by Fiona Harper
She’d looked like Coreen’s freaky twin sister, with her hair quiffed and pinned. The floral fifties dress was undoubtedly gorgeous, but Alice’s chest didn’t fill the darted bodice and the large circular skirt just swamped her. The icing on the cake had been the bright red lipstick.
She’d looked ridiculous. She wasn’t that girl—that frilly, sexy, pouting girl. She was Alice. And Alice looked like a big fat fake in that get-up. This time Coreen hadn’t been going to get her way. Alice had told her friend so in no uncertain terms, and then she’d reached for a tissue and wiped the lipstick off, leaving a wide red smudge on her cheek.
Once Coreen had got over the shock of being contradicted, she’d set to work again, agreeing that the full-on retro look maybe wasn’t for Alice, but a touch of vintage might add a little pizzazz to an otherwise dull department store outfit.
So here Alice stood, the result of makeover number two. Coreen had let her keep the loose-legged chocolate trousers, as she’d said they flattered Alice’s shape and made her look like Katherine Hepburn, but she’d replaced the suit jacket with a collarless forties one in deep crimson tweed. Even Alice liked the fake fabric bunch of grapes in autumn colours that adorned the breast. She’s brushed out the ridiculous hairstyle and opted for a low, sleek ponytail, and had let Coreen add some lipstick in a berry shade that complemented both the jacket and her colouring.
It would have been madness to tell Coreen—it would only have made her even more incorrigible—but Alice did feel smart and stylish, in a way that was uniquely her. At least she did until she reached the tall chipboard gates that barred her entrance to Cameron’s building. Now she was tempted to turn and run away on her chunky-heeled boots. She looked back down the road to where she’d parked her car.
‘Alice Morton?’
She spun round to find a gruff-looking builder eyeing her up and down through a gap in the gate.
‘Yes,’ she said, finding her voice unusually croaky.
He nodded towards the construction site. ‘This way,’ he said, and cracked the gate wider so she could pass through it. ‘The boss and some of the architects are inside. I’ve been told to take you to them. Oh—and you’ll need this.’
He jammed a bright yellow helmet on her head. Alice was relieved for the second time this morning that the quiff hadn’t stayed. She’d have been digging hair pins out of her scalp for weeks if it had still been there.
She clutched the old school satchel that held her drawings and ideas—Coreen had sworn it would make a funky alternative to a boring old briefcase—and followed the man along a path towards the new Orion building.
And then she looked up and her feet forgot to walk.
Wow.
CHAPTER THREE
CAMERON had said he wanted a ‘distinctive’ opening celebration, and now she saw why. These types of buildings had been considered ugly and out of fashion until relatively recently—left to crumble or bulldozed and replaced with yet another chrome and glass structure.
The building was a low rectangle, with maybe only three or four storeys—it was difficult to tell where the divisions lay, because the whole width of the building was filled with tall windows with horizontal panes, punctuated by plain white pillars and, in the centre, a fabulously ornate doorway that made her think of Greta Gabo films and Egyptian tombs all at the same time.
Alice seemed to remember the door and its stone and glass surround having been painted a sickly green in days gone by, but now the giant sunburst design that reached to the flat roof was highlighted in glossy black and gold.
She started walking again, trying to take it all in.
The stock of Coreen’s Closet had always seemed so glamorous and high-quality to Alice, but in the face of such opulence it suddenly seemed a little…second-hand. Could they really pull this off? How did you live up to a building like this?
However, as she got closer, she reminded herself that this building had once been old and tired, and it had only taken someone with a little vision to see past the grimy exterior to the potential underneath. It too was second-hand. And didn’t it look fabulous? With this thought in mind, she steeled herself and followed the builder to the main doors.
At least she’d find a friendly face inside—someone she knew she’d be totally comfortable with.
Her guide left her, and she took a moment to smooth down her jacket before she pushed at the door with diagonal glass panels. The entrance hall was dirty and dusty, but clues to its splendour were there if one looked hard enough. The floor was white marble, and she could see a contrasting interwoven border in black at the edges of the space. And, underneath a dust cloth, the corner of what must be the original wooden reception desk was visible—all sleek lines and curves.
Two men in suits—the architects, probably—were standing near a second set of double doors that were reached by three low steps spanning the width of the reception area. The men were deep in conversation, pointing things out to each other on a set of plans. Alice stood in the centre of the space, her feet together, her satchel clasped in both hands in front of her, and looked around to see if she could spot Cameron.
‘Alice?’
Her pulse did an odd little leap at the unmistakable rumble of that voice. She twisted round, first to the right and then to the left, to see where it was coming from. The acoustics in this bare space must be a little weird—because it sounded as if he was close by, but he was nowhere to be seen.
She turned to face front again, and noticed one of the architects looking at her. Her pulse did another little syncopated skip, and this time it had nothing to do with nerves at seeing an old acquaintance again or putting her business on the line.
Time stopped and sped up all at the same time. A wave of awareness hit her so hard it was as if she’d run full pelt into a brick wall.
She hadn’t paid much attention to the two men when she’d first entered, too intent on locating Cameron, but now the taller of the two had fixed her with a very intense gaze and she was feeling oddly breathless.
And then his mouth moved, and she heard her name on his lips, and everything slowed down even more and became all far away and echoey. She tried to decipher what her senses were telling her, but they were making no sense at all. The log fire and chocolate voice was coming from that mouth, from those lips…
She began to shake as he walked towards her. But not from fear; this was something totally new—a reflex she’d never known she’d possessed. She’d found men physically attractive before—of course she had—but never this…this…whatever it was.
She wanted to sit down. Or lean against something. Preferably him.
It couldn’t be…could it?
As he moved towards her, his hand beginning to reach forward for hers, she studied him, and in the odd little bubble of time she found herself in there was plenty of opportunity to do so. He was still tall, but now he was broad—without being bulky. Gone was the slightly shaggy hair, replaced by a short, neat cut that did wonders for his cheekbones. Was it illegal for a man to have cheekbones that gorgeous? And even though his mouth was hard, and every line in his face an angle, she wanted to reach out and touch him—just to feel the skin, explore the planes and creases. And his eyes…tiger’s eyes. Cameron’s eyes.
This was Cameron.
Finally her tongue unknotted itself. ‘H—Hi.’
She extended her hand to meet his and instantly regretted it. She could feel the trembling all the way up to her shoulders. He took her hand, but instead of shaking it, he merely clasped it and leaned forward—and down, of course—to place a feather-soft kiss on her right cheek.
Alice dropped her satchel.
The bag landed on his rather expensive Italian shoes and Cameron reached down and picked it up. He offered it to Alice. She fumbled with it and finally anchored it in her grasp. A horrible sense of disappointment settled in the pit of his stomach. He’d felt the quivering in her small hand and it meant only one thing. Jellyfish.
Still,
he smiled as he gestured for her to follow him. No matter what he felt on the inside, he never let a glimmer of it reach the surface. He’d learned long ago that being that weak cost dearly.
She’d surprised him once again. But this time it hadn’t been a nice surprise.
Where was the Alice he’d spoken to on the phone—the woman who was full of bright ideas, enthusiasm and humour?
He gave her the grand tour, showed her the sweeping white staircases with the original black cast iron railings, pointed out the boxy ceiling lamps in opaque glass, the door furniture, the floor-to-ceiling windows. Alice said nothing. Just trotted around after him, taking the odd snap with a slim digital camera. In the end he got sick of the sound of his own voice so he summoned Jeremy, the chief architect, to come and spout facts.
Alice blinked at Jeremy, with those large, changeable eyes of hers, and pulled a small black notebook out of her pocket, occasionally scribbling something in it.
The last stop on the tour was the atrium—the chosen venue for the launch party. In days gone by the factory had had a large courtyard in the centre of the building. Jeremy’s firm had suggested changing nothing about the exterior walls, save a little cosmetic work, and had proposed enclosing the long rectangular area with a glass roof, carefully constructed not to ruin the line of the building.
But they didn’t enter it at ground level. Cameron wanted her to have the best view, so he led the silent Alice and the chattering architect up to his suite of offices on the top floor. He’d chosen this section of the building as his domain. Soon, instead of looking out of his window and seeing the rest of the world that had yet to be conquered, he would walk out onto a balcony that ran the entire width of his office and see his kingdom: people scurrying this way and that, talking, networking, making plans and creating ideas.
From up on the balcony, overlooking the entire atrium, she’d get a sense of the vastness of the space. If that didn’t elicit a sentence from her, he didn’t know what would.
They entered his office, almost complete now, and Jeremy, who was starting to seriously get on Cameron’s nerves, wittered on about the original dark wood panelling and plans for the décor. Cameron silenced him with a look, and led Alice to the double doors in the wall of glass and steel windows and opened them wide.
She gave him a quizzical look, and he stood there on the threshold and watched her walk across the balcony, which was a good twenty feet deep, until she reached the polished brass rail that topped the parapet. For a few seconds she didn’t do anything—not even breathe, it seemed to Cameron. Then her ribcage heaved and she turned to face him, her eyes sparkling. Slowly a smile blossomed, stretching her lips wider and wider until she was beaming at him.
Suddenly he realised she hadn’t needed to say anything at all. Foolish of him to have required it of her.
He found himself walking to join her, an unplanned smile changing his own features. Silently, they both stared at the empty courtyard, a multi-layered geometric fountain its only feature. It was bone dry at present, but by the night of the ball, it would be bubbling joyously.
She turned to face him. ‘This is it?’ she asked, her face suddenly alive. ‘Is this where the ball is going to be held?’
He nodded.
After a few seconds she returned to staring at the atrium. ‘It’s perfect,’ she whispered, and then she fell silent again, her eyes roving over the long horizontal windows of the offices, the simple elegant lines of the building, the white plasterwork with contrasting black paintwork that somehow seemed anything but stark, with all the light and warmth radiating from the glass roof above, creating shadows and depth.
As Alice studied his building he studied her, discarding his first impressions and looking more carefully.
He could see her mind working, and she ran the fingers of her left hand over the top of her ear in an unconscious gesture, almost as if she was smoothing down her hair under the yellow plastic hat. But her hair was in a ponytail and didn’t need tidying. He was glad to see she hadn’t hidden her hair colour with dye. He’d never seen anyone with a shade of red hair to match it—not that he’d been aware he’d been making comparisons all these years. It was almost impossibly red. So bright he couldn’t do anything but stare at it as she concentrated on the view.
Alice wasn’t pretty—not in the traditional sense. She didn’t have dimples and a cute little nose, big blue eyes or fluttery lashes. But there was an elegance about her, a fragility that was understatedly feminine. Every tiny movement, even the redundant motion of her fingers in her hair, was full of a quiet grace that even the dusting of pale freckles across her nose and cheeks could do nothing to dispel.
No, she wasn’t pretty. But she might well be beautiful one day—if she ever chose to grow into it.
‘Can we go down? Take a look around?’
There was no trace of timidity in her voice now. Her eyes were full of determination, and he could see the glint of ideas firing in their depths. He led her downstairs, saying nothing, letting her thoughts have room to grow and develop. He didn’t like people who chattered uselessly. A fact that Jeremy, who was trailing after them, would do well to remember. As they reached the entrance hall, with its doors onto the courtyard, the architect opened his mouth—probably to say something about the construction of the glass roof—but Cameron waved him away. He wasn’t needed any more.
Alice stepped into the atrium and was suddenly energized—almost as if she’d been hit by a bolt of lightning. She walked briskly this way and that, talking nineteen to the dozen, pulling sketches and notes out of her funny little bag, then stuffing them back in again before he’d had a chance to even glance at them.
Inwardly, he grinned. Yes, this was what he’d expected from her. This vision. This unbridled enthusiasm. This…passion. Working with Alice Morton wouldn’t be a problem—far from it. In fact he had a hunch it might be a real pleasure.
And before he’d even realised quite how it had happened he’d joined her—talking and gesticulating and smiling.
Jeremy, the discarded architect, was standing in the entrance hall watching them—watching Cameron. His eyebrows were halfway up his forehead and he shook his head in total wonderment. If he hadn’t seen the transformation in Mr Hunter himself, he’d have never believed it.
There was a large package waiting for Alice when she got home the next evening. She ripped open the plastic bag and discovered a folder stuffed with notes and sketches about the ball.
There was a note in black ink, written on heavy paper in a precise hand. With typical Cameronness, he hadn’t bothered with pleasantries and got straight to the point:
Alice, here are all of Jennie’s notes on the ball. I sent my PA over to Jennie’s offices to pack the stuff up and she couldn’t make head nor tail of it. Good luck.
Cameron.
He’d sent his PA? Alice was tempted to laugh. What would it be like to have people snap to attention when you walked into a room, rather than tread on your toes because they hadn’t noticed you standing there? Believe it or not, the latter happened to her a lot more than most people realised.
Thankfully, Jennie had obviously been a lot more together on this project than Cameron had thought. There were lists of caterers, with different ones ticked or crossed off, a note of the band that had been booked, the addresses of a number of florists. All in all, it seemed she’d been planning a wonderfully glamorous event, but…
Something was missing. Something to tie everything together.
That was why she and Coreen had been struggling to come up with a collection of outfits that would work for the show. Over the weekend they’d inspected all their stock thoroughly, teaming up accessories with clothes, putting aside those they knew they wanted for the show. But the outfits they’d earmarked seemed to have no common thread. Seeing them individually would be great, but if they were to go down a catwalk together it would seem like a total mish-mash.
In short, they needed a theme.
There wer
e pages of scribbles, where Jennie had obviously brainstormed ideas with herself, but she’d come up with nothing solid. In fact there seemed to be an awful lot of doodles of love hearts, wedding rings, and the details of a flight to Las Vegas. Not Alice’s dream wedding venue—but each to their own…In recent days, it was obvious Jennie’s mind had not been on the job.
Thinking of bright lights and big names, an idea popped into Alice’s mind.
Old Hollywood glamour.
A mix of old and new, extravagance and elegance—just like Cameron’s wonderful building. And it fitted Jennie’s plans for a thirties feel for the evening—she’d already booked a big band and some swing dancers before disappearing over the Atlantic in a haze of true love. Oh, yes. This was perfect. She got on the phone to Coreen straight away, and they spent the whole evening in Coreen’s lounge sorting through stock.
Now they had an over-arching idea it would be easy to hunt for outfits and place them in collections. Each mini-collection would then make a smaller section of the fashion show. They hatched a plan to show each collection and then auction those pieces off before carrying on with the next one.
Once they started thinking evening wear, day wear, and different eras, Alice’s love of old movies came in handy and she suggested film title themes for each part of the show. As she and Coreen drank wine and sorted through clothes, they settled on a shortlist of five: Roman Holiday would be all printed fifties cottons, full skirts and summer wear. Some Like It Hot would show off evening dresses, sequins, tight skirts and high heels. Pillow Talk would contain vintage lingerie—corsets, babydoll nightdresses and silk slips that these days many women bought to wear as cocktail dresses. Casablanca would be boxy jackets and high-waisted trousers, wool knits and kid gloves. And, last but not least, Coreen’s favourite: Rebel Without a Cause. She was practically salivating at the thought of male models in soft blue jeans and leather jackets.
And it was precisely as they began discussing models that they realised they’d hit a bit of a brick wall. The market fashion shows were really a bit of fun to help sell the clothes, using people’s relatives and a few of the more eager wannabees from one of the local performing arts schools. Now they’d seen Jennie’s plans and Cameron’s atrium, they knew they needed professionals.