The family left the hotel forty minutes later. From his upstairs window, Josh watched them run across the parking lot in the pelting rain and pile into a blue van. At least they didn’t seem too mentally scarred by their ordeal.
Downstairs, he found the photographer energetically tidying the drawing room, restoring it to its normal state. Griff, meanwhile—how typical—had exhausted himself and was dozing peacefully on the rug in front of the fireplace.
Unaware that she was being observed, the girl gathered up the mud-streaked, paw-printed muslin sheets and bundled them into a metal case. Next, she unhooked the backdrop from its stand, efficiently rolled it up, and slid it inside a long cardboard cylinder. Her hair was all shades of blond and cut into a choppy style that swung around her shoulders as she worked. The fact that her clothes choice this morning had been a black top and gray jeans meant that Griff’s muddy prints didn’t show. Her sleeves were pushed up and a collection of silver bracelets jangled on her left wrist. Her top half was natural and her bottom curvy, both attributes Josh approved of, particularly after the years he’d spent in LA, where most of the girls maintained the kind of improbable Barbie-style figures that made it hard for them to stay upright.
“Nearly done… Oh, it’s you.” Turning, she glimpsed him in the doorway and straightened up. Nodding at Griff, she said, “Have you come to get him? He’s shattered now. I’ve just finished the shoot.”
“I know, I saw the family driving off. And I am sorry. Dot did warn me about the door-opening thing,” Josh admitted. “I just forgot about it. Can I blame it on the jet lag?”
She gave him a look. “Only if you’re a complete wuss. You’ve had a whole week to get over it.”
Her eyes were bright and sparkling, silver-gray with very white whites. Her well-defined eyebrows were dark but tipped with gold and there was a smudge of mud on her left temple.
It wasn’t an expression he’d ever thought of using before, but it occurred to him that she had joie de vivre.
“True.” He dipped his head in acknowledgment. “All my own fault. So how did it go in the end?”
“Come over here and I’ll show you.” Leading the way across the room, she picked up her camera and began scrolling through the shots, starting with the half dozen or so pre-Griff originals, then on through the second stage of the shoot.
“These are great.” Josh nodded at them, genuinely impressed. “So it ended up not being such a disaster after all.”
“Thanks to me being a complete genius,” she agreed happily.
He liked her attitude. “What’s your name?”
“Sophie.”
“Hi, Sophie. I’m Josh.”
“I know. Haven’t you noticed everyone whispering about you since you’ve been back?”
“Not really. Well, maybe a bit. You don’t take much notice after a while.” He paused. “Do you have a business card?”
She took one from an envelope in the side pocket of her black canvas camera case and handed it over.
Sophie Wells Photography. Portraits, Weddings, Commercial was written in silver on a black background, along with her contact details. Josh noticed that as well as the bracelets on her left wrist there was a key attached to a plain silver bangle. He reached out and touched it briefly. “What’s this for?”
“It’s the key to my secret Swiss bank account.”
“Amazing. I didn’t know Swiss banks used Yale locks.”
A dimple appeared in her left cheek. “I started wearing it after I locked myself out of my flat three times in one week.”
“Look,” said Josh. “I still feel terrible about the photos.”
“No need. I told Emma I’d do them for free.”
“But that means you’re losing out. Which is even worse.”
Sophie shook her head. “They all like what we ended up doing instead. Emma’s still happy to pay.”
“But their clothes…”
“They live on a farm. She says the mud’ll come out in a boil wash.”
“But when I came back here with Griff, she was in tears.”
“I know, but you weren’t actually to blame for that. Relax,” Sophie said cheerfully. “It’s your lucky day. You’re off the hook.”
Women, he’d never understand them. Still, it was a positive result. Somewhat distracted by her eyelashes—were they also gold-tipped beneath the mascara?—Josh said, “Fine then. So long as you’re sure. Can I ask you a personal question?”
“You can try.”
He was charmed by her easy smile, playful humor, and feisty can-do attitude. Okay, and her body was pretty amazing too. “Are you single at the moment? Or seeing someone?”
If she were, he would have to say with good-natured regret, “Well, that’s a real shame,” and leave it at that.
“Me? Oh no, I’m not seeing anyone.” Sophie shook her head. “Completely and utterly single, that’s me.”
Excellent. Enjoying her honesty, Josh said, “So would you like to come out for dinner with me one evening?”
“It would have to be an evening.” Sophie nodded gravely. “Otherwise it wouldn’t be dinner; it’d be breakfast or lunch.”
“Definitely evening,” he agreed. “We could do it tonight if you like.” This is going so well.
“Oh, I can’t.”
“Yes, bit short notice. Friday, then? Or Saturday? You choose, whenever suits you best.”
But even as he was saying it, Sophie was shaking her head. “Sorry, no… I mean, thanks for asking, but I can’t meet you for dinner.”
“Right.” Taken aback, Josh said, “Not at all?”
“No.”
“Okay. That’s fine.” It wasn’t remotely fine. What was going on? Did she have a small baby at home, or an elderly relative who couldn’t be left unattended? “Am I allowed to ask why?”
Her eyes sparkled. “Oh dear, are you offended?”
“Of course not,” lied Josh.
Sophie gave him a who-are-you-kidding look. “I think you are. Don’t be. I’m just pretty busy right now.”
“So maybe in a couple weeks?” He couldn’t quite believe he was still asking.
“Look, thanks again, but no thanks. I just don’t really want to go out to dinner with…anyone.”
Aaaand another knock-back.
“No problem.” Josh wished he’d never started it.
“Sorry.”
He managed a rueful smile. “Hey, all I need is a few months for my ego to recover. I’ll be fine.”
“It’s not you.” Sophie’s mouth was twitching. “It’s me.”
Okay, now she was making fun of him.
“Well, obviously,” said Josh.
***
At the exact moment her grandson was being rejected by Sophie, Dot Strachan was fending off a clumsy advance at the other end of the hotel.
Oh dear, it never got any easier. She didn’t want to hurt the poor man’s feelings, but really.
“So how about it, hmm? Sound like an offer you can’t refuse? The golf club puts on a jolly good bash, you know!” Edgar Morley’s mustache bristled with enthusiasm at the prospect. “And it’s a 1950s theme night. Our era! Everyone dresses up for the occasion. Last year they hired an Elvis look-alike to make the evening go with a swing!”
Was Old Spice aftershave still sold in the shops, or had Edgar bought up crate loads of the stuff years ago and been working his way through it ever since?
Also, the idea of him jiving away in drainpipe trousers was enough to put anyone off their canapés.
But Edgar was lonely. Dot knew this because he’d told her so, many, many times. He had been widowed just over a year ago and was desperate to find himself another wife. Yearning for companionship and for someone to look after him because he had no clue how to cook for himself, he’d taken to homing in on any female of a vaguely appropriate age in general, and Dot in particular.
It was sad, and Dot did sympathize, but he was just going to have to badger someone else to accompany him to the 1950s night at the golf club.
“Next Saturday, did you say? Oh, Edgar, I’m afraid I have something else booked for that evening.”
“Really? Oh no, that’s too bad.” With the air of one suspecting that he was being fobbed off, he said, “Where are you going?”
“To a party. With Lawrence.” This time it was even true.
The reply sent Edgar’s untrimmed eyebrows shooting up. “Your ex-husband? Pfft.” With an air of disapproval he added, “To be honest, I’m surprised you have anything to do with him. After the way he treated you.”
“Yes, well. It’s a party being held by mutual friends. We can either go along separately, ignore each other all night, and make things awkward for everyone…” Dot paused. “Or we can behave like adults and turn up together.”
More huffing and puffing from a disappointed Edgar. “Well, he doesn’t deserve it; that’s all I can say.”
“I know.” Right, time to get back to work. Making a point of checking her watch and looking busy, Dot said cheerily, “The good thing is, Lawrence knows it too.”