Читать книгу The Little Shop of Hopes and Dreams - Фиона Харпер - Страница 14

When Saffron had mentioned an exhibition, Nicole had assumed it would be an upmarket gallery in Bloomsbury or Chelsea. She hadn’t expected a church, tucked away down a dusty side street in Blackfriars on the south bank of the Thames. Most of Saffron’s circle wouldn’t be seen dead in this postcode. She checked the slip of paper with her client’s large and looping scrawl once again. Trinity Arts Centre. Yep. This was the place.

She walked up the stone steps and pushed one of the glazed wooden doors open enough to slide through. She then stepped through a second set of doors and into a large, bright space.

The original beams and pillars of the large church remained, as did the parquet floor and the organ pipes on the far wall, but the interior had been cleared and everything was painted crisp white, making the stained-glass windows sing with colour.

Off to one side as she walked in was a bar and seating area, while the other held a small shop, and deeper into the church was the exhibition space, carved into different sections by slabs of white walls about seven feet high. Some were set at right angles to each other, arranged near other walls to make a large and open maze, where the artwork was displayed.

There was a small crowd wandering around, wine glasses in hands, perusing the large black-and-white prints that adorned the display space. Before joining them, Nicole checked her phone. Still nothing from Saffron. They’d chatted not long after she’d left the office and Saffron had promised she’d send a photo through of her intended. It had yet to arrive. Until it did, Nicole would just have to mingle and enjoy the exhibition until she found the man she was here to stalk—Alex Black.

She snagged a glass of wine from a passing waiter and headed deeper into the church. She stopped by the first wall and took a sip. The print was of a windswept Highland landscape. Nicole had always loved the rich, peaty colours of a Scottish winter—the mossy greens, slate greys, the ochre of the dying bracken—but there was something about seeing it in black and white that made it look even wilder and more lonely. She could almost feel the wind sweeping off the worn-down mountain tops and into the wide, flat valley below, could almost hear the frothy sea hiss as the gale tossed the waves with no mercy.

She carried on. They were all British landscapes—rugged Cornish beaches, tranquil forest glades, ancient stone circles—but each harnessed a wild and beautiful energy. It made something inside her ache. Just a little. And she didn’t know why.

She’d reached the far end of one of the maze-like avenues now, and she hesitated at which direction to go next. It was clever. There was no predetermined route between the walls. In fact, the layout seemed deliberately designed to make visitors wander and retrace their steps, to seek out the hidden nooks they hadn’t discovered yet. She glanced right, wondering if she’d been that way already, then left.

Just as she did, someone disappeared behind a wall. Nicole hadn’t seen them properly. It had only been a blur at the edges of her peripheral vision, but it was accompanied by a flash of something that was very much like a memory. Something that made her think of soft fur and dancing lights. Without asking herself why, she followed.

As she turned the corner she saw a man with his back to her, talking to a couple of older men in suits. They were discussing a piece halfway down the zig-zag of wall, about fifteen feet away. He was dressed all in black, from his battered biker boots, to his jeans and T-shirt. Even his hair was so dark it almost matched them. Just a hint of chestnut brought out by the overhead spotlights spoiled the effect. His stance was easy, relaxed, as he drank from an open beer bottle and gestured towards the photo in front of him.

Nicole knew she should turn, look at the print right in front of her, but she couldn’t help but linger. There was something about him. Something tickling the back of her brain. Had she met him before? She felt as if she had, but surely she hadn’t, because she’d definitely remember someone like him. Not her type at all, of course, but memorable all the same.

And then he turned and smiled at a woman who joined the group, and a delectable little dimple appeared at one corner of his mouth, apparent even beneath the short black stubble.

A charge shot through Nicole like electricity. So strong it reminded her of the time her pet hamster had chewed through the wire on her bedside light and she’d foolishly picked it up, thinking it wouldn’t hurt her. She’d found herself on the other side of the room a split second later, dazed and confused.

It couldn’t be, could it?

It couldn’t be him. The guy from New Year’s Eve.

For some reason she clutched her handbag closer to her, as if she was protecting that slip of paper folded into the pocket of her purse, as if it might jump out and cause trouble if she didn’t.

He’d been one hot cowboy, as Peggy had called him, when Nicole had been five cocktails to the wind, but the sober version was just as potent. It seemed her beer goggles had twenty-twenty vision. She knew she should feel happy about that, but she couldn’t. Not while her insides were unravelling in loops.

Why, after months of coexisting in the same city, did she have to bump into him now? On the night she had to be on top form if she was going to bag this job of Saffron’s and deliver the proposal of the century?

At least he hadn’t spotted her. She should just sneak back round that wall and…

Uh-oh.

As she was backing away he turned, noticed her. His eyebrows lifted momentarily in surprise and then his smile widened and he started to stroll towards her with that easy stride she hadn’t realised she’d noticed, let alone recalled. Nicole tried to move but her stilettos were glued to the floor. Her phone buzzed in her pocket but she ignored it.

‘Hey, Holly…’ he said, a mischievous glint lighting up his eyes. ‘Long time no see.’

Her mouth moved. Up and down, up and down. She must look like a gaping frog. ‘Holly?’ she finally managed as he stopped in front of her.

‘Holly Golightly,’ he said, brandishing a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. ‘Of course, I realised that wasn’t your real name pretty quickly. One quick Google search put pay to that.’

She’d told him her name was Holly Golightly?

‘So why didn’t you?’ he asked.

Nicole blinked. ‘Why didn’t I what?’

He stepped forward. She started to feel more than a little claustrophobic. ‘Call me,’ he replied, and then he waited, a hint of a lopsided smile pulling at one corner of his mouth.

She swallowed. It was one thing fibbing to Peggy when she got too nosy, but it was another thing entirely to lie to the man himself. Her mouth felt dry, despite the fact she’d been sipping her wine and it was already half gone.

But she couldn’t tell him the truth, couldn’t tell him she’d been too much of a coward to call him, because something about him made her feel out of her depth, like she was a drowning woman trying to surface and gasp in some air. She didn’t want to ever feel that way again with a man.

It was happening now. She tried to come up with a smooth, polished answer, but the only things inside her head were jumbled syllables, like a multitude of jigsaw pieces, none of which seemed to connect to the rest. ‘Um…’ she said and looked away. When she looked back he was still smiling at her, a hint of satisfaction in his gaze.

That was when it hit her like a slap. He was playing with her. He was enjoying seeing her like this. That thought alone sobered her enough to thread a few of those syllables together.

‘I don’t know if you noticed…’ she began, finding it easier with every word that slid from between her lips, suddenly finding an excuse she might be able to use to her advantage, ‘…but I was a little bit tiddly that evening.’

The grin she got in return told her he knew exactly how tiddly she’d been and that he hadn’t minded one bit.

She closed her eyes momentarily, licked her lips.

Focus, Nicole.

She breathed in, turned her internal thermostat down a notch. She had to get a grip on herself. ‘I lost your number…and I didn’t know your name, either. There wasn’t much I could have done.’

There. Smooth. Silky. Giving him back as good as she got. That was the Nicole she knew and loved, not that gibbering idiot who’d look into a man’s eyes and believe every lie he told her.

He nodded. ‘True. But you didn’t seem too bothered about finding out before you pinned me up against that wall and had your wicked way with me.’

Although she tried not to, Nicole felt herself blush right down to her perfectly manicured toenails. She could feel heat radiating from him like a force field, and while one part of her—the sane part—was telling her to back away, excuse herself and get on with what she’d come here to do, she couldn’t deny that a completely separate part was telling her to launch herself onto him again.

And he knew it. Damn him. Payback was a bitch.

‘I tried to find you, you know…?’ he said, keeping his voice deliberately low, so she was tempted to sway closer.

‘You did?’ She’d aimed for cool and unaffected. Husky and mildly perturbed would just have to do.

He nodded. ‘When you didn’t call I talked to friends who were there that night, the bar staff…I even called a lookalike agency. But you didn’t leave me much to go on, just a naughty twinkle in your eyes and a fake name.’ He reached out and touched the end of her plait, which was draped over her shoulder. ‘I didn’t even know if this was your real hair. You could have been wearing a wig.’

Nicole flicked her braid out of his fingers by turning to look at the picture to her left. Peggy would say this was fate intervening, that she shouldn’t waste a second chance like this. Peggy was clearly a lunatic.

Yes, she was attracted to him. Yes, he knew it, the smug so-and-so…But that didn’t mean she had to do anything about it. Guys like this were definitely not part of the plan she had for her life.

There was only one thing she could do—she was going to have to blow him off a second time.

She glanced at the photograph. It was a dark and moody shot of one of the giant monoliths at Stonehenge. ‘Wonderful use of light, don’t you think?’ she said, trying to keep her tone breezy, searching for an ‘out’ so she could float off and talk to someone else. Anyone. As long as it wasn’t him.

He chuckled deep in his throat. ‘I think so, but I’m glad you do too.’

Nicole was too busy trying to spot a likely victim to analyse his reply. ‘It’s beautiful,’ she added and then focused on the picture properly. The shot had been taken slightly from below, making the huge lump of rock seem even more solid and ancient. Storm clouds hung low on the horizon, but a beam of light broke through, lighting up one side of the stone, revealing its pitted and lichen-covered surface in sharp detail. She found once she started looking at it, she couldn’t stop.

She’d said it was beautiful without thinking, and it really was. Almost too beautiful. But she didn’t tell him that. Somehow that felt as if she’d be giving something important away.

‘I waited four hours in the rain for that shot, but it was worth the week-long cold that followed.’

Forgetting she was supposed to be finding an exit ramp for this conversation, Nicole swung round sharply. ‘This is your exhibition?’

A wry smile played on his lips for a moment. ‘And there was me thinking you’d seen a flyer and come because you’d finally found me after all these months of tireless searching.’ The humour in his eyes told her he was still teasing, but had turned it on himself. She’d just about pigeonholed him as a strutting peacock, but his self-mockery shot a hole in that idea. Damn. She liked a little humility in a man. And if it came with a dry and self-deprecating sense of humour it was doubly as potent.

‘I…I…’

So it was back to this. Great.

His eyes sparkled with mischief as he looked down at her, inviting her to join him, to turn the joke back on herself and see the funny side. Unfortunately, Nicole couldn’t stand even the hint that someone might be laughing at her and she stiffened, feeling both superior and hypocritical at the same time.

Wow. This guy really brought out the best in her, didn’t he?

Which was why she was getting out before things deteriorated any further. She should have listened to her gut instinct and done it minutes ago. ‘I’m sure you’re far too busy and important to be standing around gassing to me,’ she said, a little snippily. ‘I should let you go and talk to some of your other guests.’

She moved to walk past him, pretending she was heading round the corner to a section of the exhibition she had yet to visit, but his hand shot out and his fingers lightly circled her wrist. ‘Not so fast, Holly.’

She stopped dead. His touch was light and she knew she could pull away easily if she wanted to, which she did, but for some reason she didn’t move a millimetre.

‘This time I need a name at least.’

Nicole blew out a shaky breath. That wouldn’t be a good idea. As gorgeous as he was, he wasn’t her type, and he probably had ‘drifter’ stamped all the way through him like Brighton rock. Still, she wasn’t rude enough to completely snub him. Her parents had brought her up better than that.

‘Nicole,’ she said, gently easing her wrist from his grasp and circling it with her own fingers. ‘Nicole Harrison.’

He nodded. ‘And what do you do, Nicole Harrison, when you’re not driving men crazy by disappearing into the night air never to be found again?’

Her stomach bottomed out. For the last ten minutes she’d completely forgotten why she was here. She’d forgotten all about Saffron and her fiancé-to-be. She’d forgotten all about Hopes & Dreams and why this job was so darn important. She needed to stop chit-chatting and find Alex Black. The easiest way was to stop sparring with this man and just roll over and answer his questions.

‘I’m a journalist,’ she said quickly, then frowned at herself. She didn’t know why she’d said that. It would have been okay to tell him the truth. But maybe, because she’d been all prepped to come out with a cover story this evening, that was what had left her mouth first.

‘And what are you working on now? Not covering the show, are you?’

She shook her head. ‘No, this is just for fun…’

Torture, more like.

‘Actually, I’m doing a piece on…a piece on…’

He raised his eyebrows again. And the smile was back. The one where she thought he might be laughing at her.

‘On weddings,’ she blurted out. It was all she’d been able to think of. ‘For Beautiful Weddings magazine.’

‘Really?’ he said and waited, clearly expecting her to elaborate.

Nicole’s brain flew in three directions at once, and none of them useful. See? This was why she didn’t like veering from her careful plans. Everything turned out messy and unpredictable.

She had to say something. Something that was easy to understand and wouldn’t require further interrogation. Something to do with weddings. Something that would work for a magazine feature.

She thought of all the weddings she’d planned when she’d worked at Elite Gatherings, when she’d been part of an army of worker bees who’d found the day anything but ethereal and magical.

She refocused on him. ‘I’m going to do a piece on the unsung heroes of the wedding industry, you know…all the people who work in the background to make the magic happen.’ She shot him a smile. Her brain was whirring now and she went with it. ‘Rather than just chatting to people on the phone and doing the superficial stuff, I want to follow each professional round for a couple of weeks, do different kinds of weddings, make it really in-depth. Then I can do an interest piece, but also with some really good tips about getting the most out of that professional when someone plans their own big day.’

He nodded. ‘So who would you follow round?’

She shrugged. ‘Oh, I don’t know. People like caterers and waitresses, florists or bakers.’

The grin was back. ‘People like photographers?’

She could have sworn her insides turned to chocolate. Melting chocolate.

‘People like photographers,’ she echoed, a slight dryness in her voice.

‘Then you’ve come to the right guy,’ he said then waved an arm to encompass the photos on the walls. ‘This is what I really love to do, why I pick up my camera on a daily basis, but I earn my bread and butter doing weddings. At least for now.’

‘Oh,’ she said, forgetting to keep calm and collected, letting her eyes widen. She hadn’t expected him to say that. There was nothing about this guy that made her think of weddings and rings and happy-ever-afters.

‘So why don’t you follow me around for a couple of weeks?’ he asked, his dimple putting in another appearance. Nicole couldn’t quite tear her eyes from it.

He lowered his voice. ‘I could give you the low-down on slaves and f-stops?’

F-stops? She knew it was probably a technical term, but in that voice and with that smile it sounded kind of naughty.

‘So…are you interested?’ he said, leaning in close enough for her to get a whiff of his aftershave.

She swallowed again. The tiniest glimmer of interest in his eyes suggested he was asking about more than a professional opportunity. He didn’t want to just score a point; he wanted total defeat. Revenge for skipping out on him all those months ago.

So she would say no. To the offer to shadow him—because that wasn’t her real job anyway, and it would be a total waste of time—and to the offer to spend more time with him, because…because…

Although he’d moved back, she could still smell his scent, and it prompted one of those New Year flashbacks, a particularly potent one of his lips on the soft skin of her neck, his hands round her waist. Suddenly she was very tempted to say yes. To everything.

She knew she should walk away a second time, but something was sticking her feet to the floor like Velcro. Something was telling her to go with that wild feeling his photographs had stirred inside her, to tell the voice of caution inside her head to go to hell.

He was watching her, taking in the emotions, the thoughts, flitting across her features. The knowing expression told her he knew exactly what she was thinking, knew exactly what decision she was teetering on the edge of.

Nicole was about to open her mouth, suggest they go for a coffee after the exhibition to discuss his offer, when her phone buzzed in her pocket again.

It brought her back to reality with a bump.

Oh, heck. Saffron.

She glanced up at him as she pulled her phone out of her coat pocket. ‘I’m sorry…I really need to check this.’

He shrugged one shoulder carelessly as she swiped her phone screen to pull up the message.

‘Maybe we can discuss this shadowing thing after—’

The rest of the sentence never left her mouth. Because the message was indeed from Saffron. An hour later than they’d planned, but that wasn’t the problem. The problem was the picture message that accompanied the text.

She was staring down at a photo of a windswept photographer with a bewitching little dimple.