thin line of off-white and black,’ Cathy put in, equally excited. ‘We could add some fun designs in, perhaps spots.’
‘Or etched cartoons,’ Ella added, her own imagination taking fire. ‘Perhaps the outline of an elegant 1912 female profile?’
‘Or a hat?’ said Polly. ‘Or maybe just the figures 1912? Oh, Rose, you really are a genius. This is just such an innovative and wonderful idea, and yet it follows the tradition of great-grandfather so well.’
The great-grandfather to whom Polly was referring was Amber’s own father, whose designs Amber herself had used to produce some of Denby Mill’s most popular ranges.
Listening to them, Rose exhaled in relief. She had been worried that there might be objections to her suggestion, and was delighted that it had been received so well.
Rose’s idea was a good one, Emerald acknowledged, and she could already see the huge potential the range could have, and she loved Rose’s suggestion for its name. She would just have to put to one side her feelings about the painter and the painting, and focus instead on the benefits.
Her plane had just landed at Manchester airport. It was silly to have excitement fluttering inside her just because she was going to see Robert. Silly, pointless but inevitable, Olivia acknowledged wryly.
As she was travelling light, with only hand luggage, Olivia was one of the first passengers to reach the arrivals hall. She looked for her father’s familiar face, and then came to an abrupt halt when she saw an equally familiar but unexpected face and heard Robert saying her name.
‘Robert, you’ve come to meet me.’ Of all the inane things to say, and did her voice have to sound so thready and, well, silly?
They were walking side by side, the rail separating those waiting from new arrivals between them.
Robert looked so English in his dark overcoat, worn over a dark suit, his shirt white with a soft red stripe, his tie a slightly darker shade of red. His shirt would have been made to measure for him in Jermyn Street, his suit would be from Savile Row and his shoes from Lobb. He looked exactly what he was: a well-brought-up upper-class Englishman, and he had come to the airport just to meet her. A wave of giddy delight and joy washed over her.
‘Is that all the luggage you’ve got?’
They had almost reached the end of the barrier.
‘Yes. Mom promised to bring everything else.’
‘Yes, she said to tell you not to worry, they’ve brought all your presents for everyone with them.’
‘I wasn’t expecting to get a commission so close to Christmas.’
They were standing face to face, Robert reaching for her case. And that was when Olivia realised that something extraordinary and previously unimaginable except in her daydreams was happening. Robert was looking at her mouth in that way – that way that said that he was thinking about kissing it…kissing her. Her heart was jumping and racing. She could hardly breathe. She felt…oh my, how she did just feel. This was crazy. She wasn’t a teenager any more and—
Another passenger bumped into her, jolting her forward. Robert’s free hand fastened protectively on her arm.
Olivia was attracting a good deal of surreptitious interest from other members of his sex, Robert noticed, and he could understand why. Watching her come towards him before she’d seen him, he had felt his heart lift – with triumph in his own judgement and the acknowledgement that he had made the right decision.
From the top of her shiny thick mane of tawny brown hair to the toes of her pale beige boots, she exuded the confident discreet allure of a beautiful well-groomed woman. The confidence was only a veneer, though, he suspected. He had seen the way she’d reacted when he’d looked at her mouth. And that had pleased him.
‘I suppose it’s raining?’ For goodness’ sake relax, Olivia begged herself as, still holding her arm, Robert guided her towards the exit. Her cashmere slacks were warm but thin, and she could feel the muscular hardness of Robert’s thigh against her own. This was ridiculous. She was nearly twenty-six, and adult.
‘Of course. This is Manchester. The car’s not very far away, though.’
They were outside in the cold damp early evening air.
‘It’s really good of you to come for me.’
‘I had my reasons.’
‘What reasons?’ she asked, whilst her heart bounced.
Robert mustn’t have heard her because he didn’t answer.
They reached the car and he unlocked the passenger door for her and held it open while she got in. The interior smelled of leather, the plush cream seat enfolding her.
Robert’s Aston Martin was his pride and joy, she knew. The radio was playing – traditional carols being sung beautifully by a choir – the sound just that little bit too loud for them to talk. Olivia wanted to suggest that Robert turn down the volume but felt reluctant to do so in case he didn’t want to be bothered chatting with her. There was eight years between them and, of course, when they had been growing up that gap had seemed huge. But an eight-year gap was supposed to be ideal between a couple, wasn’t it? A couple? She was crazy thinking in those terms just because Robert had looked at her mouth. So she was crazy, Olivia thought defiantly. It was Christmas and she could be crazy if she wanted. Crazy for Robert, crazy for the feel of his mouth on hers. Crazy full stop, she warned herself.
Robert glanced at Olivia when they stopped at traffic lights. She suited the car perfectly, both of them classically stylish and beautifully put together. The lights changed and he put his foot down on the accelerator.
It might be dark but the road was familiar enough for Olivia to recognise its landmark: the branches of the trees behind gated properties bare of leaves; the bends in the road, swept by the Aston’s headlights; Christmas trees sparkling in windows and fairy lights shining in trees.
This was northern Cheshire, moneyed, successful and very proud of itself. They came to another junction, turning right to dip down into Wilmslow and then out again, through Alderley Edge, the road then climbing but skirting the Edge itself, with its mysterious silence and stories of Merlin.
Olivia smiled to herself, thinking that it was predictable that Robert, with his keen eye for style and his love of perfection, should choose to drive to Denham through this smart stockbroker belt part of Cheshire instead of taking the route that was their shared grandparents’ favourite, through Macclesfield and then past the family silk mill.
They were in the countryside now, fields stretching to either side of them in the darkness, Olivia knew, even though she couldn’t see them. To the left of the road lay Fitton Hall, and to the right Denham Place, the magnificent Vanbrugh building that was their grandparents’ home, inherited by Robert’s grandmother Amber from her own grandmother Blanche Pickford, and which, so the family story went, Blanche had bought to spite Barrant du Vries, the aristocrat she had loved but who had not thought her good enough for him.
Now the du Vries land was part of Denham, and Felton Priory, formerly the de Vries home, was the headquarters of a multinational company.
‘I wonder what Blanche thought when Granny and Gramps
