Margherita's Notebook by Elisabetta Flumeri, Gabriella Giacometti Page B

composure.
    â€œWhat are you doing here?” he asked aggressively. “Where’s the chef?”
    â€œI am the chef,” she said emphatically, “and she’s right here standing in front of you. And what are you doing here?”
    â€œThis is my house!” Nicola replied. “I’m the one who hired you!” He gazed at her with brazen hostility. “Had I known it was you, I would have looked for someone else.”
    â€œAnd had I known it was you , I would never have accepted!” Margy retorted. “And what is it you all have against women in this place?”
    Nicola was again speechless.
    What did women have to do with it now?
    â€œYou’re obviously prejudiced,” she continued, “but you could at least be polite!”
    It took just those few seconds of arguing to distract Margherita from her stove: suddenly the smell of something burning wafted through the kitchen.
    â€œOh, no! The ragout . . . ,” she exclaimed. Margherita spun around and, as the smoke rose up from the saucepan, while trying to remedy the problem she bumped up against it so that it ended up on the floor, just missing the trousers of the owner of the house. Nicola skipped to one side, looking at her angrily.
    â€œYou are a menace to society!” he shouted. “I asked for a chef who was an expert in international cuisine, not a disorganized pyromaniac amateur!”
    On hearing these words, Margherita heated up as much as her ragout.
    â€œIf you’d rather make your own dinner, be my guest. I don’t intend to stay here a minute longer. First your wife, now you!”
    â€œWho on earth are you talking about?” Nicola interrupted, while Margherita struggled in vain to untie the knot in her apron.
    â€œMiss Lemon Popsicle!” she exploded. “That kind lady who welcomed me here,” she continued, her words dripping venom.
    Nicola had to hold back a grin: he had to admit the nickname fit his assistant to a T, although Carla wouldn’t have agreed.
    But Margherita was far from finished. “The perfect couple, Mr. Frozen Foods and Miss Lemon Popsicle. Have agood dinner with the chef’s best wishes!” She turned off the stove and started to gather up her things.
    â€œHas anyone ever told you how exasperating you are?” Nicola had to control his urge to slap her. “Have no fear, I’ll find a solution!”
    â€œI’m not at all concerned, you can be sure of that!” she replied.
    Nicola banged the door as he left the room. Margherita rinsed and dried her kitchen tools, pursing her lips as she did. She was furious.
    The whole thing had started out on the wrong foot. She was sorry for Matteo, since he’d probably end up being fired, but he should never have gotten her involved in this. She could hear the owner’s tense voice as he telephoned the various restaurants in the area, but she couldn’t care less. The only thing she wanted to do was leave that house as soon as possible, that fairy-tale castle that had turned into a witches’ den. When she was finally ready to go, she threw open the door but found herself face-to-face with him again, just a few inches away from that body that she couldn’t help but find irresistibly sensuous. She jumped back.
    â€œWhere do you think you’re going?” Nicola asked, blocking the way.
    â€œIt’s none of your business!” she challenged him.
    â€œYes, it is my business. All the restaurants are fully booked, and even though I would give anything to get rid of you, you’re going to have to stay.”
    â€œYou can forget it!” Margherita answered, fuming.
    â€œYou made a commitment and now you have to keep it,” Nicola warned her menacingly.
    â€œAnd what if I don’t? All you can do is fire me, but I’ll save you the trouble and leave on my own!”
    â€œYou’renot going anywhere. You haven’t been fired. Now