Her Moment in the Spotlight. Nina Harrington
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his friend’s legacy through to the end.
He had promised Poppy he would take care of the event and that was what he was going to do. Because if he didn’t …? There was a limit to the number of failures a man could take in his life.
His little sister had been devious enough to call him back to work on a project she knew full well he would not be able to refuse. It had occurred to him several times as he’d tossed and turned that perhaps this emergency trip to Florence was just a little too convenient. Poppy had always adored working in Italy when she’d been a model. He suspected she had always planned to spend a few fun days with her friend in total indulgent luxury, finalising the no-doubt amazing wedding they had planned together. Leaving him to hold the fort.
Clever; very clever. She had lured him back to work in the full knowledge that once he had committed to the project he would not allow it to fail.
It dared not fail.
A shiver ran down his neck and across his shoulders. Hal shuffled inside his leather jacket and shifted his crutch to a new position so that he could massage his right thigh muscle which had started to cramp.
He swallowed down the rush of intense resentment, pain and regret that had overwhelmed him so many times these last few months that they were starting to feel like familiar friends. The kind of friends it would be too easy to welcome inside so that they could all wallow and feel sorry for each other and drown in the anguish of painful memories.
Pain kept him alert, alive. Even if it had robbed him of his sleep.
He had spent most of the night putting together an action plan based on the notes Poppy had left him. By the time the girls had taken control of the bathroom that morning, he had made deals for equipment and props which would make this a show to remember.
Providing, of course, that the clothing was as stylish as Poppy had suggested. She did have excellent taste, but all he had seen so far were sketches and a few photographs. Could Mimi Ryan deliver on time? He had been impressed with her energy yesterday. Time to find out more about Studio Designs and exactly how much of a challenge he had just taken on.
If he could find the place!
He stared across at a small row of shops then double-checked the address Poppy had given him. This was the right street, only there was no sign of a warehouse or stylish boutique of any type.
Hobbling across the quiet London road, Hal quickly scanned the numbers above each of the shops. There had to be a mistake because Studio Designs should be at this address instead of a knitting shop called Etalia Yarns.
Well, that couldn’t be right.
Perhaps there was another street with the same name in another part of this area. London was a huge city; there was bound to be some duplication.
Or was it possible that Studio Designs was hidden away at the back of these shops?
It would make sense for him to enquire inside.
Hal sniffed, pulled his camera bag over his right shoulder and grasped his crutch more tightly as he stared at the front entrance of Etalia Yarns.
A knitting shop; this was going to be a new experience. Tom Harris had taught him to be an explorer and an observer in any new location, no matter where, and those skills still served him well. He liked the small things that told him a story about the people and the place.
It was the details he looked for as a photographer—the tiny body movement and individual characteristics that made one sportsman unique and could make or break an action photograph. It had become second nature for him to look for exactly those details in every shot.
Now he took the time to take a closer look at the shop itself—or rather what looked like a small house in a normal-looking street of family homes mixed with small shops: a dry cleaner, a hairdresser and Etalia Yarns.
The name had been etched out in a large cursive font along the top half of a large picture-window which would have been the bow window of the living room when this house had been a home. The bottom half was etched glass with a scrolling curling pattern.
The green-and-white paintwork was fresh and attractive. A large, circular brass doorknocker completed the look.
The only vaguely kitsch thing about the shop window was the tiny long-haired toy sheep which had been placed on the inside window-ledge so that it seemed to be looking out to face the street. A broad black smile in the shape of a half circle shone out in welcome.
So this was what an upmarket knitting-yarn shop looked like? He was clearly way out of date!
But where was Studio Designs?
The same minute that thought came into his head he spotted a small metal plaque which had been screwed into the door frame above his head: Studio Designs. At last!
Well, well. Mimi Ryan worked above, beyond or inside a knitting shop.
Who knew what strange new customs and traditions the inhabitants followed? He certainly had no clue what to expect.
Which was far more interesting and exciting—not that he would ever admit it—than he had expected.
Into the unknown.
Just as Hal shuffled forward towards the entrance, two teenage girls in denim trousers and bright T-shirts giggled their way past him and through the shop door, giving him sly glances as they did so. Each of them was carrying a bulging, oversized plastic bag and it made perfect sense for Hal to hold open the door and slip after them into the shop.
Or, rather, a gallery of rainbows.
Pale wooden storage-cubes were aligned along every available piece of wall space, and each cube was stuffed with yarn in a complete spectrum of rainbow colours from deepest purple through blues, greens and yellows, to reds and pinks and white and cream. It was as familiar to a photographer as his favourite camera. And it was twice as pleasurable to see the raw energy of colour softened by textures, shapes and sizes.
Natural light from two long windows filled the narrow space, helped by down-lighters of just the perfect intensity and spectrum to make the colours of the yarn pop in their display cubes.
Very clever.
Instead of stacks of yarn, the long narrow room had been split into two halves by a long antique pine dining-table with comfy chairs on each side. Two older women were selecting soft balls of tweedy stuff from wooden baskets piled high with yarn, while the teenagers laughed and giggled their way to the back of the room.
Their girlish laughter was shared with a tall woman with an amazing figure who was facing away from him, one arm around the shoulders of the youngest girl as they pulled out their creations from the plastic bags. He caught a glimpse of strands of yarn, what looked like string and a pair of enormous wooden knitting-needles that made his eyebrows lift.
Intrigued by the exhibits, and still in awe of the rainbow effect of the yarns around him, Hal slowly strolled down the room and smiled at the other customers, who seemed to be far too focused on the goods to pay him any attention. He was almost in the middle of the room when one of the teenagers spotted him and nudged the other, and the woman turned around to face him.
And every thought in his brain was frozen, mesmerised by the stunning woman he was looking at.
It was Mimi Ryan.
He should have recognised the hair, the creamy skin, the voluptuous figure which had only been hinted at in the street and later in Poppy’s office.
Forget hinting; this version of Mimi was full-on gorgeous.
The black trousers fitted her so perfectly that they must have been made to measure, but it was her coral-coloured knitted top that burnt a pattern in his retinas.
The soft, flowing fabric looked to have faint, pink, fine stripes with a cleverly constructed narrow lapel, fitted in at the waist so that there was no mistake that this lady was curvy—and meant business.
Light from a stained-glass panel in a side