certainly didn’t look like one of his mother’s art critic pals or the hyenas back in Toronto. Failed artists every one of them. Far from it.
Straight blonde hair falling to her shoulders, she was wearing a sleeveless aqua dress and he could just make out a line of collarbone above a long, slender, elegant neck, surprisingly overlaid with muscle as opposed to starved thin like most fine artists he had met.
And she really was stunningly pretty. A break in the clouds outside the window shone a beam of sunlight onto the cream-coloured gallery wall, which reflected back from her skin. It became luminescent and pale. No artificial tan for this girl. She truly was all white peaches and cream.
But what were her hands like? At the moment they were pushed flat against the bench on either side of her body, palm down, but as he watched she lifted her shoulders and her hands clasped around her arms as though she was cold. The air conditioning was certainly chilly but it was more than that. She was holding on to herself.
Totally wrapped up in her thoughts. Contained. Calm. Her gaze locked on to the painting as though it was the most important thing in the world. She was transfixed. Oblivious to the world. Totally caught up in the painting.
Because she got it. It was so obvious.
And for the first time that day—no, make that the first time this month—he felt that little bubble of a real smile pop in his chest.
Perhaps there was at least one art critic in the room tonight that was going to make him change his mind about their species?
Now all he had to do was find out her name and...
‘Rob. So pleased that you could make it.’ Rob blinked away his anxiety as the gallery owner came forward to shake his hand and, with one pat on his shoulder, guide him back towards the entrance to introduce him to several of the press who were clustered around the media table.
He glanced quickly over one shoulder back to the blonde, but she had turned slightly away from him to take a call on her mobile.
Later. He would find out a lot more about this woman...later.
* * *
Lottie Rosemount chuckled into the mouthpiece of her mobile phone. ‘You really are shameless, Dee Flynn! But are you quite sure that Sean does not mind me using his hotel for the fundraiser? He is doing me a seriously big favour here.’
‘No need to panic, oh, great organiser lady.’ Dee’s familiar laughing voice crackled down the phone. ‘Let’s call it one of the many perks to having a boyfriend who just happens to run his own hotel chain. Sean expects you to invite the great and good of London town and fill his hotel to bursting. And once they see how fabulous his new hotel is? Job done.’
‘Oh, is that what it is. A perk? Nothing to do with the fact that the lovely Sean would jog to the moon and back if you asked him. Oh, no. But I am grateful. You are a total star! Thanks, Dee. And have a great time in the tea gardens.’
‘I will, but only if you stop worrying, missy. Yes, I can hear it in your voice. Just because a few hundred people will be turning up on Saturday night doesn’t mean that you have to be nervous. They will hardly notice that Valencia has not turned up. You wait and see.’ Then Dee’s voice changed to a breathless gasp. ‘Sorry, Lottie. They’re calling my flight. Miss you, too. But we need the tea! Bye, Lottie. Bye.’
Lottie held the phone in her hand for a few seconds before clicking it closed and exhaling. Very slowly.
Worried? Of course she was worried. Or should that be terrified?
She would be a fool if she wasn’t.
What if the fundraiser was a flop? There were so many creative people bursting with talent who needed a helping hand to get started living their dream. Scholarships to help gifted chefs find training was only the start. But a big start in more ways than one.
Pity that Dee had to be in China this week. She could have used some moral support.
Especially when the celebrity chef she had booked as the main attraction for the fundraiser had just cancelled that morning. It had taken months of pleading and cajoling before multi-award-winning chef Valencia Cagoni had finally agreed to turn up for the night.
Yes, of course Lottie understood that Valencia was still with her family in Turin because both of the four-year-old twins had chickenpox and were grounded as infectious tyrants. And no, Valencia was way too busy with the calamine lotion to think of another chef who could step in at such short notice and take her place.
Thank you, Valencia, my old boss and mentor. Thanks a lot.
Panic gripped her for a few seconds but Lottie willed it back down to a place where she kept all of the suppressed fear and suffocating anxiety that came with taking on such a huge responsibility.
This fundraiser had been her idea from the start, but if there was one good thing that her father had taught her it was that she always had options. All she had to do was think of one. Fast.
Lottie shuffled from side to side on the hard seat and tried to get a comfier position. She was going to have to give the gallery owner some feedback before his paying customers started complaining about having frozen bottoms.
On the other hand, this was not a museum and she had been sitting in one place a lot longer than she had planned. Wealthy clients looking for artwork to adorn their walls would not be perched on the end of a leather bench for more than a few minutes while she had been sitting there for—Lottie checked her watch and snorted deep in the back of her throat in disbelief—twenty minutes.
Amazing.
This was the first time in weeks that she had been able to steal a few minutes to enjoy herself in between running her bakery and organising the fundraiser and she was quite determined to enjoy every second of it. Because she probably would not find another slot before the event.
But she had always been the same. Every time her mother bought a new piece of art for one of her interior design clients, it was Lottie who had the first look before the piece was shipped off to some luxury second or third or, in one case, eighth home around the world. That was all part of her mum’s high-end design business.
If Lottie saw something she liked she took the opportunity to appreciate it while she could. It was as simple as that.
Having the time to enjoy works of art was probably the only thing she really missed in her new life.
Of course she had known that running a cake shop and tea rooms would not be a nine-to-five job, but, sheesh, the hours she was working now were even longer than when she worked in banking.
She loved most of it. The bakery was her dream come true. But when her photographer friend Ian had casually mentioned that he was looking for a caterer to serve canapés and mini desserts for the opening of a new gallery specialising in contemporary art she had jumped at the chance.
Lottie’s Cake Shop and Tea Rooms needed a photographer to take images for the bakery website and Ian needed food for the gallery tonight. Now that was the kind of trade she liked and it had nothing to do with her old job working the stock market.
Lottie glanced back at the main reception area.
She could hear the visitors
