CHAPTER ONE
JULIA FRY stood back and regarded her latest creation with a certain humorous resignation. Her Cordon Bleu tutors in Paris would throw up their hands in horror at the sight of such unabashed vulgarity, but fortunately she no longer had to worry about their opinions.
‘My God, what on earth is it?’
Julia turned to grin at the tall blond man who pushed through the swing doors from the hall.
‘It’s for tonight,’ she obliged. ‘My pièce de resistance.’
‘What’s it trying to resist, good taste?’ As far as Phillip Randolph was concerned, lack of taste was the ultimate sin.
‘Bite your tongue, Phillip,’ Julia mock-scolded. ‘You told me to create something special for Marcia’s birthday, so I did. It’ll suit her perfectly, don’t you think?’
He didn’t answer and they both knew why. His cousin was a shade too voluptuous, too aggressive, too just about anything to qualify in the lady stakes. Poor Phillip, Julia smiled to herself as she watched an immaculately manicured finger pass over the intricately iced patterns of flowers and leaves, she doubted that he would ever find the woman to suit his fastidious needs.
‘Do you really think …’ the finger halted and pointed stiffly, ‘… that the caterpillar is necessary?’
‘How on earth did he get there!’ exclaimed Julia in tones of wonderment. Brown eyes rose patiently to meet her bright, brimming blue ones and Julia sighed.
‘OK.’ She carefully picked the little yellow-and-green iced object off a curling green leaf. ‘I thought you might have overlooked him. He’s rather cute, don’t you think?’
‘No,’ replied her employer bluntly. ‘You haven’t hidden a spider anywhere too, have you? Amongst the foliage?’
‘I was tempted, but I resisted,’ Julia giggled into his suspicious face.
‘You amaze me,’ replied Phillip drily, straightening up and flicking a non-existent speck from the sleeve of his beautifully tailored suit.
That about summed up their relationship, mused Julia as she watched him preen. She was constantly having to resist the urge to puncture his self-conscious dignity, while on his part he found her sense of humour and frankness disconcerting to say the least.
‘You still haven’t told me exactly what it is.’ He stroked his well-clipped moustache absently.
‘It’s a bombe. A very spectacular bombe,’ said Julia modestly.
‘What does it do—go off in our mouths?’
‘Something like that,’ agreed Julia. ‘There’s enough brandy in there to stun an elephant … or at least to slow Marcia’s mouth down from seventy-eight to thirty-three-and-a-third.’
‘Jealous?’ jeered Phillip slyly.
‘Rabidly,’ was the cheerfully insincere reply. Rich, still single in his mid-thirties and a prominent member of New Zealand’s business and social community, Phillip was used to being regarded in a flattering light, particularly by women. Julia saw it almost as a duty to try and stop the rot.
‘Half the time I never know whether you’re joking or not,’ Phillip complained as Julia placed the platter holding the bombe into the double-doored refrigerator. ‘Don’t you fancy me at all?’
‘What a vulgar turn of phrase,’ said Julia mischievously. And at his pained look: ‘Well of course I fancy you, you’re very fanciable. But you’re not my type.’