Her Moment in the Spotlight. Nina HarringtonЧитать онлайн книгу.
was the first time he had heard it. Her voice was musical and warm—and something else. Something special. Something genuine. She was the real deal, and as unique a character as he had ever met anywhere in the world.
The Knitty Chickies were clearly enjoying knitting a lot more than he was, and the camaraderie of their group made his throat tighten.
Suddenly he felt very much alone.
This room and these women were all a very long way from the Alps, and the narrow ice-covered ridge where his life had changed for ever.
What was he doing here? Mimi Ryan must think he was totally pathetic—and she would be right!
His world was ice picks, crampons and cold-weather cameras—not knitting yarn or women’s clothing. Not even close.
It was pathetic that he should think working on a fundraising event could in any way lessen the weight of the overwhelming blanket of guilt that hung heavy around his shoulders.
A week; he could give this project a week of his life. He owed it to Tom.
Then he would work on the small matter of what he was going to do with the rest of his life.
Suddenly Hal was not so sure he could handle any more surprises in one day. Turning reluctantly away from the life, energy and joy in the knitting shop, he hobbled into Mimi’s studio and closed the door behind him.
He stood in silence for a few seconds to take in the room.
In contrast to the kaleidoscope-shock of textures and colours in the shop area, the studio walls and woodwork had been painted in a pale cream which seemed to absorb the overhead light and reflect it back onto four large worktables which took up over half the floor space.
This was quite an achievement. The studio was the width of the entire shop building, and at least thirty feet long.
The overall effect was stunning and professional.
One thing was clear: this was a work room, not a hobby store.
From the hard-sealed flooring to the false ceiling-panels, it was the kind of spotless clean space which made Hal want to whisper and take off his boots—then run riot with a paint-ball gun just for the fun of it. As it was, his crutch hammered out his presence with every step.
A group of teenage girls were busy at the far end of the room, which was flooded with natural light from what looked like patio doors, so he strolled up to the nearest long white table.
It seemed to be covered with all shapes, sizes and colours of amazing objects.
He bent over slightly and squinted at the printed labels on cards folded in front of each object: ‘knitted installations’.
On the far left was a cheerful and completely realistic tea set: knitted cups with handles, knitted saucers, plates, sugar bowl and even a milk jug. On the plate were knitted cakes with knitted coils of white toppings made from a thicker white yarn. Everything was in bright primary colours—perfect for kids. The label on the solid maple-wood tea tray said: ‘soft tea’.
The next table was ‘wearable art’ and there was only one exhibit—but it was certainly different. A short sleeveless tube of knitted mesh shaped like a dress was hanging on a tailor’s-model form. It seemed to be made of coated electrical cable, and two wires were hanging from the dress, one on each side. The left was attached to what looked like a normal old-style cassette player. The other was wired into the back of a large amplifier.
Okay. He took a breath before checking the label a little more carefully this time: ‘because your clothing says something about you. Press Play on the tape to hear about who’s wearing the dress. Rewind when you leave. Thanks’.
‘Hello again. Found anything you like?’
Hal turned around so that he could face Mimi as she walked up next to him and scanned the studio, turning his head from side to side.
‘You weren’t kidding about the student work. Is this the last group of exhibits?’
Mimi nodded. ‘Yep. The college transportsystem is a little slow today. In the meantime, feel free to wander around and take a look. You are welcome to come with me to the gallery if you like. I only need to be there for a few hours this morning and we can talk on the way.’
‘Okay. That sounds like a plan.’ Hal nodded and glanced around. ‘This is actually a very impressive studio. Has this always been a knitting shop?’ he asked as Mimi stood next to him, gently packing away loose hanks of chocolate-and-cream yarn into long, transparent plastic boxes.
‘A gentleman’s tailor. My father trained with Mr Bloom for years before he decided to go into the wholesale business, but he loved working here. So, when the house and workshop came onto the market, my mother made the old maestro an offer he couldn’t refuse. He’s retired now, but he only lives a couple of streets away and comes in now and again.
The skylights and patio were his idea, and they still work. You need natural light for colour matching.’
Mimi stopped packing and looked at Hal with a shrug. ‘Sorry; I was forgetting you are a photographer. You probably know a lot more about light than I do. Please carry on.’
‘What do you use the tables for?’ Hal asked, blushing slightly at her compliment, and gestured at the huge long smooth surfaces stretching the width of the room.
Mimi paused for a second and took a breath. ‘I am a designer, Mr Langdon,’ she sighed, then looked at him in surprise. ‘This is where I assemble the finished garments, collate together the knitting kits I sell on the Internet and cut out fabric patterns. Oh, and I run workshops for college students three days a week. I am so lucky to have this space. Good studios are very hard to find in this part of London.’
‘Tell me about it,’ Hal replied with a snort of exasperation. ‘I am going to have to find somewhere to work and set up a centre of operations for the show before Monday or I am toast.’
‘What about Poppy’s office in Covent Garden?’ Mimi asked, her brows coming together in concern. ‘Or the hotel where we are staging the event? Don’t they have spare rooms you could use?’
‘Poppy’s office is already cramped enough without trying to pack technical equipment into it. Besides, I don’t do well in cramped offices.’ Hal pursed his lips and shrugged his shoulders as he frowned. ‘As for the hotel? I called in to introduce myself this morning. They did have two reception rooms we could have used, but the plans have changed. They are renovating the upper floors ahead of schedule and they need those rooms for storage. Poppy persuaded the manager to give us the ballroom, but I think we are lucky to have it—all of which leaves me looking for some space to rent in a hurry.’
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