“And this is the Nyanknoton design. Do you like it?”
“It’s beautiful,” said Daisy, drinking in the colours.
Daisy stared at the material and tried to picture it within her own design, and then she showed the drawing again to Poppy. They both studied Daisy’s sketches and looked at other materials for several more minutes while Conner wandered around glancing at the different stands nearby, and then glancing back at Poppy Martinez.
“Behave yourself, Conner,” he whispered under his breath.
Poppy and Daisy finished by fixing a time and place to meet later that afternoon, then Poppy handed them both one of her business cards.
“Now I remember why I always wanted to work with you when we had to pair up,” said Daisy, “and work on something together, you always seemed to understand what I was trying to say in my designs.”
“And you always designed the best clothes, even if…” Poppy stopped.
“Even if?” said Daisy.
“Even if things weren’t always easy for you,” said Poppy. “I’m sorry,” she added. “I’m so pleased for you, Daisy, these people are lucky to have you, you’re going to do great things.”
I could do even better if you were working with me thought Daisy but she didn’t say anything.
“Anyway, I’d better get back to my colleagues,” said Poppy. “I’ll see you later, Daisy, maybe you too, Conner, bye.”
“See you later,” said Daisy and as she went back to the fabrics, she caught a glimpse of Conner’s eyes, wide in wonder as he watched Poppy Martinez disappear.
“So, what did you think of my friend Poppy then?” she said.
Conner’s brain was just a fraction behind his mouth, always a sign of honesty.
“She was blue and cool. I mean she was dressed in blue and she seemed cool and calm. She’s very nice”
“Oh she liked you too,” said Daisy, winking.
“Really?” said Conner. “You think so?”
Daisy laughed, clear and loud enough to attract the attention of the Italian buyers they had barged through earlier. The assistant, who had been standing almost next to Daisy, took a small step backwards.
“What’s so funny?” said Conner, frowning.
“Oh nothing,” said Daisy, “just you.” Then she turned to the assistant. “I want to take some samples of this fabric please.”
“Certainly madam,” he said, producing some scissors.
Conner and Daisy spent another hour browsing the world of materials and fabric before Daisy decided it was time to head back to the hotel. She had a text exchange with Poppy and then they set off.
Meeting Poppy had raised both their spirits, for different reasons, but as they worked their way back along the bustling Parisian streets, Conner began to flag again. He promised himself a hot bath, some alone time, and lunch. He definitely wanted lunch. If he hadn’t met Daisy’s old college friend he knew would have been feeling a bit sorry for himself by now.
“So who is she again?” he said.
“Who?” said Daisy. “I don’t know who you’re talking about.”
“Stop it,” said Conner.
“Her name is Poppy Martinez,” said Daisy, “and she was in my year at college. Of all of us she was the gentle soul, not desperate, not striving, and she could just see colours, I don’t know how she did it. It’s really lucky we met her here, I want to pick her brains about some of my sketches.”
Conner was silent as he padded up the busy road, carrying a bundle of fabric samples.
“We have arranged to meet this afternoon for a chat.”
“Hmm,” said Conner.
“If you want to join us you can but we are going to be talking business, okay?”
“Fine,” said Conner.
“Maybe we’ll talk business and you can join us for tea, yes?” said Daisy. “So long as you behave yourself.”
“I always behave myself,” said Conner, and Daisy raised an eyebrow.
“Shut up,” he said, laughing.
They walked on perhaps another twenty yards when she stopped and looked at him, he had a grin on his face like a kid with a new balloon.
“Oh for goodness’ sake, if you are going to be all goo-eyed over her it might be best if you keep out the way this afternoon. I don’t want you playing the love-struck puppy all the way through. Got it?”
Before he could answer, she had turned back from him. He stuck his tongue out at her back, kicked a small stone and watched it skim and bounce across the paving stones and away into the gutter.
“I’m not going to get in the way,” he called after her. “I want to see how your designs develop as well. I want to hear what she has to say.”
“Sure you do.”
“Yes, I do!” he shouted back at her, and the truth was, he did want to see how Daisy’s designs would fulfil their potential. “I want to see your vision fulfilled.”
“I know you do,” she said, “and I want you to be there when I meet up with Poppy later.”
They walked a little apart for the rest of the journey; Daisy striding out in front, Conner keeping his thoughts to himself, tagging along behind her.
She stopped at the front of the hotel, the wooden and glass revolving door moved languidly around on its axis. She turned around to see how far Conner was behind her.
“Thank you,” she said. “I mean it.”
“I know,” he said and smiled his cheeky grin at her.
“Are you happy to hold onto this material for now?” said Daisy; nodding at the bag of material he was carrying.
“Sure,” he said, “I need to go and freshen up a bit, then we can get something to eat.”
“Lunch in half an hour?” she said. “I’ll see you down here?”
“Sounds like a plan,” said Conner. “Then I’ll join you later for tea with your friend.”
“Best behaviour this afternoon, okay?” said Daisy.
“Hey, best behaviour is my middle name,” said Conner. “I didn’t disgrace myself with you, did I?”
“I suppose not,” said Daisy, nodding.
“Anyway,” he said, “I don’t even know this girl, she just seems nice, that’s all.”
“Oh she is that.” Daisy walked over to the lift and Conner followed her. His room was on the ground floor, but Daisy’s was on the second. She pressed the call button and the doors opened immediately.
“Poppy’s lovely,” she added as she got in, “and you do have one thing in common with her.” She pushed the button for the third floor.
“What’s that then?” said Conner as the lift doors closed.
“She’s religious like you, my dear, a Christian. Just like you and Alex and most of the rest of my new friends. See you in half an hour.”
And with that the lift doors shut.
Conner walked back to his room, trying to resist the temptation to break into a run in the hotel lobby. Life had just become exciting again.
* * *
He was back in the lobby fifteen minutes later. To be five minutes early is to be punctual, to be fifteen minutes early is to show an unreasonable degree of enthusiasm. He sat in one of the hotel’s expansive chairs in the centre of the lobby and tried to distract himself by browsing through the magazines and papers collected on a low coffee table. It wasn’t a hopeful task, because his grasp of French was, at best, basic.
He flipped through a magazine showing the latest Parisian fashions and then tossed the magazine idly across the low coffee table in front of him. The magazine skated across the glass and landed on the floor.
In front of Poppy.
“Oh you’re here!” he said.
“Yes,” said Poppy, “Daisy suggested we meet for lunch.”
“She did?”
“Yes,” said Poppy, “I hope that’s okay.”
“Of course,” said Conner. “I think she’s really looking forward to talking to you about her designs.”
“So you work for this company, SLaM, is that what it’s called?
”
“It’s called Summer now,” said Conner, “we’ve changed the name. It’s a bit of a family thing actually, we are what you might call distant relatives, as well as work colleagues now.”
“Well, I’m so pleased to meet her again. I’ve seen Daisy change over the time I’ve known her, it’s been fascinating to watch it.”
“I bet you noticed a change in her during the last year.”
“Yes, she changed during her last year at college,” said Poppy. “Some kind of weight lifted from her, and her work improved as well. Lots of us noticed it.”
There was a pause in the conversation. Conner shifted in his seat and the leather creaked. They both smiled and she lifted the magazine and placed it back on the centre of the table with the others.
“Daisy tells me you are a Christian.” He heard himself say the words, and thought, why did I say that?
“I am,” she said. “I’m from a Quaker family.”
“Oh,” he said.
“Have you heard of us?”
Conner’s mind filled with images of peaceful looking people, dressed in simple clothing gathering in a Friends Meeting House. It wasn’t a view he would have immediately associated with Poppy.
“I guess you look a bit colourful for a Quaker,” he said, and then inwardly scolded himself again for saying the second dumb thing within a minute.
“Well, it’s a common misconception. We are encouraged to live adventurously and to choose a lifestyle that makes the fullest use of the gifts we have. I intend to do that.”
“All the same,” said Conner, daring to press the point a little further, “there can’t be that many fashion designers who are Quakers, do the two really fit together?”
Poppy smiled. “This is what I love to do. I heard someone once say: ‘let your life speak’. I want to live that kind of life.”
So do I, Conner thought, and then blushed as he heard himself say the words.
“Thank you,” she said, and smiled. “So do you enjoy being a musician?”
“That’s when I come alive,” he said, “when I’m singing and playing music.”
“I think we have something in common then,” she said.
“I think we do.”
“And I have heard of your band,” she said. “You know, I’d love to find out more about what Daisy and you are doing, and this organization you work for. My colleagues are going back to the UK this afternoon but I am staying on for another night. Perhaps we could have dinner this evening, the three of us? When are you heading back home?”
“Not till tomorrow. I don’t know what plans Daisy has for this evening but dinner sounds great.” And it did indeed sound like a wonderful idea to Conner.
“There you are!” said Daisy, choosing this moment to arrive. “Come on, let’s get some lunch then you and I, Poppy, can talk business and we’ll let Conner have the afternoon off.”
They went out into the sunshine and found a local café, and when they’d eaten, Daisy put a large sketchbook down on the table.
“Okay, people, here are the ideas so far, together with some thoughts from what I saw this morning.”
She flipped the sketchbook open, and Daisy and Poppy talked about the designs.
Conner tried to keep up with them, but found his interest beginning to wander as the two girls set about examining styles and fabrics, talking in terms that had little or no meaning to him.
Daisy noticed his impatience. “Conner, if you want to do some sightseeing and catch up with us later, that’s cool.”
“Yeah,” he said, hesitating. “Well I think I’ll do that.” He looked at Poppy. “I might see you later then.”
“I hope so,” said Poppy, smiling, and then she turned to Daisy. “We were wondering whether the three of us could meet up for dinner tonight.”
“It sounds like fun,” said Daisy, “but I need to get some more work done on these designs, or this trip is going to look like an all-expenses-paid holiday. Why don’t you two go and find somewhere to eat and have a look around, and I’ll catch up with you both tomorrow.”
“Sounds good to me,” said Poppy, and she looked at Conner.
“Let’s do it,” he said. “What time are you free?”
“Around six thirty.”
“Have you ever been to Les Deux Magots?” said Conner, with a twinkling smile. He was showing off now, having identified this place as one of the cafés in Paris, according to his guidebook. “We can get a drink there and then get some dinner.”
“Okay, I know of a little place where we can get something to eat after that,” she said lightly.
“See you later then,” he said and left them to it.
He went back to the hotel, up to his room and shut the door. Then he lay face up on the bed and images of Poppy filled his brain.
“Oh God, oh God, oh God,” he mumbled, staring at the design on the ceiling. After a moment, he fumbled for his mobile phone, hesitating before he made his next move.
Finally, he sent a quick text message to Daisy:
“Fnd out hs she got a byfrnd!”
Then he tossed the phone onto the bed covers and reached for his guitar, hoping a few notes would distract him. He was playing some lazy chords when his phone buzzed with an incoming message; the noise made him jump.
He grabbed the phone and looked at the screen.
“Don’t think so”
He felt his pulse quicken, then another message arrived:
“Best behaviour remember!”
He laughed and fished out the business card Poppy had given him earlier, and then he looked at his watch to see how long he had to wait until six thirty.
He imagined Poppy and Daisy sitting together; maybe they were laughing at him, maybe Daisy had shown Poppy the text he’d sent.
“Oh no, no, no,” he said and buried his head in his pillow.
5
When Adam Bresco retired, friends and colleagues gathered to mark the event. There was a party at the House of Commons Terrace, and the novelty of the venue meant that the event was well attended.
As well as the revellers from the physical world there was one other who came. An Uninvited Guest who was able to enter, unhindered by physical barriers and the security staff at the Palace of Westminster.
Very much on the guest list was Caleb Wicks. Adam Bresco had been both his managing partner and confidante during the last twenty years. Together they had steered a course for the firm, overseeing its steady growth and expansion in terms of offices and staff. The reward for all the hard work was a solid reputation amongst a circle of long-term, trusting clients.
Of all his senior colleagues, Caleb found Adam Bresco the most challenging and likeable. Bresco was a country Anglican of the old school, a pillar upon which the church community was built. He occupied lay positions and was chair of the Parochial Church Council, the PCC. He liked to think of himself as a tolerant man who valued liberty and order. His interpretation of wisdom came through an understanding that for any given issue there were a number of complex and divergent points of view; each of which could equally hold merit. His capacity to identify these points of view, and gauge their relative strengths and weaknesses made him an astute practitioner in law. He was a high church liberal, and he found Caleb’s brand of charismatic evangelicalism rather exotic for his own tastes.
Their leisure interests drew them apart: Bresco to his club and the assorted country pursuits that he enjoyed, Caleb to his work with Alex, and to church and family life. But in professional matters they tended to agree, and with different areas of expertise they were able to combine as an effective team and cover a wide sweep of law. It had been a stimulating and successful partnership for both of them.
By securing the House of Commons Terrace for this event, the organizers could be said to be punching “above their weight”. It was unusual for such august premises to host the retirement party of a man who was, after all, only a provincial solicitor. But all good solicitors have a network of connection
s, and Bresco was not just any provincial solicitor; some very important people gave him that most precious commodity – trust.
The evening brought a biting wind off the Thames, forcing the early guests to huddle around copper coloured heaters that did no more than take the edge off the cold. Caleb joined the melee and spent several minutes talking to a couple of the other partners about arrangements for the evening; he was going to make a brief speech and present Adam with a gold pocket watch that they had clubbed together to buy for him.
No one took much notice of the arrival of a small, slight figure who made his way to the hospitality tent without stopping to say hello to any of the other guests. Orlando Shand was a journeyman in civil law, and legal counsel to a number of entertainment people, including the late Bridget Larson. He was also an old acquaintance of Adam Bresco from their university days. Orlando had been an occasional guest at Bresco’s London club, but he did not know many of Bresco’s colleagues and he felt ill at ease amongst these strangers.
Orlando Shand had felt strangely compelled to come to this event, and so against his solitary instincts he had come along to the party; and now here he was, huddled in a warm corner of the tent, sipping a rather fruity gin and tonic.
More guests arrived and the drink flowed. The general consensus was that the hospitality tent, although rather crowded and oppressive, was the best place to be in the current climate.
The Uninvited Guest moved swiftly and silently as he went about his master’s will. He stationed himself on the terrace railing and began to survey the group. He was looking for one man in particular. The fact that most of the guests were huddled in a tent did not deter him; he could see through the thick PVC material to identify them all. He scanned each of them, registering the conversations, and neither the icy wind nor the winter darkness impacted on him as he listened and concentrated; his head held at a slight angle. He moved his attention from the tent to the few people who were braving the cold. His eyes alighted on an old, slightly overweight man with a greying moustache. This person was standing not far away to his left and peering down into the river.
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