‘Call us later! And if you see Lily and Nik give them our love.’
The call left her smiling, and she was still smiling as she stepped out of the cab.
The gallery was nestled between an antiques store and an exclusive boutique. Taking pride of place in the window of the gallery was one of her favourite pieces: a vase modelled on an ancient Greek amphora, with birds twisting sinuously against luminous blue glass.
Tempest Designs.
Maybe it had started as a hobby, but now it was a business. She had a small but exclusive international clientele and this was her first show in London. To be able to support herself doing something she loved had made the dream a reality.
So why were her mother’s words the loudest thing in her head?
‘You’re the only one without a job.’
She paid the driver, reminding herself that Richard believed in her. He’d chosen to fly over for the weekend, which had to be the ultimate in romantic gestures and proof that he was taking her choice of career seriously.
It didn’t matter what her parents thought.
This was her big night and nothing was going to spoil it.
Alec Hunter left the Maritime Museum in Greenwich, shoulders hunched against the sharp bite of the wind and the falling snow. He’d planned a late-afternoon stroll along the river, but the lecture he’d delivered had ended later than planned and afternoon had blended into evening.
In front of him the River Thames wound ribbon-like towards the bright lights of the city. He turned up the collar of his coat, pulled his phone out of his pocket and walked up-river towards the city.
He had four messages.
One from the BBC, following up on the meeting they’d had earlier in the week to discuss his possible involvement with a documentary on Antarctica, one from his mother, asking him to buy extra champagne, and one from his younger sister telling him he’d better have bought her a great present or he needn’t bother coming home.
That one made him smile.
He texted her back and received a flurry of emoticons in return.
The final text was from his friends back in the US, reminding him that tonight was the VIP night for Skylar’s exhibition.
He could imagine them, gathered together in Harbor House on Puffin Island, sharing a bottle of wine and laughing while they sent a joint text.
You need to be there, Alec. The rat boyfriend has decided to show up and she needs the support of her friends.
Rat boyfriend?
Several thoughts flitted through his mind. The first was that he and Skylar could hardly be described as ‘friends’. On a good day they tolerated each other for the sake of their wider friendship group; on a bad day they barely managed to be civil. His second thought was that Skylar’s choices in her relationships appeared to be no better than his own, and the third was that Brittany clearly had no idea how far Greenwich was from Knightsbridge.
He checked the time and calculated that by the time he got across town in the traffic her VIP night would be over. But if he didn’t at least show his face his life wouldn’t be worth living.
Brittany and Emily would both kill him, and Ryan would cut off his supply of free beer at the Ocean Club bar.
With a faint smile he texted a reply, promising to go, and then pocketed his phone.
He doubted Skylar would be pleased to see him, but he would have done his duty and with any luck would still be invited to spend Christmas at Harbor House.
Skylar, he knew, would be going home to her family in Long Island.
Walking away from the river to the street, he hailed a cab.
It was going to take a lifetime to cross London, but hopefully he’d be in time to show his face.
He’d congratulate her, she’d smile politely, he’d leave.
Duty done.