Marco, heading home to Saint Michel on the way back from San Francisco where he’d taken part in a charity auction, made a detour via London. Zavi was trying out a new riverside penthouse apartment on the top floor of a reconditioned warehouse east of the City. He’d go and see it for himself, see what Zavi was up to, see if Zavi could help him with the idea forming in his mind. At Heathrow Airport, he dived into the First Class arrivals lounge, showered, and changed his clothes. During breakfast, he went online and searched Red Velvet out of not-so-idle curiosity. And here it was, laid before him on the most appealing website he’d ever seen. “Welcome to Red Velvet,” he read. “Deli, bakery and café.” He scrolled through the tabs glancing at the offerings, his mouth watering in spite of the large English breakfast he’d just consumed. He searched for a photograph of Rosemary and found it in the About Us section. There she was, utterly beautiful in a pink and white polka dot shirt, hair up, arms folded, smiling.
