I am swamped. Oh—and you know that you are always welcome chez moi; my pals would love to see you. They are totally into cosseting and, darling, you need some serious love and care. What? What?’
Hal held up one hand in surrender.
‘Please can I have a word in edgeways? Okay. France is great but I’ve rented out the chalet and put my stuff into storage. I am staying long enough to get through Tom’s fundraiser, then we can see what I can do to help you with that workload. And, thank you, I would love to sleep on your couch. But no cosseting. I’ve had more than enough cosseting these last few months.’
‘Wow,’ Poppy replied in a low voice and sat back. ‘Now you have surprised me. You love that chalet. What made you rent it out?’
Hal inhaled a couple of deep breaths before even trying to reply.
Back in France the Langdon Events team had protected him from the press, the media and whoever else wanted the inside story on how Tom Harris had died. Did they really think that he had not noticed how they almost took shifts to make sure that there was always someone there when he woke in the night? How they had started to fuss over him when he was finally out of a wheelchair and onto crutches and something close to being mobile? That they were guarding him, as though he could not be allowed to be alone?
After five months he had felt trapped, enclosed by walls which seemed to be pressing down on him, desperate to be free from the constant pressure to talk about Tom. Desperate to heal.
Hal looked into Poppy’s eyes and he could see her happy expression fall away. They had been close once, but he had pushed her back to London the minute he’d left hospital. There was so much he wanted to tell her, but that was impossible without breaking his word to Tom, and his frustration was too fierce to inflict on anyone else. Poppy deserved better than that.
‘This is all about Tom, isn’t it?’ She asked in a low voice. ‘You couldn’t stand to be living in the same village where Tom and Aurelia used to live. Oh, Hal. I am so sorry.’
‘Too many reminders.’ He shrugged. ‘I needed some time away. The team back in France can run the events programme without me getting in their way.’
His crutch tapped gently against the side of his boot. ‘The cast is off and I’m ready to get back to work, even if I am barred from anything even vaguely sporty.’ He grinned across at her. ‘But right now I have to get through this fundraiser next weekend. It was my idea, and the sponsors will expect me to be there. So now it is your turn to tell me everything. What grandiose schemes for world domination are you working on these days?’
‘Ah. That, my darling brother, is one of the many reasons I called to check that you were mobile. I need your help and I need it now.’
Mimi lifted her precious cargo of iced coffee over the heads of a pair of tourists who were too busy huddled around their guide book to notice that they were blocking her path. She did not relax until she reached the safety of Poppy’s office building.
The heat and the stress of the last few weeks were beginning to kick in.
Of course, Poppy did not need to know that Mimi had only finished off the final piece of crystal work on the nude-pink floor-length evening gown at two that morning.
She had been so busy organising the end-of-year show for her students at the local fashion college; it had been a real struggle to squeeze in the time for such delicate work outside shop hours. Finding the perfect crystals and creating the embellishment on the bodice had taken her weeks of hand sewing but it had been worth it. The gown was stunning, even if she said so herself, and the final garment was ready seven days before the show.
Her first fashion show. Her first collection of clothing she had designed and made herself.
It was so close that she could almost touch it. A week; that was all. Seven days!
This was the chance she had been longing for during the dark days of the last few years when a career as a fashion designer had seemed like a distant dream meant for other people, not girls who ran knitting shops while grieving for a lost parent in an unfashionable part of London.
Just the thought of it give her an instant zing of energy, and she practically skipped all the way back to Poppy’s office.
She was just about to push open the door with her foot when she heard Poppy’s distinctive light laughter, which was immediately followed by a very male voice.
Her hand froze as her brain worked through the options. It was a lovely sunny, warm Friday evening. Perhaps Poppy was going out for dinner or had a date? And why not? She had been working so hard these last few weeks; Poppy deserved to be spoilt. And they were running late. Perhaps it would be better if she took the plans with her back to the shop and left Poppy to enjoy her evening.
Mimi knocked with her knuckles on the door and pushed it open a little wider.
Poppy was still sitting at her desk, but sprawled across the whole length of the small office, and blocking her path to the desk, were the long denim-clad legs of a man who looked like a fashion stylist’s idea of a playboy biker. Except that one of his legs was wearing a casual training-shoe while the other was encased from toes to knee in what looked like a surgical-support boot.
Conscious that she was staring at his leg, Mimi looked up into his face just as he turned to face her. Two dark-brown eyes gazed at her so intently that she almost blushed under the fierce heat of that focus.
He could have passed for a male model for the fashion show if it was not for the crutch leaning against Poppy’s desk and the distinctive thin, white scar which curved across his forehead and down one side of his temple. And the dark, heavy eyebrows which made him look almost fierce.
His well-used black-leather jacket was stylish rather than beaten up and cut so as to accentuate the broad shoulders and slim waist beneath the T-shirt.
All blended with something more intangible, something which had nothing to do with the ego of a male model.
He had not said one word but in those eyes and that face she saw something powerful, at the same time quiet and deep.
This man filled the small office with his presence. Not in an intimidating way; far from it. She simply recognised that this was someone who knew what it was like to give instructions and have them followed to the letter. He was authoritative, commanding and probably the most handsome man she had seen in a very long time. Most definitely not the kind of man who came into her knitting shop.
He could be Poppy’s date, but everything about him screamed power, position and authority. He had to be one of Poppy’s other clients, one of the influential, powerful ones who paid her large fees to manage their corporate events so that she could afford to run charity fundraisers.
Poppy laughed out loud in delight at something he had said, whoever he was, lifted her head to face Mimi and waved at her to come in.
‘Mimi; perfect timing. I need your help. I’ve just been trying to persuade my brother Hal here to work with us on the fashion show, and he is pretending to be reluctant.’
‘Oh, no. I haven’t forgotten all of the fashion events I organised when you were working as a model and we were struggling to get this company off the ground. I think it put me off for life,’ he replied as he glanced back from Mimi to Poppy. ‘Now, if you need a photographer, that I can help you with.’
Her brother!
Mimi’s body locked into a ‘half in the corridor, half in the room’ position. She simply could not move. It was as though her feet were bolted to the carpet tiles. Just as firmly her eyes found something deeply fascinating in the cardboard tray she was still holding so tightly that it had started to develop a definite wobble. She dared not turn around or move one step forward.
It was his voice, of course, deep, husky and sensual—and just about as far away from the voices that she heard in her ordinary life. All she could do was stay rooted to the spot, feeling slightly stunned as the whirlwind of masculine energy twirled around her.
Oblivious