LITMIR.BIZ

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bare-branched beauty of the winter landscape. She imagined those same trees clothed in green, the summer flowers bursting into rainbow radiance. Yes, she thought, this place must have seemed like a paradise to a motherless little city boy. She turned back to him, her eyes full of questions. ‘And?’

      Luke looked at her with interest. Most people had usually overdosed on sadness by this stage in his story. Not that he had told it for a long time. Even Caroline had blithely told him that bad memories were best pushed away and forgotten. That cans of worms were best left unopened. He found himself wondering fleetingly whether she was right.

      ‘My father died just after I finished school. It was as though he had been hanging on until he had seen through his parental responsibility. I was lined up to go to university—it was something my father wanted badly for me. Then, when he died, I suddenly thought, I don’t have to do this any more—in fact, I don’t have to do anything I don’t want any more.’

      ‘And that’s when you went out to Africa?’ Holly guessed. ‘For even more of the space you had come to love here? And to escape the unhappy associations with England. And the past.’

      ‘Intuitive of you,’ he observed.

      ‘It’s one of the more positive sides of being artistic,’ she told him archly. ‘It isn’t all ego, you know!’

      ‘Did I offend you with my comments?’ he drawled, noticing that she had failed to mention passion.

      ‘The truth never offends me.’ She was aware of him watching her closely. Too closely. Her long-limbed body seemed to suddenly lack co-ordination; her hand was shaking as she picked up the steamer once more and moved back towards the silver gown. ‘I guess I’d better get back to work.’

      ‘Yes.’ But he remained rooted to the spot, transfixed by the sight of her. Today she was dressed in some filmy-looking skirt covered in a delicate floral print, which flowed all the way down to her slender ankles. The shirt she wore was white and loose and gauzy, and she had some sort of dark, tight vest beneath it, so it certainly wasn’t indecent. But there was something about a woman in a diaphanous piece of clothing which would make any hot-blooded male’s heart pound.

      And Luke’s was pounding now.

      He swallowed, trying to ease the hot dryness in his mouth, the ache between his legs. He needed to get out of here. Away from here. Fast.

      ‘I’m going out,’ he told her abruptly.

      ‘Oh,?’ said Holly pleasantly. ‘Going somewhere nice?’ she heard herself asking, as if she were his form teacher!

      ‘Just out.’ Damn her, and her curiosity. He had offered her house room for a couple of weeks and suddenly she was his keeper? ‘I’ll see you later,’ he said tersely, and took himself off to telephone Caroline.

      ‘Sure,’ agreed Holly, in a casual tone which didn’t quite come off. His abruptness hurt. Was he angry with himself for giving away too much? For opening up a heart she suspected had been ramparted for too many years? She picked up a needle and began to sew, and presently the comforting rhythm of the needle and thread made her feel calm once more.

      Holly spent the next couple of days checking she had done everything that her guidebook to starting a new business told her to. She knew how important it was for her to establish strong links with all the other local companies associated with weddings. She needed to get to know caterers and car-hire companies, the managers of popular wedding venues and local florists. That way, they all helped one another.

      She took her car into Winchester and discovered that the best florist in the city was the one who had been displaying the holly wreath which had caught Luke’s eye that day when they’d braved the Christmas shoppers together.

      The assistant who had ogled Luke so appreciatively went out to the back room to find the shop’s owner, and Michelle McCormack appeared almost immediately.

      She was a tiny dynamo of a woman, aged around thirty, with eyes the colour of expensive chocolate and glossy brown hair which was tied back in a dark green ribbon to match the green pmafore she wore. She was imaginative and enthusiastic, and she and Holly hit it off straight away. They went into the back of the shop to browse over the big book of wedding bouquets over cups of tea.

      ‘I need plenty of fresh flowers for the opening on Saturday,’ Holly explained as she peered at a photo which featured a stunning combination of cornflowers and sunflowers. ‘For decorating the shop window—that’s as well as bouquets for the window. But naturally, this volume of blooms is a one-off.’

      ‘After that, I could supply a mixture of silk flowers and fresh?’ suggested Michelle. ‘Fresh flowers should be saved for special occasions, because they don’t last long and it won’t set your beautiful dresses off if you have wilting petals in the shop window! Some occasions would obviously need fresh posies for the window.’

      Holly nodded. ‘All the key festivals, really. Brides get ideas at holiday times.’

      ‘White lilies at Easter,’ said Michelle dreamily. ‘And scarlet silk peonies for Valentine’s. Can I clash colours and break rules?’

      ‘As long as you make them as well!’ giggled Holly as she saw her dream begin to gather real substance. ‘I want you to be as creative as I intend to be!’

      Michelle gave Holly a penetrating stare just before she left, and said, ‘So where’s your hunk?’

      It would have been pointless and rather pathetic to have expressed ignorance of whom she was talking about. Holly shrugged. ‘Luke? I don’t know—and anyway, he isn’t my hunk.’ Michelle licked her lips exaggeratedly. ‘Then can I have him, please?’

      ‘You haven’t even seen him!’ protested Holly.

      ‘No, but my assistant has—and I value her judgement on most things! Just tell me one thing—has she been exaggerating about his extraordinary beauty and sex appeal?’

      Holly couldn’t lie. ‘Er, no,’ she confessed. ‘She hasn’t.’

      After seeing Michelle, Holly went in person to talk to a reporter from the Winchester Echo, guessing that she would get better coverage if she laid on the charm offensive in person, rather than just telephoning.

      The cub reporter was called Pete, and he was young and enthusiastic.

      Holly gave him all the details while he scribbled them down.

      ‘And you say you won a competition?’

      ‘That’s right. Sponsored by Beautiful Bridles.’

      ‘And the cheque was sufficient to get you started up in business?’

      ‘Only just!’

      ‘Interesting story,’ he mused. He wrote something else down, then looked up. ‘And where’s this dress now? The winning design?’

      ‘I have it packed away,’ she told him. ‘It’s being featured in next March’s issue of Beautiful Brides. I shall be unveiling it—if you’ll excuse the pun!—on Saturday at the opening, and every person who visits the shop during the month of December will be entered into a draw to win the dress!’

      Pete pursed his lips together and made a clicking sound with his teeth. ‘Good publicity stunt,’ he breathed, then smiled at her as he flicked his notebook shut and stood up. ‘And it’ll make a brilliant story!’

      ‘I certainly hope so.’

      ‘See you Saturday, then!’

      On the way home, Holly couldn’t resist going to peep at the shop, which was a flurry of activity. People were sawing wood and painting and knocking nails in walls. From the direction of the upstairs flat came the sound of a drill being used. She parked the car, and was standing outside for a moment, unsure of whether or not to go right inside, when a familiar figure came striding out of the shop, and predictably her heart leapt like a salmon.

      He was dressed in a

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