maybe, just maybe she had some influence after all.
She sucked in a deep breath as her eyes skimmed over the photo. Lexy Chapman was casually dressed for her date with her on-off rock-star boyfriend in tight-fitting skinny jeans and a cream, severely cut silk shirt visible underneath an oversized navy military coat. The starkness of the outfit was softened by the scarf, tied around her slender neck with a chicness Flora could only envy.
She skimmed the brief wording, her heart thumping.
How does she do it? Once again Lexy Chapman strips back this season’s must-have styles to their bare essentials combining masculine tailoring with military chic.
A clever touch is the snowflake motif scarf, which adds a feminine twist and is a clever nod to the season.
The article was followed by a list of the clothes and accessories, with price, designer and website. Sure enough, right at the bottom...
Scarf, Flora B, £45
It was followed by her website address.
‘Hang on.’ Mitzy snatched the magazine back off Flora and read the article again. ‘Flora B? Is that you? Oh, my goodness, you have to let me have one of your scarves. What other designs do you have? Do you have any on you?’
‘I...’ Flora tried to think. What did she have in stock and ready made up? ‘Sure. When we get back from Innsbruck I’ll show you my web shop. I only make up a couple of patterns a year so it does depend on what’s left.’
‘Exclusive.’ Mitzy nodded in satisfaction. ‘Good.’
‘If you could just excuse me...’ Flora tore her eyes away from the page, her head giddy. What if the photo had generated more interest? She hadn’t checked her orders since she had arrived in Austria. It wasn’t as if they usually came flooding in—more than three a week would be a rush—and she had designated the Friday of last week the last day she could guarantee Christmas delivery. ‘I just need to check on something.’
Flora was glad to escape from the noisy room. The mood had changed as the news flew through the room. People—especially the celebrity clique—were looking at her differently, actually seeing her. Or seeing her value to them. One scarf in one picture. Was that all it took to go from zero to person of interest?
With this lot it appeared so.
She hurried upstairs, back to their recently vacated suite. It looked different, smelt different with Alex’s belongings casually strewn around. His laptop was set up on the desk in the corner, a pair of his shoes left by the door. His book on the side table—not that he’d been doing much reading. Or work. Neither of them had. She liked it. Liked the casual mingling of their belongings.
Flora’s phone was in a drawer along with her charger. She hadn’t wanted it on, hadn’t wanted to be in contact with the outside world, to be reminded that this short idyll was temporary. She switched it on, her mind whirling while it powered up. Would this mean a run on her small amount of stock? If so would it be worth investing in more fabric? How would she fund it? How could she make and store decent amounts of stock in her small rented room? What if she did invest and demand dried up?
She shook her head. Talk about counting chickens! She might find that Mitzy and Bella were the only people who had even noticed the scarf—and only because she was wearing it.
Her phone sprang into life, pinging with a notification—and another and another like a much less musical one-note version of the sleigh bells. Social-media notifications, emails, voicemails. Flora stared at her buzzing screen and felt her head spin. She had only started the social-media accounts for her business to stop her sister, Minerva, nagging her but rarely used them. She didn’t know what to say to her tiny handful of followers.
‘Flora?’ The door had opened while she watched the notifications multiply. ‘We’re heading off.’ Alex paused, waiting for her to answer but she couldn’t find the words. ‘What is it?’
She handed him the phone and Alex stared at it incredulously.
‘What? Have you just won a popularity contest?’
‘I don’t know. I think it’s about a scarf but I don’t know where to start.’
‘A scarf? Is this the same scarf that has half the women downstairs frothing at the mouth?’
She nodded, the surrealism of the situation disorientating her. ‘Either that or I’ve won the lottery, been photographed kissing a boyband member or I am a long-lost princess. There are over fifty voicemail messages and I don’t know how many emails.’
The phone beeped again. ‘More than fifty...’ he peered at the phone ‘...although it looks as if at least half are from Minerva. Hold on.’ He put the phone back down a little gingerly, as if it were an unexploded bomb. ‘I am going to make our apologies to Camilla and I’ll help you sort this out.’
‘Your glass animals...’
‘Can wait. I’ll pop down tomorrow before the Christmas Ball. Wait here. Don’t touch anything.’
Flora sank onto the sofa, almost too distracted to notice just how uncomfortable it was. Her phone beeped a few more times and then it was mercifully silent. She unlooped the scarf from around her neck and passed it from one hand to the other, the silk cool under her fingertips. A midnight-blue silk with her snowflake design on it. She had only printed one roll of fabric. It was destined for the central square and edging for a handful of quilts, as the cuff lining on the shirts she had made Alex, Greg and Horatio, the lining of a few bags, some cushions and twenty or thirty scarves.
Her fabric design and sewing were a hobby that barely paid for itself. It took up time she should be spending trying to get her talents noticed so she could work in-house again or at least pick up some freelance contracts in her own field and leave the world of temping far behind.
She didn’t do it for money or fame. The truth was it just made her happy.
Just...
‘Right.’ Alex appeared back, the magazine in his hands and open at the fateful page. ‘It looks like this is the cause of all the fuss. I’ve just been asked by at least ten people if I can get them one of these scarves and they are all prepared to pay a great deal more than forty-five pounds.’ His brow wrinkled as he looked at the photo. ‘Who is this woman?’
‘You know who she is. That’s Lexy Chapman.’
He looked blank. ‘Nope. What does she do?’
That was a good question. What did she do apart from look cool and date famous people? ‘Right now she’s making my scarves sought after.’
He took the scarf from her loose grasp and held it up to the light, turning it this way and that. ‘I didn’t know you sold them. I just thought it was a hobby.’
‘It is a hobby.’ She turned away from his scrutiny, jumping to her feet and retrieving her phone from the side. ‘I have a little online shop, to help fund my projects, that’s all.’
‘Is it?’ But he didn’t probe any further. ‘Okay, this is how we’re going to play it. You listen to your voicemails and make a note of all the names, messages
