to find out if some of that sense of purpose would rub off on him.
Ten minutes later he stepped out of the elevator, his ankle still aching with the effort, his T-shirt damp with perspiration. He steadied himself for a few minutes to cool off, before taking the few steps to the office he had last seen over a year ago.
Not much had changed, not even the small blonde girl sitting with her head down behind the wide partners’ desk they had bought with such enthusiasm all those years ago so that they could work together from the same office.
Buying such an enormous desk had seemed like a good idea at the time.
Now she looked tiny, and swamped by the stacks of boxes and folders which seemed to cover every flat space in the room.
A twinge of guilt heightened the tension in his shoulders. She was overworked and would probably have asked him back even earlier if it had not been for his injury.
He shuffled on his crutch and her head lifted. ‘Oh, that was fast, Mimi. How did you manage to …? Hal!’ Poppy squealed and flung herself out of her chair and into his chest, her knee connecting with his leg as she pressed against him.
‘Ouch!’ He flinched and hugged her back, one-handed.
‘Sorry,’ she replied and ducked her head. ‘Your leg; I had forgotten for a minute.’
Then she stood back with her hands on her hips and slowly shook her head. ‘Something is definitely different about you today.’ She pretended to scan him from head to toe. ‘Is it the hair—which is desperate for a restyle, by the way? Or perhaps the jacket? No?’
Hal snorted and Poppy laughed, stepped forward and kissed him warmly on the cheek.
‘That boot may not win many fashion awards but it is certainly a big improvement on the horrible cast. You look a lot better.’
Then she play-thumped him on the arm.
‘You pest! I should be annoyed at you. Why didn’t you tell me you were coming? I could have picked you up at the airport—made a fuss of you.’
‘You mean apart from the fact that you have a bucket-seat sports car built for one tiny person and their handbag?’
‘Well, yes, apart from that small detail.’ Poppy waved her arm towards the office chair and Hal lowered himself into it very slowly, leg out in front of him. The office was so small that Poppy had to step over his leg to reach her chair.
‘Tell me everything, big brother. How is France? How long can you stay? Because, in case you haven’t noticed, I am swamped. Oh—and you know that you are always welcome chez moi; my pals would love to see you. They are totally into cosseting and, darling, you need some serious love and care. What? What?’
Hal held up one hand in surrender.
‘Please can I have a word in edgeways? Okay. France is great but I’ve rented out the chalet and put my stuff into storage. I am staying long enough to get through Tom’s fundraiser, then we can see what I can do to help you with that workload. And, thank you, I would love to sleep on your couch. But no cosseting. I’ve had more than enough cosseting these last few months.’
‘Wow,’ Poppy replied in a low voice and sat back. ‘Now you have surprised me. You love that chalet. What made you rent it out?’
Hal inhaled a couple of deep breaths before even trying to reply.
Back in France the Langdon Events team had protected him from the press, the media and whoever else wanted the inside story on how Tom Harris had died. Did they really think that he had not noticed how they almost took shifts to make sure that there was always someone there when he woke in the night? How they had started to fuss over him when he was finally out of a wheelchair and onto crutches and something close to being mobile? That they were guarding him, as though he could not be allowed to be alone?
After five months he had felt trapped, enclosed by walls which seemed to be pressing down on him, desperate to be free from the constant pressure to talk about Tom. Desperate to heal.
Hal looked into Poppy’s eyes and he could see her happy expression fall away. They had been close once, but he had pushed her back to London the minute he’d left hospital. There was so much he wanted to tell her, but that was impossible without breaking his word to Tom, and his frustration was too fierce to inflict on anyone else. Poppy deserved better than that.
‘This is all about Tom, isn’t it?’ She asked in a low voice. ‘You couldn’t stand to be living in the same village where Tom and Aurelia used to live. Oh, Hal. I am so sorry.’
‘Too many reminders.’ He shrugged. ‘I needed some time away. The team back in France can run the events programme without me getting in their way.’
His crutch tapped gently against the side of his boot. ‘The cast is off and I’m ready to get back to work, even if I am barred from anything even vaguely sporty.’ He grinned across at her. ‘But right now I have to get through this fundraiser next weekend. It was my idea, and the sponsors will expect me to be there. So now it is your turn to tell me everything. What grandiose schemes for world domination are you working on these days?’
‘Ah. That, my darling brother, is one of the many reasons I called to check that you were mobile. I need your help and I need it now.’
Mimi lifted her precious cargo of iced coffee over the heads of a pair of tourists who were too busy huddled around their guide book to notice that they were blocking her path. She did not relax until she reached the safety of Poppy’s office building.
The heat and the stress of the last few weeks were beginning to kick in.
Of course, Poppy did not need to know that Mimi had only finished off the final piece of crystal work on the nude-pink floor-length evening gown at two that morning.
She had been so busy organising the end-of-year show for her students at the local fashion college; it had been a real struggle to squeeze in the time for such delicate work outside shop hours. Finding the perfect crystals and creating the embellishment on the bodice had taken her weeks of hand sewing but it had been worth it. The gown was stunning, even if she said so herself, and the final garment was ready seven days before the show.
Her first fashion show. Her first collection of clothing she had designed and made herself.
It was so close that she could almost touch it. A week; that was all. Seven days!
This was the chance she had been longing for during the dark days of the last few years when a career as a fashion designer had seemed like a distant dream meant for other people, not girls who ran knitting shops while grieving for a lost parent in an unfashionable part of London.
Just the thought of it give her an instant zing of energy, and she practically skipped all the way back to Poppy’s office.
She was just about to push open the door with her foot when she heard Poppy’s distinctive light laughter, which was immediately followed by a very male voice.
Her hand froze as her brain worked through the options. It was a lovely sunny, warm Friday evening. Perhaps Poppy was going out for dinner or had a date? And why not? She had been working so hard these last few weeks; Poppy deserved to be spoilt. And they were running
