‘Of course. You know you can phone me any time. I don’t mind.’
‘Thanks. One other thing,’ he added. ‘It needs to be done today, and can you be discreet? I don’t want my name used. Could you also arrange to have it sent to your place?’ It was underhand of him, and Giselle would be furious if she found out, but he didn’t like to see her so strapped for cash. Hopefully, this small gesture of his would help a bit.
Claire said, ‘No problem, but do you mind me asking, why so cloak and dagger?’
‘I’m buying a picture from the castle’s gift shop, but I don’t want all and sundry to know.’
‘I can’t wait to see it. Who’s the artist?’
‘No one you’ve heard of. Let me know if there are any issues with the purchase. Speak soon.’ He ended the call without waiting for a reply and pinged her an email with the details. He’d already taken up enough of Claire’s Sunday.
Standing in line for a sandwich and a coffee, Rocco decided to buy it to go. He didn’t want to eat on his own, occupying a table a customer could use, so he’d pay Giselle’s studio a visit and eat it there, if she’d let him.
‘Make that two,’ he said, hoping to appease her with an offering of food.
If Giselle was surprised to see him, she didn’t show it, although she grabbed her sandwich and drink with enthusiasm.
‘I haven’t had a minute to myself,’ she said, unwrapping the baguette and taking a huge bite. With a hand in front of her mouth, she mumbled, ‘I’ve had people in and out all day, asking questions. I love that they take an interest, but I haven’t managed to get much work done.’
‘Can I help?’ He leant against the counter and tucked into his food.
Her expression was doubtful. ‘I’m not sure what you could do.’
‘Do you mind if I stay for a while and watch you work? I promise I won’t get in your way.’
‘If you do, I’ll kick you out,’ she warned.
Rocco grinned. ‘You won’t know I’m here.’
‘Oh, I think I will.’ Her reply was accompanied by a look that sent a wave of desire rippling through him. It quickly receded when she explained, ‘I’m always uneasy when someone’s in my studio. It’s a bit like how I imagine an animal at the zoo feels. I keep waiting for someone to tap the counter to see if I’ll move.’ She shoved the rest of the baguette into her mouth; from the way she’d devoured it, he wondered whether she’d eaten yet today.
It pained him to think she wasn’t looking after herself, which was ridiculous since she’d clearly looked after herself just fine for the past ten years without any help from him.
‘How was the boat trip?’ she asked, sitting on the stool and picking up a ball of green string.
‘I saw harbour porpoises and seals. It was awesome.’
‘I thought you might enjoy it. I’ve been out with Mack a few times, and once, we saw orcas.’
Rocco stiffened. ‘I didn’t realise you and Mack were…’ He ground to a halt. No wonder the guy had warned him off.
‘We weren’t,’ Giselle said. ‘When I said “out”, I meant out on the boat. With other people. Not just me and him.’
Could a heart sink and soar at the same time? Rocco felt both a fool for thinking – and saying – that Giselle and Mack might have dated, yet relieved to learn they hadn’t. Which was even more ridiculous than worrying about whether she was eating properly, becauseof courseshe’d had boyfriends and been on dates, and she’d probably been in love as well over the last decade.
Rocco was growing concerned; he was having the most absurd notions. And it wasn’t as thoughhehadn’t had love interests over the years, because he had. Quite a few, and even though none had scratched the surface of his feelings, he’d had fun along the way. There hadn’t been much on the dating horizon lately, though, and he blamed that on the pressures of work. All he seemed to do was work and go to the gym, with an increasingly rare evening out with mates thrown in. No wonder he was enjoying this little break so much.
‘What are you making?’ he asked, after watching Giselle cut the string into varying lengths and arranging them on a sheet of white card.
‘A wildflower scene. The string is the stems and the glass will be the buds and flowers. I might put a butterfly in it as well, or a dragonfly.’
He pulled up a chair and peered over her shoulder.
She scowled at him until he moved back, aware he was crowding her.
It amazed him how she could turn a piece of card and some random fragments of frosted glass into something to hang on a wall. He wished he had that kind of talent, but he didn’t have a creative bone in his body.
‘You don’t use a photo or an image to work from,’ he observed. ‘How do you know what the end result will look like?’
