Total pages in book: 67
Estimated words: 64506 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 323(@200wpm)___ 258(@250wpm)___ 215(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 64506 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 323(@200wpm)___ 258(@250wpm)___ 215(@300wpm)
‘What’s in it?’
‘Nothing yet. Just warming it up so I can put a pizza into it.’
‘What happened to your diet?’
‘I decided that diets are not for people like me. There’s just no point living if you have to starve yourself all the time.’
I laugh. ‘You don’t need to lose weight anyway. I don’t know why you bother.’
‘It’s all these damn celebrities and their air-brushed photos. If I lived in America I would sue them for giving me an inferiority complex.’
‘Where did you get the pizza from?’
‘Antonio made it.’
Antonio works in an Italian pizzeria down the road from Stella’s apartment and he makes pizzas to die for. ‘What type of pizza is it?’
‘Pepperoni with extra cheese.’
‘How much longer before the oven is ready?’
‘Mmm less than ten minutes. Why?’
‘Can I come over and share your pizza?’
‘You better hurry then.’
‘I’m leaving now.’
Noah isn’t around, but Yuri gives me a lift to Stella’s.
‘Call me when you’re done. I’ll be at Starbucks across the road,’ he says.
‘OK,’ I say and using my old key let myself into the building and race up the stairs. I open the front door and the whole place smells of baking pizza.
‘Fantastic timing,’ Stella says, opening the oven door. She is wearing a red tank top, Daisy Dukes, and is walking about barefoot with toe separators attached to her toes.
I go to the cupboard and take out the big pizza plate and two smaller plates. I put the big plate on the countertop and Stella slides the pizza on it. She uses a pizza cutter to slice it into eight parts.
‘Are we having salad?’ I ask.
‘I wasn’t going to, but we can if you want to.’
I open the fridge, pull out a bag of salad and dump it into a bowl. Stella smothers it with bottled dressing and we carry everything to the sofa. Stella sits on one end with her feet up and I take off my shoes and sit on the other end. The soles of our feet touch and we smile at each other. Just like old times. Stella picks up a slice and bites into it.
‘Oh fuck,’ she groans with her mouth full. ‘God, I’ve missed you,’ she tells the pizza slice. ‘Mmmm ...’
I chuckle and take a bite. ‘Mmmm … Really good, isn’t it?’
She wipes her mouth on a paper towel. ‘If Antonio wasn’t already married I swear I’d marry him.’
‘He isn’t married, is he?’ I ask curiously.
‘Yeah, he is. She was there with their kid the other day.’
I take a bite. ‘I forgot to ask, has Mark come around with your shoe?’
‘Yup, he came by the next day. Funny thing was he brought it to me in a box, which kind of impressed me. Most men wouldn’t have known the value of a Jimmy Choo.’
‘He’s a nice guy. It’s sad it turned out this way for him.’
She stuffs the last bit of her slice into her mouth, chews and swallows. She pops open her can of Coke and takes a sip. ‘Don’t worry about him he’s rather dishy. Someone else will snap him up.’
‘You know, Stel, I actually wanted to talk to you about something.’
She reaches for another slice. ‘You’re not coming back to live here,’ she says and bites into her pizza.
I smile apologetically. ‘Well, if you don’t mind I’d like to carry on paying rent for a while and see how things go with Zane.’
She waves her hand. ‘You don’t have to pay rent while you’re not living here, Dahlia.’
‘Zane has put a lot of money in my account so I want to. It will make me feel safe and confident if I know I have this place if things don’t work out with Zane.’
‘Sure, babe. You can have this place for as long as you want.’
‘Thank you, Stel.’
She pulls a pepperoni slice from her pizza, pops it into her mouth, and chews. ‘Now tell me what you’re really here for?’
I grin at her. She knows me so well. ‘Well, I wanted to ask you about that composer, Andre Rieu. What’s he like?’
She shrugs and looks at me curiously. ‘He’s a bit like my dad, but he’s actually quite friendly. He’s a fan of Tintin.’
‘So he’s friendly then?’
‘Yes. I would say so.’
‘When is your next appointment with him?’
‘Well, he lives in a castle in Mastritch. He only books me when he’s touring in England. Why?’
‘Oh, so you won’t be seeing him soon,’ I say disappointed.
‘Afraid not.’
For a second I feel deflated then I try another tack. ‘Don’t you have any other clients who are in the world of classical music?’
‘As a matter of fact I do. Andre referred me to this violinist and a cellist.’
‘And do you see them often?’
‘Actually I think I have an appointment with the violinist, his name is Eliot, tomorrow.’
‘Can I come with you? I need to see him just for one minute.’