British Bachelors: Fabulous and Famous. Kate Hardy
Is that right?’
Damn him for making her snappy.
‘I never said that,’ he replied with a twist of his head towards the door where a young couple was staggering in with a baby buggy and shopping bags.
She couldn’t move. There was something electric in the few inches of air between them, as though powerful magnets were pulling them together.
At this distance, she could feel that frisson of energy and strength of the man whose whole professional life had been spent under the glare of public scrutiny—by choice.
This was the kind of bloke who was accustomed to walking into a cocktail bar or restaurant and having head waiters fawn over themselves to find him the best table.
Well, not this time, handsome!
She could stick this out longer than he could.
It was Gloria who saved him. Her friend came galloping down the stairs from the bedroom and third-floor studio and instantly twisted her mouth into a smile.
‘Well, hello! You have to be Rob. You mum has been telling me all about you, scamp. I’m Gloria.’
With a laugh she turned to Lottie. ‘Adele decided to take her breakfast to the studio with Ian. They’re having a great time up there so I thought I would leave them to it.’
There was a sharp intake of breath from across the table. ‘Ian?’
‘My friend Ian Walker,’ Lottie said. ‘You must have met him last night. He was the photographer who worked with your mum on the exhibition catalogue for the gallery. Tall, thin, about forty. And a great fan of your mum’s work.’
Suddenly Rob was standing ramrod-straight next to her, his back braced, and looking horribly tall, as though he feared the worst.
‘Then I think it’s time I caught up with them, don’t you?’ he said. ‘So you have a studio?’ he went on. ‘That is different. I have been to plenty of artists’ studios in my time but above a bakery? My mum and her pals would spend more time scoffing the goods than working.’
Her mouth opened and then closed before she answered him with a smirk. ‘Ah. So this is going to be a first. And who said anything about artists? Prepare to be disappointed. Follow me.’ Then she caught his smile and her eyes narrowed. ‘On second thoughts, you can go first. Straight through that door. Then at the top of the stairs take a sharp left and carry on up to the third floor. You can’t miss it.’
Rob took the stairs two at a time then slowed down to take the narrow second steps, conscious that Lottie was by his side the whole time.
His mother was alone with a man who he had never met; he certainly did not recognise the name. In his book, that meant trouble. Lots of trouble.
Especially when they stopped outside what looked like a bedroom door.
Lottie stepped forwards and gently turned the brass handle, casually swung open the wooden door and stepped through.
The walls and ceiling were painted in brilliant white.
Light flooded in from the plain glass windows, illuminating one single picture hanging over what must have been the original chimney breast.
Staring back at him was a life-size formal portrait of Lottie Rosemount—the impact of seeing her captured knocked Rob physically backwards.
He was so stunned that it took a few seconds for him to notice that Lottie had moved forwards and was chatting to a tall, thin, older man, who he vaguely recognised, standing next to a long table covered with a pristine white cloth.
His quick brain struggled to take in what he was looking at.
It was the complete opposite of what he had been expecting.
Instead of the chaotic blend of noise and bakery odours and general chaos he had walked into in the cake shop, the third-floor space was a haven of quiet sunlight and calm.
It was a separate world. An oasis. And totally stunning.
The studio had clearly been a loft and the ceiling was angled away into one corner, but half of the roof was made from glass panels, which created a flood of light into the centre of the room. The outside wall had two wide panels of floor-to-ceiling double patio doors. And sitting outside on a tiny patio chair, cradling a large white cup, was his mother.
She was wearing a silk kimono, her hair was already styled, and there was a china plate stacked high with pain au chocolat and Danish pastries, which he knew that she adored. Next to an open box of tissues.
‘Darling. There you are! What a lovely morning. Do come and look at this wonderful view. Isn’t it divine?’
Rob rolled back his shoulders and, with a nod to Lottie and Ian, who were totally engrossed in looking at some images on a laptop computer, walked out onto the narrow roof terrace.
He pressed his lips to his mother’s hair and wrapped his arm loosely across the back of the chair as she blew her nose.
‘How are you this morning, Mum? Cold any better?’
‘Much. I have it down to sniffles. And I slept for hours! Hopefully I shall stay awake at the gallery today when the great British public arrive. It was such a shame that I did not last much of the evening.’
He rested his chin on her shoulder so that they were both looking out at the same panoramic view across the London skyline towards the river Thames.
‘Now, tell me what you have been up to this morning.’
Perhaps it would be better not to mention last night after all.
His breath caught in his throat.
All of the Beresford hotels in the city had views over London, but this? Somehow being on this tiny terrace reminded him so much of the house where he had grown up with his dad. The window box full of red geraniums. The wrought iron railings. The tiled clay roofs that spread out with the old chimney pots. Church spires. And the faint sound of the busy London street just below where they were standing. Red buses, black cabs. The whole package.
He had missed this. He missed the real London.
‘Couldn’t have put it better myself,’ he whispered. ‘This is special.’
‘It’s wonderful. How clever of you to persuade your friend to allow me to stay here. Because I have to tell you, darling, your hotel is charming and so efficient but this place is divine and Gloria and Lottie have been perfect hosts. And the studio...’
Adele pressed one hand gently to the front of the kimono and Rob was shocked to see the faint glimmer of tears in her eyes.
‘When I first came to London your father tried so hard to find me somewhere to work and the closest I came was somewhere just like this. A third floor of an old stone house that had belonged to one of the Impressionists. I loved it, for a while.’
Then she waved one hand. ‘It was not to be, but that is past history and there is no point living with regret. Strange, I had almost forgotten how special this city is.’
‘London? I thought that you hated it here.’
‘Hated it?’ his mother replied and turned around to face him. ‘Oh, no, darling. I could never do that. I was so young and I simply couldn’t find my balance.’
Then she looked out across the rooftops. ‘We’ve both come a long way since then, kiddo. A hell of a long way.’
A killer grin lightened her face. ‘This is wonderful and I intend to enjoy every minute of it before heading back to the gallery. So scoot. Go and talk to Ian. That man worked miracles with my catalogue and Lottie needs your help. Call me before you go. But in the meantime, I am simply splendid.’
And with that she snuggled back in the chair and picked up a flaky pastry and bit into it with moans of delight.
It was the happiest that he had seen her