The Helen Bianchin Collection. HELEN BIANCHINЧитать онлайн книгу.
THE day began badly with a phone call from Cindy’s mother to say Cindy had been rushed into hospital for an emergency appendectomy and wouldn’t be able to return to work for at least a week.
Hannah felt genuinely upset, for Cindy was a friend as well as someone who worked part-time in the boutique, and she organised flowers to be sent to the hospital, made plans to visit after work, then began ringing the first of two women who made themselves available to work when required.
The first was overseas, the second had a family emergency, and her only recourse was an employment agency. Failing any success there, she could call on her mother, if only to fill in for an hour around midday.
Breakfast was a non-event, with only time to swallow half a glass of orange juice and follow it with a few sips of coffee.
‘Por Dios,’ Miguel swore swiftly as she caught up her bag and slid the strap over one shoulder. ‘Sit.’
He reached out, closed his hand over her arm, and forced her into a nearby chair. ‘Eat.’ He pushed a plate towards her, split a croissant and spread conserve onto each half.
She threw him a wry look. ‘I can’t. I’ll be late.’
‘So be late,’ he suggested evenly. ‘Five minutes is all it will take. You could easily be caught up in traffic that long.’
‘I’m not a child, dammit.’
‘You’re wasting time,’ Miguel said imperturbably.
She was hungry, and failing finding someone to fill in, or if Renee wasn’t available, she’d have to temporarily close the boutique for the ten minutes it would take to go fetch a sandwich.
Stubborn single-mindedness forbade that she actually sat, but she did eat both pieces of the croissant and followed it down with the rest of the fine, hot, sweet coffee.
‘Satisfied?’
He cast her a brooding glance. ‘No.’
She gathered up her car keys. ‘You, of course, rarely suffer emergencies that toss your schedule out the window.’
‘Occasionally,’ Miguel conceded.
‘Don’t tell me—you always have a back-up plan,’ she responded drily.
‘A few minutes ago you couldn’t wait to leave,’ he drawled, arching an eyebrow. ‘Now you want to argue?’
‘Why, when I never win?’ Hannah flung with exasperation, and threw him a startled glance as he moved swiftly to cup her face.
He angled her mouth to meet his in an evocative kiss that tore at her emotions and made her wish she could take the time to deepen and savour it. Then she was free.
She could only look at him, her eyes wide and unblinking. Just when she thought she could predict how he’d react, he managed to surprise her.
She unconsciously moistened her lips, aware her mouth shook slightly, and saw his eyes flare briefly.
‘Go, querida. I’ll call you through the day.’ Hannah turned away from him and moved quickly through the foyer to the garage.
Could the day get any worse? she queried silently as she put a call through to her mother, only to discover Renee was en route to the airport to catch a scheduled flight to Sydney.
‘I’ll be back tonight, darling. Tomorrow is fine, if you need me. I’ll ring when I get in.’
Within minutes of opening the boutique she rang the first of two agencies on her list, and felt immeasurably relieved to discover half an hour later they had a suitable salesgirl available to report for work the next day.
Hannah was kept busy all morning as several clients came by to examine the latest delivery of new stock. Telephoned requests to put some items aside for a few hours meant the boutique wasn’t empty for long.
At midday she affixed a ‘back in ten minutes’ sign on the door, locked up and quickly crossed the street to a nearby café. A salad sandwich with coffee to take away would assuage her hunger, and with luck she might even get to eat it without any interruption.
‘Hannah.’
The sultry accent caused the hairs to rise on the back of her neck. Tell me I’m wrong, she pleaded silently, only to turn and discover Camille seated at a nearby table.
The Frenchwoman’s presence here seemed too coincidental. Another of Camille’s ploys to draw attention to her knowledge of Hannah’s daily routine?
‘Camille,’ Hannah acknowledged with forced civility as she stood waiting for her order to be filled.
‘Why don’t you join me?’
Not if I can help it. ‘I have to get back. Perhaps some other time?’ An empty suggestion she had no intention of fulfilling.
‘I’ll call in later.’
Hannah barely resisted the temptation to say please don’t as the girl behind the counter handed over a capped take-away cup and a plastic container with her sandwich.
‘Bye, Camille.’ The words were merely a courtesy as she turned towards the door. She didn’t want to play friend with the stunning Frenchwoman. If she had a choice, she’d prefer not to have anything to do with her at all! However, the chances of that were slim, given Camille’s determination.
The phone was ringing when she unlocked the boutique and she hurried forward to answer it. Within minutes of replacing the receiver, it pealed again.
‘I’ve been gifted tickets to a film premiere tonight,’ Miguel began without preamble. He named the title and the venue. ‘I’ll be home at six.’
‘Gracias,’ Hannah declared, and his husky laughter was almost her undoing.
‘Take care, querida. Don’t work too hard.’
Fat chance, Hannah thought as she juggled attending to clients and phone calls in between snatching a bite to eat.
There was satisfaction in selecting beautifully crafted garments to suit a certain occasion for a favoured client. Offering suggestions for footwear, accessories, even jewellery, was something she viewed as an art form. The client’s pleasure and continued loyalty was her reward. So much so that when she bought she did so with specific clients in mind.
It wasn’t just a job. It never had been. Hannah doubted it ever would be. The prospect of selling the boutique, or retiring and letting a vendeuse manage it, hadn’t occurred to her. Although there would probably come a time when she considered children. Having a child was an important issue in their marriage, given the main reason for the union was to legally ensure two united family fortunes continued into another generation.
However, when this should happen hadn’t consciously been decided. Miguel had agreed to her suggestion they wait a year or two, and she had considered maybe thirty might be a good age to discard contraception.
Why was she suddenly given to thinking like this? Because Camille posed a threat?
Dammit, you didn’t have a child to use as a bargaining tool, much less a weapon!
The electronic buzzer dispersed her train of thought, and she endeavoured to keep her smile in place as she recognised Camille.
Talk of the devil!
‘I enjoyed a long lunch, then spent an hour or two browsing the boutiques,’ Camille informed her as she crossed to where several silk shirts were displayed.
‘I caught sight of something here yesterday that I thought I should have.’ She slid hangers every which way and a slight frown creased her brow. ‘Perhaps you’ve put it aside?’ She