‘Jonas?’ Frankie leant over the banister, her long hair falling either side of her face.
‘You OK?’
‘Yes… and no. Are you?’
‘Freya walked my legs off.’
She giggled.
‘Come up.’
‘Up there?’
‘Yes. Come on.’
‘OK.’
When he reached the next landing, he made his way to the open doorway and entered the room that was directly above his own. It was the same shape and layout but clearly well lived-in. The curtains, bedside lamps and rugs were a deep, luxurious shade of purple and the wooden floorboards gleamed. Apart from the huge bed, that was draped with a large patchwork quilt in shades of pink and purple, there were two chests of drawers and an ottoman.
‘Hello.’
Frankie smiled up at him. Her hair was messy, as if she’d only just woken up, and she had a slight crease on one cheek from the pillowcase. But she had colour in her cheeks and her eyes were sparkling, as if she’d rested and was recovering after a difficult time.
She was truly and utterly beautiful and desire shot through him, taking his breath away.
He broke eye contact. This was so awkward. He was in her bedroom, alone with her and thinking about making love to her. And… as he lowered his eyes again, he saw that she was wearing navy blue silky pyjamas that clung to her slender curves and that would feel delightfully soft to the touch.
He ran a finger under his shirt collar and looked around him.
‘What’s that door for?’ He frowned. He’d seen the door to the en suite when he’d come in but there was another in the far wall.
‘That’s my cupboard.’
‘Is it one of those walk-in things?’
‘That’s right. The one I used to sleep in when I was younger. Come on, I’ll show you.’
She crossed the room and opened the door. A light came on in what appeared to be a small room. Jonas followed her and had to grit his teeth to stop his mouth from falling open.
The room was longer than it first appeared and must have taken up the rest of the length of the corridor. And it was full… of things. There were clothes, arranged in colour, style and designer. There were bags, at least fifty of them, in all colours and sizes. Then there were shoes. So many shoes that it made his head spin. None of the women he’d dated over the years had possessed this many clothes, bags and shoes. None of them had possessed this kind of wealth. He’d known from the house and things they’d said that Frankie came from money but this was insane. Frankie didn’t act like she was privileged or spoilt but she clearly had everything, every material thing, she could ever want. Jonas lived in a small rented apartment where his clothes lived in a bag or on hangers on the back of the door. He had his winter clothing and boots for his expeditions and his photography gear, but apart from that, he slept in a single bed and his room would have fitted into this cupboard five times over.
It hit him like a brick between the eyes.
As much as he liked Frankie and wanted her, it could never happen; they were just too different and from such different worlds. He wondered what she would think if he took her back to his mother’s apartment, and the thought that she might look down on him, look down on his mum and her simple existence, hurt him. He couldn’t allow that to happen. He couldn’t subject his mum to that or face being a disappointment to Frankie. Jonas was proud of his roots, of his hardworking mother and of how she had brought him up, but he couldn’t see how Frankie would appreciate his home or his lifestyle.
Her hand on his arm startled him.
‘Jonas.’
She was so close he could have slipped his arm around her waist and pulled her against his chest, run his hands over her silky pyjamas then lifted her and carried her back to the bed. It was what he wanted to do, to shower her with kisses, to let her know how special she was and how beautiful.
He coughed then tucked his hands into his jeans pockets to stop them misbehaving.
‘Jonas, are you OK?’
‘Yeah…’ His voice came out squeaky so he cleared his throat a few times. ‘I’m fine. I was just wondering how things went for you today.’
‘I’ll tell you all about it. Come on, let’s go and sit down.’
Jonas turned but something caught his eye. ‘Where does that lead?’
Between the rails at the back of the cupboard he could see another door.
‘Oh… uh, it’s just another cupboard.’
‘These old houses are like mazes, aren’t they? What’s in there?’
‘My clothes.’
‘More clothes?’
‘No, not MY clothes but clothes I’ve designed.’
‘Wow! Can I see them?’
‘Really?’
‘Well, of course.’
‘All right. But… bear in mind they’re just things I put together from my own designs. I haven’t had any proper training and I used a sewing machine I bought and stowed away in here.’ She pointed at a box tucked under one of the rails.
‘Why is it hidden?’
‘Grandma didn’t approve. So I used to come in here to sew when I knew she was out.’
‘But… you’re a grown woman. She couldn’t have stopped you, surely?’
Frankie shook her head. ‘No, but she would have expressed her disapproval so it was easier to indulge my “little hobby” privately.’ She air-quoted little hobby.
‘That’s a shame.’
‘I could have moved out, set up on my own. I was going to, but then I started seeing Rolo and there didn’t seem any point moving twice. In fact, I think living here meant I had a way of getting out of seeing him as much as I would have, had I had my own place.’
Jonas nodded, not sure what to say.
‘Anyway, go sit in my room and I’ll bring my designs through, so you can see them properly.’
‘I can’t wait to see them.’
‘Well, no laughing.’ She wagged a finger at him.
‘Absolutely no laughing at all.’ He flashed her a smile then walked through to her room and sat on the purple chair in front of the window.
Waiting for Frankie to share her secret designs with him, he hoped he would have the strength not to fall for her, because there could never be a future for them, and walking away if he did fall for her would be enough to break him. He’d never been in love before and he didn’t want to be now. If only his heart realized that too.
Chapter 27
Frankie’s belly flipped as she stood back and surveyed the array of garments on her bed. She’d never actually set them all out like this before, so hadn’t realized how many she’d made. It was laying her dreams bare in front of the first and only man who had shown interest in what they were. No one in her life had ever asked her to do that before, not even her father and certainly not Rolo. In fact, Rolo had laughed when she’d once told him about her fashion designer aspirations, so she’d downplayed it and never broached the subject with him again. She’d doubted that she was good enough, told herself that it was just a hobby and that other people would probably think she was mad when she earned so much from her ‘real’ job. It had meant that for years, she’d created in secret, designing and making garments from dresses to tunics to playsuits to pashminas.
She raised her eyes to look at Jonas, wary of his reaction. If he laughed, just as Rolo had, then she’d put this dream well and truly behind her.
But his expression made something inside her shift. It was like an uncoiling, as if something had been tightly wound for a very long time and now, kind-hearted Jonas was gently freeing it with his compassion, teasing it out and encouraging it to fly.
He got up from the chair by the window and walked to her side, then gazed down at the clothing. His Adam’s apple bobbed and he whistled long and low.
‘You made all of these?’
She nodded.
‘I’m no expert, Frankie, but I’m pretty certain that these are incredible.’
‘Really? Yo
u don’t have to be kind.’
‘I wouldn’t do that to you. If I thought they weren’t that good, I’d say so… well, words to that effect. But you have talent, Frankie.’
He leant forwards and picked up a sleeveless layered dress that she’d created a few weeks earlier. It was made of pale-blue silk and as he held it up, the dress fell like a waterfall to the floor. The fishtail hem drifted across the wooden boards of her room and the front seemed to billow as if in a breeze.
‘This could be a wedding gown, Frankie, or a prom dress. It’s so soft… I feel bad touching it with my big old hands. You should show your parents. They’ll be really impressed.’
‘Oh… I don’t know.’
‘I do. Wait here.’
He gently laid the dress back on the bed then disappeared and she heard his heavy tread as he went downstairs.
Jonas thought she had talent and had told her he wouldn’t mislead her. However, as he’d also said, he was no expert. But it was nice to have someone see her designs and comment on them.
She picked up the dress and held it against her then walked over to the full-length mirror in the corner of her room. It was beautiful, and as she moved, the light made the dress shimmer, reminding her of Jonas’s photographs of the northern lights.
Something occurred to her. She’d created garments in a range of colours and fabrics but blues, purples and silver were her favourites to work with. What if…
She could call it her Northern Lights range.
‘Frankie?’ Her mother entered her room. ‘Jonas said you’ve got something to show us.’
‘Yes—’
‘Oh my goodness.’ Freya was standing in front of the bed gazing at the clothes. ‘Did you make all of these?’
‘Yes.’
She crossed the room to stand next to her mother.
Freya raised watery eyes to meet Frankie’s. ‘My darling girl, you are so talented.’ She reached out as if to touch the clothes, then withdrew her hand and walked around the bed looking at everything instead.
‘So much beauty.’
‘What’s all this then?’ Hugo came in. ‘Frankie! You made these?’
His expression mirrored Freya’s as he looked at the clothes.
‘Where’s Jonas?’ Frankie looked behind her father.
‘He’s gone to get something.’
‘Oh…’
‘Isn’t she clever?’ Freya said, as she held up a long-sleeved tunic in deep purple linen. The cuffs and collar were decorated with a silver trim and Frankie had embroidered tiny stars from the V-neck right down the centre to the hem. ‘I would wear this!’ She turned the tunic around, causing her silver bracelets to jangle, and pressed it to her front then went to the mirror.
‘It’s yours.’
‘What?’ Freya turned around. ‘Oh no, darling. I couldn’t take it. Unless I paid you for it.’
‘I don’t want payment. I’m thrilled that you like it. No one’s ever seen these before and I didn’t think anyone ever would.’
‘That’s nice, Freya,’ Jonas said as he entered the room. ‘It suits you. Why don’t you put it on? And Frankie, why don’t you put that dress on? I have an idea.’
‘You do?’
He nodded.
‘Mother and daughter photo shoot.’
Frankie and Freya looked up at the same time and smiled.
‘Uh, I don’t know. I’m not really a fan of being photographed.’
‘I think you could sell this range to a boutique owner I know in Norway. But she’ll need to see pictures of it first.’
‘Sell it?’
Jonas nodded, his face brightened by a big grin.
‘I think he’s right.’ Freya walked back to the bed and picked up a silver wool pashmina with purple swirls. ‘And it would be unique, not mass-produced. Who wouldn’t want a range like that?’
‘Go on, girls, why not?’ Hugo beamed at them. ‘And, Frankie… I’m sorry for not asking to see what you’d made before. It’s another area where I was remiss, I’m afraid.’
‘It’s OK, Dad. I didn’t exactly push for you to take an interest in it, did I?’
‘That’s not the point. I chose not to get involved with it and I should have done.’
‘No more regrets, Dad. Just living for here and now and for the future.’
He nodded then sniffed before turning and walking over to the window, clearly needing a few minutes to compose himself.
‘OK, let’s do it,’ Frankie said.
‘Try them on?’ Freya asked.
‘Yes. An impromptu fashion show.’
‘Tell you what, why not use the staircase?’ Jonas pointed at the doorway. ‘With the chandeliers, it’s nice and bright and it’ll give the shoot a dramatic old-house feel.’
‘You’re the photographer.’ Frankie smiled at him, appreciating his enthusiasm, even if the thought of posing for photographs wearing clothes she’d designed did give her butterflies.
An hour and a half later, she sat on the bottom step next to her mother, with her right arm draped around her shoulder as they modelled the last two dresses in the range. Freya’s was a silver Jane Austen style dress that was gathered beneath the bust and fell to her ankles. It showed off her mother’s slim figure and the silver shimmered as she moved. Frankie was wearing a purple tie-dye playsuit that fell to mid-thigh and had spaghetti straps. Under it she wore a silver camisole. She’d paired it with purple PVC and suede Manolo Blahnik mules that had sat in her wardrobe for years and never seen the light of day. They’d been a gift from Grandma for snagging an important client, but for some reason, Frankie had never worn them. Guilt flashed through her; she had so much she’d probably forgotten they were there. She’d certainly try to ensure that she made more of an effort to go through her wardrobe in future and not to just buy more. She had so many beautiful things, probably far too many for one woman to wear in a year – and that was with three or more outfit changes a day – so she should have a good clear-out too and take some to the charity shop.
Jonas was a wonderful photographer. He made her and Freya relax and giggle as he coaxed them into different poses, including hugging, gazing off into the imaginary distance and even jumping in the air together.
‘I think that’s it then, ladies.’ Jonas looked up from his camera. ‘Well done.’
‘Well done, indeed.’ Her father appeared with a tray of champagne flutes and a bottle of Veuve Clicquot. ‘Thought we should celebrate.’
He popped the cork then poured them all a glass and they headed into the lounge. Dusk had fallen and Frankie could see her reflection in the large windows, so she went over and closed the curtains. It heightened the sense of cosiness in the room and when she turned around, seeing her parents on one sofa and Jonas on the other, as the fire flickered in the grate and Ella Fitzgerald crooned from Hugo’s old record player about the man she loved, heat warmed Frankie’s chest then emanated throughout her whole body. Moments like this were to be treasured.
If only things could stay this way.
But that was the problem.
Jonas and her mother had lives in Norway and she and her father had lives in London. They had Grandma to care for and the house to maintain and she had her job…
Her job.
She’d been on leave because of the wedding and the thought of returning to her role as a management consultant made her throat tighten, as if invisible hands were choking her. How would she be able to do it?
She went over to the sofa and sat next to Jonas. He smiled at her then handed her his camera. ‘Take a look. You and Freya are naturals.’
She placed her champagne on the side table then started to flick through the photographs. He was right. They did look as though they’d done this before but it was all down to Jonas; he was the talented one. She darted a glance at him, her pulse racing as she tried to focus on the photographs.
‘I do wish that wasn’t the case.’ Her father’s words snapped her back to their conversation.
‘What case?’ she asked.
‘Your mother and Jonas have to go back to Norway on Thursday.’
‘So soon?’
‘There’s the gallery, my mother and Luna to think of.’ Jonas cleared his throat. ‘I wish we didn’t have to go yet but… well…’ He let the silence hang between them but Frankie replayed his words I wish we didn’t have to go yet over and over.
He wanted to stay?
‘Can’t you stay a bit longer?’ She looked at Jonas then at her mother.
‘I wish we could, Frankie, but with Christmas coming, I can’t leave the gallery for long.’
Frankie nodded then lowered her eyes to the camera and continued pressing the button that scrolled through the images, barely seeing them because of the tears blurring her vision.
They had to go; she knew that. She’d known it from the moment they’d got on the plane to London with her, but now… now that it was about to happen… she wished with all her heart that they could stay.
* * *
The next morning, Frankie woke when it was still dark. She tried to fall back to sleep but her mind wouldn’t stop racing, so she decided to get up and make a cup of tea.
She padded quietly down the stairs and through the hallway, keen to avoid making any noise that might wake anyone else. The grandfather clock in the hallway struck five just as she passed it, causing her to jump. She clutched a hand over her pounding heart and hurried by, realizing that it was so early that even Annie wasn’t awake. She pulled her baggy cardigan tight over her pyjamas because the central heating hadn’t come on yet and the large house was cold and draughty.
In the kitchen, she filled the kettle then switched it on before dropping a teabag into a mug. She crossed the room to fetch the milk and peered into the large fridge, wondering if she was hungry. Nothing appealed, so she grabbed the milk then closed the door.
And gasped when she realized she wasn’t alone.
Love at the Northern Lights Page 19