fact,’ she told Kelly ruefully, ‘I’m afraid he’s rather taken me to task over the whole thing.’
‘Does he now know what we’re doing, then?’ Kelly asked her in some surprise. Instinctively she had felt that Dee was a woman who exercised her own judgement, made her own decisions and played her cards very close to her chest.
‘Not entirely,’ Dee admitted, confirming Kelly’s private thoughts. ‘Harry is a sweetie, as solid and dependable as they come. He wouldn’t recognise a lie if he met one walking down the street; subterfuge and everything that goes with it is very much alien territory to him, which does have its advantages, of course. He’s wonderful potential husband and father material …’ She cocked a thoughtful eye at Kelly. ‘He’s comfortably off, and I know for a fact that his mother is dying for him to settle down and produce children. If you were interested …’
‘He’s a honey,’ Kelly told her hastily, ‘but not, I’m afraid, my type.’
Nor, she suspected, was she his, but she rather thought she knew someone who might be. She hadn’t missed the anxious and protective looks Harry had been giving Eve over dinner the previous night.
‘Mmm … Pity … Look, I’ve got to dash,’ Dee told her. ‘When Julian rings you—which he will—I want to know about it …’
‘Dee,’ Kelly said, but it was too late; the other woman was already heading for the door, ignoring her half-panicky protests.
What was Dee saying? Julian wouldn’t ring her. He wouldn’t dare. Flirting with her last night was one thing, but …
In her heart of hearts Kelly knew that despite her desire to do the right thing by Beth and the rest of her sex she was secretly reluctant to have anything more to do with Julian. Not because she feared him. She didn’t. No. Contempt, dislike, anger … those were the emotions he aroused within her.
Admit it, she told herself sternly ten minutes later as she locked the shop and disappeared into the small back room to have her lunch, ‘you just hate the thought of anyone thinking you could possibly be attracted to him. Anyone … or a specific someone … a very specific someone.
Pushing aside her half-eaten sandwich, Kelly started to frown. Don’t start that again, she warned herself. He’s not much better than Julian … Look at the way he treated you. Kissing you like that.
Kissing her … Abruptly she sat down, her insides starting to melt and then ache.
Watch it, she warned herself, deriding herself fiercely. It isn’t just your insides he’s turning to mush, it’s your brain as well.
Her frown deepened as she heard someone ringing the shop doorbell. Couldn’t they read? They were closed. The ringing persisted. Irritably Kelly got up. There was no way she could finish her lunch with that row going on.
Opening the communicating door, she marched into the shop and then stopped abruptly as she saw Brough Frobisher standing on the other side of the plate-glass window.
Her hand went to her throat in an instinctive gesture of shock as she breathed in disbelief, ‘You.’
Shakily she went to unlock the shop door. Brough was frowning as he stepped inside.
‘I’m looking for Kay Harris,’ he told her abruptly. The sense of shock that hit her was so strong that for a moment Kelly was unable to reply.
‘She does work here, doesn’t she?’ Brough was demanding curtly, looking at her, Kelly realised, as though he doubted her ability to answer him competently.
‘Yes. Yes, she does … I do … It’s Kelly, not Kay,’ Kelly corrected him shakily. ‘K is just my initial.’
‘You!’
Sensing his reluctance to believe her, Kelly drew herself up to her full height and told him in her most businesslike voice, ‘My partner and I run this shop.’
‘You paint china?’ His disbelief was palpable and insulting.
Kelly could feel her temper starting to ignite. There were many things she was not, and she had her fair share of human faults and frailties, but there was one thing that she was sure of and that was that she was extremely good at her chosen work—and that wasn’t merely her own opinion.
‘Yes, I do. Perhaps you’d like to see my credentials?’ she suggested bitingly.
‘I thought I just did—last night.’ The long, slow, arrogantly male look he gave her made her face burn and her temper heat to simmering point.
‘What is it exactly that you want?’ she demanded angrily, adding before she could stop herself, ‘If it’s simply because you’re some sort of weirdo who gets off on insulting women, I should have thought your behaviour towards me last night would have more than satisfied you.’
Kelly knew that she had overstepped the mark. She could hardly believe what she had just heard herself say, but it was too late to withdraw her remarks. Retaliation couldn’t be long in coming, she recognised, and she was right.
‘If you’re referring to the fact that I kissed you …’ he began silkily, and then paused whilst he looked straight into her eyes. ‘Allow me to say that you have a rather … unusual … way of expressing your … displeasure …’
He didn’t say anything more—he didn’t need to, Kelly acknowledged; the expression in his eyes and the tone of his voice along with the masterly understatement of his silky words was more than enough to leave her covered in confusion and angry, self-inflicted humiliation.
‘I … You … It was a mistake,’ was all she could think of to say.
‘Oh, yes,’ he agreed dulcetly. ‘It certainly was. Now, I’m afraid that I am rather short of time. I have a commission I would like to discuss with you.’
Kelly blinked. All that and he still wanted to talk business with her.
Her thoughts must have shown in her face because he explained gently, ‘You’re my last resort. You have, or so I am told, a very particular and rare skill. It will soon be my grandmother’s eightieth birthday. She has a Rockingham-style teaset, a much cherished family heirloom, but some pieces are missing, broken many years ago. The set has no particular material value; its value to her is in the fact that it was a wedding gift from her grandparents. I have managed to find out that Hartwell China bought out the original manufacturers many, many years ago and, whilst they still produce china in the same shape, they no longer produce the same pattern.
‘To have one of their own artists copy such an intricate floral design would, they say, prove far too costly—the work would have to be done by one of the top workers, which would mean taking him or her off work they already have in hand. They recommended that I got in touch with you. Apparently there is no one else they would allow, never mind recommend, to do such work.’
‘I … I worked for them whilst I was at university,’ Kelly explained huskily. ‘That was when I discovered that I had some talent for … for china-painting. I would have to see the design … It wouldn’t be easy … or cheap …’ she warned him.
Against her will she had been touched by the story he had told her, but she knew, even if he didn’t, just how intricate and time-consuming
