Meet Me in London

by Georgia Toffolo

  “Oh.” She whirled round to him. “Why?”

  “Trade secrets. I might have to make you sign confidentiality agreements and everything.” He tapped his nose and winked. “You might be a mole for the competition. And if you are, I could get the sack.” In truth, very unlikely given he was the heir of this empire. The empire he had never wanted.

  “I think moles tend to keep under the radar not knock you down on the street and make a huge impression.” She blinked and looked away, her cheeks going a shade of hot pink. “I didn’t mean—”

  “Ah, but maybe you’re using underhand tactics. You could be double-bluffing me.” She’d made an impression all right. “And now you admit it was your fault?”

  “Not at all. You should have been looking where you were going.” She laughed and raised her palms. “I’m not a mole for anyone, honestly. Unless you count me knowing all the local business owners. Most of them are regulars at The Landing.”

  “Ah. Yes.” For a moment he’d allowed himself to forget that, enjoying, instead, watching her delight in his store.

  “It’s going to be fabulous.” But she turned a little sad as she took off her hat and scrunched it in her hand. Her hair cascaded over her shoulders. Lush and shiny and a deep rich mahogany that made him ache to touch it.

  “What’s wrong?”

  She looked round the room and sighed. “It’s amazing. It really is, but pretty much everything they’re going to sell here is what people can buy on the street outside. Including food from some decent restaurants and cafés. I just wish...”

  “What do you wish?”

  She walked back to the window and looked out at the street. “That one business wouldn’t detract from a dozen others.”

  “A shiny new department store and all its advertising and PR will bring more people into the area.” He stood next to her and rubbed his suit jacket cuff on the dusty glass. The road was a hive of different shops, cafés and retail outlets—some old and established, some new, some standing empty. It had the feel of jaded glory, an area living on the coattails of its past. The place needed as much refurbishment as this building had. “It will enhance and revive the street.”

  “That’s what Lily said too.”

  “I don’t know who Lily is, but she could be right. It’s how economies work. It’s the way of things.”

  His parents and their parents and grandparents before them had worked hard to build this business from a small shop in Manchester to a retail powerhouse with stores in all the major UK cities and in Europe. It had required hard work and astute business sense and he’d taken it all for granted until recently.

  Over the last few months he’d watched his parents grow old almost overnight. His father’s diagnosis had made Ollie rethink his priorities. He wanted to make this business a continued success. He wanted them to be proud of him. But...he didn’t want to put other people out of business.

  Victoria nodded. “Lily’s one of my best friends. She’s very business savvy. You’d get on well with her.”

  He wasn’t interested in her friend. But Victoria on the other hand... He stopped his thoughts right there. He couldn’t be interested in Victoria either. Could he?

  No. After the shambles that was his last relationship, he’d sworn off anything deeper than a paper cut. Besides, he was up to his neck in his cousin’s mess and had no time or energy to spend on a relationship. Not even a first date—and he got the feeling she was the whole two point four kids and a dog type. Nothing wrong with that at all, it just wasn’t his thing.

  But he was going to enjoy this light interlude from his awful day, while he could.

  “Right. The show’s nearly over but come upstairs. There’s something you might like up there.”

  She gave him a side-eye. “Oh? Are you sure it’s OK? No one’s going to growl at us?”

  “If they do I’ll growl right back.”

  “That, I would love to see. I don’t want to trespass or get you into trouble. Unless...” She laughed and her eyes shone. “Is there fabric involved?”

  “There could be...”

  She nodded. “In that case, I’m prepared to growl back too.”

  “And that’s sure to scare them.” He couldn’t imagine this kind-natured woman growling at anyone—sure, he’d seen her firm and polite and taking none of his rubbish in the bar last night. But growling? Never. For some reason he had a ridiculous urge to hold her hand. He wrestled back some sadly lacking self-control. “We’ll either have to walk up the back stairs or take the service lift as the main escalators aren’t operational yet.”

  “Stairs.”

  Relief flooded through him. He was starting to think it was safer to be in large open spaces with Victoria than enclosed ones where he could smell her light flowery perfume, and want to breathe it in. Deeply. “OK, stairs it is. Three floors. You sure about this?”

  “Absolutely.”

  They walked through the maze of walled-off corridors to the wrought iron staircase that curled up the inside of the building. As he climbed, he ran his hand over the metalwork, shiny from years of use.

  She followed, her fingers skimming the iron. “This is gorgeous. Is that a bird?”

  “Search me.” He peered closer to the detail on the balustrade, which had been forged into a tree shape with branches reaching from floor to handrail. And sure enough, there were birds of all shapes and sizes. “Looks like it. I’ve never noticed before.”

  “Mr. Observant. Not.” She chuckled and bent to take a closer look. “I’m a details girl. I love patterns and shapes and colors. I love discovering the secrets the artist puts in their work, a part of themselves. Their wishes, dreams, hopes. And sometimes their difficulties too. Look, here’s a sparrow and a robin and... I don’t know much about birds, to be honest, but they’re beautifully crafted.”

  “I hadn’t realized there was so much involved. It was always just a stair rail to me.” Had been. Now she’d opened his eyes. What else had he missed? He looked up at the high ceilings and the crafted plasterwork and realized he hadn’t noticed them before either. He’d walked through this building countless times, focusing on what they were trying to create, without looking at the gems that were already here.

  He put his hand on the rail, but his fingers brushed against hers. Heat zipped over his skin and he turned to look at her. A little breathless, her cheeks pink from the exercise—or something else? Her eyes caught his and something flickered in her gaze. A flash of matching heat?

  Had she felt that buzz too?

  He didn’t wait to find out and pushed open a door onto the third floor and walked through the back of the children’s wear department. Racks of high-end clothes lined the aisles. Red and silver gift-wrapped Christmas boxes filled huge baskets for small hands to pick. Thick garlands of silver tinsel hung in loops across the ceiling and silver sparkly reindeer had been strategically placed in groups, for patting. The place smelled of fresh paint, builders’ dust and new carpet. There was no one else there apart from the electric gaffer who was fixing the lighting.

  “Oh. This is much better than the ground floor. It looks like a proper shop up here. I’m really getting the festive vibe. The kids are going to love it.” Her hand trailed over the back of one of the reindeer and she smiled.

  But then she quickened her pace and—almost as if she knew exactly where she was going—raced past the little babygros and bib sets, breezed by the wicker baby baskets and changing tables and headed into the haberdashery. She paused at the entrance and breathed deeply, her eyes dancing with light. Her hand fluttered over her chest and she looked as if she was actually going to cry from happiness.

  There were more deliveries arriving by the hour but so far the head of haberdashery had managed to set most of the area up, with an emphasis on holiday-themed fabric and glittery balls of wool at the entrance. Farther in were dark mahogany shelves
of patchwork fabric, bolts of bright colors giving over to pastels. A whole bridal section, sewing machines and books, and at the back was yarn and all the sewing accessories people needed.

  In hindsight Oliver didn’t think he’d ever even walked in here until now, but it was clear Victoria had found her happy place. “Now this, Oliver, is going to mean the start of a whole new...” She beamed at him and he wondered what she was going to say. Friendship? Relationship? His gut tightened at that thought.

  “Overdraft.”

  He laughed, only a little in relief. “I wondered where you were heading with that.”

  “Me too,” she confessed with a blush then quickly drew her eyes from his. “Seriously, the only thing I’d sell my soul to the devil for is fabric.”

  Her enthusiasm was infectious, but he didn’t get it. “Sure, the fabric’s kind of nice, maybe, but...why?”

  “Heathen!” With a sharp intake of breath she softly punched his shoulder. “What do you mean why? Look at it. It’s like magic.”

  “How? You just sew stuff together, right?” Of course, he knew that wasn’t the case. He’d been to enough tailors to know the process...measuring, cutting, sewing, adjusting. But he’d taken it all for granted. Seemed he’d been doing a lot of that recently; this building, his parents, his job, his good fortune.

  Geez, suddenly he was getting a conscience or something.

  Shaking her head, she picked up a wad of different-patterned squares. “This is a fat quarter. It’s for making patchwork quilts. Nothing special here, right? Just a mixture of blue colors. But look closer; some of the patterns are a bit wavy, some look like bubbles. Some have images of little fish on them. In a few hours of ‘just sewing stuff’ I can turn the dark blues into boats, use the bubbles as the sea, the fish as...fish.” She laughed and rolled her eyes. “I add a backing and some wadding between the two layers and little Johnny not only has a cute cover to keep him warm, but he can wear it as a cloak and pretend he’s the King of the Ocean. Little Julia can be the Queen of the High Seas, a pirate, a mermaid. She can nestle under it when she’s sick, when she’s watching her favorite movies, she can sit on it with her friends and chat about everything from teddy bears to boyfriends and later, when she’s leaving home for the very first time, she can take it with her to her university dorm and slide under it that first scary night, a little anxious, a little homesick. But she has brought with her hours, days, years of memories, of being warm, of being safe, of dreaming. And if I’m the auntie who makes this for them, I sew every stitch with love. I imagine them loving this as much as I love them. I know...I know the pleasure they will get from it. The comfort. Knowing he will be safe under this. That she will carry my love with her wherever she goes...in this. This scrap of fabric.”

  He blinked trying to keep up as she spoke, her hands moving fast, spreading the fabric out, shaping the squares into a larger square, then a larger one. He imagined she’d done it so many times before, deciding what to make, how much love to pour into this garment, or the next. She turned the mundane into something extraordinary. She was unlike any woman he’d ever met. He breathed out, hard. “Wow.”

  Her hands finally came to rest at her chest. “Yes, Oliver. Wow.”

  “And you do this?”

  “As much as I can. I’d love to do it full-time, but it doesn’t pay enough yet. I have to make the rent and eat and that means I need a steady job in the real world. Hence...I’m a bar manager.”

  “I thought you were a teacher who moonlighted in The Landing. I heard you talking last night about a class you taught and something about a stolen iPad.”

  “Ah. Yes. That was an issue for Jasmine but we sorted it out. I’m not a qualified teacher, but I teach underprivileged kids in my spare time.” Her eyes flitted over his shoulder and her mouth opened slightly. “Oh! Serendipity. I just saw this in a shop in Portobello market. It’s exquisite.”

  Ah, yes. He knew what this was. About the dreams and hopes imbued into this particular material. “It’s wedding dress fabric.”

  But her eyes narrowed a little. “Ooh? Allergic to weddings?”

  Had he been grimacing? He hadn’t realized. “It’s just not something I see in my future.”

  “Me neither.” And was that relief he saw in her features? She shook her head. “But I’m working on a bridal collection at the moment. This satin would be perfect.”

  “Do you have a shop too? How do you sell?”

  “No shop. Nearly...” She shook her head, her nostrils flaring and her mouth tightening. “Nothing. Never mind. I sell online at the moment and by word of mouth.”

  He wanted to get to the bottom of what that look was, but he got the feeling she wasn’t going to just blurt it out. She’d stiffened at the mention of a shop. Something had happened there.

  Her hand hovered over the ivory satin—at least, that was what it said on the label, he didn’t have a clue, but thought he remembered from somewhere that satin was shiny. “Oliver, I don’t suppose you get staff discount? No! No, I’m being cheeky. That was rude and presumptuous. Sorry. You don’t even know me. Forget it.”

  “No problem.” He shrugged. “I do get a discount, though. I can find out.”

  “Seriously. No.” But she was still stroking the fabric as if it were her first-born child and she didn’t want to leave the store without it.

  “OK, but I can still ask.”

  “Well...” She pressed her lips together and he just knew she wanted to say yes but was trying to be polite, or maybe didn’t want to be beholden to him. Just at that moment one of the electricians walked by with a stepladder under one arm. He nodded towards Oliver. “Evening, Mr. Russell.”

  And Oliver’s stomach plummeted.

  “Mr. Russell?” She gaped, confusion playing across her eyes. “Mr. Russell? You’re related to the boss?”

  Of course, he wouldn’t have kept the pretense up forever, just a couple more minutes before he told her the truth.

  He hauled in a breath to finally come clean, oddly disappointed his undercover stint had to end. He’d been enjoying it, he realized with a shock. It had been so easy not to have the agenda that came with being part of his well-known family. “Victoria, I am the boss.”

  She let the fabric drop from her hand. “You’re the owner? The one who keeps towing cars away? Who’s allowed the street to become a rubbish dump?”

  “Actually, no, that’s my cousin Andrew. I’ve just stepped in to clear up his mess.”

  “You’ve obviously got a lot of work to do. Wow, indeed. Right. I’ll leave you to it.”

  She whirled round and started to walk away. The joy he’d seen in her a few moments ago washed away by anger. Or mistrust. Or something he wanted to erase.

  “Wait. Please. Victoria. Why are you angry?”

  She sheered round to look at him, her eyes sparking fire. “Because I don’t like being made to look like a fool.”

  “That wasn’t my intention. But who did you think I was?”

  “I don’t know. A sales manager? Something to do with the building work. I don’t know. I didn’t think you’d be... You should have been up-front about it instead of acting like we’re on a silly adventure somewhere we’re not supposed to be. There you are pretending to be someone you’re not and now I just look stupid and gullible.”

  Hell. No. “Not at all. God, I’m sorry. What can I do to make things right?”

  Her hands hit her hips. “Oh, I don’t know. Try being honest?”

  “I never lied. You just believed what you wanted to believe. If I’d said, ‘Hey I own this place, do you want to come and look?’ would you have?”

  She looked uncomfortable. “Probably. Maybe.”

  “Unlikely, right? After telling me how godawful the boss was? About how hated he is? After complaining about me taking everyone’s livelihoods away?”

  She shook her he
ad. “Being economical with the truth is tantamount to a lie in my book. But you don’t really care, do you? You don’t care about the truth, you don’t care about trampling over people. You can hide behind your cousin, but Russell & Co. doesn’t care about what it does to the little people as long as your bottom line is healthy.”

  So much for thinking she wasn’t the growling type. He’d misread her and what was important to her. “You have got it all wrong. We have a strong commitment to the community.”

  An eyebrow rose. “Prove it.”

  “But...” How? “We donate generously to charities.”

  “Lovely. But you don’t get your hands dirty. Prove that you care about this community, Oliver Russell. The people on this street. Your neighbors. Prove that you care about making a difference. Here.”

  As if he didn’t have enough on his plate before opening day and then Christmas, Boxing Day sales, then New Year’s... Easter. An image of flattened, grubby bunnies floated through his head and that was exactly how he felt: flattened and grubby. He should have been honest from the get-go. “How?”

  “Oh, I’m sure you’ll think of a way.” She turned away and he knew he was going to lose her and this bubble of fun was well and truly burst. What’s more, his reputation would be grubby too once she told her friends.

  What surprised him the most, though, was that he cared that he’d hurt her. Her back was stiff and straight, her shoulders taut. Her mouth set in a grim line. She meant it. She expected him to do good by her friends and to keep his word. She expected him to be the better guy. And something about that made him want to be.

  His mind scrolled through a number of possibilities and ideas. Why it was so important to him to make her happy, he couldn’t fathom. But there it was; he felt bad and he wanted to make amends. He wanted to ensure this community she was so fond of didn’t suffer just because his family put a store in their street. Damn it, she made him want to care even though all his training had been about what was best for the business. “Look, why don’t we do something on opening day to showcase the community?”

  She stopped walking. “What kind of thing?”