Читать книгу The By Request Collection - Kate Hardy - Страница 84
ОглавлениеIF ALEX EVER needed a new job then he could always audition for work as an actor. As long as the role demanded he was asleep throughout. He’d spent an entire night rehearsing for just such a role.
Lying still but not so still it seems unnatural? Check. Breathing deeply? Check. Resisting the temptation to add in the odd snore? Check. Playing word games, counting sheep and alpine cows and blades of grass? Oh, yes. Very much check.
Doing anything and everything to keep his mind away from the bed just a few feet away—and from the warm body occupying it? Check. Not dwelling in miserable detail on the long limbs, the tousled hair and the wide, sensual mouth just made for kissing? No, no check. He’d failed miserably.
It was all too reminiscent of his last summer in his father’s house. Lying in his bed at home during the long school holidays, wishing he were in the little attic room that Flora’s family only half jokingly called his or even, on the worst nights, wishing he were back at school in the dorm room filled with the cheesy, musty scent of adolescent boys.
It wasn’t as bad when his father was at home. Then he just had to listen to the noise. The drinking, the laughing, the noisy lovemaking. But his father was so seldom home.
He didn’t know what was worse. The way he had dreaded the creak of the door when his stepmother came in to ‘check on him’—or the way he had anticipated it. The musky smell of her shampoo. The way the bed dipped where she sat. The cool caress on his cheek. Her whisper. ‘Alex, are you awake?’
And so he had practised his breathing, kept his eyes lightly closed and pretended that he wasn’t. He didn’t think he ever had her fooled. And in the end she stopped asking if he was awake. Stopped waiting for permission.
In the end he had stopped pretending.
No. He rolled over, the narrow sofa uncomfortable beneath his hip. No. He mustn’t think of his stepmother and Flora in the same way, at the same time. They were nothing alike. He couldn’t, wouldn’t taint Flora with that association. She was better than that. Better than him.
Far too good for him. He had always known that.
And that was why he had to step away. Just as he had all those years ago. He’d broken up his childhood home with his out-of-control desires. He’d been so lucky that Flora’s family had stepped in and offered him a second home, an infinitely better home. He couldn’t, absolutely couldn’t let desire infiltrate that space. No matter what.
He opened one eye, relieved to see the room turning grey with the pre-dawn light. Slowly, stealthily he slid off the sofa, wincing as he straightened his legs; he felt like the princess must have after her night sleeping on a pea—if her bed had also been too narrow to allow her to turn and a good foot too short. He tiptoed to the door and slid it open. He could have sworn he heard a sigh of relief from Flora as the door slipped shut behind him.
He needed a run. He needed a swim. And most of all he needed a very long and very cold shower while he figured out just how he was going to survive the rest of the week.
* * *
‘I hope you slept well?’ Camilla smiled in welcome when Alex walked into the dining hall two hours later. Darn, he had hoped to have more time to gather his thoughts but it was too late. They were on. Time to be convincing.
‘Like a baby,’ he lied, searching for a subject that didn’t involve sleep, Flora or the suite they were now sharing. ‘Look at the morning light in here. It’s spectacular.’
‘It should be. You designed it that way.’
‘That’s true, I did.’ And he had. But it was always an unexpected joy to see his dreams made real.
The hotel was on the western slopes facing Innsbruck and so the huge windows were always most effective in the evening when the sun hung low in the evening sky and began to set. To counter this and to ensure the dining room didn’t feel too dark during the day, Alex had designed it as a glassed-in roof terrace with dramatic skylights positioned to capture as much morning sun as possible. Balconies ran around the entire room so summer visitors could enjoy the warm Alpine sun as they ate.
Like the rest of the hotel the floor was a warm, golden oak, the same wood as the tables and chairs and the long counters that ran along one side. Guests could help themselves to juice, fruit and a continental breakfast; discreetly hovering staff were there to take orders for hot breakfasts. There was no menu; the kitchen was prepared for most requests.
Alex strolled over to the counter and poured himself some orange juice before spooning fresh berries into a bowl. ‘Coffee, please.’ He smiled at the hovering waitress. ‘And scrambled eggs, on rye bread. That’s all, thanks.’
He took his fruit and drink over to the square table where Camilla sat, basking in the sunlight like a cat. Her plate was bare and she had a single espresso set in front of her. In the two years they had worked together Alex had never seen her eat. He suspected she ran off caffeine, wine and, possibly, the blood of young virgins.
Camilla took a dainty sip of her espresso. ‘I think I made the right call on the mattresses. I know they were expensive, but a hotel like this needs the best, hmm?’
Alex nodded, wishing he had had the opportunity to sample the mattress himself. ‘Of course. Your guests wouldn’t settle for anything less.’
Camilla eyed him shrewdly. ‘A hotel tracksuit? Very good of you to live the brand, Alex.’
He speared a blueberry on a fork. ‘Early morning workout. I didn’t want to wake Flora. Good idea to have them where anyone could borrow them. I wonder how many people will slip one into their suitcase?’
She shrugged dismissively. ‘Let them. They pay enough—and it’s all good branding.’ She looked over at the door. ‘Good morning, Miss Buckingham.’
‘Good morning.’ Flora wandered over to the table, a glass of juice in her hand. Alex gave her a quick critical look. She had on more make-up than usual, as if she was trying to conceal the dark shadows under her eyes. It might fool anyone who didn’t know her. It didn’t fool him for a second.
Had she been pretending to sleep as well?
A little belatedly Alex remembered his role as adoring lover and got to his feet to give her a brief peck on the cheek. He closed his eyes for a brief second as her warm, comforting scent enfolded him. ‘Morning.’
Her eyes flew to his. He couldn’t read her expression at all. He expected anger, discomfort maybe. Instead all he saw was determination.
Interesting—and very unexpected. She looked different too. Her dark hair pulled back into a loose bun, the dark green tunic belted over her jeans not left to hang shapelessly. She’d accessorised the whole with a chunky silver bead necklace and earrings. She looked smarter, more together.
And, yep, she looked determined. For what he wasn’t entirely sure.
‘I need to go into Innsbruck this morning,’ Flora said after giving her breakfast order to the waitress. Alex’s coffee arrived as she did so and he gratefully poured a cup of the delicious, dark, caffeinated nectar, offering it to Flora before pouring his own.
It was all very domesticated.
‘I only brought work clothes. I didn’t realise that I would be participating in the week’s activities.’ She smiled over at Alex. ‘Apparently I won’t be able to avoid learning to ski any longer although I’m sure I’d be far more useful concentrating on all the lovely après-ski activities.’
Camilla drained her cup. ‘I think learning to ski is an excellent idea. You really should look at the hotel’s ski lodges. I’d be interested to hear what you think of the materials and colours. They’re accessible by ski lift but the only way back down the mountain is on the slopes.’
Flora grimaced. ‘I can’t wait to see them but I have to admit I’m a little nervous about the whole “two bits of plastic on snow” part. I can ice skate but other than that my balance is decidedly wonky. But hey, carpe diem and all that. It’s good to try new things.’
Alex looked up. What was going on with her? Something was definitely different. Her tone, the way she was dressed. Did this have anything to do with yesterday? Their disagreement—or what happened later?
He should step back. This was what he wanted for her, right? For Flora to be more confident, to start living. And he could do with his space too. To make sure he cleared any lingering sentiments from that darned kiss from his system so they could go back to being easy with each other.
He looked out of the window. It was a glorious day, the sun already high in the blue winter’s sky, lighting up the snowy peaks in brilliant colour. He should stay in and work—but the contrast to the damp fog he had left behind in London was almost painful. He yearned to get out, to clear his lungs and his mind in the cold, clear air.
Besides, Flora had never skied before; she had no idea what she needed—an easy target for anyone wanting to hit their sales targets. And it was his company’s expense account on the line. ‘I’ll come in with you. Unless I’m needed here, Camilla?’
‘No, no.’ His client shook her head. ‘You have a lovely day. Visit the Christmas markets and enjoy Innsbruck. I’ll be doing the tour of the hotel when the guests arrive. I don’t need you for that. This evening I am planning a mulled-wine reception and sledge rides for my guests. It would be nice if you were here for the reception so that I can introduce you.’
‘Absolutely. Sounds great.’
Flora didn’t say anything while Camilla sat with them but as soon as she sauntered away Flora pushed her plate away and narrowed her eyes at Alex. ‘I don’t need a chaperone. I hate shopping enough as it is. The last thing I want is you hanging around looking bored.’
‘I love shopping,’ he promised her, reaching over and nicking a small Danish pastry from her plate. ‘Don’t worry about me. I’ll be absolutely fine.’
She smacked his hand as he carried the pastry away. ‘I wasn’t worrying about you. I’m going to try out the swimming pool first while I can be sure of having it to myself if you want to go and get changed.’ Her cheeks flushed pink and she avoided his eyes. ‘I’ll be at least an hour so you have plenty of time to, you know... Change.’
He did know. She didn’t want to walk in on him. Last summer when they had shared a tent at the festival she’d been content to stand outside the tent flap and yell an imperious demand to know whether he was decent or not. Those more innocent days were gone, maybe irrevocably. He tried for a light humour. ‘We should have a code. Like college students—a ribbon on the door handle means don’t come in.’
‘I’d be tempted to keep one on there all the time.’ But she smiled as she said it, a welcome attempt at the old easy camaraderie. ‘I’ll see you in the foyer at around eleven. You bring the credit cards and arms ready to carry lots of bags. I’ll just bring me.’
* * *
It was annoying. She was annoying. Annoying and pitiful. Annoying, pitiful and pathetic. Yep, that just about covered it. Flora grimaced at herself in the half-steamed-up changing-room mirror. She shouldn’t be glad that he wanted to spend the day with her. She should tell him to stick his pretend relationship and his begrudging job offer and his expense account—and then she should go spend the day sightseeing before jumping back onto a plane and heading home to re-evaluate her life.
All of it.
But instead she was taking extra care drying her hair and reapplying the make-up she had swum off—and not just because this wide room, tiled in bronze and cream, was the most comfortable and well equipped changing room she had ever set foot in. It was going to be very difficult going back to her local council gym with its uncomfortable shared changing facilities and mouldy grout after the thick towels, rainforest showers and cushioned benches.
No, she couldn’t deny it; she was looking forward to the day ahead. Because when all was said and done he was still Alex Fitzgerald and she was still Flora Buckingham. Life-long best mates, blood brothers and confidants and surely one embarrassing drunken episode and one insanely hot kiss couldn’t change that.
She wouldn’t let it change that.
And she wasn’t going to sulk and dwell on his words from the previous afternoon either. Flora’s hands stilled as shame shot through her, sharp and hot. He knew her too well, knew how to hit a tender spot, how to pierce right through the armour of denial she had been building up. She was too afraid of messing up. So scared of getting it wrong that she had ignored her instincts and selected purely science A levels in a bid to show her parents that she was as clever as her brother, as her Oxford-educated, high-flying sister.
But in the end what had she proved? Nothing. Quitting her vet course might have been the right thing to do but in the end it had just confirmed all their ideas. That she wasn’t quite as robust as the rest of her family, not quite as determined.
Flora resumed drying her hair. For once it was going right, the frizz tamed, the curls softened into waves. Maybe this was a good omen for the weeks ahead. The truth was even now she wasn’t sure she knew what she really wanted, deep down inside. Was she so determined to find more work as an in-house designer simply because that was easiest, hiding behind somebody else’s brief, somebody else’s brand? Or should she be trying to step away from the corporate world and indulge what he called her whimsy?
The little designs she played with might indeed be whimsical, fantastical even, but they had their fans. After all, her little online shop selling scarves and cushion covers in her designs ticked over nicely. Imagine how it would do if she actually gave it all her attention.
She smoothed some gorgeous-smelling oil onto her hair and twisted it back into the loose bun. Three hotels, three design briefs. This could buy her the time and income she needed to find out where her heart lay. Or was she going to wander from dream to dream for ever, never quite committing? Always afraid of failing. Of falling.
No. This week was a wake-up call in all kinds of ways. And she was going to make the most of it.
She smiled her thanks at the chambermaid who was already collecting her towels and returning the changing room into its pristine state ready to wow the expected guests. Flora knew that along with the journalists and bloggers a few influential winter-sports fanatics had been invited; a couple of ex-Olympians and several trust-fund babies. They would expect only the best even from a free jolly like this one and Camilla and her staff were determined they would get it.
Maybe that could be her career? Travelling from luxury hotel to luxury hotel to be pampered and indulged in the hope that she would say something nice about it. How long would it take to get bored of that? She was more than willing to find out.
She wandered up the stairs to the large, high-ceilinged foyer. It would be the first impression of the hotel for all future guests and so it had to set the standard: light, spacious, with quality in every fitting. Would the people expected here later notice—or did they take such attention to detail for granted? It would be nice to be that jaded...
* * *
Yes. Nice was the word. Although she was a long, long way from jaded. Driven into Innsbruck, attentive service in all the shops and, best of all, the hotel driver stayed ready to collect her bags and whisk them back. If only she’d been buying something useful like fabric rather than over-priced, over-stuffed shiny clothes.
‘I could get used to this,’ Flora confided, watching her bags get loaded into the small hotel city car, ready to be delivered back to her room—their room—and hung up ready for her return. ‘I think I was always made to be part of the other half.’
‘It’s not the other half,’ Alex pointed out. ‘It’s the other one per cent and, I don’t know, I think it would do them good to carry their own bags some of the time.’
‘Don’t spoil my fairy tale. Expense accounts and my every whim taken care of? I feel like a Christmas Cinderella.’
‘And who am I? Buttons?’
He hadn’t cast himself as Prince Charming. Flora ignored the stab of disappointment and linked arms with him, just as she usually would. Act normal, remember? Alex gave a barely susceptible start before falling into step with her.
‘No,’ she said sweetly. ‘You are my fairy godmother. I can just see you in pink tulle.’
He spluttered a surprised bark of laughter and despite herself her heart lifted. They could get back on track even if they did have to share a room. As long as neither of them used that darned bathtub. It had been the first thing she had seen when she opened her eyes that morning, taunting her with its suggestion of decadence.
‘I don’t remember the fairy godmother having such a hard time convincing Cinders to try on clothes.’
‘That’s because she wasn’t making Cinders wear clothes that made her arse look huge, her bosom matronly and her hips look capable of bearing triplets. Ski clothes and curves do not mix. In fact, winter clothes and curves don’t mix.’ She had allowed Alex—or rather Alex’s firm—to buy her the thermal turtle neck and leggings, the waterproof padded trousers and jacket, the fleece neck warmer, hat and gloves but had felt the whole time like a tomboy toddler being forced into a frilly bridesmaid dress. At least she had talked him out of the hot pink and gone for a less garish turquoise and white look. But she was pretty sure she’d still look and feel like a child playing dress up.
At least she was fairly happy with the dresses she had bought, even the formal dress for the ball. Actually, if she was honest with herself, she was secretly delighted with it—although whether she’d actually have the courage to wear it in public was a whole other matter. The sales assistants had been enthusiastic but then again that was their job. Just look how gushing the saleswoman had been when she had tried on the Bavarian-barmaid-inspired bridesmaid dress for Minerva’s wedding. Even her father hadn’t been able to summon up a heartfelt compliment for that particular outfit.
A little part of her wished she hadn’t sent Alex away for what he rather insultingly called ‘a restorative coffee’ when she had started dress shopping, But it had been bad enough having him there assessing her while she tried on padded trousers. The thought of his eyes skimming over her in dress after dress was far too uncomfortable an image.
Innsbruck had no shortage of designer boutiques and stores but Flora had felt even more out of place in them than she had in the bustling board shops. It had been such a relief when she had stumbled on the vintage shop with floors and floors of second-hand and reproduction clothes. Usually she felt too self-conscious to wear anything that drew attention to herself—and with her height vintage always made a statement—but in this town of winter glamour it had been a choice between vintage inspired or designer glitz. No choice at all.
And it was a glamorous town. The old, medieval streets surrounded by snow-capped mountains gave Innsbruck a quaint, old-fashioned air but there was a cosmopolitan beat to the old Tyrolean town. People came here to shop at the Christmas markets and to enjoy the myriad winter sports aimed at all levels. There was a palpable sense of money, of entitlement, of health and vigour.
‘Look at them all.’ Flora stared down the main street at what seemed like a sea of glowing, youthful faces. ‘It’s like they’ve been ordered out of a catalogue. I’ve never seen so many gorgeous people.’
‘Even him?’ Alex indicated a man sitting in the window of a café, his sunglasses perched high on his unnaturally smooth face, his skin the colour of a ripened orange. Flora bit her lip, trying not to laugh.
‘Or her?’ He nudged her in the direction of a skeletally thin woman, swathed from neck to ankle in what Flora devoutly hoped were fake furs, incongruously bright yellow hair topping her wrinkled face.
‘Maybe not everyone,’ she conceded. ‘But most people seem so at home, like they belong.’ No one else bulged out of quilted jackets, or had hair flattened by their hats. The girls looked wholesomely winsome in thick jumpers and gilets, their hair cascading from underneath their knitted hats, their cheeks pink from the cold. The men were like Norse gods: tall, confident as they strode down the snow-filled medieval streets. Alex fitted the scene like the last piece of a jigsaw. Flora? She was the missing piece from a different jigsaw that had somehow got put in the wrong box.
‘What did I tell you, Flora? No one really belongs, they just act like they do. You just need to stand tall and look people in the eye.’
‘Not easy when everyone is wearing shades.’ It was a feeble joke and Alex just looked at her, concern in his eyes. She winced; somehow she had managed to provoke almost every response going in the last forty-eight hours. She made herself smile. See, joking.
‘We don’t have to be back at the hotel for a few hours yet, you’re respectably kitted out and I have even managed to clear my emails while you were dress hunting. What do you fancy doing?’
Flora pulled at her coat. ‘I should work. What if Camilla wants to see my ideas? All I have are a few online mood boards.’
‘That’s all she wants at this stage. I can promise you, she’ll change her mind a million times and in the end your first concept will be the winner.’
‘Then why drag me here for the week?’ Oh, no. He hadn’t forced her over here as some sort of intervention, had he? He could just imagine him on the phone to her mother, reassuring her that he had it all in hand. That he would put an end to this temping nonsense quick smart.
‘Not that I’m not grateful...’ she added unconvincingly. Just think, if he’d left her alone she could have been cosying up to the man on the train again tomorrow morning. Maybe she’d misjudged him and his grabby hands. He might just be plain-speaking and tactile. They could have told their kids and grandkids about how they’d met on an overcrowded commuter train a week before Christmas. Just like a film.
‘Flora, Camilla can snap her fingers and have the best at the touch of a button. It’s the story, the package that she needs to see. She loves that I’m young, terribly English, well educated, have my own firm and I’m tipped for the top.’ His laugh was a little self-conscious. ‘It’s an easy sell, makes a good interview, adds that extra little detail when she’s publicising the hotel. You’re here so she can see that you can do the same—that’s why it’s so important that you look right, that you say the right things.’
That she what? Panic churned in her stomach, the snow dazzling as she stared at the ground, her eyes swimming. ‘I’m here to schmooze? You didn’t tell me that!’
‘I didn’t hide it. You know who the invited guests are. Look, Camilla knows I wouldn’t recommend anyone who wasn’t talented and creative. She needs to see that you can mingle with the right people, chat to journalists, help sell her creations. And, Flora, you can.’
‘But I can’t...’ He wanted her to what? Chat to journalists? Sell? Flora gulped in air, rooted to the spot, oblivious to the crowds passing her by.
‘You’ve done it before.’ He didn’t add Many times but the words hung in the air. ‘At least this time you won’t have to baste chickens or pipe icing while you’re talking.’
Flora still couldn’t joke about her childhood spots in front of the camera. To be honest she wasn’t sure she ever would reach that state. ‘Can you imagine what it was like going into school after Dad’s shows aired? Me this tall and this...’ She sketched an arc around her chest. She had been the tallest in her class from nursery onwards—and the most developed from the end of primary school. ‘The last thing I want to do is talk about me, you know that. And if I chat to journalists they’ll know who I am...’
‘And they’ll love it. Youngest daughter of food writer and TV chef, Ted Buckingham and TV doctor Jane Buckingham? They won’t try and catch you out, Flora. We’re talking travel sections, maybe some lifestyle blogs. I promise you. It’ll be a lot less stressful than your dad’s Internet videos of family get-togethers.’
‘Horry says neurosurgery is less stressful than the Internet get-togethers.’
‘All you have to do this week is have fun. Try to ski, chat to people, talk colours and materials and be enthusiastic. If Camilla offers you the commission then you can worry about the other side of it later, but if I were you I’d think about how a little publicity in the right places could send your stock sky-high. Come on, Flora. You never know, you might even enjoy it. Now, Christmas markets or ice skating? Your choice.’
Flora took in a deep shuddering breath. Alex was right, if he’d mentioned any of this before she would have hightailed it back to London before he could say prost. Minerva positively fed off their parents’ fame, using it as a springboard when she opened her PR firm, and Horry was oblivious. Flora, on the other hand, had always found it mortifying, whether appearing on her dad’s cookery programme or listening to her mother talk about Flora’s first period on national TV. She wasn’t sure the scars from that particular episode would ever fade.
Still, silver linings and all that—she hadn’t thought about the kiss or their sleeping arrangements once in the last half-hour. It turned out there were only so many things even she could stress about.
‘I haven’t been ice skating for years.’
‘Indoors or outdoors?’
Flora looked around, at the blue sky, the sun warm despite the chill of the air. ‘Oh, outside, please.’
‘Come on, then, I challenge you to a backwards-skating race. Loser buys the mulled wine.’
