Her Moment in the Spotlight

by Nina Harrington

  Which was nothing short of a miracle.

  How had he managed to spot her weakness for good music?

  She had been so outraged when he’d told her about the playlist he had come up with that she had somehow forgotten he was taking her picture. Boy bands from the 1980s were not exactly what she’d had in mind at all.

  She had hoped the models would be walking down the catwalk to the background sound of classical music or an upbeat contemporary classic.

  Okay. In a moment of weakness, she might have agreed Hal would be in charge of the music and video at the event, but that had been before she had realised he had no idea about contemporary music.

  It had taken four evenings of listening after dinner to dozens of movie soundtracks and popular classical music, followed by arguing late into the night, to convince Hal that there were alternatives to big rock groups. They had spent hours sifting through her collection of music CD’s and laughing over old favourites until some sort of very unusual compromise had been reached. Last night, over their red wine on the patio, they had finally come up with a great compilation sequence which was perfect for the atmosphere and the clothes.

  So at least the music was sorted out.

  All they had to do now was finalise the visuals and make sure everything was in place for the show tomorrow.

  It was actually going to happen! And she had made it real.

  ‘Now, who do we have here? Why, I believe it is Miss Mimi Fiorini Ryan. And what is she wearing? This is a future blackmail-photo if ever I saw one.’

  Mimi peered at the photograph Hal was holding, pressed both hands to her glowing cheeks and groaned. ‘Oh, no! My graduate fashion show. Please, put it back in the desk drawer out of sight. I am begging you. I’m still living that one down.’

  ‘What, and miss all the fun? But you are going to have to explain the dustbins and black plastic bags.’ He peered closer at the picture. ‘Are those girls wearing steel-toe-capped boots?’

  Minmi replied, ‘The famous-name photographer was bored with slick clothing shows. So he decided to turn my theme of “working girl” into “rich city girl who wears couture when she collects refuse.” Without telling me in advance!’

  She shivered in horror at the memory. ‘I was so naive I actually thought that I could trust my work to this man who had been taking photos for couture houses since before I was born. What made it worse, of course, was that my darling mother was so proud of my work she invited the entire Fiorini family to my graduation show. I have never been so humiliated in my life! My cousins took great delight in ridiculing me the whole way through. They particularly liked the old banana-skins and strips of toilet paper the stylist had pinned to the silk velvet evening-skirts.’

  Hal peered at the tableau and gave a long whistle. ‘Ouch. Still, student of the year? Special prize in tailoring? It’s a good thing you’re so modest, Miss Ryan. Most people would be singing these kinds of reviews from the highest rooftop.’

  He lifted up his beaker of coffee and gave her a short bow. ‘I had no idea I was in the presence of such a star! Many congratulations.’

  She pushed out her lips. ‘Well, thank you, kind sir. Not sure about the “star” bit, but I am getting there.’

  Hal took another slurp of coffee in silence and gave her that certain closed-mouth smile she had become used to over the past week. His eyes were still fixed on her so intently that she lowered her drink to the table and sighed loudly.

  ‘Okay; I’m starting to recognise that look. What have I done wrong now? Please, tell me now and be done with it. There is still a lot to do before the party tonight.’

  ‘Drat.’ He smiled. ‘Am I that obvious?’ His fingers ran up and down the side of the beaker. ‘However I ask this it is going to sound insulting—so I am going to just ask it and be done with it. Ready?’

  Mimi took a quick sip, swallowed down hard and nodded. ‘As I ever will be. Go. Ask.’

  ‘Okay. You were a star student at a famous fashion and design school. Hey—it has to be famous if I’ve heard of it. The clothes look terrific and you obviously have talent. So what I want to know is this: why didn’t you go to work for one of the big fashion houses like Fiorini when you left college? You must have had offers. What has held you back for so long?’

  What had held her back?

  Hal’s question echoed back at her from the quiet, calm cream walls of the studio workshop where she had spent almost every waking moment of the last ten years of her life.

  Ten years of never quite knowing if the mother she had said good night to was going to be the same funny, wonderful, loving person the next morning.

  Ten years of working in precious snatches of time while her mother had been sleeping or had been with one of the series of neurologists or other specialists they had seen when she had been lucid enough to recognise that there was a problem.

  Her career had been built on precious stolen minutes where she could retreat inside herself to work, think and plan—perhaps two hours early in the morning, or during the night when the sleepwalking had started and she had needed to be here constantly to stop her Mum from hurting herself.

  Ten years of working into the night on a distant dream of launching her own clothing range, sketch after sketch, sample after sample. Hours of detailed study so that she could become an expert in pattern cutting and tailoring, building on the skills she had learned at college.

  She had not had any other choice, she had been on her own—instead of being part of a couture team that already had all of the skills and experience needed to create the best.

  It had been her choice to turn down the offers. Her decision. No self-pity was allowed.

  Until Hal had arrived she’d had no idea how much she’d missed working one to one with another experienced professional. The students were great, of course, but she was the course director, not their equal.

  Suddenly aware that he was still staring at her as though he was trying to read her mind, Mimi made eye contact and tried to work out whether she could trust this man with the truth.

  There had been so many lies and half-truths in her life, she was tired of it.

  She had to decide right now whether Hal was someone who was likely to mock her and her choices, or would listen, understand and not judge. Whether she could tell him the truth and expect the same in return.

  His eyes were warm and gleaming with mischief and laughter, not condemnation or criticism. He really did appear to want to know the answer to his question, but was probably determined to have some fun at her expense.

  It was not Hal’s fault. How could he know what she had been through?

  Except that telling Hal about her Mum and her mental illness would mean exposing herself to his pity. And that was the last thing she wanted, or needed. From her neighbours and friends who had known the family for years? Yes. From Hal Langdon and trade professionals in the career she had chosen? Not so much.

  He smiled at her, twinkled up his nose and scrubbed at it fiercely with the knuckle of a very grubby forefinger, spreading dust all over the end of it.

  And it broke the spell.

  Mimi grinned and sniffed at her own stubbornness. She had nothing to be ashamed about. On the contrary; she had come through ten years of struggle. She could cope with having some fun with a handsome man who seemed to be enjoying her company as much as she enjoyed his.

  If Hal wanted to find fun in everything he did, then maybe she could try and do the same.

  Which was why she sat back in her chair and waved her arm regally around the studio before replying in a sweet, jokey voice.

  ‘You mean, what am I doing in a cosy knitting shop on a sleepy street when I could be living the high life in Paris or Milan, going to celebrity parties every night where the guests are all wearing Mimi Ryan exclusives? Was that the kind of thing you were thinking of?’

  ‘Absolutely,’ he replied, and his eyebrows rose quizzically to match his cheeky smile. ‘Wait; let me guess. You ran off to Timbuktu
with a handsome goat-hair salesman and lived the desert life until he swapped you for several fine camels? Or perhaps a slick Italian carried you away to the Fiorini factory in Milan to join the family firm? No, forget that last one; far too boring. I have a feeling you spent a few years doing something far more outrageous. Am I right?’

  She smiled at him and raised her tea cup. ‘Spot on. I did the one thing nobody expected me to do.’ Then she grinned with a wide smile. ‘My mother became seriously ill and needed me to take care of her, so I stayed right here, in this shop and this studio, and built up my business empire from this very table.’ She nodded at him. ‘You should feel very honoured, you know. I don’t allow my other fans to enter the centre of operations of my business. It is a rare event indeed.’

  Mimi waited for the laughter and sarky remark, but it never came.

  Instead Hal exhaled very, very slowly at her calm and positive reply and pushed away from the table and back against his hard wooden chair. ‘I’m so sorry,’ he replied in a voice so crammed with emotion that Mimi fought back a comment about his sense of timekeeping and waited in silence, content to simply watch Hal and his reaction.

  What had she expected—surprise? Disbelief? Ridicule, even? Whatever it had been, it had not been this. He looked totally stunned.

  Hal’s eyes were focused on his fingers which were still wrapped tightly around his now empty beaker, his eyebrows tight and stressed to match the tension in his face.

  Well, that was a mistake, Mimi thought to herself. Time to change the subject. ‘I am the one who should apologise. I didn’t mean to make you feel uncomfortable or awkward. This is the end of a busy few days and we don’t have much time to get ready for the party tonight. Would you like more coffee? I’ll be right back.’

  Only, as she tried to leave the table, Hal’s fingers released the cup and meshed with hers, locking them in place in a bond so firm that she could not escape.

  ‘Not uncomfortable; not awkward. Just stunned. Not many people surprise me these days, Mimi. It comes as a bit of a shock to find out that there is even more behind your talent than I could have imagined.’

  He was smiling at her now with a kind of smile that he had never used before. It was warm, sincere and new, and so special she was mesmerised by it.

  Was this the real Hal? It was not the quiet, fierce looking version of Hal that had intimidated her the first time they met, or the bossy brother, or high flyer, or whatever other role he decided to act out. This was the real deal. The genuine true man she had only imagined before this moment.

  And the real Hal Langdon was a knockout.

  It was the real Hal who leant forward, lifted up her hand to his lips and kissed the back of her knuckles with such tenderness, while his brown eyes were locked onto hers, never breaking that connection as he gently lowered their linked hands back onto the table.

  ‘If you want to talk about it, I am right here. But, if you don’t, that is okay too. Either way you are right.’ He nodded. ‘It was a remarkably courageous thing to do.’

  Mimi blushed down to the base of her neck but managed a half-smile.

  ‘I never thought about it being courageous. Mum had her first stroke when I was in my last year at college and she never truly recovered. We were prepared for a long recovery, but not the dementia that it caused, and the other strokes that eventually took her.’

  ‘Oh, Mimi. I am so sorry. The dementia must have been so hard.’

  ‘The doctors did warn us. And in the end it had to be my decision. I knew what the cost would be right from the start. So did my mother. She even tried to talk me out of it when the offers from the fashion houses started to come in. She even suggested that she would sell the shop and move into a nursing home where she could have twenty-four-hour care.’

  He seemed to suck in a breath, and there was a quiver around his lower lip, but before she could respond Hal recovered and lifted his chin a little to reply.

  ‘I can understand why your Mum made that offer. She must have been a remarkable woman.’

  ‘She was. But how could I allow her to do that? How could I walk away and lead some glittering, high-flyer life somewhere knowing that my own mother, who had sacrificed everything for me, was sitting confused and frightened, surrounded by strangers who were simply being paid to look after her.’

  Mimi’s shoulders lifted up and then dropped back down.

  ‘I couldn’t do it. And I didn’t want to do it.’

  ‘What do you mean? It would have a lot easier on you. And would certainly have saved you a lot of pain.’

  ‘True. But those last few years together—just the two of us, living and working in these few small rooms—were the best! I got to know my mother as my best friend before I became her full-time carer. I would not have missed that time we spent together for anything.’

  Hal’s fingers tightened their grip on hers to the point where they were almost hurting, and then released her so suddenly that she jolted back in startled surprise.

  ‘I envy you that. Since my parents died there have been so many times I needed my dad. It happened so quickly. And then there was Tom…’ He faltered, as though he was having trouble finding the right words. ‘No; I don’t know if I could have done what you did—seeing the people you know fade away and perish in front of your eyes and being powerless to do anything to help them—not sure at all. That would need a different kind of strength and courage.’

  The trace of a tremor in Hal’s voice and the faraway look in his eyes was almost too much for Mimi to bear. It was almost as if he was not talking about her situation at all.

  They had both lost people they had loved. Perhaps that was why she had never felt connected to another person in this way before.

  She was so close to tears it was embarrassing, but the old habit of keeping her feelings locked up inside still held sway and she blinked away the signs of her distress.

  ‘It isn’t easy. You’re right about that.’

  She paused and bit her bottom lip before looking hard into Hal’s face. ‘Do you mean your friend Tom Harris?’

  Mimi held her breath as Hal looked away from her for a second before nodding slowly in silence. He moved just an inch or two farther away from her, and the air between them felt so fraught and tense that she rushed in to speak first. ‘I’m sorry. I can only imagine how horrible the accident was. I didn’t mean to pry,’ she whispered. ‘It’s just that I don’t know anything about Tom and the kind of man he was. And here I am, working to help raise funds for the charity project he started. Can you tell me something about him?’

  Hal looked sideways at her and frowned. ‘What do you want to know?’ he replied in a low, hoarse voice.

  ‘Oh, the crazy little details that made him your friend. What kind of pizza topping did he like? What is his house like? Did he sing out of tune? What kind of maddening habits did he have? That sort of thing.’

  A deep snort and chuckle bubbled up from deep in Hal’s belly and instantly Mimi felt the air thin and the mood lift.

  ‘Chillies. He loved chillies. You know those little fiery red ones?’ Hal mimed holding something between this thumb and forefinger and dropping it into his mouth. ‘He could eat a whole jar all by himself then stink out the whole house for days. And raw garlic and onion. It used to drive his girlfriend Aurelia mad.’

  He lifted one hand, gestured towards the kitchen area and grinned. ‘Aurelia’s idea of a spicy meal is sprinkling extra cinnamon on her Danish pastry. She stayed home when we took clients to Asia, that was for sure. And, yes, come to think about it, he did sing out of tune. Especially after a long evening in the pub.

  ‘Tom was a very special person,’ Hal added with a smile, looking up at her through his long, dark eyelashes, then he took a breath. ‘Actually, Aurelia has asked me to work on a documentary about Tom and his work. I’m thinking about it.’ He shrugged. ‘Not sure I’m ready for that yet, but who knows? Maybe one day.’

  ‘A documentary? That would be a wonderful
tribute. One thing is for sure—there is nobody else who could do it better than you. All I have is my work, which is a sort of legacy in a way. My mother had a favourite saying which used to annoy me like mad sometimes: “only forward”. She would have loved to see these designs on show—so perhaps we had better get back to it.’

  With that she stood up and tried to disengage her fingers from Hal’s, but he was holding them firmly enough to shift to her waist and pull her sharply towards him.

  In one smooth move, Mimi was sitting on his knees with her arm around his neck, not entirely sure how she got there.

  ‘Now, that is much better,’ Hal smiled with a self-satisfied grin, his face only a few inches from hers, one arm around her waist and the other stroking the hair back from her face. ‘Your mother would be proud of you. Your work is not her only legacy—she left a wonderful daughter as well.’

  ‘Thank you, but that was far too slick! Almost as if you had done it before, hmm?’ Mimi murmured as Hal’s fingertips moved gently over her cheek and throat as she shuffled and twisted to get off his knees without success. His attention was totally fixed on the tiny area of her skin below each fingertip, as though it was the most fascinating thing that he had ever seen. ‘You can put me down now.’

  ‘The slickest,’ Hal agreed in a low, hoarse and totally distracted voice. ‘And I rather like you just where you are.’

  ‘You have bony knees,’ she complained, trying not to close her eyes and relax into the most glorious sensation of his tender caresses.

  ‘The boniest.’

  Hal started sliding his nose into the pocket just under her ear, and suddenly Mimi could not stand it any longer. Pressing both hands flat against his chest, she pushed hard against Hal, stood up and stepped away from him, out of reach of his welcoming arms. Her heart was racing, her breathing hot, ragged and needy.

  She closed her eyes for a second in the silence that followed, and did not dare open them until she had said what needed to be said.

  It was so quiet he could probably hear the thumping of her heart in her chest.