“Yes, I gathered. I’m glad you could make it by this morning. You did get the press kit I sent in?”

She’s a cool one, Lydia thought and shifted in her seat. “Yes. The feature should be out by the end of the week. I’ll send you a clipping.”

“I’d appreciate it.”

“Miss Trent—”

“Juliet, please.” For the first time, Juliet turned and smiled at her fully. “No need for formality.”

“All right, Juliet, I feel like a fool.”

“I’m sorry. You shouldn’t.”

“I’m very fond of Carlo, but I don’t poach.”

“Lydia, I’m sure there isn’t a woman alive who wouldn’t be fond of Carlo.” She crossed her legs as the countdown for taping began again. “If I thought you’d even consider poaching, you wouldn’t be able to pick up your pencil.”

Lydia sat still for a moment, then leaned back with a laugh. Carlo had picked himself quite a handful. Served him right. “Is it all right to wish you luck?”

Juliet shot her another smile. “I’d appreciate it.”

The two women might’ve come to amicable terms, but it wasn’t easy for Carlo to concentrate on his job while they sat cozily together in the audience. His experience with Lydia had been a quick and energetic two days. He knew little more of her than her preference for peanut oil for cooking and blue bed linen. He understood how easy it was for a man to be executed without trial. He thought he could almost feel the prickle of the noose around his throat.

But he was innocent. Carlo poured the mixture of tomatoes, sauce and spices over the browned chicken and set the cover. If he had to bind and gag her, Juliet would listen to him.

He cooked his dish with the finesse of an artist completing a royal portrait. He performed for the audience like a veteran thespian. He thought the dark thoughts of a man already at the dock.

When the show was over, he spent a few obligatory moments with his host, then left the crew to devour one of his best cacciatores.

But when he went back to the green room, Juliet was nowhere in sight. Lydia was waiting. He had no choice but to deal with her, and the interview, first.

She didn’t make it easy for him. But then, to his knowledge, women seldom did. Lydia chatted away as though nothing had happened. She asked her questions, noted down his answers, all the while with mischief gleaming in her eyes. At length, he’d had enough.

“All right, Lydia, what did you say to her?”

“To whom?” All innocence, Lydia blinked at him. “Oh, your publicist. A lovely woman. But then I’d hardly be one to fault your taste, darling.”