Читать книгу Manolos In Manhattan - Katie Oliver - Страница 20

Chapter Eleven

Why, Holly wondered as she eyed the stacks of shoe boxes crowding Dashwood and James’s shoe department the next morning, had she agreed to work today?

Even though Monday was normally her day off, she’d promised her father she’d help prepare for the grand opening – which meant making sure all was in readiness for Karl von Karle’s personal appearance at the store’s launch.

According to Natalie, von Karle was the hottest shoe designer since Manolo Blahnik.

“There you are, Holly.” Alastair strode down the aisle, Coco just behind him. “Thank you for coming in to help today.”

“Good thing I did,” she observed as she eyed the teetering stack of von Karles waiting to be arranged on the display shelves. “With all the buzz his appearance is generating, you’d think that silly German shoe guy was a rock star.”

“That ‘silly German shoe guy’ is a gifted designer,” Coco informed her coolly. “Every woman wants a pair of von Karles.”

“I don’t,” Holly retorted. “I get vertigo just looking at those stiletto heels. They look ridiculous. Not to mention unsafe. And uncomfortable.”

“Fashion isn’t about comfort, Holly,” Coco said, “it’s about style.” Her glance swept dismissively over Holly’s belted, short-sleeved sweater and creased linen skirt. “Something you obviously don’t understand.”

“And you obviously don’t understand the concept of asking before you give out personal information.”

“What are you talking about?”

Before Holly could respond, her father, oblivious to the hostile current between the two young women, consulted a clipboard in his hand. “Holly, I need you to help Coco upstairs for a couple of hours, if you would.”

“Okay,” she said, even as her heart sank at the prospect. “Dad,” she added as Coco turned away to take a call, “I need to leave early this afternoon. I’m meeting Ciaran. He’s looking at apartments and asked me to go with him.”

“Ciaran?” Alastair echoed, and his brow rose. “But you just spent all day with him yesterday.”

“Yes, for publicity,” she reminded him. “His TV show starts filming soon, and he’s looking for a permanent place to live. He wants me to help him look before he returns to London. What’s wrong with that?”

“Doesn’t he have an estate agent?”

“I’m not showing him properties, Dad, I’m just going along to look at a couple of apartments. He wants my opinion.”

“Ciaran is a charming young man,” her father said, his jaw set in a hard line, “but he’s not someone I’d chose as a potential suitor for my daughter.”

“Well, it’s a good thing you don’t get to choose, then, isn’t it?” she retorted. “And I’m already engaged – or have you forgotten? Besides, Ciaran’s just a friend.”

“He’s a film star, Holly, and he’s accustomed to women throwing themselves at him. And I’ve no doubt,” he added with a scowl, “that he takes full advantage of it.”

“I’m a big girl. I can take care of myself.”

“I’m sure you can, Holly, but—”

“Mr James, so sorry to interrupt, but you’re needed in receiving,” Coco informed him. “I’ve just had a call from Mr Baxter. There’s a problem with one of the shipments.”

Alastair sighed. “There’s always a problem, isn’t there? Very well – I’ll be right there.” He turned back to Holly, his expression grim. “We’ll talk about this later.”

“Holly,” Coco informed her as he left, “I need you to go up to the attic. The workmen have cleared everything out except for some odds and ends; probably junk, but I want you to go up and have a look, please. Here’s the key.”

“But I’m not dressed for rummaging around in the attic,” Holly objected.

“I only want you to look at what’s up there and report back to me. Here – take a pad and pencil with you. I’ll want a full inventory so Alastair and I can decide how to dispose of it all. Now go.”

Without another word, Holly took the key, and the pad and pen Coco held out, and turned to leave.

She took the lift up to the fourth floor and found the attic stairs. After unclipping the velvet rope, she climbed the steps to the attic door and unlocked it.

Holly pushed the door open and groped for the light switch. The place was crammed from one end to the other with boxes and junk and festooned with cobwebs and dust. She sneezed.

At least this attic was the kind you could stand up in, with a wooden floor and a small, diamond-shaped window at either end. It would make a nice office for her father eventually. She stepped through the door and wondered where to begin. A pair of dangling light bulbs illuminated an assortment of mismatched chairs, a dressmaker’s dummy, old lampshades, and boxes...

...dozens and dozens of boxes.

Grimly Holly set to work opening the nearest one. It contained a bottle with a model ship inside, stacks of old magazines, a jumble of jelly glasses and plates, most of them chipped or broken, and what looked like an old-fashioned bottle opener and several cocktail shakers.

It was the same story in the other boxes. She unearthed an old toaster, galoshes, stacks of dinner plates, a lamp harp, old newspapers, and a rusted plant stand – all junk. But Holly suspected some of this stuff might be of value; that Victrola, for instance, or the lamp – Tiffany, if she wasn’t mistaken – standing in the corner. She spotted a charming wicker settee; with a bit of cleanup and re-caning, it’d be perfect for the entryway. Her father really needed to take a look at this stuff. He knew a lot more about antiques than she did.

After noting the items on Coco’s inventory list – Victrola, Tiffany lamp, wicker settee – Holly straightened up to leave. She glanced down at her skirt in dismay. Cobwebs clung to her fingers as she brushed the dust and dirt from her knees, and she sneezed again. Damn Coco, anyway.

As she made her way around the jumble of boxes and junk and headed to the door, Holly felt a cool breeze drift past her face. She came to an abrupt stop. Was one of the windows open? Her glance strayed to the tiny windows at either end of the attic but they were both firmly shut, and looked as if they hadn’t been opened in years.

Holly shrugged, feeling just a little spooked, and turned to go. There must be an explanation for the breeze; she just didn’t have a clue what it might be.

Again, a slight stirring of the air rooted her once more to the spot. She smelled, very faintly, the scent of lavender and citrus, with just a hint of vanilla, and she swore she felt the brush of a silk glove against her hand. Panicked, Holly stumbled backwards as goose bumps rose on her arms. She had the oddest feeling that something – no, someone – was in the attic with her.