something soft, to detract from the hotel manager’s image, but not too girly. Sexy, but not too obvious. Trendy, but not fashion-victimy. She whirled in and out of several shops before the manageress in her favourite boutique managed to calm her down and help her focus.
‘I’ve never seen you like this before,’ laughed Paula,calmly working her way through the rails, pulling out Honor’s size. ‘Is it a special occasion?’
Honor looked sheepish. Normally she came in to the shop at the beginning of each season and coolly selected half a dozen outfits from the new collections to try on, from which she chose three to buy.
‘It’s just dinner,’ she said lamely. ‘But everything I’ve got seems too stuffy and grownup. Or too casual.’
‘In other words, you want to look like a fox. But not one that’s touting for business.’
‘Exactly!’ Honor felt relieved that Paula understood. Which was why she always bought her clothes from her. It took Paula twenty minutes to kit her out, in a black pleated silk skirt splashed with red roses that came to just above the knee, and a short-sleeved black sweater.
‘Wear your black knee-length boots – the ones you bought to go with the Jil Sanders suit,’ she instructed. Paula was intimate with the contents of her best customers’ wardrobes; they always went away happy if what they bought went with what they’d already got. It was one of the secrets of her success.
As Paula wrapped her purchases in monogrammed tissue paper it was heading for half past five. Honor realized she’d never have time to paint her nails, shave her legs and Immac her bikini line.
‘Nails or bikini line?’ she demanded.
Paula opened her eyes wide, and grinned mischievously.
‘Well,’ she said, ‘I’ve never known a man take any notice of a decent manicure.’
By seven thirty, she was dressed in all her finery and pleased with the result. And before she left, she madesure her flat was immaculate. She’d changed her sheets earlier to her best set, put a jug of fresh tulips in the fireplace and replaced all the candles. As the taxi driver rang her bell to say he was waiting, she slipped a bottle of champagne in the fridge. Just in case. She was shocked by her own behaviour. She would never normally contemplate asking someone in after a first date, but there was something about Johnny that made her feel fluttery inside. She blatantly ignored the voice in her head warning her to be careful.
He was already at the restaurant when she arrived, in a stripy Paul Smith shirt, looking surprisingly fresh. But then he’d spent two hours in the gym, on the treadmill and in the sauna, sweating out the excesses of the night before, followed by a revitalizing aromatherapy massage. And now he was sipping gingerly at a glass of mineral water.
‘I thought I’d better take it easy after last night,’ he said sheepishly. ‘I couldn’t face champagne myself. But if you’d like a glass…’
Honor grinned.
‘I would, actually,’ she said. She definitely needed something to calm her nerves.
Over dinner, they talked nineteen to the dozen as they ate, the delicious food almost secondary as they shared their pasts between them. Johnny was indeed a vet, attached to an equine practice in Wiltshire, and had become the darling of the local horse set as he often seemed to work miracles. Healing hands, some said he had, but he pooh-poohed their theory.
It’s not magic. It’s just a question of listening and looking.A lot of the time it’s just common sense.’ Like many people with a talent he made light of his gift, but it was obvious that he succeeded where others failed. Only the night before he’d been celebrating a win with a horse that had been on the brink of being destroyed.
‘No one else had any faith in it. They were going to put the poor bugger down, get the insurance money. But I knew he could do it.’
By the time they’d finished sharing a pudding between them, Honor realized
‘I’ve never seen you like this before,’ laughed Paula,calmly working her way through the rails, pulling out Honor’s size. ‘Is it a special occasion?’
Honor looked sheepish. Normally she came in to the shop at the beginning of each season and coolly selected half a dozen outfits from the new collections to try on, from which she chose three to buy.
‘It’s just dinner,’ she said lamely. ‘But everything I’ve got seems too stuffy and grownup. Or too casual.’
‘In other words, you want to look like a fox. But not one that’s touting for business.’
‘Exactly!’ Honor felt relieved that Paula understood. Which was why she always bought her clothes from her. It took Paula twenty minutes to kit her out, in a black pleated silk skirt splashed with red roses that came to just above the knee, and a short-sleeved black sweater.
‘Wear your black knee-length boots – the ones you bought to go with the Jil Sanders suit,’ she instructed. Paula was intimate with the contents of her best customers’ wardrobes; they always went away happy if what they bought went with what they’d already got. It was one of the secrets of her success.
As Paula wrapped her purchases in monogrammed tissue paper it was heading for half past five. Honor realized she’d never have time to paint her nails, shave her legs and Immac her bikini line.
‘Nails or bikini line?’ she demanded.
Paula opened her eyes wide, and grinned mischievously.
‘Well,’ she said, ‘I’ve never known a man take any notice of a decent manicure.’
By seven thirty, she was dressed in all her finery and pleased with the result. And before she left, she madesure her flat was immaculate. She’d changed her sheets earlier to her best set, put a jug of fresh tulips in the fireplace and replaced all the candles. As the taxi driver rang her bell to say he was waiting, she slipped a bottle of champagne in the fridge. Just in case. She was shocked by her own behaviour. She would never normally contemplate asking someone in after a first date, but there was something about Johnny that made her feel fluttery inside. She blatantly ignored the voice in her head warning her to be careful.
He was already at the restaurant when she arrived, in a stripy Paul Smith shirt, looking surprisingly fresh. But then he’d spent two hours in the gym, on the treadmill and in the sauna, sweating out the excesses of the night before, followed by a revitalizing aromatherapy massage. And now he was sipping gingerly at a glass of mineral water.
‘I thought I’d better take it easy after last night,’ he said sheepishly. ‘I couldn’t face champagne myself. But if you’d like a glass…’
Honor grinned.
‘I would, actually,’ she said. She definitely needed something to calm her nerves.
Over dinner, they talked nineteen to the dozen as they ate, the delicious food almost secondary as they shared their pasts between them. Johnny was indeed a vet, attached to an equine practice in Wiltshire, and had become the darling of the local horse set as he often seemed to work miracles. Healing hands, some said he had, but he pooh-poohed their theory.
It’s not magic. It’s just a question of listening and looking.A lot of the time it’s just common sense.’ Like many people with a talent he made light of his gift, but it was obvious that he succeeded where others failed. Only the night before he’d been celebrating a win with a horse that had been on the brink of being destroyed.
‘No one else had any faith in it. They were going to put the poor bugger down, get the insurance money. But I knew he could do it.’
By the time they’d finished sharing a pudding between them, Honor realized
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