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Alice had now run out of words, and she had the sense that adding to them with empty silence-fillers would just be a mistake. So she closed her mouth and stared out of the kitchen window into the dark evening sky, waiting for Cameron’s response.
Suddenly his good opinion—of her, of her hopes and dreams—mattered. She held her breath.
‘Okay, Alice. You’ve got a deal. I like the idea.’
Alice was very glad Cameron didn’t have a video phone, because she took that moment to do a silent victory dance around the kitchen.
‘I understand you’re going to liaise with Jennie about the party, and she’s going to keep me in the loop. Do you really think you can pull this off in four weeks?’
Alice was tempted to hyperventilate. She was so far out of her depth it wasn’t funny. ‘Of course,’ she said.
‘I look forward to seeing you then. Sorry to have interrupted your evening, but I was intrigued by what Jennie had told me and I wanted to find out more immediately. I’ve always found it helps to put the brakes on before she gets too carried away. Sometimes her ideas just don’t pan out. Anyway, I’ll let you get back to…whatever you were doing.’
‘It’s fine. I wasn’t really…’
She knew she should just say goodbye gracefully and put the phone down, but she didn’t.
‘You know, Alice, I always thought you had it in you to surprise everyone.’
That was possibly the nicest thing anyone had ever said to her.
Oh, her clients gushed occasionally about her, but, to be honest, they’d have sainted anyone who could have got their e-mail going again when an IT disaster struck. And not only was Cameron saying nice things, he was saying them in his lovely voice. She could have listened to it all evening.
‘Thank you, Cam.’
He chuckled. ‘Cam…I don’t think anyone but Jennie calls me that any more.’
‘Sorry…Cameron.’ She frowned. ‘What do people call you, then?’
‘Oh, Your Highness pretty much works for me.’
Now it was Alice’s turn to laugh.
‘See you in four weeks, Alice.’
And then he was gone.
She pulled the phone away from her ear and stared at it. This evening was getting progressively more surreal.
She cradled the phone to her chest as she slipped off the kitchen stool and wandered down the hallway to replace it on its base.
She made her way upstairs and pulled a book off her shelf, intending to read at least five chapters while soaking herself in a very hot bath. And as she threw her clothes onto the bed and pulled on her comfy old dressing gown, the slightly crumpled photo that had been lying facedown on the duvet fluttered to the floor and hid itself under the bed.
‘Moon River’ chimed from Alice’s pocket as her mobile vibrated. In an effort to contort herself into a position whereby she could reach it, she whacked her head on the underside of the desk she’d been crawling under. There was a muffled snicker from somewhere else in the office.
Finally she got her phone to her ear. ‘Hello?’
‘Hello.’
That one simple word, said in a calm, deep, velvety voice, set Alice’s heart-rate rocketing. Why did his voice make her think of log fires and thick hot chocolate?
‘Cameron?’ Oh, flip. Did that nauseating little squeak of a voice belong to her? She cleared her throat.
‘Alice, we have a problem.’
We? Had he just said we?
‘We do?’
She heard a muffled shuffling sound, as if he was pacing around. ‘My ridiculous stepsister has decided to…decided to…elope! I knew she was acting strangely, but…’
Did modern-day women still elope? Alice wasn’t sure. Didn’t that only happen to corsetwearing heroines in historical novels? Either way, it was wildly romantic. She drifted off into a little daydream about carriages, hooded velvet capes and moonlight.
However, Cameron’s voice sliced through her fantasy. ‘No Jennie means no ball. Which means no fashion show.’
That’s right. Break it to me gently, Cameron.
Was she mistaken, or was there a hint of imperious displeasure in his tone?
Anyway, the fashion show couldn’t be off. She and Coreen had already planned what to do with the money. They’d set their hearts on being in a shop by February. Without the income and publicity from the show, they might have to wait until the following year.
Alice thought of the market fashion shows, how all the traders pulled together and made it happen.
‘ I can do it. I can organise the fashion show.’
Had she really just said that? A market fashion show, with people’s sisters and cousins as models, was a bit different from the kind of upmarket affair Jennie had been planning.
There was a split-second pause before Cameron said, ‘I like your fighting spirit, Alice.’
She didn’t have much of a choice, did she?
‘We both need this event to be a success,’ he said. ‘And I agree that bailing out now isn’t an option.’
That wasn’t exactly what she’d meant…
‘You’ll just have to take over,’ he added, almost to himself.
Alice blinked. For a while she’d forgotten where she was. She’d stopped noticing the faded blue carpet and the tangle of wires in every direction. But now she was back in the real world, staring at a bare patch somebody’s feet had worn under the desk.
‘I beg your pardon?’
‘You’ll just have to help me. You said you could organise the fashion show part. Couldn’t you do the rest too? I’ll pay you Jennie’s fee.’
He mentioned a figure that made Alice’s eyes water. With that sort of capital behind them Coreen’s Closet could have its own premises by Christmas, never mind February. It almost made her forget that he hadn’t exactly asked nicely.
‘But I have no experience of—’
‘Neither do I. But I’m prepared to give it a go if you are. We’ve only got three weeks now, and it’s too late to start from scratch with another event planner.’ His voice softened. ‘Come on, Alice. For our own reasons, we both need to pull this off.’
It didn’t matter if Cameron had asked nicely or not. He was right.
‘Okay,’ she said slowly. ‘I’ll think about it.’
Cameron obviously decided to take that as a yes, because he started to reel off instructions and bark at her about couriering Jennie’s files over.
‘Slow down a minute!’
Cameron broke off in mid-flow, seemingly flummoxed by the concept that someone might have something better to do with their time than fulfil his every whim. Alice took advantage of the silence.
‘You can’t send stuff round right this minute. I’m not at home. I’m at work. I won’t be there to sign for it.’
‘Oh. Sorry. I should have…But Jennie said you weren’t at the market today. I haven’t interrupted you on a house visit, in the middle of rifling through someone’s wardrobe, have I?’
‘No—ouch!’ Alice had turned to sit crosslegged on the floor and her head had made contact with the desk once more. ‘Actually, I’m rifling through someone’s network.’
There was a pause. ‘Did you say network?’
Alice nodded to herself. ‘Jennie really is sketchy on the details, isn’t she? I’m an IT consultant by day and a vintage fashion retailer by night. Think of it as my alter ego—my secret identity.’
‘Not so secret any more…now that you’ve told me.’
She grinned. He had a point there. Somehow she knew Cameron was grinning back on the other end of the line. For a few moments neither of them said anything, then Alice shook herself—literally—and decided to get back to business. Perhaps that would stop this slightly light-headed feeling that seemed to be sweeping over her.
‘I need to get an idea of what your new offices are like—to make sure what we’re planning matches the surroundings. The building is what we’ll be there to celebrate, after all, isn’t it?’
Just as she’d been able to ‘hear’ him smile, she now sensed him…what? Gloating?
‘You should see it. It’s something else—totally unique. An old nineteen-thirties factory on the Isle of Dogs. Classic Art Deco style. All the plant and machinery is gone, but we’ve done as much as possible to preserve the original features.’
A picture formed in Alice’s mind as he talked: geometrical shapes, cool white plaster, long horizontal windows. ‘It sounds fascinating. And what about the space for the party? Is there enough room? How big is it? Over how many levels?’
His voice was full of dry humour when he answered. ‘And you told me to slow down. One question at a time, Morton.’
But he didn’t sound displeased in the slightest. In fact, he addressed her queries one by one in detail, and she could tell from the tone of his voice he was enjoying the chance to talk about his current pet project.
‘I mean it. You need to see it, Alice. What are you doing tomorrow?’
Why don’t you get to the point, Cameron? Stop beating around the bush.
She frowned. ‘I was supposed to be sorting out a—’
‘Cancel it.’
Alice spluttered. ‘I can’t do that! My clients are relying on me.’
‘Give me the address and I’ll send a team from my own IT department. I’ll see to it you won’t lose any business because of this.’
It was all very well for Cameron to wave his magic wand and make all her objections disappear, but she wasn’t at all sure she wanted a bunch of strangers doing her work for her. But it was that or give up on the whole fashion show idea. And that meant delaying her launch into her new career, which she really wasn’t prepared to contemplate now it was almost within her grasp.
And by the way, Mr Hunter…See that mountain over there? You couldn’t just tell it to up and jump into the Thames, could you? It’s spoiling my view.
She was starting to realise that the focussed, determined young man she’d met all those years ago had matured into a formidable force. And something was bothering her. Something on the fringes of her consciousness.
‘Cameron?’
He stopped mid-flow, in the middle of giving her more potted history of his new building. ‘Yes?’
‘What did you say your company was called?’ Now she thought about it, she didn’t remember getting down to specifics—she’d been too busy pitching her idea.
‘Orion.’ He sounded puzzled. ‘Didn’t Jennie tell you that?’
Alice almost dropped her phone. ‘Orion?’ she whispered. ‘As in Orion Solutions?’
‘Yes. That’s it.’
Very clever.
Hunter…Orion…It all fitted now.
She’d booted up the computer on the desk above her only a couple of minutes ago. Full of Orion software. Like almost every other computer on the planet. Suddenly the air in her office had grown a little sparse. She wanted to open a window and stick her face outside into the cold air, but she had a feeling they were welded shut.
Had she just agreed to organise a party for the head of Orion Solutions—one of the fastest growing software enterprises in the world? Boy, she was way out of her league. Way, way out of her league.
But this was Cameron. The young man she’d hidden out at a Christmas party with.
No, it wasn’t working. She couldn’t marry the two ideas together in her head, even though she knew deep down he must have changed since then. Just talking to him, she sensed subtle changes. Now it all made sense. He’d always been reserved and precise. But now when he talked there was an unmistakable undercurrent of confidence and inner strength she’d always sensed had been there which now had risen to the surface. Would he have changed on the outside too? Twelve years was a long time.
The mental image that thought conjured up was appealing. She could see a tall, slim man—not gangly and awkward any more—with the same unruly dark hair that curled past his collar. His eyes would be the same warm brown, but there would be more lines round his mouth and at the corners of his eyes.
There was a meaningful cough from beyond the desk. Alice noticed a pair of pinstriped legs move a few steps closer. Mr Rogers. She’d forgotten all about him.
‘I better go,’ she mumbled. ‘I’ll see you tomorrow.’
‘I’ll meet you at noon.’ He reeled off the address of his new headquarters.
As he spoke, she was vacantly staring at a web of cables off to her left. Something drew her attention—some instinct told her to take a closer look. And then she spotted it—the source of all of the solicitors’ problems. It was going to be a nasty job to sort out but, hey, ‘nasty’ normally meant ‘time-consuming’, and that translated into more cash. Something she was only too glad of.
‘Alice? Is that okay?’ The deep, rich voice made her jump.
‘No…yes…that sounds fine. I’ll see you then.’
Cameron rang off with his normal brevity, and Alice crawled over to the knot of cables she’d been inspecting. There was a murmur and a shuffle and the pinstriped legs moved even closer.
‘Anything I can do?’ a thin voice enquired.
Mr Rogers wasn’t being helpful—far from it; he had the air of someone trying to hurry someone else along. Fair enough, since he paid for her services by the hour.
‘No, I’m fine,’ she said, running her thumb and forefinger along a stretch of wire to check where it disappeared to. ‘But I’d love a cup of tea—if you’re making one, that is.’
There was a quiet huff, and the legs disappeared out of the office door.
Alice didn’t feel guilty about that in the slightest. She’d get much more work done if someone wasn’t hovering over her all the time. And she didn’t feel guilty about stopping for five minutes to take Cameron’s call. If she hadn’t been sitting here under the desk, staring at the wires, it would have taken her hours longer to find the source of the problem. She backed out from under the desk, stood up and brushed herself down, pleased to be off her knees and standing tall.
Cameron arrived at the construction site early, keen to meet with the foreman and get an update before he showed Alice around. Although he was required to wear a hard hat, it was hardly necessary as all the major work had been done. Only the finishing touches were being seen to—doors were being hung, sockets were being fixed to the walls and flooring was being laid.
He checked his watch. She’d be here in an hour. He brightened unexpectedly at the thought. Alice had been a nice kid. A little unsure of herself, as teenage girls often were, but kind and intelligent. He was glad to know she’d lost none of that warmth in the intervening years. And she’d certainly seemed full of fire when he’d talked with her on the phone. It was nice to actually converse with someone for a change rather than just give orders.
What was she to him, then? A friend?
He didn’t really have many friends. Hadn’t really had time for them while he’d worked himself stupid getting where he was today. Most of the men he socialised with fell into one of two categories. They were either colleagues or competitors, and both were apt to put on a false front because they either wanted to impress the boss or they were hoping to get close to him and learn something to their advantage.
And women…Well, women never wanted to be just friends with him. They also fell into two camps: tigers and jellyfish. The tigers, like Jessica, were blatant about their attraction to him—and his money. And he obliged them by taking them out to the best spots in London, treating them like royalty…As long as they understood he wasn’t looking for anything permanent, wasn’t looking for someone to share his throne at present. They were all just temporary princesses.
The jellyfish—the second type of woman, like his current PA—trembled and stuttered in his presence. But he saw the glint of attraction in their eyes too—they were just too scared to act on it. Both responses were starting to get on his nerves.
He couldn’t pigeonhole Alice into either of these groups, and that made her an unknown species. Intriguing.
She’d been pretty too, in her own way. Beautiful eyes—a fascinating hazel that were one moment green and the next nutty brown. She’d been like an ugly duckling, just on the cusp of becoming a swan. Sometimes, when she’d moved a certain way or changed her expression, he’d had the strangest sense that a glorious, transformed Alice was about to burst through the meek outer shell.
He shook his head.
This was his problem with women. He let his imagination run away with him and started thinking all sorts of ridiculous things. He became dazzled by the idea of the woman, and always ended up being disappointed when they didn’t live up to the dream. But he’d dated enough golddiggers now that he could spot them at thirty paces. It didn’t stop him taking them out, though. In fact, it suited his whole ‘temporary princess’ idea. He didn’t expect much from the Jessicatypes, and therefore he was rarely disappointed. And there was no danger of them leaving a scar when the relationship ended.
When people got too close, they judged. They found all the bits of your psyche you didn’t want to acknowledge and held them up in front of your face to see, along with a few more faults you didn’t realise you’d had. No, he’d had enough of being judged.
But that really was a moot point these days. He was top dog. He did the judging. And if anyone was foolish enough to put him under the microscope they’d only come away with the verdict that he was the best and that he had the best of everything. And that was just what he’d been aiming for all these years.
A tall fence of chipboard panels painted roughly in forest green surrounded the new headquarters to Orion Solutions. The gate was covered with brightly coloured signs warning of all sorts of dire consequences to those who dared step inside. The boundary fence was at least twelve feet high, and this close to it, Alice could see nothing of the building beyond.
Being fairly local, she now realised she remembered the factory in its previous incarnation as a bakery. It had been left almost derelict for more than a decade, and the only details she could recall were broken panes in the wide horizontal windows and a dirty concrete façade.
Now she was actually here, ready to see the site and show her ideas to Cameron, her stomach was churning. Coreen really should have come. She was good at the talking and schmoozing. Alice was good at the practicalities—the behind-the-scenes stuff.
But you didn’t need to schmooze Cameron on the phone, a little voice inside her head whispered. You talked, he listened. It’ll be the same now.
But her stomach didn’t seem to believe her head. It was still rolling around as if it was being battered by one of the old kneading machines that had lived in the old bakery.
And Coreen hadn’t helped this morning. She’d insisted Alice go round, so she could make sure she was dressed ‘fittingly’ for a representative of Coreen’s Closet. Coreen had taken a single look at Alice’s one good trouser suit, tutted, and then dragged Alice into her bedroom. In no time she’d bullied Alice into stripping down to her under-wear. Alice had stood there like a shop dummy, being prodded and poked and pinched, and when Coreen had pronounced her ready she’d taken one look in the mirror and flipped out.
She’d looked like Coreen’s freaky twin sister, with her hair quiffed and pinned. The floral fifties dress was undoubtedly gorgeous, but Alice’s chest didn’t fill the darted bodice and the large circular skirt just swamped her. The icing on the cake had been the bright red lipstick.
She’d looked ridiculous. She wasn’t that girl—that frilly, sexy, pouting girl. She was Alice. And Alice looked like a big fat fake in that get-up. This time Coreen hadn’t been going to get her way. Alice had told her friend so in no uncertain terms, and then she’d reached for a tissue and wiped the lipstick off, leaving a wide red smudge on her cheek.
Once Coreen had got over the shock of being contradicted, she’d set to work again, agreeing that the full-on retro look maybe wasn’t for Alice, but a touch of vintage might add a little pizzazz to an otherwise dull department store outfit.
So here Alice stood, the result of makeover number two. Coreen had let her keep the looselegged chocolate trousers, as she’d said they flattered Alice’s shape and made her look like Katherine Hepburn, but she’d replaced the suit jacket with a collarless forties one in deep crimson tweed. Even Alice liked the fake fabric bunch of grapes in autumn colours that adorned the breast. She’s brushed out the ridiculous hairstyle and opted for a low, sleek ponytail, and had let Coreen add some lipstick in a berry shade that complemented both the jacket and her colouring.
It would have been madness to tell Coreen—it would only have made her even more incorrigible—but Alice did feel smart and stylish, in a way that was uniquely her. At least she did until she reached the tall chipboard gates that barred her entrance to Cameron’s building. Now she was tempted to turn and run away on her chunkyheeled boots. She looked back down the road to where she’d parked her car.
‘Alice Morton?’
She spun round to find a gruff-looking builder eyeing her up and down through a gap in the gate.
‘Yes,’ she said, finding her voice unusually croaky.
He nodded towards the construction site. ‘This way,’ he said, and cracked the gate wider so she could pass through it. ‘The boss and some of the architects are inside. I’ve been told to take you to them. Oh—and you’ll need this.’
He jammed a bright yellow helmet on her head. Alice was relieved for the second time this morning that the quiff hadn’t stayed. She’d have been digging hair pins out of her scalp for weeks if it had still been there.
She clutched the old school satchel that held her drawings and ideas—Coreen had sworn it would make a funky alternative to a boring old briefcase—and followed the man along a path towards the new Orion building.
And then she looked up and her feet forgot to walk.
Wow.
CHAPTER THREE
CAMERON had said he wanted a ‘distinctive’ opening celebration, and now she saw why. These types of buildings had been considered ugly and out of fashion until relatively recently—left to crumble or bulldozed and replaced with yet another chrome and glass structure.
The building was a low rectangle, with maybe only three or four storeys—it was difficult to tell where the divisions lay, because the whole width of the building was filled with tall windows with horizontal panes, punctuated by plain white pillars and, in the centre, a fabulously ornate doorway that made her think of Greta Gabo films and Egyptian tombs all at the same time.
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