nodded. ‘Thanks, Alex.’ It was what she would have done but having some help would make it easier—and a lot faster. ‘I really appreciate it.’
‘Come on, what else are friends for?’ But he didn’t quite meet her eyes as he said it. Worry skittered along her skin, slow and sure as a cat on a fence. Had grabbing a few days’ pleasure meant the end of everything? Like a gambler staking everything on one last spin and losing. Was the thrill of watching the wheel turn and the ball hover on first red and then black worth it? That moment when anything was possible worth the inevitable knowledge that nothing was?
He opened his laptop. ‘I hope you can remember your passwords. Right, where shall I start?’
It didn’t take too long for Flora to open up each of her accounts for Alex, averting her eyes from the dozens of messages and multitudes of new followers. She retreated to the bed with a notebook, a pen and her phone ready to start listening to her messages. Alex was right; Minerva had been calling consistently all day. Flora steeled herself and began to listen.
Minerva, a fashion buyer from Rafferty’s, one of London’s most exclusive department stores, a couple of magazines, Minerva, Minerva—Minerva again. By the time she got to her sister’s seventh message Flora knew she’d better call her back.
‘At last!’ Her sister didn’t bother with formalities like ‘Hello’ or ‘How’s Austria?’
‘Evening, Merva,’ Flora said pointedly. But the point, as always, was lost.
‘I’m glad you’ve decided to emerge from hibernation. I couldn’t get hold of you or Alex.’
‘We’ve been working.’ Minerva hadn’t been able to get hold of Alex either? It was most unlike him not to have one phone in one hand and the other in front of him—although now Flora thought about it she had only seen him check his work phone and emails a few times—and she hadn’t seen his personal phone at all. Not since the ski lodge. Maybe he was enjoying living off grid just as she was. She glanced over at him. He was tapping away, frowning with concentration. Her entire body ached at his nearness.
Minerva’s tart tones recalled her to the matter at hand. ‘Working? Whatever. So who is handling this for you? I’ve asked around but no one has admitted it. Not surprisingly, I would never let you disappear at such a crucial time in a campaign. Unless that’s part of the plan, to drum up more interest? Too risky, I would have thought.’
Handling, campaign? It didn’t take too long for a conversation with her sister to feel like a particularly nasty crossword where the clues were in one language and the answers another. ‘Minerva,’ she said patiently. ‘I have no idea what you’re talking about.’
‘Of course it didn’t take too long for people to work out who you were, thanks to Dad’s aprons. Another serious misstep. You really need him in the latest designs in this crucial period while you’re establishing yourself, although I do think the whole apron thing is a bit saccharine myself. Still, it establishes you as part of that quirky routine he has going on. But you should be here, not drinking schnapps and frolicking on mountains.’
Flora froze. How did her sister know? ‘I haven’t been frolicking,’ she said, hating how unconvincing she sounded. Alex looked up at her words and his mouth curved wickedly.
‘I beg to differ,’ he said, too quietly for Minerva to hear, and Flora’s whole body began to simmer in response.
‘Look,’ she said hurriedly, wanting to get Minerva off the phone, everything else replied to and Alex back here, on the bed, while she was still allowed to want that. ‘You are going to have to speak in words of one syllable. What are you talking about?’
Her sister huffed. ‘Who is handling your PR for the Lexy Chapman campaign? I hope you know how humiliating it is for me that you didn’t even ask me to pitch.’
Her what? ‘Merva, there isn’t a campaign.’
Disbelieving silence. ‘You expect me to believe that the most stylish woman in Britain was photographed in your scarf by a complete coincidence?’
‘I know you too well to expect anything, but yes. That’s what happened. Goodness, Merva, as if I would ever not ask you in the highly unlikely event I was going to run a campaign. My inbox is full, my social media is insane, I have voicemails from scary influential people I don’t dare call back and I’m terrified even thinking about logging onto my shop because I don’t have enough stock to fulfil half a dozen orders.’ She could hear her voice rising and took a deep breath. ‘Come on, even I know enough not to launch a campaign like that.’
Minerva was silent for a moment and Flora could picture her as if they were in the same room, the gleam of excitement in her eyes, the satisfaction on her cat-like face. Her sister loved a challenge—and she always won. ‘I need you,’ she added.
‘I know you do,’ but Minerva’s voice wasn’t smug. She sounded businesslike. ‘Leave everything to me. I’ll take care of it all. Right. I need to know who has left you a message and why, all your social-media account details and you need to forward me every email. Oh, and let me know your current stock list. You won’t be able to supply everyone so let’s make sure you only focus on the people who matter. When are you back?’
‘The day after tomorrow.’ Too soon.
‘Christmas Eve? The timing is really off. We’ll lose all momentum over the holidays.’
‘Yes, well, next time I inadvertently sell a scarf to a style icon I’ll make sure she only wears it at a more convenient time.’
‘Luckily...’ it was as if she hadn’t spoken ‘...I am a genius and I can fix this. Right, I want all that information in the next half-hour. Do not speak to a single journalist without my say-so, do not promise as much as a scrap of fabric to anyone—and, Flora? Keep your phone on.’ Minerva rang off.
‘Goodbye, Flora. It was nice speaking to you. The kids send their love,’ Flora muttered as she put the phone down, her head spinning. ‘Alex, it’s okay. Minerva is going to save the world armed with a few Tweets and her contact list.’
‘Thank goodness.’ He pushed the chair back. ‘There are some hysterical women out there—and some even more hysterical men who think they will never have sex again if they don’t produce one of your scarves on Christmas morning. No pressure.’
She flopped back onto the bed, her phone clutched in her hand. ‘I just need to get all this information to Minerva and then we can head into Innsbruck—if you still want to go, that is?’
‘We could.’ His voice was silky; that particular tone was the one that always made her blood heat up, her body ache. ‘Or we could use our time far more productively.’
Flora propped herself up on one arm and looked at him from under her lashes. ‘Productive sounds good. What do you have in mind?’
He picked up the scarf and twisted it into a slim rope, pulling it taut between his hands before looking back at her, a gleam in his eye. ‘Such a versatile material. I’m sure we’ll think of something.’
‘HERE YOU ARE. I was beginning to think you’d got yourself stranded in a ski lodge again.’
