Lambert A Scottish Teashop in Napoli

A heartwarming story of food, friendship and starting over under the Italian sun
1. Auflage 2025
ISBN: 978-1-83501-235-2
Verlag: Bedford Square Publishers
Format: EPUB
Kopierschutz: 6 - ePub Watermark

E-Book, Englisch, 368 Seiten

'Totally hooked. Loving it. Pictorial, warm and evocative. Really entrancing and beautifully written'. Rula Lenska When Lucy's childhood sweetheart stands her up on their wedding day, she finds herself alone on a plane to a tropical location. Her dream of a bairn-filled future is gone in a heartbeat and the time it takes for her to listen to the rambling drunken voicemail he left calling off the wedding. In Naples, Elena is recently widowed and trying to keep her husband's family's beloved and centuries old mozzarella factory afloat, whilst running her language school and bringing up their son. At risk of losing both businesses - and adding even more disruption to their life - she advertises a job and hopes for the best. The stars seem to align and Elena and Lucy, each suffering from a very different sort of loss and loneliness, set about trying to lift the struggling business and each other. A charming, tender and funny novel about the power of female friendships, the importance of letting go and the joys of eating pasta! 'Real heart, sunshine and a smattering of Italian, the story is a holiday in book form' People's Friend

Jane Lambert was brought up on the west coast of Scotland, studied Modern Languages at Stirling University, then taught English in Vienna. Her love affair with Italy began when she married an Italian chef from Naples and spent a lot of time out there with his family. Her debut novel, THE START OF SOMETHING WONDERFUL, was published by HarperCollins in 2018 and inspired by her rollercoaster transition from globe-trotting air hostess to aspiring actor.

Autoren/Hrsg.

Lambert, Jane

Leseproben

Chapter Two

Naples, Italy. April

The kitchen clock struck midnight.

Elena Moretti slammed the laptop shut, threw down her reading glasses and rubbed her eyes.

Opening her email inbox filled her with dread. What if another customer cancelled their order? What if the bank refused an extension on the business loan? What if the tax office refused her request to pay the company’s bill in instalments?

Given the hour, it was perhaps best to check tomorrow.

She flung open the kitchen window and gazed up at the black sky, breathing in the soothing spring air.

The twinkling of a lone star drew her back to warm, carefree nights spent on the balcony gazing at the wonders of the universe with Giancarlo. If only she could travel back in time.

Running her hand through her unwashed hair, she downed another espresso and collected the crumpled paperwork scattered all over the floor.

She flicked open her notepad with a list of the things she should have dealt with last week:

1.Payroll

2.Health and Safety Application

3.Insurance Renewal

4.Food Hygiene Inspection

Her priority now was to protect her six-year-old son with every fibre of her being and keep both the mozzarella business and the language school afloat without attracting any unwanted attention.

But how long could she go on like this? Since that tragic night she had the feeling that disaster was lurking around every corner, waiting to pounce. She didn’t want to live this way. In fear. But how could she break the negative cycle?

The family had poured so much love into Mozzarella Moretti for generations.

It wasn’t just about making money. The company took genuine pride in offering a high quality, fairly priced product to local businesses, and a happy, nurturing workplace to their loyal employees.

But after barely a few months with her at the helm, the ship was starting to sink; profits were dwindling, staff morale was low and some customers were even starting to shop elsewhere.

But first and foremost, she was a mother.

She tiptoed to Stefano’s bedroom, opening the door a fraction. He was sleeping soundly, Buzz Lightyear by his side. Her heart swelled at the sight of him; innocent, unaware.

She sat down gently on the edge of the bed. She lovingly stroked his black, silken hair, listening to the rhythm of his breathing, her eyes brimming with tears and love.

Watching Stefano running, diving and leaping around the football pitch that afternoon, she had been reminded of how far he’d come since she’d had to tell him that his daddy, his chief storyteller, football coach and superhero was never coming home. Now, as she watched his long eyelashes flicker in a dream, she was taken back to that terrible night.

Giancarlo had called her earlier that evening, brimming with excitement.

‘Put the prosecco on ice, . We have signed our first international client.’

‘! You mean Sarastro & Salieri?’

‘! Mozzarella Moretti will soon be available to buy in their Glasgow and London stores!’

‘That’s—’

‘ that’s not all… Mr Conti, the Managing Director, agreed to feature the factory and some of Mamma Moretti’s recipes in their next cookbook. Gotta go, . I told him I’d run him to the airport.’

‘But I thought… I promised Stefano you would read him a bedtime story.’

‘Tell him tomorrow night I will read him stories. ’

Elena sighed. ‘Okay, but hurry home.’

Later that night there was a knock at the door.

‘ You forgot your key ag—?’

As soon as she glimpsed the police uniform and the strained face and bleak eyes of her husband’s best friend, Dario, her smile disintegrated, her stomach plummeting like a drop tower. ‘I’m so sorry, Elena. It’s Giancarlo…’

The words ‘crash’, ‘clifftop’, ‘control’, ‘explosion’ echoed cavernously in her ear. She felt reality slipping away, as she slumped to the floor.

Later, finally alone, she had knelt outside Stefano’s room, holding a cushion to her face to deaden her mournful cries.

The early morning sun filtered through the blinds. She had willed the daylight to disappear.

Then she had forced herself to wake him, to try to explain. She had held him close, rocking back and forth. ‘Shh, shh.’

The look of fear and bewilderment in the boy’s huge, liquid-brown eyes, and the quiver of his chin as he bravely tried to process what she had just told him, ripped her heart in two. She felt sure it would haunt her for the rest of her life.

His eyes were so like his father’s, which had captivated her from the moment they had met. She and Giancarlo were both from Torre Annunziata, a small town at the foot of Mount Vesuvius in Naples, yet it was on the Central Line of the London Tube that destiny decided to bring them together.

It was 2006 and Elena was running late for her English class. She had dived onto the packed carriage at Tottenham Court Road, just as the doors were closing.

As the train pulled away it jostled, then braked suddenly, sending Elena into the arms of a dark stranger.

‘s I… I mean sorry,’ she’d said, a blush creeping up into her cheeks, as she reached for the grab handle.

‘?’

‘’

‘You are on holiday?’

‘No,’ she’d said shyly, looking at him from under her long lashes. ‘I am here to study English. You?’

‘I am here for one day only. For business. My family has a mozzarella factory in Torre Annunziata, near Naples and—’

she spluttered. ‘This is my home town.’

They stared at one another momentarily in disbelief.

‘Do you know Pizzeria Lorenzo in Via Sepolcri?’ she asked.

‘Of course! Franco, the owner, is one of our customers.’

‘He is my father. And Lorenzo was my great-grandfather.’

‘No way. I was there only last Saturday.’

She almost choked on her takeaway Starbucks and sighed. ‘How I miss strong, Italian coffee.’

‘The best place for coffee in Torre Annunziata—’ he began.

‘Antonio’s, near the station,’ she jumped in. They high-fived one another, hot coffee landing on the cuff of his crisp, white shirt.

‘,’ she groaned, grabbing a tissue from her shoulder bag, more coffee spilling onto the floor, much to the disapproval of the other passengers.

The train was now slowing into Marble Arch station. Grabbing her briefcase, Elena said, ‘Well, it was nice to meet you. .’

The doors beeped shut and she was gone.

As the train sped on through the tunnel, he cursed under his breath.

Giancarlo was not in the habit of chasing young women, but though it was irrational, he’d felt a powerful connection with her; not just because they were from the same town, but there was something more, a feeling he’d never experienced before, and he was sure she’d felt it too. He didn’t even know her name, but he had to find her somehow.

Fortunately, there was only one School of English in Marble Arch. After his meeting, Giancarlo waited outside the gates for almost three hours in the pouring rain. He didn’t dare move in case he missed her. He pretended to read the , studied his phone and checked his watch, so that students and passers-by didn’t think he was some crazy psychopath, hanging around for his next victim.

Elena had found it hard to focus in class that day. Her mind had kept wandering to the handsome stranger she’d bumped into earlier. She was a firm believer in happy coincidences. Could it be serendipity? She’d noticed he wasn’t wearing a wedding ring. She wasn’t in the habit of stalking, but there was something about him, and there was no harm in giving fate a gentle nudge, was there? That shouldn’t be too difficult, since her father was one of his customers. In fact, if she offered to work full-time in the restaurant during the holidays, she was bound to bump into him again. She’d pretend she’d almost forgotten their first brief encounter;

‘?’

That way she wouldn’t appear too keen, like she was chasing him.

But as she emerged through the gates, her heart skipped a beat. There was no need to deploy her cunning plan after all, for there he was, holding a sodden newspaper over his head.

‘Hello again,’ she said, trying to sound casual, her attention drawn by his kind and intense gaze. ‘What are you doing here?’

He grinned, his espresso-brown eyes twinkling. ‘A good question.’ He shrugged sheepishly and held out his hand to her. ‘Giancarlo Moretti.’

‘Elena Benedetti.’

There were now just over two hours left until...