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‘Thanks,’ she said. ‘So what time does the flight leave?’
‘When we want it to, give or take half an hour,’ he said. ‘My car’s outside. I just need to drop it back home and collect my luggage.’ He looked at her. ‘You might as well come with me.’
Gee, what an invitation, Claire thought. But she wasn’t going to pick a fight with him now. He’d already gone above and beyond. It was for Ashleigh’s sake rather than hers, she knew, but she still appreciated it. ‘Ready when you are.’
He drove them back to his house and parked outside. His luggage was in the hallway, so it only took a few seconds for him to collect it; Claire noticed that he didn’t invite her in. Fair enough. It was his space. Though she was curious to know whether his living space was as organised and regimented as the rest of him.
They took the tube through to London City airport. Claire used the noise of the train as an excuse not to make conversation, and she knew that he was doing exactly the same. Being with Sean wasn’t easy. He was so prickly. He had to have a charming side, or he wouldn’t have made such a success of running the family business—clients wouldn’t want to deal with him. But the sweetness of the toffee that Farrell’s produced definitely didn’t rub off on him where Claire was concerned.
The check-in process was much faster than Claire was used to; then again, she didn’t know anyone with a private plane. It was more the sort of thing that a rock star would have, not a wedding dress designer. The plane was smaller than she’d expected, but there was plenty of room to stretch out and the seats were way, way more comfortable than she was used to. She always travelled economy. This was another world.
‘Welcome aboard,’ the pilot said, shaking their hands. ‘Our flight today will be about two and a half hours. If you need anything, ask Elise.’
Elise turned out to be their stewardess.
And, most importantly, Elise stored the dress boxes where Claire could see them. This time, she could be totally sure that none of the dresses would be lost.
‘Do you mind if I...?’ Sean gestured to his briefcase.
Claire would much rather work than make small talk with him, too. ‘Sure. Me, too,’ she said, and took a sketchpad from her bag. She’d had a new client yesterday who wanted a dress at short notice, plus there was the big wedding show in two months’ time—a show where Claire was exhibiting her very first collection, and she was working flat out to get enough dresses ready in time. Six wedding dresses plus the bridesmaids’ outfits to go with each, as well as colour co-ordinating the groom’s outfit with each set. She could really do with an extra twenty-four hours in a day for the next few weeks—twenty-four hours when she didn’t need to sleep. But, as that wasn’t physically possible, she’d have to settle for drinking too much coffee and eating too much sugary stuff to get her through the next few weeks.
* * *
As he worked, Sean was aware of the quick, light strokes of Claire’s pencil against her sketchpad. Clearly she was working on some preliminary designs for someone else’s dress. When the sound stopped, he looked over at her.
She’d fallen asleep mid-sketch, her pencil still held loosely in one hand, and there were deep shadows beneath her eyes.
Right at that moment, she looked vulnerable. And Sean was shocked by the sudden surge of protectiveness.
Since when did he feel protective about Claire Stewart?
That wasn’t something he wanted to think about too closely. So he concentrated on his work and let her sleep until the plane landed. Then he leaned over and touched her shoulder. ‘Claire, wake up.’
She murmured something and actually nestled closer, so her cheek was resting against his hand.
It was his second shock of the afternoon, how her skin felt against his. It made him feel almost as if he’d been galvanised. Very similar to that weird sensation when she’d measured him for the waistcoat—even though her touch had been as professional and emotionless as any tailor’s, it had made him feel strange to feel the warmth of her fingers through his shirt.
Oh, help.
Sexual attraction and Claire Stewart were two things that definitely didn’t go together, in his book.
OK, so there had been that night, all those years ago—but Claire had been seventeen and his mother had dispatched him to rescue the girl and get her safely to bed back at their house. Of course he’d been tempted when she’d tried to kiss him—he was a man, not an automaton—but he also knew that he was responsible for her, and no way would he ever have taken advantage of her.
And the times since when their eyes had met at one of Ashleigh’s parties...
Well, she’d normally had some dreadful boyfriend or other in tow. In Sean’s experience, Claire’s men were always the type who’d claim that artistic integrity was much more important than actually earning a living. Sean didn’t have much time for people who wouldn’t shoulder their fair share of responsibility and expected other people to bail them out all the time, but he still wouldn’t encourage their girlfriend to cheat on them. He’d never made a move.
Except, he remembered with a twinge of guilt, for the night Ashleigh had got engaged to Luke. He’d asked Claire to dance—solely for his sister’s sake. But then Claire had looked up at him, her blue eyes huge and her mouth parted, and he’d reacted purely on instinct.
He’d kissed her.
A kiss that had shaken him to the core. It had shaken him even more when he analysed it. No way could he feel like that about Claire Stewart. She was his total opposite. It would never, ever work between them. They’d drive each other crazy.
He’d been too shocked to say a word, at first, but then she’d made some terrible joke or other and he’d somehow managed to get his common sense back. And he’d blanked out the memory.
Except now it was back.
And he had to acknowledge that the possibility of something happening between himself and Claire had always been there. Right now, the possibility hummed just a little harder. Probably because he hadn’t dated anyone in the last three months—this was a physical itch, he told himself, and Claire definitely wasn’t the right woman to scratch said itch. Their approach to life was way too different for it ever to work between them.
‘Claire.’ This time, he shook her a little harder, the way he would’ve liked to shake himself and get his common sense back in place.
She woke with a jolt. She blinked, as if not quite sure where she was, and he saw her expression change the second that she realised what had happened. ‘Sorry,’ she said. ‘I didn’t intend to fall asleep. I hope I didn’t snore too loudly.’
He could tell that this was her way of trying to make a joke and ease the tension between them. Good idea. He’d follow her lead on that one. ‘Not quite pneumatic drill mode,’ he said with a smile.
‘Good.’
Like him, she thanked the pilot and the stewardess for getting them there safely. And then they were in the bright Italian sunshine, so bright that they both needed to use dark glasses. And Sean was secretly glad of the extra barrier. He didn’t want Claire guessing that she’d shaken his composure, even briefly.
And no way was he going to let her struggle with three dress boxes. ‘I’ll take these for you.’
She rolled her eyes. ‘They’re not that heavy, Sean. They’re just a bit bulky.’
‘Even so.’
‘I can manage.’
Did she think that he was being sexist? ‘I’m taller than you and my arms are longer,’ he pointed out. ‘So it makes sense for me to carry the boxes.’
‘Then I’ll carry your suitcase and briefcase.’
He’d almost forgotten just how stubborn she could be. But, at the same time, he had a sneaking admiration for her independence. And he always travelled light in any case, so his luggage wouldn’t be too heavy for her.
On the way from the plane to the airport terminal, Claire said to Sean, ‘Perhaps you can let me have your friend’s name and address, so I can send her some flowers.’
‘Already done,’ he said.
‘From you, yes. I want to send her something from me.’
‘Sure,’ he said easily. ‘I’ll give you the details when we get to the hotel.’
‘Thank you.’ She paused. ‘And I need to pick up my case and the bridesmaid’s dress. I checked them in to the left luggage, this morning.’
‘Wait a second.’ He checked his phone. ‘Good. Jen—my PA—has booked us a taxi from here to Sorrento and arranged the hydrofoil tickets.’
They went through passport control, then collected Claire’s luggage. He waited while she checked with the airline whether Ashleigh’s original dress had turned up yet. He knew from her expression that there was still no luck.
* * *
The taxi driver loaded their luggage into the car. Claire and Sean were sitting together in the back seat. She was very aware of his nearness, and it made her twitchy. She didn’t want to be this aware of Sean. And how did you make small talk with someone who had nothing in common with you?
She looked out of the window. ‘Oh, there’s Vesuvius.’ Looming over the skyline, a brooding hulk of a mountain with a hidden, dangerous core.
‘You went there with Ashleigh, didn’t you?’ he asked.
‘And Sammy. Three years ago. It was amazing—like nothing any of us had ever seen before. It was what I imagine a lunar landscape would look like, and we squeaked like schoolkids when we saw steam coming out of the vents.’ She smiled at the memory. ‘I think that’s why Ash chose to get married in Capri, because she fell in love with the island when we came here and had a day trip there.’
They both knew the other reason why Ashleigh hadn’t planned to get married in the church where she and Sean had been christened and their parents had got married—because their parents were buried in the churchyard and it had been too much for Ashleigh to bear, the idea of getting married inside the church while her parents were outside.
‘It’s a nice part of the world,’ Sean said.
‘Very,’ Claire replied. She ran out of small talk at that point and spent the rest of the journey looking out of the window at the coastline, marvelling at the houses perched so precariously on the cliffsides and the incredible blueness of the sea. At the same time, all her senses seemed to be concentrating on Sean. Which was insane.
Finally the taxi dropped them at the marina in Sorrento. Claire waited with their luggage while Sean collected their tickets—and then at last they boarded the hydrofoil and were on their way to Capri.
There were large yachts moored at the marina. As they drew closer she could see the buildings lining the marina, painted in brilliant white or ice cream shades. There were more houses on the terraces banking up behind them, then the white stone peak of the island.
Once they’d docked, they took the funicular railway up to the Piazzetta, then caught a taxi from the square; she noticed that the cars were all open-topped with a stripy awning above them to shade the passengers. So much more exotic than the average convertible.
The taxi took them past more of the brilliant white buildings, in such sharp contrast to the sea and the sky. There were bougainvillea and rhododendrons everywhere, and terracotta pots full of red geraniums. Claire had always loved the richness and depth of the colours on the south European coast.
At last, they reached the hotel.
‘Thank you for arranging this,’ she said as they collected their keys. ‘And you said you’d give me your friend’s details?’ She grabbed a pen and paper, ready to take them down as Sean gave them to her. ‘Thanks. Last thing—milk, white or dark chocolate?’
‘I have no idea. You’re sending her chocolate?’
‘You’ve already sent flowers.’ She smiled. ‘I guess you can’t really send anyone confectionery, with your business being in that line.’ Admittedly Farrell’s specialised in toffee rather than chocolates, but it would still be a bit of a fauxpas. ‘I’ll play it safe and send a mixture.’
‘Good plan,’ he said. ‘See you later.’
He’d made it clear that he didn’t plan to spend much time with her. Which suited Claire just fine—the less time they were in each other’s company, the less likelihood there was of another fight.
She let the bellboy help her carry her luggage to her room. She’d barely set the dress boxes on the bed in her room when there was a knock on the door.
‘Come in,’ she called with a smile, having a very good idea who it would be.
Ashleigh walked in—physically so like Sean, with the same dark eyes and dark hair, but a million times easier to be with and one of Claire’s favourite people in the whole world. Claire hugged her fiercely. ‘Hey, you beautiful bride-to-be. How are you?’
Ashleigh hugged her back. ‘I’m so glad to see you! I can’t believe you’ve been flying back and forth between England and Italy all day. That’s insane, Claire, even for you.’
Claire shrugged. ‘You’re worth it. Anyway, I’m here now.’ She held her friend at arm’s length. ‘You look gorgeous. Radiant. Just as you should be.’
‘And you look shattered,’ Ashleigh said, eyeing her closely. ‘You were up before dawn to get your first flight here.’
‘I’m fine. I, um, had a bit of a nap on the plane,’ Claire admitted.
‘Good—and you must be in dire need of something to eat and a cold drink.’
‘A cold drink would be nice—but, before we do anything else, I need you to try on these dresses so I can get the alterations started.’ Claire hugged her again. ‘I’m so sorry that it’s all gone so wrong.’
‘It wasn’t your fault,’ Ashleigh said loyally.
That wasn’t how Sean saw it, but Claire kept that thought to herself.
Ashley tried on the dresses and looked critically at herself in the mirror. Finally, she made her decision. ‘I think this one.’
‘Good choice,’ Claire said.
Thankfully, the dress didn’t need much altering. Claire took the dressmaking kit from her luggage and pinned the dress so it was the perfect fit.
‘You’re not doing any more work on that tonight,’ Ashleigh said firmly. ‘It’s another day and a half until the wedding, and you’ve been travelling all day, so right now I want you to chill out and relax.’
‘I promise you, I plan to have an early night,’ Claire said. ‘But I still need to check the waistcoats on the men. And I would kill for a shower.’ All the travelling had made her feel tired, as well as sticky; running some cool water over her head might just help to keep her awake a bit longer.
‘Sort the men’s fitting tomorrow after breakfast,’ Ashleigh said. ‘Just have your shower, then come and meet us on the terrace when you’re done. I’ll have a long, cold drink waiting for you. With lots and lots of ice.’
‘That sounds like heaven,’ Claire said gratefully.
When Ashleigh had gone, Claire hung up all the dresses and waistcoats, and had a shower. Then she joined her best friend, her husband-to-be and their best man on the terrace. To her relief, Sean wasn’t there.
‘He had some phone calls to make,’ Ashleigh explained. ‘You know Sean. He always works crazy hours.’
Probably, Claire thought, because he’d been thrown in at the deep end when he’d had to take over the family business at the age of twenty-four after their parents had been killed in a car crash. Working crazy hours had got him through the first year, and it was a habit that had clearly stuck. ‘Well—cheers,’ she said, and raised her glass as the others echoed her toast.
* * *
Somehow Claire managed to avoid Sean for most of the next day; their only contact was just after breakfast, when she did the final fitting of the waistcoats and checked that they went perfectly with the suits and shirts. She was busy for most of the day making the last-minute alterations to Ashleigh’s dress, and when she was finished Sean was still busy making phone calls and analysing reports.
Then again, the sheer romance of the island of Capri would be wasted on a man like Sean, Claire thought. He was too focused on his work to notice the gorgeous flowers or the blueness of the sea. So much so that she’d half expected him not to join them for the surprise that she and Luke had organised for Ashleigh that evening; when he joined them in the taxi, she had to hide her amazement.
‘So where are we going?’ Ashleigh asked.
‘You’ll see. Patience, Miss Farrell,’ Claire said with a grin. Actually, it was something that she was looking forward to and dreading in equal measure, but she knew that it was something her best friend would love, so she’d force herself to get over her fears. It was just a shame that Sammy wasn’t there to join them as her flight from New York had been delayed. Which meant that, instead of being able to let Sammy defuse the awkwardness between herself and Sean, Claire was going to have to make small talk with him—because she could hardly talk only to the best man and the groom-to-be and ignore Sean completely.
Finally they arrived at the chairlift.
‘Oh, fabulous!’ Ashleigh hugged Claire and then her husband-to-be. ‘I love this place. I didn’t think we’d get time to do this.’
‘It was Claire’s idea,’ Luke said with a smile. ‘She said sunset at the top of Monte Solaro would be incredibly romantic.’
‘Especially because it’s outside the usual tourist hours and we’ll have the place all to ourselves. I can’t believe you arranged all this.’ Ashleigh looked thrilled. ‘Thank you so much, both of you.’
Twelve minutes, Claire reminded herself as she was helped onto the chair. It would only take twelve minutes to get from the bottom of the chairlift to the very top of the island. She wasn’t going to fall off. It was perfectly safe. She’d done this before. Thousands and thousands of tourists had done this before. The chairs were on a continuous loop, so all she had to do was let them help her jump off at the top. It would be fine.
Even so, her palms felt slightly damp and she clung on to the green central pole of her chair for dear life. Thankfully, her bag had a cross-body strap, so she didn’t have to worry about holding on to that, too. Her hands ached by the time she reached the top, but she managed to get off the chair without falling flat on her face.
Just as she and Luke had arranged, there was a table at the panoramic viewpoint overlooking the faraglioni, the three famous vertical columns of rock rising out of the sea. There was a beautiful arrangement of white flowers in the centre of the table, and white ribbons on the wicker chairs. When they sat down, the waiter brought over a bottle of chilled Prosecco and canapés.
