Ouch, ouch and ouch again. Flora’s fingers tightened on her glass stem. So it wasn’t her talent he was after, it was her availability?
But maybe it was time to swallow her pride. A job like this would propel her into the next league. She leaned forward, fixing an interested smile onto her face. ‘So what do you want me to do? Study your plans and email my ideas over?’ Her tiny box room of a bedroom, already crammed with material, her sewing machine and easel, wasn’t the most inspiring surroundings but she could manage. Or she could travel back to her parents a week early and work from there—at least she would be warm and fed if not guaranteed any peace and quiet or, indeed, any privacy.
‘Email? Oh, no, I need you to come to Austria with me. That way you’ll get a real feel for their taste.’ He fixed her with a firm gaze. ‘You need to follow the brief, Flora. There’s no room for your whimsy.’
Her whimsy? Just because her private designs were a little fantastical didn’t mean she carried her taste into her professional work. She knew the difference between indulging her creativity in her personal work and meeting a client’s brand expectations, no matter how dull they might seem. She narrowed her eyes at him. ‘Of course, I am a professional.’
Alex held her gaze for a long second before nodding. ‘Good. I’ll talk you through my plans on the flight to Innsbruck’
The reality of his words hit her. A trip abroad. She hadn’t been on a plane since her redundancy. ‘Tomorrow? But I have another week of my temp job to go.’
‘Can’t you get out of it?’
‘Well, yes. Although my agency won’t be best pleased.’
‘It’s a temping agency. I’m sure they will be able to replace you.’
‘Yes. Of course.’ A fizz of excitement began to bubble through her. No more Tube trains and oppressive offices. No, she would be spending the next week in a gorgeous hotel. No more spreadsheets or audio typing or trying to put salespeople off, she would be flexing her creative muscles instead.
‘It’s a shame it isn’t Bali. I could do with some winter sun.’ Flora shivered despite the almost oppressive heat in the overcrowded wine bar. Her last holiday had been a tent in the Cornish countryside. It had all sounded idyllic on the website, which had deliriously described the golden beaches and beautiful scenery. The reality had been freak storms and torrential rain. She didn’t think she’d been truly warm since.
Alex set down his pint. ‘This isn’t a holiday, Flora.’
‘I know.’ She leaned forward and grabbed his hand. ‘I was teasing you. I’d go to the Antarctic for a chance like this. What do I need to do?’
His fingers curled around hers, warm and strong, and Flora’s heart gave the all too familiar and all too painful thump at his touch. ‘Be ready tomorrow morning, early. Pack for snow and some glamorous events, you know the kind of thing.’
No, she didn’t. Not recently but there was no way she was going to tell him that. ‘Warm yet dressy. Got it.’ A thought struck her as the group by the bar began to roar the chorus of yet another overplayed Christmas classic. ‘When are we due back? Mum and Dad are expecting both of us home on Christmas Eve. They’d be gutted if you don’t turn up. Horatio is on duty at the hospital so it’ll just be Minerva, her perfect spouse and her perfect twins.’
She could hear the bitter note in her voice, feel it coat her tongue and took another sip to wash it down. What she meant was she couldn’t cope with Minerva and her Stepford family without Alex.
‘No Horry?’ Alex raised his eyebrow. ‘That’s a shame. I do like watching your mum trying to fix him up with the local eligibles. He’s so beautifully oblivious.’
‘I think it’s a defence mechanism.’ Flora eyed Alex speculatively. ‘Anyway, you should be glad he never takes the bait. If Mum wasn’t worrying about her permanent bachelor son she might turn her matchmaking skills onto you.’
‘You’re her youngest child,’ he countered sweetly. ‘I wouldn’t worry about me, Flora. It’ll be you she’ll be launching forth next.’
‘Don’t be ridiculous.’ But she wasn’t as sure as she sounded. Now thirty was just a year away there had been ominous rumbles about settling down along with the usual thinly veiled hints about getting a proper job, buying her own house and why couldn’t she be more like her elder siblings? ‘You’re one of the family. Better. The Golden Boy. You know they think you can do no wrong.’
Alex had spent every single Christmas with the Buckinghams after the year his father and new stepmother had chosen to spend the festive season in St Bart’s leaving eleven-year-old Alex at home in the housekeeper’s charge. The next Christmas Flora and her family had taken it for granted he would join them, a stocking with his name on the chimney breast, a place set at the table.
Five years later he had packed his bags and left his father’s house for good, taking up permanent residence in the attic bedroom next to Flora’s own. He’d never told her just what had led up to his bitter estrangement from his father and Flora had never pried.
Turned out there were places even best friends didn’t dare go.
‘Don’t worry, we’ll be back for Christmas. There’s no way I’m missing out on your father’s Christmas dinner. He’s promising goose this year. I watched him prepare it on a video on the Internet. Nothing is keeping me away.’
‘That’s all right, then.’ She took a deep breath of relief. One day surely even Alex would manage more than six months with one of his identikit, well-bred girlfriends and would have to spend the holiday season with her family, not the Buckinghams. Each year they managed to hold onto him was a bonus.
She stared at her empty glass regretfully. ‘If I need to pack, find my passport and be ready before the crack of dawn I’d better get going. What time shall I meet you?’
‘Oh, no.’ Alex pushed his chair back and stood up, extending a hand to Flora to help her out of her seat. ‘I’m not risking your timekeeping, Flora Buckingham. I’ll send a car for you. Five a.m. sharp. Be ready.’
* * *
Alex looked down at his tablet and sighed. So much for briefing Flora on the flight—although to be fair he should have known better. It was a gift he envied in her. No matter where they were, what the time was, she would fall asleep at the first sign of motion. She’d slumbered as the taxi took them through the dark, wintry pre-dawn streets of London to the airport, waking long enough to consume an enthusiastic breakfast once they had passed through passport control, only to fall back asleep the second the plane began to taxi down the runway.
And now she was snoozing once again. She would definitely give Sleeping Beauty a run for her money. He elbowed her. ‘Flora, wake up. I want you to take a look at this.’
‘Mmm?’ She stretched. ‘I wasn’t asleep, just dozing. Oh! Look at that.’ She gazed, awestruck, out of the car windows at the snow-covered mountains, surrounding them in every direction. ‘It’s just like a Christmas card.’
‘What do you think—is it as pretty as you imagined?’
She turned to him, mouth open in indignation, and he stifled a smile. She was far too easy to wind up. ‘Pretty? It’s so much more than mere prettiness. And look, there are actual chalets. Everywhere!’
‘Well observed, Sherlock.’
She didn’t react to his sardonic tone. ‘I didn’t realise Austrian people actually lived in them. I thought it was like thatched cottages. You know, people assume England is all half-timber and cottage gardens but in reality you’re far more likely to live in some identikit house on a suburban estate. Oh, I wish I lived in a chalet. They are utterly beautiful.’
‘I