“It could be worse,” Viv said. “It could be raining cats and dogs and then there’d be poodles everywhere.”
Harrison snorted while I gave her my best unamused face. It really is a good one. I’ve practiced it in the mirror.
“They said it would keep raining for another week, but I drought it,” Harrison quipped. This time Viv busted up. I refused and gave them both my frostiest look.
“Well, you are in merry ol’ England,” Harrison cajoled. “We are rather known for our precipitation.”
“You’re right,” I said. Then I teased, “I’m beginning to think it was a pour choice.”
They both blinked at me.
“Aw, now that was a good one. Get it? ‘Pour’ choice instead of ‘poor’ choice, you know, because it’s pouring out.”
Harrison patted my shoulder and Viv gave me a sympathetic look. I knew they were teasing me. It was a bit of a game between us, but it made me more determined than ever. One of these days I was going to unleash a pun that they couldn’t help but laugh at.
“Crisis averted,” Andre said as he rejoined us. “But I’m glad you brought two bottles of wine. We might need them.”
“Is that a dig at my cooking?” Nick asked as he followed Andre into the room.
“No!” Andre quickly assured him. “I was referring to the tension in the Bake Off, you know, Scarlett is rooting for that Trevor fellow.”
“Travis,” Viv and I said together and I heard Harrison huff out a breath.
“Now don’t be sullen just because he’s more talented than what’s her name,” I said.
Andre and Nick both turned to look at Harrison and he lowered an eyebrow at me.
“Prudence Chatham,” he said. “You know very well what her name is.”
“Doubtful,” I said. I took the wineglass that Nick proffered and kissed his cheek in greeting. “She doesn’t have dreamy blue eyes.”
“No,” Nick agreed. He brushed the bib of his purple apron and used his ring finger to smooth one of his blond eyebrows. “I’d say she’s a bit peaky looking, like a strong wind might carry her off.”
“A bit ferrety if you ask me,” Andre added. “All nose and teeth.”
I made the mistake of sipping my wine when he spoke and started to laugh, making the wine almost shoot out my nose. I covered my face with my hand while I coughed and laughed and coughed.
“Laugh it up there, Ginger,” Harrison said. “We’ll see who’s laughing when my ferret beats Mr. Dreamy Eyes.”
“Oh.” Nick rubbed his hands together. “Do I hear a wager in the making?”
Harrison’s bright green eyes met mine. His gaze positively sizzled with nefarious intentions.
“What do you say, Scarlett?” he asked. “Do we have a bet?”
“That depends,” I said. “What did you have in mind?”
My voice came out low and husky, inviting all sorts of midnight naughtiness. I watched Harry’s Adam’s apple bob when he gulped.
Damn it. I was at it again. I really needed to find the shutoff valve for my flirtatious streak. But honestly, I didn’t want to. This celibacy thing was really beginning to cramp my style.
Harrison cleared his throat as Viv, Andre and Nick swiveled their heads between us like they were watching a tennis match. When Harry’s gaze met mine, the look he gave me scorched. Wow!
Okay, so dreamy blue eyes had nothing on Harry’s magnetic green gaze. I shook my head. It didn’t matter. I was staying single and not letting Harrison or anyone else lure me into the miserable world of dating, bad relationship choices and heartbreak. Jaded much? Yes, I am.
I glanced at Viv, hoping to silently communicate my distress at the situation. Call it cousinly intuition or what have you, she got it right away.
“I suggest the wager be in line with what you’re betting about,” she said. “Since you’re betting over a cooking competition, the loser has to make a meal for the winner.”
“Oh, dear, I’m obliged to hope Scarlett wins then,” Nick said.
“Why’s that?” Harrison asked, looking offended.
“Because Scarlett can’t toast bread, never mind cook. Truly, mate, I’m looking out for you by hoping you lose,” Nick said and then he burst out laughing as if the idea of me cooking a meal was too preposterous for words.
“I think I’m offended,” I said. I held out my hand to Harrison. “I’ll take that bet.”
The grin he gave me was pure mischief, and the feel of his large man hand closing around my smaller one made me go just the tiniest bit weak in the knees. I locked them in place, refusing to be swayed by any misplaced surge of hormones. It was only natural to react to a man since my libido had been on lockdown for longer than I could ever remember.
“Excellent,” he said. He looked as if he thought victory was his, and then I realized that an intimate dinner for two was a victory for him in that it moved us into an area that was almost date-like. For me, it was a loss because it was going to test my strength of character on the whole staying single thing, which frankly was proving to be more challenging than I’d anticipated.
Before I let go of his hand, I looked him right in the eye and said, “Just to clarify, the loser makes dinner, at least three courses plus dessert.”
“Agreed,” he said, still smiling.
And then I lowered the boom. “For all five of us on a date to be determined.”
“What?” Harrison gaped, but it was too late. Andre and Nick cheered the suggestion, and Viv looked at me with a knowing smile. Yes, I suspect she knew exactly what I was up to, avoiding being alone with Harrison for as long as I was able.
“You’re not backing out now, Harry, are you?” I asked.
He narrowed his eyes at me. “No. I accept the wager.”
We shook on it and he released my hand. I missed the warmth of his fingers against mine immediately.
“Since that is settled,” Nick said. “I do believe it is time for dinner to be served.”
Nick sashayed back to the kitchen while Harrison fell into step with Vivian and I walked beside Andre to the dining room table, which was already set with mismatched cobalt-blue-and-white Wedgewood plates and bowls. Andre had a passion for Wedgewood, but he bought miscellaneous plates instead of a whole set because he felt it was more visually interesting.
Looking at the blue-and-silver accents on the table, I noted that the place settings went well with Nick’s Brierley Hill Crystal. I always felt like more of a grown-up when I dined at Nick and Andre’s. Left on our own, Viv and I usually did takeout and ate in front of our television, and that was only if Viv wasn’t caught up in some creative endeavor which left me eating alone.
I had been watching my cousin over the past few weeks, looking for any signs of interest outside of hats or our shop. As far as I could tell, she had none. Oh, there were designer friends she created hats for, and she had a loyal customer base that she was friendly with, but there was no one of any significance in my cousin’s life. This disturbed me. Partly because I felt guilty for not noticing sooner and partly because it wasn’t like Viv.
Viv had known from the time we were kids that she was going to follow Mim’s lead into the millinery business. She was a natural at it, creating hats that were in demand from Paris runways to the Royal Family. Her work had been featured in fashion magazines and the wait to get a hat for Ascot from her was three years long.
Despite all that, Viv had always managed to have a life. She’d had friends in the neighborhood and friends from school. She was always a little flighty, being a creative genius, and disappeared from time to time without telling anyone, usually on some crazy quest for feathers or lace or hat forms, but still she had relationships outside the business. Since I had gotten back to London four months ago, however, I had seen no evidence of any sort of social life for my cousin.
She never talked abo
ut friends or men or anything really. I was worried about her, and while I tried not to badger her about her lack of a social life, I was definitely keeping an eye on her. Honestly, if I hadn’t come back when I did, the only thing she would have in her life would be the shop, Harrison and Fee. And no, Harrison and Viv were just friends. Yes, I checked.
Andre held my chair while Harrison held Viv’s. I was across the table from Harrison, which was nice but also distracting. Andre went to help Nick schlep the food to the table while the three of us settled in.
“So anything noteworthy happen at the shop today?” Harrison asked.
Viv and I exchanged a glance. Harrison was always good about asking about the business, and I got the feeling it wasn’t because he was part owner but because he genuinely cared that things were going well.
She shrugged as she put her napkin in her lap. “Nothing dramatic. Hats were made and hats were sold.”
Andre and Nick flitted back and forth with a variety of dishes that smelled divine.
“Nick, you’ve outdone yourself,” I said. “It all looks amazing.”
Nick flushed with pleasure and then waved his hands at the food. “Go ahead and start. It isn’t any better when it’s cold.”
We each chose a dish and started serving and passing. Compliments were heaped on Nick’s culinary prowess and I realized, duh, that he was lapping it up like a kitten did cream. I imagined he received fewer compliments for his dentistry, not that he wasn’t a great dentist, but let’s face it, you don’t generally heap praise on the person who roots around in your mouth, nags you to floss and occasionally delivers the bad news bomb that you have a cavity or worse.
“So that’s it?” Harrison steered the conversation back to the shop. “No gossip from any of the customers?”
“None,” Viv said. She shrugged.
“Oh, but there is one thing you could help us with,” I said. “Ariana Jackson hasn’t answered her phone for the past three days, and we really need to get in touch with her about her wedding hat.”
“I can text Stephen and have him tell her,” Harrison offered.
“I’d really like to talk to her directly,” I said. If she wanted to haggle about the price, I wanted to be the one to do it and not have Harrison and his rugby buddy make a mess of it.
“Doesn’t she work for a solicitor in Kensington?” Viv asked. “Could you get his number from Stephen?”
“Yeah, that should be no trouble,” Harrison said. “Do remind me after dinner.”
“I think his last name was Russo,” I said.
“Anthony Russo?” Nick asked.
“Yes, that’s right,” Viv said.
“Ooooh,” Nick and Andre said together. It wasn’t a good sort of Ooooh. It was the sort of Ooooh someone said when there was a juicy story to be had. I was all in.
Chapter 4
“What do you know?” I asked. I looked back and forth between them, wondering who I could get to crack first.
“We only know what we’ve heard,” Nick said.
“Unfounded rumors and gossip,” Andre said. “All speculation really.”
“So speculate,” Viv prodded them.
Andre and Nick exchanged looks. I knew they were having a silent debate about how much to say and, more important, who got to say it. Andre gave Nick a small nod; it was his dinner party after all.
Nick dabbed the corners of his mouth with his napkin. I took a bite of my beef Wellington. It was melt in your mouth yummy, but I was betting that Nick’s gossip would be just as tasty.
“Word on the street is—” Nick began but Andre burst out laughing.
“Word on the street?” Andre said. “You have been watching too many American cop shows.”
Nick wrinkled his nose at him. “I can’t help it if I find Nathan Fillion simply delicious, now can I?”
“Not at all,” Viv said. “I quite agree.”
“The point, people, could we get back to the sordid tale of Anthony Russo?” I asked.
“So eager for gossip?” Harrison asked.
“More like answers,” I said. “What do we know about Ariana Jackson, really, other than she’s marrying a friend of yours?”
Harrison frowned as if he had never thought about Ariana before as anything other than Stephen’s fiancée.
What I didn’t add was that of course I was eager for juicy gossip. Having done my time in the hot seat, I always enjoyed hearing about someone else’s foibles so long as it wasn’t mean in nature.
“Anthony Russo is known for being a womanizing, drunken, lascivious letch,” Andre said. “And a gambler.”
“How does he still have a career then?” Viv asked.
“He is also an excellent attorney,” Nick said. “He works for people in the entertainment industry who find themselves in sticky situations.”
“Such as?” I asked.
“The singer Shelley Martin was busted for drug use and sex with underage boys,” Andre said. “Russo got her off without even an ASBO.”
I lifted my eyebrows. An ASBO is an antisocial behavior order and was actually quite common.
“And then there was Mark Tracey,” Nick confided. “Doped up on heroin and decided to take a naked stroll in front of Buckingham Palace. He was wearing nothing but his rubbers.”
I burst out laughing. Rubbers having an entirely different meaning in the States, making Nick’s comment even more hilarious.
“Got off with some charitable works, I believe,” Nick said. “Reading to the blind or some such malarkey.”
“I find it hard to believe Ariana works for such a man,” Viv said. “She seemed very earnest and hardworking, not the sort who would be amused by the shenanigans of spoiled rock stars.”
“It’s a job,” I said. “A good-paying job, and since she doesn’t seem to have any family to lean on, it makes sense that she would work for whoever paid her the most. She strikes me as the type that would be very good at legal work. There is something very . . .”
“Dependable.” Harrison supplied the word I was looking for.
“Exactly, dependable about her,” I said. Then I frowned. “Except I really would have expected her to answer my texts or messages by now.”
“It could be a severe case of bride brain,” Vivian said. “Goodness knows we’ve dealt with worse. Remember the bride who showed up at our shop the night before her wedding completely pissed and wanted hats for her entire wedding party—the ones she had met in the pub that afternoon?”
I laughed. Pissed in this case meant drunk rather than angry and the bride in question had been sauced. She had left the shop with ten mismatched fascinators, adorable small hats worn mostly in front or on the side, and to this day I wonder what had happened and would love to see the pictures of this sordid wedding party.
“I suppose we’re just going to have to pop in at her place of employment,” Viv said. “That way we can speak with her directly about the options for her mother’s hat.”
I noted that everyone’s gaze turned to me. Of course they did, because we all knew that when Viv said “we,” she meant “me,” not the two of us.
* * *
Kensington, the borough where Russo’s office was located, was on the other side of Hyde Park from Notting Hill. I could have bussed the entire distance but I decided to catch the tube to Lancaster Gate and cut through the park instead because for the first time in weeks the sun had trumped the rain and the world was sparkly and shiny and new once again.
There was a crisp sweetness to the air as if I were breathing the first bite of a crunchy apple. The sun was warm on my face but the breeze was cool, tossing and teasing my hair as I made my way into the park.
Judging by the way the ducks were cavorting in the fountains of the Italian gardens, I wasn’t the only one enamored with the beauty of the day. The grassy hill to my left was dotted
with the striped canvas chairs that the park people put out so that visitors could rent a seat for one pound sixty pence per hour or eight pounds for a whole day. I was so tempted to sit and soak up the world for an hour or two. If I’d had a cheese-filled baguette, a hot cup of coffee, and a book, I would have been unmovable.
Sadly, I had to get back to the shop to help Viv. Manning the front of the shop was not exactly her gift, and Fee was in class this morning and not coming to work until later.
I took the path that ran along the north edge of the park. As I passed the Princess of Wales Memorial Playground, I stopped by the food stand to treat myself to a hot chocolate. They had food, but I didn’t want to wait. I kicked myself for not stopping at the Pret A Manger outside Notting Hill Gate for a sandwich on my way.
While I waited for the girl to make my cocoa, I watched two young boys scamper across a huge wooden pirate ship complete with a crow’s nest and rigging, the whole works. They had wooden swords and were apparently fighting off a takeover from a bloodthirsty pack of girls. I laughed when the boys decided that jumping ship was their best chance of survival. Amazing how the whole guy-girl thing doesn’t really change as we mature.
I sipped my cocoa and stayed to the edge of the path as people on rented Barclays Cycles zipped by me. Viv and I had used the bike rental service a couple of times. They had a stand in our neighborhood and it was quite handy until you went to return it and found the rack to be full. Then you had to wait for someone else to rent a bike or go to the next stand, which could be a bit out of your way. Still, it beat the upkeep and maintenance of owning a bicycle of your own.
I took my phone out of my purse and checked the directions to Russo’s office. I veered off the main path onto a side one that let me out of the park just past Kensington Palace. I had heard that Kate and Will had renovated the big, redbrick colossus and wondered, like everyone else I’m sure, what their life was like living in such a beautiful place.
I remembered my brief, very brief, stint with infamy and blanched. If I never had a photographer shove a camera in my face again, well, that was fine with me.
At the Drop of a Hat Page 3
