he had to thank Lottie Rosemount for a lot more than he’d first thought.
* * *
He loved his mother very much.
Lottie exhaled slowly as the thought crept into her mind that she had made a horrible mistake.
She darted a quick glance towards the terrace where Adele was quite happily enjoying the June sunshine with Rob chatting so sweetly by her side, his arm draped so protectively close, and swallowed down a moment of deep humiliation.
She had been wrong.
Last night had not been about Rob trying to save his credibility and reputation at all.
It had all been about protecting his mother. Not himself.
That was why he had been so concerned about going to the hotel.
He had been terrified that his mother would embarrass herself and the press would be full of photographs of Adele staggering about looking half drunk and falling out of a limo onto the street in front of the cameras.
How could she have been so stupid?
When Rob Beresford had walked into that art gallery all she had been able to see was the man who had treated her so unfairly.
But what about the rest? It was gossip. Tittle-tattle scandal about Rob’s many conquests and how he had ditched Debra without a moment’s notice.
A low icy shudder ran across her shoulders.
She was a fool. No, worse than that. She had allowed her memory of what had happened when they had last met to cloud her judgement.
This was not just unfair, it was wrong.
Stupid, stupid, stupid.
She had made a total fool of herself by doing the very thing she’d promised she would not do again: judge people based on what they had done in the past.
And if she was guilty of that she was woman enough to put it right.
Right now.
‘Rob.’ Lottie smiled and strolled over to the terrace. ‘Can I drag you away from Adele for a moment? You’re an expert on recipe books and this is my first. Do you remember Ian? This lovely man has bravely taken on a very different kind of challenge: making my novelty birthday cakes look good enough to eat. Welcome to my budget photo shoot!’
* * *
On a white cake stand on a pedestal in the middle of a long table covered in a white cloth was a cake.
It had been shaped into a racing car Rob vaguely recalled seeing on movie posters for a children’s cartoon film some months ago.
The long low body was covered with bright red fondant icing with a white stripe running down both sides. The wheels were white discs and the whole design looked so realistic it might have been mistaken for a toy. Except that Lottie had just finished icing liquorice round sweets in place of the headlights and steering wheel.
All in all a perfect cake for a car-mad little boy.
It was brilliant.
Rob stepped closer and nodded to Ian, who stopped work adjusting a light stand and an elaborate studio camera system on a tripod to come forward and shake his hand. ‘Good to meet you, Rob. Adele has told me a lot about you.’
‘Really?’ Rob answered and glanced towards his mother, who was now chatting happily to Lottie and eating croissants. Because she has not said a word about you. ‘Congratulations on the exhibition catalogue. Everyone I spoke to last evening loved the layout.’
‘It was my pleasure.’ Ian shook his head. ‘Although I confess that I didn’t expect to meet Adele here this morning when I turned up to work on the charity cookbook Lottie is pulling together. Do you have an interest in food photography, Rob?’
‘Me? Not at all. I leave that to the experts. I simply prepare the food and the stylists and photographers get to work on the recipe books.’
He quickly scanned the room, taking in the high ceilings and natural light from the skylight and tall windows. ‘Has this always been a photographer’s studio?’
‘Not as far as I know. Lottie refurbished the loft as soon as she bought the place. It is quite something. And I need to get back to it or the cake will dry out. Later.’
A quick tour of the loft revealed that Lottie’s taste in books ranged from classic French cuisine to high finance and shared the space with a fine collection of spiders’ webs and dust.
At the far end, away from the windows, was a screened-off area, and Rob could not resist peeking behind the découpage screen.
A double bed with a Victorian carved wooden headboard was flat against the wall. Dressed with white bedcovers trimmed in lilac satin and a soft-looking duvet.
Feather. He could tell from the way it was made.
Hmm, interesting. He wouldn’t be trying that bed out. Way too girly.
But who slept in a bed that size?
He was just about to investigate when there was a sharp cough from behind his back. ‘Found anything interesting back there,’ Lottie asked and he knew without bothering to look that she had her hands on her hips, ‘Mr Nosy Parker?’
‘My natural, insatiable curiosity cannot be contained, Goldilocks.’
‘Goldilocks? What do you mean?’
Rob peeked at her over one shoulder and smiled. ‘Thought so. I have discovered your secret hideaway. Not a bad spot. Not bad at all.’
‘Actually, it’s lovely. I don’t mind sleeping in the studio for six months during the summer. It’s not such a bad place to wake up in the morning.’
‘And the rest of the time?’
Lottie strolled over to the screen and gestured to the terrace where Adele was just finishing off her breakfast.
‘When I was in business my first Christmas bonus paid for an apartment in the city with a view over the Thames. At the moment I am renting it out to one of my former colleagues while she is working on a project in central London and wanted a home rather than a serviced apartment.’
Lottie dropped her hand. ‘You know the statistics about how many restaurants and cafés never make it to their first birthday? Well, I am just coming up to eight months and—’ she tapped on the wooden frame on the screen ‘—so far, so good. But who knows? Things change. People change.’
Then she paused. ‘What gave me away?’
Then he gestured with his head towards the garment bags and clothing hanging on two garment rails behind the decorated screen. ‘Designer clothing is not really Dee’s style.’
‘I could have put my clothes in storage but I prefer to have them handy. A girl has to be ready for all eventualities.’
‘Is this what you are wearing on Saturday evening?’ Rob picked up the skirt of a stunning slinky mocha-coloured satin slip with a lace trim and lifted his eyebrows before releasing it. ‘Because I am not sure the Beresford Richmond is ready for this kind of allure. Va va boom.’
‘Please don’t touch the frillies. And my gown is going to be a surprise, so do stop looking.’
‘Fair enough. What time shall I pick you up?’
‘That’s okay. I’m meeting you there.’
‘Why, Miss Rosemount, surely you are not frightened of tongues wagging if we walk in together, are you?’
‘Not at all. But I am going to get there early to help set things up. That’s all.’
‘Is that it? Or do you have a rule about not dating chefs?’
‘Dating? Of course not. I don’t have any problem with chefs. Far from it. I have spent three years working