Oh, no. ‘Nic’ could maneuvre a job for her man but she wasn’t going to slip him into Laura’s studio to spy on her under the excuse of taking unposed pictures.
“Sorry, Emmett, it’s a great idea but maybe in a few weeks. I can’t work with someone looking over my shoulder.”
“Don’t worry, I understand. I have other things to get on with. It was just Nic’s idea.”
Yeah I bet it was.
But if Laura thought she’d guessed at Nicole’s motives, she was wrong. Because when she got back to her studio, the door stood wide open. She’d neglected to lock it when Mrs B came to fetch her.
She ran inside looking around, but Nicole wasn’t there.
Neither was the mannequin with the almost completed toile.
Her mind froze for an instant and she couldn’t think. Her eyes swept around the room from end to end, then again, and again. She even went out into the corridor and walked back in, as if rewinding time hoping for a different result. But the mannequin was gone.
A fresh gust of wind and rain hit the window, jolting Laura out of her frozen panic. Slowly her mind started working and pieces of the jigsaw began to fit. Mrs B sent up with a message about the so-called urgent meeting with the photographer who couldn’t wait. The made-up suggestion to have him come up to the studio. All of it was a red herring.
Laura was running downstairs to the first floor before she’d even finished thinking. Because now she knew where her work had been taken.
She burst through the double doors into Du Montfort’s study, then came to a sudden stop.
They were there. Nurse Ann, Pierre, Adam and of course Nicole. She stood beside Du Montfort’s wheelchair; the mannequin shoved to one side and stripped bare. The almost completed garment was now off it and being examined.
Angry words rushed threw her head and gathered on her tongue wanting to shout out:
What the hell do you think you’re doing? Take your bloody hands off my work. How dare you!
But the look on Du Montfort’s face stopped her.
He looked shocked, bewildered, incredulous, yes, but more than anything, grief-stricken.
“Miss Ford,” he said, his voice shaking. “This is the dress? After sampling many fabrics, you have chosen this?” His hands brushed over the cheap polyester in is lap. “So this is why you have locked your door every day and hid your work from the rest of us.” His hands shook as they kept stroking the fabric. “Millie trusted you.”
“Don’t worry, your lordship.” Nicole spoke soothingly. “Millie is a trusting woman but this was a failed experiment.” She cast a frigid look at Laura. “Let’s put it behind us. I can order a beautiful gown from the best designer in the world and it’ll be here in two weeks.”
He looked up at her. “Please do that. Money is no object. Order two gowns. Five, if you need to. Millie can choose. And you.” He turned to Laura, his eyes furious. “Thank you for all your hard work, but you can stand down now.”
“Lord M.” she stammered. “Please let me explain. This is –”
He didn’t let her speak, the moment of grief had passed and in its place was a coruscating rage “Be quiet.” He turned to his assistant. “Pierre. Can you make sure she collects all her things and is off the island by tonight.”
What? Another wave of panic smashed over her making it almost impossible to speak.
“You don’t understand, it’s a toile—”
“Get out.” His hand shook as he made a showing motion towards the door.
She wasn’t going to give in without a fight. “Not before—”
“Get out of my sight.” He suddenly roared at her, half lifting himself out of his wheelchair.
Liam rushed to Du Montfort’s side and removed the toile garment and tried to helped him back into his seat.
“Get rid of her.” He was still trembling.
Adam, who’d stood back throughout the interview, now moved. “Out everyone, please,” he said quietly but firmly. The authority of a doctor in charge.
Amazing how all these men suddenly transformed into warriors and closed ranks against her.
