Once again his gaze flickered over her as she stood before him with her frizzy hair and her stern grey outfit which made her look like the matron of an old-fashioned boarding school.
‘You do realise that the opening of a billion-dollar wind farm is going to be a fairly formal affair?’
‘Of course, I do. I’m the one who’s done all the arrangements,’ she said stiffly. ‘Why do you ask?’
‘I was just wondering what you were planning to wear?’
She chewed her lip more vigorously than usual. ‘Do you always quiz your employees about their choice of wardrobe?’
‘No, I don’t,’ he agreed, and for once his voice was almost gentle. ‘But then most of my employees don’t…’
‘Don’t…?’ Her voice husked. ‘What?’
She wasnotgoing to force him to insult her. She was going to listen to what he had to say and absorb the truth behind the statement, as anyone else in her position would have done.
‘Sometimes I think you forget that you are no longer working in the library, Flora,’ he said impatiently. ‘You aren’t sitting behind a high counter stamping books and invisible from the waist up. You will be accompanying me and representing Verdenergia and, like it or not, people will be looking at you.’ He raised his eyebrows in mocking question. ‘So do you think you could possibly wear something which doesn’t make you look as if you’re auditioning for a part inLes Misérables?’
CHAPTER THREE
SNARLED UP INall the pre-Christmas traffic, Flora bristled with fury all the way home, not in the least bit soothed by the glass of chilled white wine which Amy placed in front of her, once she had removed her waterproofs. ‘How dare he speak to me like that?’ she raged. ‘It’s an insult!’
‘It’s not an insult,’ answered her sister patiently. ‘He’s only speaking the truth. He’s the boss and how you lookwillreflect on him. You can scowl like mad but it won’t change anything, Flora. That’s how these things work.’ Amy paused, before adding delicately. ‘And you know, your wardrobe really could do with an overhaul.’
There was a moment of silence before Flora asked the question which was hanging in the air like a cloud. ‘What’s wrong with what I’ve got?’
There was a long pause. ‘There’s nothing actuallywrongwith it.’ Amy appeared to be choosing her words carefully. ‘It’s just that you seem to have acquired this…look.’
‘What sort of look?’
Her sister shrugged. ‘Like you’re going out of your way not to appear attractive. Almost as if you’re ashamed of being a woman. You’ve done it for quite a while now and, yes, I know Liam hurt you, but that was ages ago.’
Flora bit back her defensive retort because deep down she knew Amy was right. Liam had been a mistake. Nothing she’d ever worn, or done, or said had been good enough. Deep down she’d known he was trying to control her but it had taken time before she’d had the courage to break away, because sometimes a relationship could feel like a refuge, even if deep down you knew it wasn’t.
After they’d split it had been easier to sublimate her femininity than risk putting herself through that kind of pain again, but sometimes you could decide on a course of action and it took on a rampant life of its own. Maybe she had allowed her fear of getting hurt to turn her into someone who was becoming more and more of an outcast, who’d forgotten how to have any real fun.
‘I suppose so,’ she said doubtfully.
‘And it seems to have got even worse lately,’ Amy continued remorselessly. ‘Especially since Signor Moneybags descended on the London office. What must he think about the average Englishwoman’s sense of fashion? He’s Italian for heaven’s sake! When was the last time you bought an overcoat which didn’t come from a charity shop?’
‘I can’t afford it,’ said Flora stubbornly.
‘You’ve got to stop thinking that way,’ said Amy gently. ‘I’m off your hands now, Flo. You’ve only got yourself to look after. Don’t you realise that? You’re free. Which is why I’m donating my winter wardrobe to you. And there’s no point in shaking your head like a heavy-metal guitarist. I’m going to Brisbane in the New Year where the temperature is currently riding high in the thirties—and warm dresses and knee-high boots are going to be completely redundant! What’s more I’ve got a tartan miniskirt which will be perfect for the Scottish trip. You’ve got a fabulous figure and you ought to show it off more often. So no more arguments.Youare taking the lot.’
It had taken the rest of the glass of wine before Flora had reluctantly agreed. She had never known her little sister to be so bossy.
Only now, two days later, everybody in the departure lounge of the private airfield seemed to be staring at her.
Unless she was just imagining it.
No. That man who was helping himself to a croissant from the glistening heap on the fancy plate had definitely shot her a second glance. And so had the businessman on the opposite side of the lounge, next to a futuristic sculpture of a plane, who was slanting her a smile. Quickly, Flora pretended to study the blank screen of her cell phone as she waited for Vito to arrive, hating the fact that Amy’s cast-offs seemed to make her so conspicuous, even if it felt refreshingly good to wear them. She had been pleasantly surprised at the image which had stared back at her from the mirror—because the tartan skirt was flattering and the soft scarlet sweater was like being coated in syrup. Even the sparkly Christmas-tree earrings were a departure from her usual sober studs, but they caught the light as she moved and made a jingly little sound which made her want to start humming carols.
She closed her eyes. She had even allowed Amy to guide her to a hair salon on Ealing Broadway where they’d chopped several inches off her hair before covering it in some gunk, so that instead of her usual waist-length frizz she now had glossy waves which tumbled to just below her shoulders. And straight after that her little sister had thrust a hastily wrapped present into her hands, telling her she’d planned to wait until Christmas to give it to her, but in the circumstances…
Some sixth sense had alerted Flora to the fact that this wasn’t the usual bath bomb, or scented candle, or signed copy of a book by her favourite author. Her heart beating like a drum, she’d carefully opened it and there, cunningly hidden in the centre of a soft cashmere scarf, was a voucher from the capital’s most well-known lingerie shop.
‘You might as well redeem it before you go to Scotland,’ Amy had declared fiercely.
And Flora had done exactly that, because wasn’t the truth that she was a bit ashamed of her well-washed undies which had lost some of their elasticity? The woman in the store had been brisk and efficient as she had handed various items to Flora, who was standing behind the curtain. But when she tried on the filmy bras and marvelled at what they could do for her breasts, then slithered into high-cut briefs which had hugged her bottom, she was unprepared for her reaction.
