Page 35 of A Winter By the Sea
The man nodded and waved to his boy to wrap up the meat.
Mr. Bernardi gestured for her to proceed him, and the two walked on together, stopping briefly at the next stall. “Look at these iced buns.” He gave a tsk of disapproval. “So puny. You could no doubt do better.”
“Thank you. I think.”
He lifted his basket and explained, “Besides our regular fare, I am beginning to search out ingredients for the duke’s party next week.”
“I see. I am sure you are looking forward to the challenge.”
“True.” He glanced around the market. “Fruits and vegetables are not as plentiful as I should wish, but at least the meat is in good supply. Beef, mutton, pork. All seems adequate.”
“Speaking of adequate, there are not enough eggs to go around with such a large party at Woolbrook. I don’t suppose you have any extra to spare? We are nearly out and there are none for sale.”
“For you, Miss Summers, certainly. I shall bring some to you from our stores. A dozen, perhaps? Two?”
“Two dozen, if you can spare them. Thank you.”
He nodded and turned his attention to the next stall. His gaze landed on something, and his bushy brows rose.
“Ah, here is a find indeed. Radicchio. First cultivated in northern Italy.”
Sarah studied the round maroon heads. “What do you do with it?”
“Eat it, of course.”
“Ha ha. I meant how do you prepare it?”
“It can be bitter, so I soak it in cold water first. Then I grill it until crisp and brown, which brings out a sweet, nutty flavor. I will make some for you.”
He added a bunch to the basket.
“If you’d like.”
She walked beside him as he strolled past more stalls, now and again stopping to sniff an imported orange, a wedge of cheese, a link of sausage, or a handful of shrimp, adding some items to his basket and directing others to be delivered to Woolbrook and billed to the Duke of Kent’s comptroller.
Then he lifted a bunch of dried garlic and inhaled deeply through his rather prominent nose. He extended it to her. “Smell this.”
Sarah tentatively complied.
“I adore garlic,” he said, “especially sautéed in butter or with bacon. Sadly, I’ve learned many English people prefer their food bland.”
“Don’t forget, you told me you are English too.”
He ducked his head, looking mildly abashed. “True. Yet my mamma does not cook like an Englishwoman, and of course there were my years spent in France to educate my palate. From Mamma, I learned the importance of quality ingredients.”
“And from France?” she asked.
“Ah.” He raised a finger. “In France I learned that butter makes everything better.”
As they left the marketplace, Sarah pointed out Broadbridge’s Boarding House, explaining it was owned and managed by their friend Miss Stirling.
At least for now, she added to herself.
He nodded and his expression turned wistful. “Sometimes I think of that, of having an establishment of my own. An eatery, or a small hotel where I might cook for my guests.”
Sarah looked at him in surprise. “You astonish me. I wouldnot have thought a humble hostelry could compete with cooking for a royal household.”
Perhaps she ought to have introduced Mr. Bernardi to Miss Stirling. Then, remembering the look on her friend’s face when she gazed after Mr. Farrant, it seemed too late to do so now.
