with a huge slug of pink champagne before smacking her lips. ‘Quite delicious.’
Lottie took a quick glance at the medicine box Adele had left on the table.
‘Er. Adele, those are one-a-day tablets. Are you sure it’s okay to take so many with alcohol?’
‘One a day? Really? Oh. Well, that must mean that they work faster. Excellent.’
Adele rested a beautifully manicured hand on Lottie’s arm and swayed slightly. ‘As long as they get me through the night, sweetie, I am prepared to take the risk. I have waited a long time for tonight. There is no way that I am going to miss a single moment.’
Then her eyebrows lifted and a huge sweet grin illuminated the room. ‘Ah. There’s my son. Better load my plate up with those delicious-looking bites before he catches up with me and reminds me that it is way past my bedtime.’
Then Adele flashed a completely over-the-top dramatic wink before blinking in rapid succession.
‘A girl can always use more pizza squares. Don’t you think? Ah. Rob. Perfect timing as always. Give your old mum a hand and hold my glass while I sample these pastries, will you, kiddo? They all look so good.’
Lottie inhaled a long slow breath, redolent with the aroma of the last of the mushroom-and-anchovy croustade slices Adele was tucking into with great relish, before slowly sliding her gaze up Adele’s arm into the face of Rob Beresford.
The man who had sat down on that bench and let her prattle on about the paintings without even giving one tiny hint about why he knew so much about Adele Forrester.
Because apparently this lovely woman with the amazing artistic talent...
Was his mother.
There were bad words to describe men like Rob. And kiddo was not one of them.
And he had been accusing her of playing games!
Oh, Adele. Where had it all gone wrong?
The snake waited until Adele was chatting to Ian before sliding closer to the serving area. ‘Charlie... No. I mean, Lottie. Good. You are still here.’
Rob glanced from side to side before asking in a low whisper, ‘I need a back way out of the gallery and I need it fast. Start talking.’
His fingers started tapping out a beat on the table and his whole body language screamed out impatience and frustration.
Lottie glanced over his shoulder at the cluster of giggling press ladies in regulation black who had their heads pressed together comparing their mobile-phone photos and shooting very unsubtle smoochy glances in his direction. Hair flicking and quick-fire reapplication of lip gloss seemed to be the order of the day.
‘So I see,’ Lottie replied with the same fixed, professional smile that she had used all evening, the one that made her jaw ache. ‘The owner has a very useful gallery plan. You will find it just over there. Behind the barman’s head.’
Lottie pointed to the large display on the wall next to the drinks table, which was slowly emptying as the remaining guests wandered out onto the terrace to enjoy the cool late-evening air before heading home.
‘What’s the matter, Rob? Need to make your escape before the girls pounce on you?’
The smile dropped from the handsome man’s face and he half turned and flashed her the withering, contemptuous look that had made him notorious in the hard-nosed cookery shows, but had no place at all in a fine-art exhibition.
It was nothing like as angry as the look he had given her when he had fired her but Lottie reared back and pretended to dodge to one side. ‘Oh, my. Are those daggers aimed at me? I do hope that the wind won’t change because you would not want your face to stick like that.’
Then she leant forwards a little and winked. ‘I worked in banking for many years. So the hard approach is wasted on me. Same goes for sighing loudly and frowning. Been there, done that. Not putting up with it a moment longer.’
Rob’s eyebrows shot up and he stared at her in what looked like real astonishment.
To her delight the hard line of his mouth lifted up into the tiniest of smiles. ‘Okay. Let’s try it your way,’ he replied in a low, hoarse voice that almost trembled with suppressed energy. ‘Excuse me, Miss Rosemount, but could you please direct me to the back way out of the gallery through the kitchens?’
Her hands got busy stacking her bakery platters into a wide plastic crate. ‘Of course, Mr Beresford. If you go through those two swing doors and walk about ten metres past the dishwasher there is a fire door to the main staircase to the building. It comes out at the loading bay at the back of the gallery.’
His reply was a quick ‘thanks’ as he strolled past her at jogging speed, one hand in his pocket as though he were boarding a yacht.
‘You’re welcome,’ she murmured to his back.
What was that all about?
Or rather who was that all about?
Lottie swung the final platter and table cover into the carry crate and looked up to scan the room.
He certainly did not want to see someone here this evening. But who? Most of the critics had left when the food ran out and Adele had been around the gallery at least ten times over the last two hours, explaining each and every piece to them before returning to the bar for a refill.
Perhaps he had seen a former girlfriend he did not want to be photographed with? Or maybe one of the rival chefs on the bake-off contest had turned up and was itching for extra publicity.
There must be someone. Then a flash of blue sparkle just in front of one of the largest paintings caught her attention, followed by a peal of very loud and very over-the-top female laughter.
And Lottie’s heart sank.
Because suddenly the reason for Rob Beresford’s desire to explore other exits from the gallery became startling clear.
It was Adele Forrester.
And she had just staggered into one of the major installations from a very famous artist. It was by pure chance that the gallery owner had caught it in time to prevent a major disaster. On their opening night.
Ouch.
The problem was that Adele was treating it as a huge joke. Her hands were waving in the air but as she stepped forwards it was only too obvious that she was way too unsteady on her feet to be standing up.
Oh, Adele! Cold tablets plus champagne were a bad combination.
Any minute now she was going to fall over and embarrass and humiliate herself, which was the very last thing she needed!
Yep. Back door.
In a second she whipped off her apron and dropped it into the crate.
‘Adele.’ Lottie smiled as she strolled as casually as she could manage up to the stunningly dressed woman who was clinging on to the slightly intoxicated and more-than-slightly terrified gallery owner.
