the stairs. ‘I haven’t managed to buy any yet. I expect yours were all done and dusted by September.’
‘This year’s fabric was designed and printed by then,’ she agreed. Twice a year Flora got several of her designs printed up into silks and cottons, which she then used to make the cushions and scarves she sold online. She also combined her own designs with vintage fabrics to create quilts, which she made to order. ‘I’ve made both Mum and Minerva clutch bags. I hope they like them. I don’t think Minerva has ever worn last year’s skirt.’
‘Strawberries and cream isn’t particularly Minerva,’ he pointed out. ‘But it was a beautiful design. I’m sure she really appreciates it. Apron for your dad?’
‘Of course.’ Every year she made her father a new apron and a selection of tea towels and he always made sure they were prominently displayed in every tutorial and photoshoot. ‘I’ve bought dolls for the twins and made them entire wardrobes.’ She had also made shirts for Horry, Greg her brother-in-law and Alex in the same pattern as the scarf she was wearing this evening. Flora always made her presents; she suspected Minerva at least would rather she stuck to scented candles and bath salts but Flora loved to create things, especially for the people she cared about.
‘As we’re in Austria I’m thinking glass all round, animals for the littlies, crystal glasses and bowls for the adults. Too obvious?’
‘No, they’ll love them. It’s unfair how you always manage to pull the perfect present out of the bag last minute when some of us plan all year round.’ She squeezed his hand in mock protest and he grinned.
‘Not unfair, it’s because I have good taste.’
And money to spare, she wanted to retort—but she didn’t. After all, he’d always managed to find the right thing, even when he was at college and working three jobs in order to pay his way, refusing to allow the Buckinghams to house and feed him rent free. This man who didn’t think he was worth loving.
‘I was thinking,’ she said hesitantly. They hadn’t discussed anything personal since the night at the ski lodge, a tacit agreement to keep the week as carefree as they could.
‘Careful...’
She elbowed him. ‘Ha-ha. Don’t you have any grandparents? Uncles, aunts?’
‘Trying to get rid of me, Flora?’
‘Never. It just seems odd, that’s all. There must be someone.’
But he was shaking his head. ‘As far as I know my father’s parents died before I was born and he was an only child—not that he’d tell me if there were a hundred relatives out there, I suppose. As for my mother, I did see my grandmother when I was much younger but she gave up. Either my father frightened her off or I...’
Flora squeezed his hand. ‘Don’t even go there with the “or I”. If she disappeared I would bet all my Christmas presents your father was behind it. You should try and track her down. She might have some answers.’
‘Maybe.’ But he didn’t sound convinced and she didn’t want to push any further.
* * *
Flora was surprised by how at ease she felt as they approached the hotel lounge. It was busy; the guests buzzing as they discussed their impending visit to Innsbruck’s famous Christmas markets, sampling the food and drink on offer and purchasing some last-minute gifts. Normally she’d find such a noisy and full room intimidating, hang behind Alex as he strode confidently in, let him be the one to mingle, she following where he led. But over the last couple of days she had struck up a few acquaintances and greeted her new friends with pleasure when Alex disappeared over to the other side of the room to charm an influential broadsheet journalist who was considering a magazine feature on Alex’s work.
‘I hear you skied down several red runs today,’ Holly, the travel journalist Flora had met on the first evening, teased her. Flora was the only learner in the entire hotel and many people were watching her progress with encouragement and interest. ‘We’ll have you out on the blacks before we leave.’
‘Not this trip.’ Flora shook her head emphatically. ‘But, I have to say—and I am amazed I am about to admit this—I think I’ll come back and ski again. It has been sort of fun. Although I still prefer the hot-chocolate, hot-tub part of the proceedings most!’
‘If I was sharing a hot tub with your boyfriend I think that would be my favourite part of the evening too.’ Holly looked over at Alex, a wistful expression on her face. He was casually dressed: jeans, a dark green cashmere jumper, hair characteristically tousled. There were more obviously handsome men in the room, more famous men—richer men—but somehow he stood out.
Or maybe it was just that Flora instinctively knew where he was at every moment. Her north star.
Flora stood back to let one of the other women pass by. Although she recognised her they hadn’t spoken during the week; the celebrity guests, mostly socialites and gossip-magazine staples, tended to keep to their own tanned, designer-clad selves and only a few people like Alex passed from one group to the other with no hint of unease. Bella Summers was gossip-magazine gold—an ex-model, TV presenter and extremely keen skier, she had been invited to bring the launch week a sprinkle of glamour and help create a buzz around the hotel.
‘Oh, my goodness.’ To Flora’s amazement Bella stopped dead in front of her, staring at her neck in undisguised envy. ‘Your scarf! Isn’t that the same one Lexy Chapman is wearing in this week’s Desired?’ Her eyes flickered to Flora’s face, curiosity mingling with undisguised surprise. ‘Where on earth did you get it?’
‘This scarf.’ Flora touched it self-consciously. ‘No, it can’t be the same. It must be a coincidence.’
‘It is exactly the same. That abstract snowflake print is unmistakeable,’ Bella Summers insisted. ‘Mitzy, come here. Isn’t this the same scarf Lexy wore on her date with Aaron? The one in Desired?’
Another tall, skinny, elegant girl loped across to join them. The two of them stood there gazing at Flora’s neck like a couple of fashion-hungry vampires. ‘Yes, that’s the one,’ she said. ‘Hang on. I think I left the magazine on the shelves over there. It only came out yesterday. Luckily a shop in Innsbruck stocks it.’
It can’t be the same. It’s just a coincidence, Flora told herself. It was always happening, designers inspired by the same things coming up with similar designs. Or of course work got plagiarised; small solo outfits like hers were particularly vulnerable.
Unfortunately it was a much more likely scenario than the other—It girls and style icons just didn’t buy from small solo nobodies like her. She didn’t even have a brand name or a website of her own, using an Internet marketplace to sell the handful of items she produced each year.
‘Yes, I knew it.’ Mitzy and Bella came back waving the latest copy of Desired triumphantly. ‘Here you go. Flora, isn’t it? Look.’
Flora took the glossy magazine from them. Desired was an upmarket weekly combining fashion, gossip and lifestyle in easily digestible sound bites and pictures. It was already open at the page they wanted, the street-style section. Photos of fashion-forward celebrities out and about, their outfits and accessories critiqued. Girls like Lexy Chapman were staples on this page—as were girls like Bella and Mitzy, although neither had the cool kudos of Lexy Chapman.
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