She was going to feel frozen by the spotlight when she had to stand up with a microphone. She tried desperately to remember how she’d intended to begin. Something about herself and her training. Or should she just talk about hats? The materials? The techniques? How to wear them? Hats and fashion? Her brain solidified. The scent of her own perfume was making her feel sick.
‘What’s up?’ murmured Sam. ‘Don’t you like the soup?’
She wiped sweat from her top lip with her napkin. ‘Ask Vanessa what she said about a microphone. I’ll need both hands for the hat show and won’t be able to hold it.’
‘Don’t worry. I expect it will be a clip on job.’ He finished his soup and laid his spoon neatly in the bowl.
Ava nudged his thigh with hers. ‘Please ask Vanessa. I’ve got the shakes about it. I’ve never even held a microphone.’
‘Got it.’ He turned to Vanessa for a whispered consultation.
Ava gave up all pretence of eating. She would have quite liked some more of the iced water from the middle of the table but didn’t trust herself to pick it up without letting the jug slide from her damp palms.
Consultation with Vanessa complete, Sam returned her nudge. ‘The microphone won’t be intrusive. The AV person will clip it to you at the right distance from your face and Van stood in on the sound test before we arrived. You can literally forget it. Don’t try and dip your mouth close to it and don’t shout as if you think you can’t be heard.’
‘Right.’ Ava tried to absorb Sam’s reassuring details.
‘If you feel uncomfortable looking directly at the audience, fix your gaze immediately above their heads. Remember that this is a non-hostile situation. These guys want to like you. Let them. Chat as if it’s the ten or so people you’re used to. Be yourself. They’ll love you.’
‘Thanks,’ she whispered, grateful that he made it sound so doable. A few of the butterflies cruised in to land.
Sam watched Ava still wiping her hands nervously. He changed tack. ‘Don’t forget about the slow dances. All mine.’ As he was driving he was making his glass of wine last but he noticed that Ava had scarcely touched hers, either. ‘I take it you tango?’
She turned panicked blue eyes to him. ‘What? No! Not unless you count messing about with Tod when we were watching Strictly.’
‘Oh dear,’ he said, gravely. ‘Can you rumba? Or do the lambada? The guest speaker’s always expected to put on an exhibition of dancing when her spot’s over. I’ve heard that last year it was pole dancing. I’ll help you up on the table.’
Her consternation was overlaid by laughter. ‘You idiot. You had me going for a second.’
He grinned, arrested by her sudden sparkle. ‘It’s a coping strategy I used with Chilly when he was nervous. Terrify him. Then whatever he felt nervous about would seem easy in comparison.’
With a rueful expression, she nodded. ‘It works.’
‘I’ll introduce you to Chilly later. He’ll love you.’ Any red-blooded male would. Ava looked fantastic in her black dress with its up-down hem swinging above her ankles and lacings up the back. The square neckline was torture and Sam had had to force his gaze elsewhere all evening.
‘I don’t think I’ve ever met a proper celebrity.’ Ava looked intrigued. ‘Working for Ceri I met plenty of people with money but nobody actually newsworthily famous.’
‘Chilly’s a great one to begin with. He’s a good bloke.’
Sam launched into a stream of anecdotes about what it had been like to be so close to Chilly, to be the one with a cool head no matter what was happening, constantly monitoring the impression Chilly was giving to the media. He continued while the wait staff cleared the table. Then the lighting changed and a woman in a suit appeared.
She reached around Ava to clip a mic on her neckline. ‘Hello, I’m doing the AV. Fab dress,’ she whispered. ‘I’ll switch you on when you stand up and tweak the levels if you need it. I’ll switch you off as soon as you’ve finished talking and come back to remove the mic for you.’
Ava looked apprehensive, but nodded.
‘Here we go,’ hissed Vanessa. ‘I’ll introduce you.’
‘Hats!’ Ava squeaked, turning to Sam.
Sam was already on his feet. ‘Which?’
‘I can’t remember!’
‘I think I can.’ He chose black, pale blue, pale purple, yellow and pale orange. OK, peach. He made two swift journeys, positioning the stands to Ava’s left.
Then the toastmaster’s voice boomed. ‘Ladies and gentlemen! The festival secretary, Vanessa Jermyn.’ He passed the roving microphone to Vanessa who rose confidently to do the usual welcome and thanks thing.
Sam leaned over to put his lips against Ava’s ear as she sipped hurriedly from her water glass. ‘Plan your moves for the pole dancing.’
Her giggle was picked up by the mic. The audience applauded and she rose to her feet still smiling. Her inhalation was audible but she didn’t, as he’d feared, dry up. ‘I usually do this in front of a smaller group but Vanessa says that you’re very nice – so don’t let her down.’ Her delivery was a little breathless but the audience laughed.
Sam relaxed. Some of Chilly’s best TV chat-show appearances had followed truly crippling nerves in the green room.
Ava moistened her lips. ‘I’m going to talk to you tonight about couture millinery and ask a few of you beautiful ladies to help me out. Gentlemen, I’m sure you don’t mind watching pretty women wafting around.’
Male laughter.
Sam listened as Ava steadily gained confidence, making mass-produced hats pressed out in factories sound all very nice but a bespoke couture hat the height of desirability. He eased his chair slightly to the left and back, giving her room to move her hands as she spoke while keeping himself within arm’s reach in case she knocked over a hat stand. He found himself briefly distracted by the resultant close-up view of the curve of her bottom but resolutely returned his gaze to the audience.
All eyes were on Ava as she lifted up a tiny pale blue number. ‘This I’d call a cocktail hat. It has a three-dimensional base and I’ve formed it by steaming it on a block. The feathers are stripped so that only the tips remain, creating movement. Vanessa, would you model this for us?’
She deftly removed Vanessa’s fascinator and perched the tiny hat, not much bigger than the lid of a coffee jar, in its place. ‘Perhaps Vanessa will walk down onto the dance floor while I tell you a little about how this hat is made, the materials, and when you might wear it.’ Vanessa obligingly glided around the table and down the two steps to the dance floor, hamming it up with a wiggle that was greeted with a ripple of amusement.
When the blue cocktail hat had had its moment in the spotlight Vanessa returned and Ava removed the cocktail hat and refixed her fascinator with, it seemed, no more than a flick of her fingers.
Sam found himself watching her hands. Her nails were short but her long tapering fingers moved gracefully as she talked. Pretty hands.
Ava’s hat show lasted for forty minutes. Men in the audience seemed as engaged as the women. Whether that was because they liked hearing how things were made or because Ava looked amazing, her long blonde hair caught up in a twist and shining beneath the lights as she occasionally demonstrated how a particular hat should be worn, he wasn’t sure.
She wound up. ‘If anybody would like to come and look at the samples, try them on or ask me questions, please do. My business cards are here. A percentage of any sales generated tonight will go to the nominated causes, and, as it’s nearly Christmas, gift vouchers are available to spend at any time during the year.’
‘Tell anyone who wants gift vouchers to come and give me their details and we’ll follow it up,’ Sam murmured.
Ava repeated the information smoothly and thanked everybody for their attention.
Applause. The microphone made a soft ‘thunk’ as it was switched off. Ava dropped down into her seat with a huge sigh.
‘Fanbloodytastic.’ Sam grinned, still clappi
ng. As she turned to him to reply, he leaned in to plant a soft kiss on her lips.
Chapter Fourteen
Football stars and Booby Ruby
Almost high on relief, Ava found herself kissing Sam back, exchanging heat.
Instantly, his kiss changed, deepening as his hand slid slowly around her waist, travelling upwards until his palm rested on her naked back above her dress. An unhurried, thoughtful kiss, as if he were measuring and enjoying her response.
Then a voice interrupted over Ava’s shoulder. ‘How much is the mauve one? One of my granddaughters is getting married in spring. Would it go with yellow?’
With a jolt Ava broke away, becoming aware of a silver-haired lady gazing beadily at her and a sea of people crowding behind the top table, talking, exclaiming, examining hats and trying them on. Not just people – potential clients, in fact.
Sam gave Ava a slow smile. ‘Business is business, Ava Bliss.’
Blushing, she jumped to her feet, jamming her business head on, and treating the silver-haired lady to a professional smile. ‘It’s hard to be certain without seeing the yellow of your outfit but it might be safer to go with white, cream or gold. The gold would look lovely with your hair colour and those tall feathers would give you real presence. Shall we try it? Or, as the wedding isn’t until spring, if you’d like to bring the outfit to me, I could create something bespoke so we wouldn’t be restricted to what I have with me this evening and I could pick up details of your outfit.’
‘Sounds expensive,’ the woman decreed. ‘Let’s try the mauve.’
Several other women wondered excitedly about their own hat-worthy occasions on the horizon. Business cards began to fly from the table into evening bags. The lights went down, a DJ jumped up onto a small sound stage in the corner of the room and music began to pour into the air as the scrum around Ava took over the space between the top table and the hat display.
Sam gathered up a pile of cards, gave her a wink and moved off to the fringe of the crowd. She could see him circulating, chatting, smiling easily. When he drifted close enough she caught occasional phrases: exciting designer … always enjoy something creative … mother and aunt both bought … lucky to have this chance to view her work … Nothing as brash as a sales pitch but somehow creating buzz and positivity. A few men slid their business cards into his hand and she felt her heart lift in excitement that they might be wishing to buy gift vouchers. Tod had designed some for her but she’d so far only sold one.
Then Ava had to stop watching Sam in order to answer a hail of questions.
‘How would I wear this? Tilted?’
‘How much would the blue one cost?’
‘Do you run workshops?’
After one steadying slurp, she took temporary and regretful leave of her glass of wine, depositing it well away from the display while she helped settle hats on heads at fetching angles.
Camera phones appeared from evening purses and people began taking photos of each other so they could check out how fantastic they looked. Ava would bet that some of those photos would find their way onto Facebook and that a few clicks of ‘share’ and the images might reach those who thought copying designs was OK. Compared with the prospect of Harvey posting certain other photos a few unauthorised snaps of her samples didn’t seem to matter, but Ava made a mental note to take a mirror if she was ever invited to another such event.
Finally, the last hats were returned and people drifted off to their tables or to join the now heaving dance floor. Ava retrieved her wine and collapsed into her chair.
Sam, already lounging in his seat, raised his glass. ‘You did great.’
‘I hope I looked as if I deal with this kind of reaction daily and not as if I was shocked to be mobbed. At least I feel a bit more optimistic about finances – if even a couple of commissions come from tonight it’ll help. Four would be great and six would be fantastic.’
With a satisfied smile, he placed a small stack of cards and one torn off piece of menu before her. ‘Six people want details of your gift vouchers.’
‘Wow,’ she breathed, gazing at the booty with awe. ‘Thank you! I’m so glad I accepted this gig.’ Her fingers actually shook as she transferred her haul to her evening bag. Her mind moved quickly along the twin tracks of business and money. ‘I ought to pay you petrol money for driving me here—’
‘Don’t be so fucking annoying, Ava,’ he said, amiably.
She blinked. His tone was so much at variance with his words that she almost failed to absorb his meaning. ‘What?’
Sam placed his wine glass very precisely on the tablecloth, which had taken on a myriad of colours from the lights pulsing in time with the music. ‘You got Vanessa out of a hole by agreeing to do this event and you’ve helped me out with the whole faux date thing so don’t let me kiss you one moment and nitpick over pennies the next. It’s insulting.’
She responded sharply. ‘Sorry if it’s gauche to offer petrol money to a man with a BMW. You’ll have to put it down to my poverty.’
After a moment, his hand slid over hers. Regret had replaced his irritation. ‘My turn to apologise. I was enjoying sharing your success and it stung to realise that you can’t seem to accept even the tiniest thing from me and your instinctive reaction is to shove me away.’
Ava felt her pulse kick in. His warm skin seemed to tingle against hers. ‘I’ll try to remember not to do that.’
He went as if to speak again but then interrupted himself. ‘Hang on, message,’ he said and drew out his phone. ‘Ah. Chilly’s in the foyer. Let me introduce you.’ Spikiness forgotten, he pulled her up out of the chair. Skirting the dance floor, the temperature rose as they moved into the room. Ava wasn’t sure if that was because of the press of bodies or Sam looping one arm loosely around her to pull her to the other side of him, shielding her from the flailing elbows of energetic dancers.
It was ironic, she thought, that in the exact moment she’d been preoccupied with the awful business of being poor she was swept along to meet a huge football star, a man she knew from the pages of Hello! and OK!, a man who’d hit the television news when knee injury had ended his career. Aidan Chiltern’s dark curls and faintly acne-scarred skin were sufficiently familiar to people around the world to have secured sponsorship, advertising revenue and appearance money, in addition to his player’s salary.
They emerged into the foyer to brighter lights and a cooler, quieter space. Half a dozen Rotarians were gawping at three people leaning against an ornate sideboard that probably wasn’t meant for such casual treatment.
Sam swore under his breath. ‘The Glennisters are with him.’
Ava almost fell over as she realised who he was talking about. ‘Ruby and Tyrone Glennister?’
‘Tyrone’s a big friend of Chilly’s but I didn’t know they would be with him tonight.’ Sam didn’t sound as if he considered the Glennisters a bonus.
‘Sam!’ Chilly beamed as he strode forward to shake Sam’s hand. He turned to Ava before Sam could introduce her. ‘I’m Aidan. These guys all call me Chilly.’
‘I’m Ava.’ Ava wished she didn’t sound so squeaky.
Chilly’s eyes were deep brown and kind and he looked endearingly ordinary in a pearly grey lounge suit with a red tie. Ava wasn’t certain what she expected of celebrities, perhaps that they’d have little sparkly auras or glide around in glistening bubbles to save them from interacting with Joe Public.
Ruby Glennister looked a lot more like Ava’s perception of a celeb. Her conker-brown hair was long and shiny, her smoky-eyes perfect, her skin flawlessly tanned. Ava wouldn’t attempt to guess how much her snug dress had cost but it accentuated the boob job that had caused her so much trouble with the press.
Ruby smiled, apparently prepared to be as friendly as Chilly. ‘Hello, Ava, good to meet you. Say hello to Ava, Ty.’
Ava was stunned to find herself being kissed on both cheeks – if somewhat sweatily and cursorily – by current footie superstar hero heartthrob Tyrone Glen
nister. He smelled of beer and he was wearing a suit with no tie, one side of his shirt collar up like a dog cocking its leg.
‘All right there?’ he mumbled. ‘Do we get a drink, Sam?’
‘I think we need a meeting first.’ Sam was noticeably unsmiling. ‘As I was expecting only Chilly I need to be certain that everybody’s expectations are being met.’ He spoke briefly in what Ava mentally designated PR-speak about concerns and awareness and the importance of selecting the right vehicles for a campaign.
Ruby and Tyrone listened seriously. Chilly grinned and looked as if he were taking Sam a lot less seriously. After a minute, he took one hand out of his pocket to lay it placatingly on Sam’s sleeve. ‘Look, mate – we don’t have any expectations of this evening except to help raise a few quid for your mum’s causes. There’s no agenda. Ruby’s not expecting you to summon up half of Fleet Street and make them magically turn sympathetic. Tyrone and Ruby are staying with me this weekend and so we came here together. OK?’
Sam gave him a long look. Then nodded. ‘OK. I’ll look after you.’
Tyrone grinned. ‘We don’t need no one to look after us. Just show us the bar.’
Sam’s searching gaze switched to him and the air seemed filled with something not said.
Ava watched, intrigued by Sam’s po-face. But then she caught his gaze flicking meaningfully her way and realised that whatever he wanted to say it was plainly her presence that was preventing him from saying it. Oh. Right. If Sam wasn’t comfortable with her mixing with such starry people then she wasn’t comfortable either, not least because he seemed disappointingly changed in their company, almost vibrating with tension.
‘Um, it was lovely to meet you,’ she said brightly to the celebrities lined up in front of Sam like naughty kids. ‘But I need to get back to the ballroom.’
Sam nodded. ‘See you in a minute.’ As Ava left she caught his low-voiced opening gambit. ‘OK, here’s my concern—’ Sam had drawn on his Big Important Man persona.
Because she was waylaid several times by people exclaiming over how much they’d enjoyed her show, Ava hadn’t made it back to her seat when Sam caught up with her. At least he looked more relaxed than he had a few minutes earlier. ‘I said we’d meet them at the bar. Mum and Vanessa are heading in that direction already.’
The Christmas Promise Page 12