Bridegrooms Required

It was not what she had imagined, not in a million years. She let out a low whistle. ‘I’m impressed!’

But he shook his head as he stared mto the middle distance. ‘Don’t be. She wasn’t a soloist, more a jobbing singer. So she had all of the sacrifice and insecurity with none of the glory.’ His smile held a sideways tilt of resignation. ‘But still she carried on singing.’

‘She must have loved it very much to continue,’ commented Holly.

‘Oh, there was ego involved, and certainly passion,’ he commented wryly. ‘Which are the two main motivating forces behind the arts.’

‘Ego and passion? Hmm! Yet another generalisation from Mr Goodwin!’ laughed Holly.

‘Maybe,’ he shrugged. ‘But I think that artists generally have a better time than their unfortunate offspring.’

‘You mean that they don’t make good parents?’ she asked tentatively, aware that the answer was suddenly terribly important to her. Because he thought of her as an artist? And if he damned their parenting skills in general, then surely he would also be damning her?

‘I don’t think they do make good parents, no. Try explaining to a five-year-old why Mummy has to go off for months on end on tour.’ He shot her a swift look. ‘Why the adulation of an audience means more than that of your small child.’

She glanced up at him. ‘And did you have a father anywhere on the scene?’

‘Oh, yes.’ He watched the steam rise from his coffee. ‘He used to care for me during my mother’s absences, even turning a blind eye to her little dalliances.’

Holly’s eyes widened. ‘You mean she had...’

‘Affairs?’ he supplied acidly. ‘I most certainly do. If there was one thing my beautiful, artistic mother excelled at, it was having affairs.’

‘Heavens,’ commented Holly uncertainly.

‘They were necessary to that ego of hers again—to show that she was still a desirable woman.’

‘I see.’ The bitter disapproval in his voice was unmistakable and understandable. Holly put down her empty cup on the window sill and turned to face him. ‘What happened to them? Your parents, I mean?’

There was a pause. His words were like lemon pips. ‘My mother died of an infection abroad, when I was eight—’

‘Oh, Luke,’ said Holly, her heart going out to him. ‘What a terrible thing to happen.’

He was caught in the sympathetic light from her eyes, and something in that emerald blaze started an aching deep within him, but he quashed it as ruthlessly as he would a fly. ‘Yeah,’ he agreed quietly, that one small word telling her more than anything just how bad it must have been.

She wanted to go and hug him, to take him tightly in her arms and enfold him, to soothe all that little-boy hurt away.

He saw the way she was looking at him, and it made him want to lose himself in the velvet softness of her lips, to melt and meld into the shuddering sweetness of her body. But he shook his head in denial, trying to get a handle on his senses.

‘It was .a terrible thing to happen,’ he said quite calmly, as though these were words he had repeated many times. ‘My father never really got over it. He loved her, you see—for all her capriciousness and her fickleness, her inability to accept reality. When she died it was as though a light had gone off inside him—’

‘He gave up, you mean?’

‘Not in the physical sense. He continued to care for me as best he could. A housekeeper cooked my meals and cleaned my clothes, and my father gave me what love he was capable of. Summer holidays were the worst—we lived in London, and the city used to feel like a cage during those long weeks. His brother began inviting me down here during the vacations—and the sense of freedom and space was a real eye-opener.’

Holly stared out of the window again, at the bare-branched beauty of the winter landscape. She imagined those same trees clothed in green, the summer flowers bursting into rainbow radiance. Yes, she thought, this place must have seemed like a paradise to a motherless little city boy. She turned back to him, her eyes full of questions. ‘And?’

Luke looked at her with interest. Most people had usually overdosed on sadness by this stage in his story. Not that he had told it for a long time. Even Caroline had blithely told him that bad memories were best pushed away and forgotten. That cans of worms were best left unopened. He found himself wondering fleetingly whether she was right.

‘My father died just after I finished school. It was as though he had been hanging on until he had seen through his parental responsibility. I was lined up to go to university—it was something my father wanted badly for me. Then, when he died, I suddenly thought, I don’t have to do this any more—in fact, I don’t have to do anything I don’t want any more.’

‘And that’s when you went out to Africa?’ Holly guessed. ‘For even more of the space you had come to love here? And to escape the unhappy associations with England. And the past.’

‘Intuitive of you,’ he observed.

‘It’s one of the more positive sides of being artistic,’ she told him archly. ‘It isn’t all ego, you know!’

‘Did I offend you with my comments?’ he drawled, noticing that she had failed to mention passion.

‘The truth never offends me.’ She was aware of him watching her closely. Too closely. Her long-limbed body seemed to suddenly lack co-ordination; her hand was shaking as she picked up the steamer once more and moved back towards the silver gown. ‘I guess I’d better get back to work.’

‘Yes.’ But he remained rooted to the spot, transfixed by the sight of her. Today she was dressed in some filmy-looking skirt covered in a delicate floral print, which flowed all the way down to her slender ankles. The shirt she wore was white and loose and gauzy, and she had some sort of dark, tight vest beneath it, so it certainly wasn’t indecent. But there was something about a woman in a diaphanous piece of clothing which would make any hot-blooded male’s heart pound.

And Luke’s was pounding now.

He swallowed, trying to ease the hot dryness in his mouth, the ache between his legs. He needed to get out of here. Away from here. Fast.

‘I’m going out,’ he told her abruptly.

‘Oh,?’ said Holly pleasantly. ‘Going somewhere nice?’ she heard herself asking, as if she were his form teacher!

‘Just out.’ Damn her, and her curiosity. He had offered her house room for a couple of weeks and suddenly she was his keeper? ‘I’ll see you later,’ he said tersely, and took himself off to telephone Caroline.

‘Sure,’ agreed Holly, in a casual tone which didn’t quite come off. His abruptness hurt. Was he angry with himself for giving away too much? For opening up a heart she suspected had been ramparted for too many years? She picked up a needle and began to sew, and presently the comforting rhythm of the needle and thread made her feel calm once more.

Holly spent the next couple of days checking she had done everything that her guidebook to starting a new business told her to. She knew how important it was for her to establish strong links with all the other local companies associated with weddings. She needed to get to know caterers and car-hire companies, the managers of popular wedding venues and local florists. That way, they all helped one another.

She took her car into Winchester and discovered that the best florist in the city was the one who had been displaying the holly wreath which had caught Luke’s eye that day when they’d braved the Christmas shoppers together.

The assistant who had ogled Luke so appreciatively went out to the back room to find the shop’s owner, and Michelle McCormack appeared almost immediately.

She was a tiny dynamo of a woman, aged around thirty, with eyes the colour of expensive chocolate and glossy brown hair which was tied back in a dark green ribbon to match the green pmafore she wore. She was imaginative and enthusiastic, and she and Holly hit it off straight away. They went into the back of the shop to browse over the big book of wedding bouquets over cups of tea.

‘I need plenty of fresh flowers for the opening on Saturday,’ Holly explained as she peered at a photo which featured a stunning combination of cornflowers and sunflowers. ‘For decorating the shop window—that’s as well as bouquets for the window. But naturally, this volume of blooms is a one-off.’

‘After that, I could supply a mixture of silk flowers and fresh?’ suggested Michelle. ‘Fresh flowers should be saved for special occasions, because they don’t last long and it won’t set your beautiful dresses off if you have wilting petals in the shop window! Some occasions would obviously need fresh posies for the window.’

Holly nodded. ‘All the key festivals, really. Brides get ideas at holiday times.’

‘White lilies at Easter,’ said Michelle dreamily. ‘And scarlet silk peonies for Valentine’s. Can I clash colours and break rules?’

‘As long as you make them as well!’ giggled Holly as she saw her dream begin to gather real substance. ‘I want you to be as creative as I intend to be!’

Michelle gave Holly a penetrating stare just before she left, and said, ‘So where’s your hunk?’

It would have been pointless and rather pathetic to have expressed ignorance of whom she was talking about. Holly shrugged. ‘Luke? I don’t know—and anyway, he isn’t my hunk.’ Michelle licked her lips exaggeratedly. ‘Then can I have him, please?’

‘You haven’t even seen him!’ protested Holly.

‘No, but my assistant has—and I value her judgement on most things! Just tell me one thing—has she been exaggerating about his extraordinary beauty and sex appeal?’

Holly couldn’t lie. ‘Er, no,’ she confessed. ‘She hasn’t.’

After seeing Michelle, Holly went in person to talk to a reporter from the Winchester Echo, guessing that she would get better coverage if she laid on the charm offensive in person, rather than just telephoning.

The cub reporter was called Pete, and he was young and enthusiastic.

Holly gave him all the details while he scribbled them down.

‘And you say you won a competition?’

‘That’s right. Sponsored by Beautiful Bridles.’

‘And the cheque was sufficient to get you started up in business?’

‘Only just!’

‘Interesting story,’ he mused. He wrote something else down, then looked up. ‘And where’s this dress now? The winning design?’

‘I have it packed away,’ she told him. ‘It’s being featured in next March’s issue of Beautiful Brides. I shall be unveiling it—if you’ll excuse the pun!—on Saturday at the opening, and every person who visits the shop during the month of December will be entered into a draw to win the dress!’

Pete pursed his lips together and made a clicking sound with his teeth. ‘Good publicity stunt,’ he breathed, then smiled at her as he flicked his notebook shut and stood up. ‘And it’ll make a brilliant story!’

‘I certainly hope so.’

‘See you Saturday, then!’

On the way home, Holly couldn’t resist going to peep at the shop, which was a flurry of activity. People were sawing wood and painting and knocking nails in walls. From the direction of the upstairs flat came the sound of a drill being used. She parked the car, and was standing outside for a moment, unsure of whether or not to go right inside, when a familiar figure came striding out of the shop, and predictably her heart leapt like a salmon.

He was dressed in a pair of faded jeans which matched his eyes and a fleecy blue-check shirt which made them look even bluer. His gold-tipped hair was sprinkled with sawdust that made Holly think of fairy dust, but his eyes were wary and reminded her that he’d been keeping his distance lately.

‘Hello, Holly,’ he said carefully. ‘I thought you were going to stay away until everything was ready?’

‘You sound as though you’re warning me off!’ she told him crossly.

Or himself, Luke thought grimly, before forcing a smile to hide behind. ‘Well, I’d hardly do that, would I?’ He forced his voice to sound placatory, but it wasn’t easy. He had two more days of this to endure—just two more days and then his life would be Holly-free. He would be able to sleep nights. Eat a meal without having lustful thoughts about the morsels disappearing into that pink and delectable mouth of hers. He couldn’t wait. ‘When it’s your shop.’

‘Your shop, you mean,’ she corrected sulkily, as she recalled her conversation with Michelle McCormack. He was the kind of man who made total strangers want to chat him up—so what chance did she have? Quite apart from the fact that his moods were so mercurial. One minute he seemed like her best buddy, while the next...

‘If it’s my shop then you have certainly made your mark on it,’ he commented drily. ‘Since I hadn’t planned on green, gold and purple walls—or a bleached wood floor!’

Holly made herself sound grateful, and she was grateful. After all, there couldn’t be many landlords who would decorate a shop exactly to the new leaseholder’s specifications. If only he wouldn’t be so spiky! ‘It’s lovely,’ she said obediently, and pressed her nose up against the window.

‘Well, it’s not finished yet.’ He looked down at her with a curious frown. ‘What’s up? I thought you’d be a lot more excited than this.’

‘Oh.’ Holly shrugged as she searched around for something to say. Something suitable. Rather than something along the lines of, I’m going to miss you, Luke Goodwin. I’m going to miss seeing that lazy smile which you give out so rarely, but when you do it’s like the sun blinding you with its radiant power. ‘I guess that the realisation of just what I’ve taken on has finally hit me.’

‘Can’t cope, huh?’ he teased.

She slitted her eyes at him like a cat. ‘Just watch me!’

He turned away—he had to, for fear that she would see him harden in front of her eyes. For God’s sake—what was the matter with him? Getting erections like a schoolboy? It was sheer bloody instinct, this response And a sheer bloody inconvenience, too. His voice was gritty as he spoke over his shoulder. ‘Are you going back up to the house?’

‘No, Luke—I’m planning to make myself a comfy bed of sawdust and sleep right here!’

He turned then, exasperation and humour making his mouth twist and curve in all directions. ‘Any idea what you’d like to eat later?’ Evenings were becoming increasingly difficult, but he found that he could cope with her a little better if they weren’t on mutual territory. Squashy sofas and large, comfortable beds within carrying distance were proving something of a distraction. ‘We could always go to that pub again. Or find a restaurant, maybe?’

But Holly was reluctant. If they went out as a couple, it only served to remind her that they weren’t actually a couple, much as she would have liked them to be. She shook her head. ‘I’ll probably just have some eggs and an early night. I’ve still got lots of paperwork to do—figures that need going over.’

‘Everything adding up okay?’

She knew he found it fascinating that she could tot up a column of figures in her head. ‘Just because I majored in art doesn’t mean I’m a complete dough-brain when it comes to sums, you know!’

‘I know! I know! Skip the lecture, Holly. I think you’re brilliant in almost every way!’

Almost?’

‘If only you could cook!’ he sighed, and gestured behind him with his thumb. ‘Better get back in there—it’s been years since I did any carpentry!’

Holly walked through the already dark village street towards the silhouetted arch of the yew bush which framed his beautiful house. Then she stood still for a moment, and just stared.

Saturday would be the first of December and the opening of her brand-new shop. She was an adult, a grown-up—on the start of something big. Something exciting.

Why, then, did the thought of Saturday and leaving Luke make her feel as miserable as when the tooth fairy forgot to visit?

CHAPTER SIX

AN OLD-FASHIONED bell chimed out as Luke pushed open the shop door and stepped inside.

Perched halfway up a stepladder, Holly halted in the middle of hanging a bunch of golden balloons from the ceiling and looked down expectantly at him. It was important to her what he thought. Everything about the day so far had been good—it was crisp and clear, with golden sunshine gilding the intense blue of the early December sky. And all the work had been finished bang on time.

Outside, painted in old gold on a deep green background, the shop sign bore the legend ‘Lovelace Brides’. In the window itself, a faceless mannequin wore Holly’s prize-winning dress. The ivory duchesse satin gleamed with all the milky lustre of moonlight, the soft, heavy material falling in perfect folds from the pleated waist. The stark simplicity of the style simply took the breath away. Or so the departing builders had told a pleased and bemused Holly—though she didn’t have them marked down as wedding dress experts!

The mannequin was holding an exquisite bouquet designed by Michelle—a winter bouquet bright with glossy green foliage and scarlet berries, waxy white Christmas roses and sprigs of mistletoe.

In the background a CD played bridal music to add to the mood—at the moment it was trumpeting out the awesome majesty of ‘Pomp and Circumstance’. And, all in all, Holly felt that there was little she could do to improve anything in the shop.

But Luke’s opinion was somehow as important to Holly as all the other component parts which went to make up a success. He had put himself out on a limb by letting her choose the colour scheme, he had trusted her judgement—and she desperately wanted him to like it.

Luke looked around and took it all in very, very slowly. With the deep, rich colours she had chosen the effect could have been claustrophobic, but the high ceilings and elegant proportions of the building meant that it was exactly the opposite. Peacock, golden and purple. It was both ancient and modem—ageless and timeless. The huge mirrors on each wall which were a necessary feature of all bridal shops—since every angle of the bride had to be seen and scrutinised—reflected the colours and the space back and back again.

‘Well, well, well,’ said Luke, very softly.

‘Do you like it?’ she asked him quietly as she climbed down off the ladder and stood in front of him.

‘I like it very much,’ he replied. ‘How about you?’

‘I love it.’

‘You left very early this morning.’ He narrowed his eyes at her in question. ‘With all your gear.’

‘Well, I had a lot to do. And you were sleeping.’

‘Oh?’ There was a hint of teasing humour in the blue glint of his eyes. ‘Did you come in and check up on me, then, Holly?’

‘I—stuck my head round the door.’ Holly picked up a silver balloon and began to tie it to another, wondering whether he would notice that her fingers were trembling with the memory.

It had been a daunting and magnificent sight—Luke’s bronzed and muscular body sprawled carelessly out over most of a double bed. He had been covered by a duvet, true, but some of his chest had been bare and Holly’s eye had been drawn with fascination to the riot of gold-tipped hair which grew there. The soft feathers of the goose down quilt had moulded themselves closely to his shape—defining each muscular leg as it shifted restlessly, causing Holly to leave the room more hurriedly than she had intended.

‘Well, I didn’t hear you,’ he observed softly. He always slept in the raw, and now he found that his pulses were leaping with unbearable excitement at the thought of Holly watching him while he lay sleeping. ‘You should have woken me.’

She had been tempted—oh, yes! For one brief, mad moment of fantasy she had actually contemplated stepping out of her warm and cosy pyjamas and climbing in naked beside him, wrapping her soft skin against the hardened contours of his body. In the fantasy which followed he said nothing, just pulled her into his arms and began to kiss her very thoroughly. And that was as far as she had got before fleeing the room as sanity had seeped back in.

Luke walked up and down the shop, past the flowing silks and satins of the dress rail full of samples. He paused for a moment beside the pale frothy haze of bridal veils, with their pearled or glittery tiaras. There were shoes too, in different styles, lined up in neat lines, like rows of ivory satin soldiers. While right in the corner lay tiny drifts of minuscule bras and panties in finest silks and Belgian lace.

‘Underwear?’ he asked her, in surprise.

Holly flushed a horrid, unbecoming shade of magenta. ‘There’s no need to look so shocked!’ she complained.

He shook his head, the corners of his mouth lifting with amusement. ‘I’m not shocked,’ he told her. ‘Merely curious. Fascinated, actually—as to why you’re flogging knickers in a bridal shop!’

Holly sighed. ‘You men can be so dense sometimes! Because the bride-to-be is under enough stress as it is. What she wants is to simplify her life—and you can do that by saving her time. You sell as much as possible of what she wants to wear on the big day under one roof. And bridal underwear is a little bit specialised.’

‘Oh?’

‘It must be the very best—the finest silks, the purest lace—’

‘The flimsiest?’ he suggested with an ironic smile, as he impudently dangled a cream lace tanga from his index finger.

Holly’s eyes swam as the image of him holding the wisp of lace imprinted itself onto her mind. It looked—and she felt her heart race like fury—looked as if he had just slid that outrageous little garment off. Off her, perhaps? Oh-oh! There was that lethal wishful thinking again! She couldn’t look him in the face, let alone the eye, so instead she bent to pick up an imaginary speck of dust from the softly gleaming floorboards.

‘The house seems very bare without you,’ he said suddenly.

Holly swallowed down the lump of emotion which had risen in her throat and aimed for humour. ‘And very quiet, I imagine?’

Dark eyebrows were elevated. ‘Well, there is that,’ he admitted, with a smile.

He stood looking at her; he could have stood there looking at her all day. ‘You look fantastic, Holly,’ he said.

‘Do I?’ Holly searched helplessly for another speck of dust. She was wearing a daring thigh-high tunic made of thin layers of embroidered cream voile, with sheer floaty sleeves gathered tightly at the wrist. It was one of her own designs, which was what people would expect, and could almost be a wedding dress—if the bride had absolutely no qualms about showing acres of leg! ‘Honestly?’

‘Honestly. I didn’t realise you had legs.’ He let his eyes linger on them. Bad mistake. Luke quelled the heat which was threatening to rise.

‘You, um...you look very... very nice yourself,’ said Holly tamely, because she thought that ‘sensational’ might be a little too strong an adjective! She wasn’t used to seeing him dressed up—in fact, she realised that this was the first time she had seen him in anything other than faded denims.

He usually looked much more like a ranch hand than a man of some means, but today was the closest he had got to that particular image, in a shirt of delphinium silk and dark navy trousers. Yet he didn’t look a bit like a stuffed shirt, which a lot of men did if they weren’t used to wearing smart clothes. Luke just looked sexy. Unbelievably sexy. ‘Very nice,’ she finished.

‘Why, thank you,’ he answered drily, but he found that he was absurdly flattered by her halting compliment.

The darkening of his eyes was immensely flattering, but Holly found that it was making her feel light-headed, and she couldn’t think straight. Her voice sounded faint. ‘I-I’d better go and open some wine.’

‘I’ll do it.’ He followed her out to the small, newly fitted kitchen at the back of the shop and took the corkscrew she handed him. ‘What time are they arriving?’

‘Soon.’ But not soon enough, thought Holly with a swift glance at her watch. Much more time alone with Luke and she would surely do something unforgivable, like hurling herself into his arms and asking him to kiss her. Every bit of her!

She tipped crisps and peanuts into bowls and lined up the glasses she had hired for the day, while Luke extracted corks from wine bottles like an expert. They worked together in companionable silence, and Holly wasn’t sure whether to be pleased or not when she heard the clanging of the doorbell as the first of her invited guests arrived.

It was Michelle McCormack, the florist. She was dressed in apple-green and had brought two girlfriends with her. ‘Candy and Mary are both getting married in the summer,’ she told Holly excitedly. ‘So they’re going to be your first two customers!’

‘Please don’t feel under any pressure,’ Holly told them, with a smile.

‘Now that’s not the right marketing approach!’ scolded Michelle, but Holly shook her head.

‘On the contrary—I’m confident that with one look—they’ll be hooked!’

‘Well, why don’t we put it to the test?’ suggested Candy with a giggle, and she and Mary went off to gaze longingly at the wedding dresses.

‘Who’d like some wine?’ asked a deep voice behind them, and Holly watched as Michelle turned round and was momentarily transfixed by the sight of Luke Goodwin, resplendent in the soft silk shirt, his blue eyes glittering like a sun-kissed sea.

‘Me, too,’ whispered Michelle, goggle-eyed.

‘Me, too—what?’ asked Holly, blinking with confusion.

‘One look and I’m hooked!’

From Luke’s faint smile, Holly guessed that he must have heard, but Michelle didn’t appear to mind—or maybe it had been her intention that he heard!

Holly introduced them. ‘Luke, this is Michelle McCormack, who is responsible for all the beautiful flowers you can see. Michelle, this is Luke Goodwin—he owns the shop.’

‘You own it?’ Michelle’s eyes widened into saucers as she took a glass of white wine from him. ‘Holly didn’t tell me you were rich as well as beautiful!’

‘I don’t remember saying he was beautiful, either!’ said Holly crossly.

‘Didn’t you?’ queried Luke, with a teasing smile. ‘Oh, Holly—now I am disappointed!’

‘Why don’t we find a quiet corner together, Luke?’ suggested Michelle. ‘And then you can tell me your life story.’

Luke smiled. Women like Michelle he could cope with. Charming. Flirtatious. A bit over-the-top, maybe. But ultimately safe. There were no secrets or mysteries lurking behind Michelle McComack’s dark eyes. What you saw was what you got. ‘Love to,’ he replied easily.

Holly tried not to feel indignant or jealous or miffed—not when she knew that she had no right to feel anything other than gratitude towards Luke. Thanks to him, she had a shop which would not have looked out of place in one of London’s most exclusive streets.

The bell rang once more and the place began to fill up. Holly had sent an invitation to the local vicar, and, much to her astonishment, he turned up on a motorbike! He had collar-length blond hair, a face of almost cherubic innocence, and looked far too young to be legally entrusted with the task of performing marriages!

‘Hi, Holly, I’m Charles Cape,’ he told her, and held out his hand. ‘Pleased to meet you.’

‘Thanks for coming,’ smiled Holly, who had thought, he would toss the invitation into the nearest bin.

But he shook his head. ‘No—thanks for inviting me.’ He grinned. ‘Don’t look so surprised that I’m here! Apart from wanting to meet you, since you’re new to the village, we’re both in the business of making marriage more attractive to the general public, aren’t we?’

‘I suppose we are,’ she agreed thoughtfully.

Holly changed the music to an old-fashioned Christmas tape and began to refill everyone’s glasses, and soon the shop took on a party-like atmosphere, particularly when a few people plucked up courage and began to walk in off the street.

‘She doesn’t look like she’s in the market for a wedding dress!’ whispered one of Michelle’s friends to Holly, as a well-padded woman of about eighty plonked herself down on one of the window seats and began to glug contentedly at a glass of wine.

‘No, but she might have granddaughters who will be,’ said Holly, as she moved a bowl of peanuts away from the satin shoes.

Pete Thomas, the reporter from the Winchester Echo, had turned up with a photographer in tow.

‘We want to emphasise the wedding dress competition,’ he told Holly. ‘It’s a good angle—and it’s different. When are you planning to make the draw?’

‘On January the First,’ said Holly. ‘First day of the New Year. New beginnings, and all that. We won’t be open—but I’ll announce the winner in the window.’ She glanced across the room to where Luke was still sitting, chatting to Michelle, only they had now been joined by Michelle’s two friends.

For two brides-to-be, they were certainly paying a lot of interest to whatever Luke was saying, were Holly’s rather caustic thoughts. But she ignored the nagging feeling of jealousy and went round, topping everyone’s glasses up, until the shop was buzzing with chatter.

People began to filter away just before three, when some of the light had already begun to fade from the sky.

Michelle stood up to go, swayed on her high heels and giggled as she put her hand onto Luke’s shoulder to steady herself.

‘Whoops! Too much wine on an empty stomach. I need sustenance! How about you, Luke? A big, strong man like you could probably do with a plate of food, right?’

He shrugged and gave a regretful smile. ‘Perhaps some other time. I promised Holly I’d help her tidy away,’ he demurred smoothly, meeting a pair of pleased but bewildered emerald eyes over Michelle’s head.

Michelle shot Holly another envious look. ‘A boss who tidies up? Where have I been going wrong for all these years?’ She smiled. ‘Well, you know where I am, Luke. If you’re ever in Winchester and you fancy some company.’

‘I’ll be sure to bear that in mind.’ He smiled again.