Anything but Vanilla... by Liz Fielding Read Free Book Online

when she had a custom-built facility right here? ‘Anyone would think you don’t want me to rescue Knickerbocker Gloria.’
    ‘Anyone would be right,’ he replied. ‘I don’t.’

FOUR
    Man cannot live on ice cream alone. Women are tougher.
    —from Rosie’s ‘Little Book of Ice Cream’
    Sorrel was momentarily taken aback by his frankness. But only momentarily.
    ‘Fortunately, Mr West, that’s not your decision to make. I’m sure Her Majesty’s Revenue and Customs would be more than happy to negotiate with me if it means they’ll get their back taxes paid.’ She paused, briefly, but not long enough for him to respond. ‘You are aware that fines for non-payment are levied on a daily basis?’
    ‘I had heard a rumour to that effect.’
    ‘And, for your information, while I do keep records of the recipes that Ria has developed for my clients, they are her intellectual copyright. I can’t just hand them over to another ice-cream manufacturer and ask them to knock me up a batch.’
    Always assuming she could find one who could be bothered.
    It hadn’t been easy to find anyone prepared to work with her to create her very special requirements. Sorbets tinted to exactly match the embroidery on a bride’s gown. Ices the colours of a company logo, or a football-team strip. Who wouldn’t suggest she needed her head examined when asked to produce the ice cream equivalent of a cucumber sandwich, but accepted the challenge with childlike glee.
    And even if she had been that unscrupulous, there was no way she’d allow herself to be put in this position again. If Knickerbocker Gloria folded she would have to set up her own production plant from scratch. It would take time to find the right premises, source equipment, train staff and be inspected before she could be up and running. And time was the one thing she didn’t have.
    And she’d still be missing the one vital ingredient that made what she offered so special. Ria.
    She might very well have said the first thing that came into her head, but taking over Knickerbocker Gloria, putting it on a proper, well-managed footing, could save both Ria and Scoop! And if, in the process, she wiped that patronising expression from Alexander West’s face, then it would be worth it.
    ‘Not without her permission,’ she added. ‘And unless you can tell me where she is right now that is a non-starter.’
    ‘Why?’
    ‘Because the Jefferson party is tomorrow.’
    ‘Tomorrow!’ Now she had his attention.
    ‘I believe I mentioned that the sorbet has a very short shelf life.’
    ‘So you did.’
    ‘I wasn’t sure that you were listening.’
    ‘I promise you,’ he said, ‘you’ve had my undivided attention from the moment you walked in.’
    ‘Yes, I had noticed.’
    ‘If you will go around half dressed...’
    Half dressed?
    ‘ This is not half dressed! On the contrary. I’m wearing a vintage Mary Quant suit that belonged to my grandmother!’
    ‘Not all of it, surely?’
    ‘The jacket is in my van. I didn’t expect to be more than five minutes. Now, are there any more comments you’d like to make about my clothes, the hygiene headgear designed by someone who hates women or the way I run my business? Or can we get on?’
    He raised his hands defensively. Then, clearly with some kind of death wish, said, ‘Your grandmother?’
    ‘She was a deb in the sixties. Vidal Sassoon hair, Mini car, miniskirts and, supposedly, the liberation of women.’
    ‘Supposedly?’
    ‘Since I’ve met you, I’ve discovered that we still have a long way to go. And, while we’re putting things straight, this is probably a good time to mention that any negotiations to purchase the business will be conditional on the completion of the Jefferson order.’
    ‘In other words,’ he said, grabbing the opportunity to get back to business, ‘you’re just stalling me out.’ He leaned back against the freezer, crossing his sinewy arms so that the muscles bunched in his biceps, tightening