Page 50 of From Notting Hill with Love…Actually (Actually #1)

Mum and I spent lots of time together over the next couple of days. We visited galleries, took walks in the park, had lunch, and even managed to watch a few movies together—both at the cinema and at home on Belinda and Harry’s huge plasma screen TV.

“My shifts change next week,” Mum announced on Sunday when we were on our way back from seeing a double bill of Cary Grant films. We’d had to travel quite a way on the tube to find this particular cinema, which only showed classic movies.

But it had been worth it for an afternoon of An Affair to Remember and The Philadelphia Story the way they were originally intended to be viewed, on the big screen.

“So I won’t be able to spend so much time with you, I’m afraid.

Besides, I expect you’re starting to get fed up seeing me every day. ”

“Of course I’m not,” I protested, genuinely meaning it.

Mum smiled. “That’s lovely to hear, Scarlett. But unfortunately I’ll be working days next week, so I’ll only have my evenings free. Anyway, I expect you’d like to catch up with David. I bet he’s been missing you.”

“Actually, I think I have been neglecting David a bit recently, and I wanted a chance to introduce him to my new friends, and to you, of course. So you having your evenings free is good, because I was hoping to have a dinner party next week. David has some business in London so he’s going to stay over one night. ”

“Oh, I’d love to meet your fiancé,” Mum said, looking pleased.

“I thought I’d invite Oscar and Ursula too—they’re the two people who were with me the night we met at the cinema. They’re dying to meet you properly; they know about everything that’s happened.”

So did my mother now. Over the last few days I had explained not only how Sean and I had searched all over London and then Paris for her, but also the other reason I was here. And, as I thought she might, my mother had heartily approved of my plan to prove everyone wrong about the movies.

“I shall certainly look forward to your dinner party, Scarlett,” Mum said now. “But you must promise me you’ll try to get out and find some more films next week—you’ve not got long in London now, and one of us has to prove your father wrong. I certainly never managed it.”

“Stop worrying, Mum,” I assured her. “Everything will be just fine—I’m sure of it.”

***

As I stood in front of Belinda’s cookbooks trying to decipher how long you marinated and how often you should stir, I highly doubted it would all be fine…well, the dinner party I was holding tonight anyway .

I was sure that people like Oscar and Ursula who frequented trendy London restaurants all the time wouldn’t expect to come to a dinner party and be served up my trademark dish of spaghetti bolognese.

But knowing those two, I highly doubted they would complain—they were far too lovely and polite for that.

And David…well, David would be surprised to find I was even cooking at all; it wasn’t usually high on my list of successful pastimes.

But I wanted to impress my mother. She might not be living in the lap of luxury at the moment, but I got the feeling from some of the stories she had told me about her life that she had sampled some of the finest cuisines in the world at one time or another.

“Oh God, what do you mean, you stupid man?” I said, staring at the pages of the cookbook, where the celebrity chef grinned smugly back at me from a tiny photo at the top of each page. “What the hell is braise-deglaze ?”

The doorbell rang.

“Oh no—who the hell is that at”—I glanced at the clock on the cooker—“at four bloody o’clock in the afternoon!”

I stomped impatiently to the door in my apron, with my cookbook still gripped tightly in one hand.

“Hello, stranger,” the person standing grinning on my doorstep said. “Long time no see.”

“Sean!” I nearly dropped the book in surprise. “What are you doing here?”

“I just heard the good news from Ursula—about your mother—so I thought I’d pop round.” He looked at my apron-clad body suspiciously. “Can I come in?”

“That depends. ”

“On?”

“On whether you know what braise-deglaze means.”

Sean wrinkled his forehead. “It’s a way of cooking food in liquid, until the liquid evaporates—I think.”

“You’re in then,” I said, pulling him into the house with my book-free hand.

“What are you doing?” Sean asked when I’d shut the door behind him and he was following me back into the kitchen.

“Cooking—well, trying to anyway. I’m having a dinner party.”

“Oh, I see.”

“I would have invited you, of course,” I said hurriedly. “But I thought you were still in New York.”

“I got back last night—been sleeping off the jet lag since. Then Ursula phoned and told me about your mother. I can hardly believe it, Scarlett, she was right here all along.”

“I know—mad, isn’t it?”

“So how have things been between you?” Sean said, picking up an onion from the counter and casually tossing it up and down in his hand. “Are the two of you getting on all right?”

“We are now. Look, it’s a really long story, Sean.

Which I really want to tell you,” I added truthfully.

I did genuinely want to tell him. In fact, now he was here in the house with me again, I didn’t want him to go at all.

“But I’m in way over my head here with this dinner party and I really don’t have the time at the moment.

Maybe we could meet up tomorrow?” I suggested hopefully.

“Or maybe we could just kill two birds with one stone and I could stay here and help you cook while you tell me all about your mother.”

I smiled gratefully at him. “You can cook? ”

“I’ll give it a try,” Sean said, throwing the onion on a chopping board and starting to roll up the sleeves of his shirt. “Now, how bad can it be?”

“I’ve just about managed to light the oven successfully,” I said in a pathetic voice. “But not much more, I’m afraid.”

Sean quickly took charge and the kitchen was soon filled with countless delicious aromas—suggesting to me that he might have played down his culinary talents somewhat.

I ran about the kitchen like his commis chef and, in between chopping, slicing, and stuffing, I told him all about what had happened with Mum.

When I got to the part about the gifts I watched carefully for Sean’s reaction. He had his back to me stirring something in a saucepan, but I saw him pause for a moment before he continued to move the wooden spoon around again in a slow, circular motion.

“Pass me that knife, will you, please?” I asked, gesturing to a sharp knife that lay next to him on the counter. “I think this one is a little blunt.”

Sean picked up the knife and turned toward me. As I looked up at him I noticed his eyes glisten under the bright kitchen spotlights. “I do wish you’d chop those onions under water like I said, Scarlett,” he said brusquely, hastily turning his face away. “They play havoc with my eyes.”

I didn’t like to point out I’d actually finished chopping the onions ten minutes ago and I was now well into the mushrooms and carrots.

“So everything’s going well, then?” Sean asked, when I’d finished my story and he was fully up to date .

“Yes. That’s partly what tonight is all about, so Mum can meet some of my friends—well, most of them. Maddie and Felix are still away on their honeymoon.”

Sean was silent. He pretended to concentrate hard on something in the recipe book.

“Look, why don’t you stay for dinner tonight too, Sean?” I suggested, putting down the casserole dish I was carrying. “After all, you’ve practically cooked the meal yourself.”

“But won’t it throw your numbers out?” he asked, turning his gaze from the book toward me.

I shook my head. “No, there were only five of us anyway; six will make it look much neater.”

“Who’s the five?”

“Me, obviously, and Mum. Then there’s Oscar, Ursula, and David.”

I saw Sean’s shoulders tighten when I mentioned David’s name.

“David’s coming?”

“Yes, Mum wanted to meet him.”

“I see.”

“But I’m sure she’d love to meet you too, Sean,” I said hurriedly. “She’s heard all about you from me.”

“Has she?” Sean asked keenly, his eyes bright with anticipation.

“Yeah, I told her all about how you helped me search for her.”

“Oh, right.” Sean turned back to the book again.

“Please stay, Sean,” I said, walking across the kitchen toward him. “This is an important night for me. I’d like you to be here.” I touched him gently on the shoulder.

“Of course I’ll stay, Scarlett,” he said, turning to face me again. “If that’s what you’d like? ”

“I would, Sean—yes.”

As we stood silently staring at each other, I had to fight the urge to reach out and wipe away the small beads of sweat that had formed on Sean’s brow.

Because if I did so, I knew my fingers would want to continue to trace a line along his nose to his mouth, where they would pause, and I would slowly replace my fingers with my lips…

There was a sizzling sound. It took me a few seconds to realize it wasn’t coming from me.

“Sean, the sauce!”

Sean spun round to see red wine sauce bubbling over the side of the saucepan on to the hob. “Damn, it’s not supposed to boil,” he cursed, hoisting the saucepan aloft. “I’ll have to start again now.”

Hurriedly we returned to our kitchen duties, and all sizzling—of any kind—was momentarily forgotten.