Her Moment in the Spotlight. Nina Harrington
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changed the venue and reception menu twice. That call was the final straw. Apparently her mother hates the church and venue, and has now decided that she is allergic to all of the food on the menu for the reception and that it would be far better for her to take over the wedding plans herself and move the wedding to Paris.’
Poppy shook her head. ‘I cannot change the wedding arrangements, not now, but this is not the kind of discussion I can have over the phone. I need to be on a flight to Italy tonight if there is any chance of saving this wedding. Maddy is relying on me to create the perfect wedding she’s always dreamt about, and I promised her that I would do the very best I could to make that dream come true. I can’t let her down now.’
Poppy sat back in her chair, her fingernails tapping out a fast beat on the table for a few seconds before they paused and she looked up across at Hal with a mischievous grin. ‘If only I could find someone to take over the fashion show and run the office for a few days while I am in Florence. I would hate for any lastminute problems in London to ruin the event.’
Mimi turned back to face Hal, who instead of sympathising and offering immediate assistance had folded his arms and was staring at Poppy with his eyebrows raised.
‘Poppy, darling. I know you far too well. I smell a plan being put into action here where I am shanghaied and sold down the river without a word to say about it. Could this wedding be the real reason why the normally super-efficient Poppy Langdon called me from my sick bed in France? Have you been planning this all along?’
She looked at him, fluttered her eyelids a couple of times and smiled sweetly. ‘Me? Well, that would be very devious of me, wouldn’t it? Either way, now that you are going to be working full time, it seems to me that you have arrived just in time to save the day, big brother. Congratulations, Hal—you are now the official organiser for the Tom Harris Foundation fundraiser and fashion show. Isn’t that wonderful news?’
CHAPTER TWO
MIMI reached across and tugged at the pristine linen tablecloth so that the edge was perfectly aligned along the length of her old family breakfast table.
As her fingers ran along the fine fabric, she was taken back to a warm summer evening when both of her parents had been alive. They had decided over a stunning Italian al fresco dinner on the patio to embroider a full set of table linen with bright flowers and yellow swallowtail butterflies so that they could enjoy a taste of summer over a cold, grey London winter.
Mimi had offered to help with the tablecloth as a diversion from her university design-work. In the end her mother had given in because they were so busy in the shop that the napkins would be easier for them to work in the few spare minutes between customers.
Four napkins—four. That was all her mother had managed to complete before the telephone call that had summoned her back to Milan and the Fiorini family. And after that? Somehow there had seemed little point. The joy had left their lives.
Yet it seemed so right to bring out this tablecloth to help celebrate her mother’s birthday. Celebrating her birthday every year was just one of the many promises by Mimi that her mother had insisted on in her lucid moments, such as making sure that she kept the knitting shop solvent—and taking every chance she could to prove that she was a professional fashion designer who could stand on her own two feet and make her designs a success without using the Fiorini name to do it.
Small promises Mimi had made with every intention of keeping them.
At the time.
But it was so hard now that she was alone.
Her eyes closed and just for a second she gave into her desperate need to sit back in her chair and steal an hour or two of wonderful, refreshing sleep in the early-morning calm before the storm of the day ahead of her.
Working late was nothing new, but she had become so desperate to make sure that her work was the very best it could be for this showcase that working until two or three in the morning had started to become the norm over the past few weeks since Poppy had agreed to stage the show.
Her designs were good—she knew that—but even in these last few days she was still looking for ways to improve. She could feel the strain of the pressure of continually altering and reshaping the garments, pushing herself harder than she had ever pushed herself before. There was so much work she could still do. It was not surprising that she felt so stretched out, beyond tired and pushed to the limit.
And so very much alone.
She envied Poppy so much; at least she had a brother who was willing to drop everything to come and help when she needed him.
Sniffing away the wave of sleep-deprived grief that threatened to overwhelm her, Mimi forced herself onto her feet with a sigh and drew open the full-length glazed patio doors which led to the flight of stairs linking her flat to the shop below, and the paved area which was both her delivery bay and what served as her small private garden.
Through this open door she looked out onto the gardens of the family homes on the other side of the small lane that separated the shops from the residential area around them.
She had been looking at the same view every morning for as long as she could remember.
Seasons were measured through the changes in the tall mature trees which towered over the lane from her neighbours’ gardens: the fresh green leaves of beech and lime blossom in the spring; lilacs and apple blossom; a silver birch with its silvery leaves and shiny bark.
And her favourite: a mature cherry tree which had to be at least forty feet tall. Soft pink-and-white blossom had been replaced now with young cherries, much to the delight of the wild birds that spent much of their day in the tall branches.
These trees and gardens were such a part of her life now that she could not imagine eating breakfast without that view to enjoy. But the risk was very real. Without extra income she was in serious danger of losing the shop she had inherited from her parents, her chance of making a living and her home. The only home she had ever known—or ever wanted.
She had often wondered what it would be like to be a traveler, rootless and wandering, without a fixed place to call home.
Someone like Hal Langdon, for example.
Perhaps that was the reason he was so very, very fascinating. As a person, as a professional and very much as a man.
He was a mystery, a muscular, handsome, unshaven and challenging enigma. He was a man used to being completely spontaneous in his life and his work. Used to making decisions on the run.
But if anything that made her worry all the more.
Poppy knew her brother, and clearly must trust him well enough to leave him in charge of the charity project, but what if Hal had his own ideas for the show? Poppy Langdon had spent most of her working life either as a professional fashion model or in the trade. But what about her brother? All Mimi knew was that he was an adventurer, photographer and had once worked with Poppy when they were getting the events company off the ground—but that had been years ago.
Well, she would find out soon enough.
He had called late the previous evening to tell her that Poppy had arrived safely in Florence and to arrange to meet at the studio the next morning to talk through the plans. She had explained that she would be at a student exhibition most of the day but that had not seemed to deter him in the least.
Mimi suddenly felt the need to sit down as the enormity of what she had taken on threatened to overwhelm her.
The last time she had trusted a photographer with her work had been at her first-ever photo shoot. He had been a well-known fashion photographer who had agreed to work with some of the top fashion-school graduates as part of a newspaper feature on new British talent. Her tutors adored him, the other students had sung his praises and she had been green enough to trust him with the theme for her graduation show. He’d even brought his own stylists.
It had been a complete and utter disaster, beginning to end. She had never