The Cotswolds Cookery Club: A Taste of Italy - Book 1
‘One of the best stories I’ve read in a long time…I can’t wait to read the other two!’ Stacey Rebecca (NetGalley reviewer)The perfect recipe for happiness?Connie has had enough. Enough of the city, enough of her job – and most importantly, enough of her cheating boyfriend! So, when her best friend jets off to sunny Australia for six months and calls on Connie to house and dog-sit, the timing couldn’t be more perfect.Finally free to chase her dreams, Connie sets up her very own Cotswolds Cookery Club – a place to share scrumptious recipes and, more importantly, a lot of wine! Cue Melody, Kate and Eleanor, three very different women who Connie realises are all in need of a recipe for happiness…But with two gorgeous men turning up the heat, Connie may have just ended up with a recipe for disaster!Fans of Milly Johnson, Caroline Roberts and Jill Mansell will love this heartwarming read!The Cotswolds Cookery Club is a story told in three parts. A Taste of Italy is part one.
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The perfect recipe for happiness?
Connie has had enough. Enough of the city, enough of her job – and most importantly, enough of her cheating boyfriend! So, when her best friend jets off to sunny Australia for six months and calls on Connie to house and dog-sit, the timing couldn’t be more perfect.
Finally free to chase her dreams, Connie sets up her very own Cotswolds Cookery Club – a place to share scrumptious recipes and, more importantly, a lot of wine! Cue Melody, Kate and Eleanor, three very different women who Connie realises are all in need of a recipe for happiness…
But with two gorgeous men turning up the heat, Connie may have just ended up with a recipe for disaster!
Fans of Milly Johnson, Caroline Roberts and Jill Mansell will love this heart-warming read!
Forty Things to Do Before You’re Forty
An Autumn Affair
A Summer of Secrets
A Winter’s Wish
The Cotswolds Cookery Club
A Taste of Italy
Alice Ross
ALICE ROSS escaped her dreary job in the financial services industry a few years ago and has never looked back. Dragging her personal chef (aka her husband) along with her, she headed to Spain, where she began writing witty, sexy romps destined to amuse readers slightly more than the pension brochures of her previous life. Now back in her home town of Durham, when not writing, she can be found scratching out a tune on her violin, walking her dog in wellies two sizes too big (don’t ask!) or standing on her head in a yoga pose. Alice loves to hear from readers, and you can follow her on Twitter at @AliceRoss22 or on facebook.com/alice.ross.108.
Huge thanks as always to the fab team at HQ Digital – particularly Charlotte Mursell and Rayha Rose – for all their hard work and unfailing enthusiasm.
And to the lovely Ms Bland for lugging around two tonnes of cookery books for me. Hope the shoulder has recovered!
For Danielle
Rescuer of greyhounds, painter of spoons, hater of aubergines.
And a very lovely young woman.
Contents
‘Happy birthday, darling.’
On the other end of the phone, Connie Partridge silently counted to three as she awaited her mother’s next comment.
It arrived on cue.
‘Goodness, I can hardly believe you’re thirty-four today.’
Connie rolled her eyes. The edge to her mother’s voice – which had made its first appearance on Connie’s thirtieth birthday – was now all too familiar. It did not infer “gosh, how time flies”, but rather “I can’t believe my only child is hurtling towards middle-age, has zero career prospects, is unmarried, technically homeless, and, with not so much as a sniff of a man on the horizon, has absolutely no hope of producing grandchildren”.
Mind you, being perfectly honest, Connie couldn’t believe her lack of achievement in these areas either. On her last birthday she’d dared to imagine she might be making some headway – in the relationship area at least. She’d imagined that, after five years together, Charles might have considered her notching up another year as the perfect time to Pop the Question. But he hadn’t. Instead, four months ago, she’d discovered him popping something – or rather someone – else: Stacey – his ridiculously glamorous co-worker. In the bed he shared with Connie.
After the initial shock of walking in on the pair – including being secretly awestruck at how immaculate Stacey’s hair looked after what appeared to have been a particularly sweaty session – Connie had engaged in much shouting, cursing and hurling about of things, before instructing Charles to vacate the premises forthwith. When he’d replied – with some diffidence – that the flat belonged to him, Connie had been forced to concede that he did have a point, and had subsequently made a hasty retreat herself – back to her parents’ three-bed semi in Surbiton – where her mother, predictably, had been less than impressed by developments.
‘Men don’t stray without reason, Constance,’ she’d sniffed, with a knowing toss of her auburn bob.
The observation had done little to revive Connie’s dwindling self-esteem, which, never buoyant at the best of times, had continued to plummet further over the ensuing months. Aided on its progress by yet more cutting – and sadly accurate – maternal remarks.
‘You really need to reconsider your career options, darling. I don’t mean to sound harsh, but you have no prospects, aren’t exactly earning a fortune, and it’s not even as if you enjoy what you do.’
None of which Connie could argue with. Her parent had, once again, hit the nail on its increasingly jaded head. But the tirade hadn’t stopped there.
‘And it’s so solitary. Your job does nothing for your social life, which, let’s face it, isn’t exactly buzzing.’
Yet again, Connie could not demur. Working from home as a self-employed proofreader was incredibly solitary – zero banter with colleagues, no office politics to chunter about, and, on the rare occasion she found something to titter about in her reading matter – like an extra “t” added to the word “far”, there was nobody to titter with.
