will not be the man of the moment any longer. And you can stop glaring at me. Because I’m not the only person who has got their head about that fact. So far I have had three enquiries from documentary film companies. Every one of them wants the exclusive rights to a behind-the-scenes exposé of the real Rob Beresford. And if you don’t take part they will make them anyway. That’s the way it goes.’

There were a few seconds of silence before Rob responded in a low voice. ‘Are you telling me that someone else is planning to write my life story without even asking me?’

‘Absolutely. That’s why you should think about it. Because you know what would happen if they did. They are bound to focus on the one thing we’ve worked hard to keep in the background.’

Rob pushed himself shakily to his feet and walked stiffly over to the window, his shoulders rigid with stress. ‘My mother would not survive. It took her months to pull back from the last bout of depression and I can’t force her to take the medication while she is painting. It has to be her choice. That was what we agreed.’

‘Then tell the story the way you want to before somebody else does.’

‘Tell my story? You think the readers would want to know about all of the gruelling years I spent in hotel kitchens? There is nothing exciting and glamorous about that way of life.’

Rob rolled back his shoulders and winced. ‘Speaking of which, I have an appointment with a baker and something tells me that I had better not be late.’

Sally coughed low in her throat and looked at him over the top of her spectacles. ‘A baker? Today? I thought you would be spending time at the gallery with Adele.’

‘I’ll explain later, Sally...if I survive.’

* * *

It was mid-morning before Rob pushed open the door to Lottie’s Cake Shop and Tea Rooms and stepped inside.

And almost whirled around on one heel and went straight back out again.

Because he had just walked into what looked like a children’s tea party, complete with ear-damaging levels of laughing, calling out and crying, some sort of jangling music, and a group of toddlers swaying their bodies from side to side and waving their hands in the air just in front of the serving counter while the girl he now knew to be Lottie Rosemount was conducting the dancing with a large wooden spoon.

She was wearing wide-leg navy trousers and a floral T-shirt covered with a large navy apron with a picture of a cupcake on it. Her blonde hair was tied back in a high ponytail and a pretty navy-and-white headband drew attention to an oval face that even without a trace of make-up still managed to be stunningly pretty.

This was the place that Sean’s girlfriend, Dee, loved so much?

He had survived restaurant opening nights that were quieter and more in control than this!

After a ninety-hour week and several international flights the last thing he wanted to do was join in a school party. His job was to earn the money so that his mother never had to worry about having nothing in the bank ever again.

But when could he ever refuse her anything?

She was the one and only woman on the planet who he had promised to take care of for as long as she needed him.

And he kept his promises. Even if that meant turning up to a small high-street bakery on a weekday morning.

‘Thank you, ladies and gentlemen,’ Lottie called out. ‘That was simply amazing. Disco dancing and sporting stars of the future. No doubt about it. And don’t forget, the Yummy Mummy club meets at the same time next week. So if you are ready to say the word about the one thing we all love best in the whole world...wait for it, Helena, and please stop doing that, Adam...three...two...one. Let’s have a great big...cake!’

Rob winced and half closed one eye as the wannabe dance troupe screamed out the word and then they all burst into a barrage of yelling and screaming and calling and jumping up and down.

All he could do was stand to one side as the actually very yummy mummies wrestled their little darlings into submission and baby buggies and in some cases reins and shuffled past him towards the entrance and the busy London street outside on the pavement.

Holding the door open for them seemed like a good idea. The first time.

Except that the second each lovely mummy spotted him smiling politely at them the forward movement onto the pavement slowed down to the point where a very rowdy and disorderly queue had formed in the cake shop.

‘Hello, handsome. Has anyone ever told you that you look a bit like that horrible rude chef that shouts a lot on the telly?’ The second girl shrugged. ‘Only not as good-looking. Sort off.’ Then she covered her hand with her mouth and laughed before shuffling off.