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‘The event is running like clockwork so far. Everything’s in place for the ceremony and reception. The entertainment, decorations and catering are locked in. Clarissa is thrilled with her dress and the photographers are over the moon by the backdrops the venue offers. We even have the best local band playing live for the dancing. You must have heard of Diversion?’
Rafe’s breath came out in an unexpected huff. Another connection? This was getting weird.
‘It was all going perfectly until this morning, when Clarissa decided they had to have fireworks to finish the night. She had a complete meltdown when I told her that it was probably impossible to organise at such late notice.’
Rafe had dealt with some meltdowns from clients so he knew how difficult it could be, especially when your reputation might be hanging by a thread. Maybe Penelope was reliving some of the tension and that was what was giving her voice that almost imperceptible wobble. A hint of vulnerability that tugged on something deep in his gut with an equally almost imperceptible ‘ping’.
‘When it got to the stage that she was threatening to pull the plug on the whole wedding, I said I’d make some enquiries.’
‘So you came straight to the top?’ The corner of Rafe’s mouth lifted. ‘Have to say your style is impressive, Ms Collins.’
He’d done the same thing himself more than once.
‘I know I’m asking a lot and it probably is impossible but at least I can say I tried and...and maybe you can point me in the direction of an alternative company that might be able to do at least a reasonable job.’
There was a moment’s silence as Rafe wondered how to respond. Yes, he could send her hunting for another company but nobody reputable would take this on.
‘Have you any idea what’s involved with setting up a professional fireworks show?’
She shook her head. She caught her bottom lip between her teeth, too, and the childlike gesture of trepidation was enough to make Rafe wonder just how much of her look was a front. And what was she trying to hide?
‘Long-term planning is essential for lots of reasons. We have to have meetings with the client to discuss budgets and the style and timing of the show.’
‘The budget won’t be an issue.’
‘Are you sure? We’re talking over a thousand pounds a minute here.’
‘I’m sure.’ She sounded confident but he’d seen the movement of her throat as she’d swallowed hard.
‘The show gets fired to music. That has to be chosen and then edited and correlated to the pyrotechnic effects. The soundtrack has to be cued and programmed into a computer.’
Once upon a time, Rafe had done all these jobs himself. Long, hard nights of getting everything perfect on an impossible schedule. The memories weren’t all bad, though. That kind of hard work had got him where he was today.
‘The fireworks have to be chosen and sourced. The site has to be mapped and the display layout planned for firing points. There are safety considerations and you have to allow for a fallout range that could be over a hundred metres. You have to get permits. And this all has to happen before you start setting up—fusing all the fireworks together in the correct sequence, putting electric matches in each fuse run, and then testing the whole package to make sure it’s going to work.’
‘I understand.’ There was a stillness about her that suggested she was preparing to admit defeat. ‘And you were right. I had no idea how much work was involved. I’m sorry...’ She got to her feet. ‘It was very kind of you to take the time to explain things.’
The door to the office opened as she finished speaking. Melissa poked her head around the edge.
‘They’re waiting for you in the boardroom, Mr Edwards.’
Rafe got to his feet, too. Automatically, he held out his hand and Penelope took it. It was a clasp rather than a shake and, for some bizarre reason, Rafe found himself holding her hand for a heartbeat longer than could be considered professional.
Long enough for that odd ping of sensation he’d felt before to return with surprising force. Enough force to be a twist that couldn’t be dismissed. A memory of what it was like to be struggling and then come up against a brick wall? Or maybe articulating all the steps of the challenge of delivering a show had reminded him that he’d been able to do all that himself once. Every single job that he now employed experts in the field to do on his behalf.
He could do it again if he wanted. Good grief, he ran one of the biggest pyrotechnic companies in the world—he could do whatever he wanted.
And maybe...he wanted to do this.
He had everything he’d always dreamed of now but this wasn’t the first time he’d felt that niggle that something was missing. Wasn’t the best way to find something to retrace your footsteps? Going back to his roots as a young pyrotechnician would certainly be retracing footsteps that were long gone. Had he dropped something so long ago he’d forgotten what it actually was?
‘There is one way I might be able to help,’ he found himself saying.
‘A personal recommendation to another company?’ Hope made her eyes shine. They had a dark outline to their pupils, he noticed. Black on brown. A perfect ring to accentuate them. Striking.
‘No. I was thinking more in terms of doing it myself.’
Her breath caught in an audible gasp. ‘But...all those things you said...’
‘They still stand. Whether or not it’s doable would depend on cooperation from your clients with any restrictions, such as what fireworks we happen to have in stock. The site survey and decisions on style and music would have to be done immediately. Tomorrow.’
‘I could arrange that.’ That breathless excitement in her voice was sweet. ‘What time would you be available?’
‘It’s Saturday. We don’t have any major shows happening and I make my own timetable. What time would your clients be available?’
‘We’ll be on site all day. They have a dance lesson in the morning and we’re doing a ceremony rehearsal in the afternoon. Just come anytime that suits. Would you like me to email you a map?’
‘That won’t be necessary. By coincidence, I’m familiar with the property, which is another point in favour of pulling this off. The site survey wouldn’t be an issue.’
* * *
The massive image of exploding fireworks was impossible to miss as Penelope left the office but it was more than simply a glorious advertisement now. For a heartbeat, it felt like she was actually there—seeing them happen and hearing the bone-shaking impact of the detonations.
Excitement, that was what it was. Ralph Edwards might look like a cowboy but he was going to help her get the biggest break she could ever have. Clarissa’s wedding was going to finish with the kind of bang that would have her at the top of any list of desirable wedding planners. On her way to fame and fortune and a lifelong career that couldn’t be more perfect for her. She would be completely independent and then she’d be able to decide what else she might need in her life.
Who else, maybe...
Thanks to the traffic, the drive back to Loxbury was going to take well over two hours, which meant she would be up very late tonight, catching up with her schedule. She could use the time sensibly and think ahead about any potential troubleshooting that might be needed.
Or she could think about fireworks instead. The kind of spectacular shapes and colours that would be painted against the darkness of a rural sky but probably seen by every inhabitant of her nearby hometown and have images reproduced in more than one glossy magazine.
As the miles slid by—despite an odd initial resistance—Penelope also found herself thinking about the tousled cowboy she would have to be working with in the coming week to make this happen. He had to be the most unlikely colleague she could have imagined. Someone she would have instinctively avoided like the plague under normal circumstances, even. But if he could help her make this wedding the event that would launch her career, she was up for it.
Couldn’t wait to see him again, in fact.
CHAPTER TWO (#u8b9ab2c1-b07b-5efb-bc16-5ef9fd85ccfa)
‘NO, NO, MONSIEUR BLAKE. Do not bend over your lady like that, or you will lose your balance and you will both end up on the floor. Step to the side and bend your knee as you dip her. Keep your back straight.’
Blake Summers abruptly let go of his bride-to-be but Clarissa caught his arm. ‘Don’t you dare walk out on me again. How are we ever going to learn this dance if you keep walking away?’
He shook his arm free. ‘I can’t do it, babe. I told you that. I. Don’t. Dance.’
‘But this our wedding dance.’ The tone advertised imminent tears. ‘Everyone will be watching. Taking photos.’
‘This whole thing is all about the photos, isn’t it? I’m up to here with it.’ Muscles in the young football star’s arm bunched as he raised a fist well above head level. ‘You know what? If I’d had any idea of how much crap this would all involve I would have thought twice about asking you to marry me.’
‘Oh, my God...’ Clarissa buried her face in her hands and started sobbing. Penelope let out a long sigh. She felt rather inclined to follow her example.
The dance teacher, Pierre, came towards her with a wonderfully French gesture that described exactly how frustrated he was also becoming.
‘It’s only a simple dance,’ he muttered. ‘We’ve been here for an hour and we have only covered the first twenty seconds of the song. Do you know how long Monsieur Legend’s “All of Me” goes for?’ He didn’t wait for Penelope to respond. ‘Five minutes and eight seconds—that’s how long. C’est de la torture.’
Blake’s expression morphed from anger to irritation and finally defeat. ‘I’m sorry, babe. I didn’t mean it. Really.’ He put his arms around Clarissa. ‘I just meant we could have eloped or something and got away from all the fuss.’
‘You did mean it.’ Clarissa struggled enough to escape his embrace. ‘You don’t want to marry me.’ She turned her back on him and hugged herself tightly.
‘I do. I love you, babe. All of me, you know, loves all of you.’
Clarissa only sobbed louder. This was Penelope’s cue to enter stage left. She walked briskly across the polished wood of the floor and put an arm around her client’s shoulders.
‘It’s okay, hon. We just need to take a break.’ She gave a squeeze. ‘It’s such an emotional time in the final run-up to such a big day. Things can seem a bit overwhelming, can’t they?’
Clarissa nodded, sniffing loudly.
‘And we’ve got a whole week to sort this dance out. Just a few moves that you can repeat for the whole song, isn’t that right, Pierre?’
Pierre shrugged. ‘As you say. Only a few moves.’
Penelope turned her most encouraging smile on the groom-to-be. ‘You’re up for that, aren’t you, Blake? You do know how incredibly sexy it is for a man to be able to dance, even a little bit, don’t you?’
‘Dancing’s for pansies,’ Blake muttered.
Penelope’s smile dimmed. She could feel a vibe coming from Pierre’s direction that suggested she might be about to lose her on-call dance teacher.
‘How ’bout this?’ she suggested brightly. ‘We’ll put the music on and Pierre will dance with Clarissa to show you what you’ll look like on the night. So you can see how romantic it will be. How gorgeous you’ll both look.’
Blake scowled but Clarissa was wiping tears from her face with perfectly French-manicured fingertips. The sideways glance at the undeniably good-looking dance teacher was flirtatious enough for Penelope to be thankful that Blake didn’t seem to notice.
‘Fine.’ He walked towards the tall windows that doubled as doors to the flagged terrace. Penelope joined him as Pierre set the music up and talked to Clarissa.
‘Gorgeous view, isn’t it?’
‘I guess. The lake’s okay. I like those dragons that spout water.’
‘The whole garden’s wonderful. You should have a look around while the weather’s this nice. There’s even a maze.’
The notes of the romantic song filled the space as Pierre swept Clarissa into his arms and began leading her expertly through the moves. Blake crossed his arms and scowled.
‘It’s easy for her. She’s been doing salsa classes for years. But she expects me to look like him? Not going to happen. Not in this lifetime.’
Penelope shook her head and smiled gently. ‘I think all she wants is to be moving to the song she’s chosen in the arms of the man she loves.’
A sound of something like resignation came from Blake but Penelope could feel the tension lift. Until his head turned and he stiffened again.
‘Who’s that?’ he demanded. ‘I told you I didn’t want anyone watching this lesson. I feel like enough of an idiot as it is. If that’s a photographer, hoping to get a shot of me practising, he can just get the hell out of here.’
Penelope turned her head. The ballroom of Loxbury Hall ran the length of the house between the two main wings. There were probably six huge bedrooms above it upstairs. Quite some distance to recognise a shadowy figure standing in the doorway that led to the reception hall but she knew who it was instantly. From the man’s height, perhaps. Or the casual slouch to his stance. That shaft of sensation deep in her belly had to be relief. He’d kept his word.
She could trust him?
‘It’s Ralph Edwards!’ she exclaimed softly. ‘I told you he was coming some time today. To discuss your fireworks?’
‘Oh...yeah...’ Blake’s scowl vanished. ‘Fireworks are cool.’ He brightened. ‘Does that mean I don’t have to do any more dancing today?’
‘Let’s see what Pierre’s schedule is. We’d have time for another session later. After the meeting with the florist maybe. Before the rehearsal.’
It was another couple of minutes before the song ended. Clarissa was following Pierre’s lead beautifully and Penelope tried to focus, letting her imagination put her client into her wedding dress. To think how it was going to look with the soft lighting of hundreds of candles. The song was a great choice. If Blake could end up learning the moves well enough to look a fraction as good as Pierre, it was going to be a stunning first dance.
Details flashed into her mind, like the best places to put the huge floral arrangements and groups of candles to frame the dance floor. Where the photographers and cameramen could be placed to be inconspicuous but still get great coverage. Whether it was going to work to have the wrist loop to hold the train of Clarissa’s dress out of the way. She scribbled a note on the paper clipped to the board she carried with her everywhere on days like this so that none of these details would end up being forgotten.
The dress. Candles. Flowers. There was so much to think about and yet the thing she was most aware of right now was the figure standing at the ballroom doorway, politely waiting for the music to finish before interrupting. Why did his presence make her feel so nervous? Her heart had picked up speed the moment she’d seen him and it hadn’t slowed any since. That initial twinge of relief had shattered into butterflies in her stomach now, and they were twisting and dancing rather like Clarissa was.
Not that the feeling was altogether unpleasant. It reminded her of the excitement that strong physical attraction to someone could produce.
Was she physically attracted to Ralph Edwards?
Of course not. The very idea was so ridiculous she knew that wasn’t the cause. No. This nervousness was because the fireworks show wasn’t a done deal yet and there could be another tantrum from Clarissa to handle if the meeting didn’t go well.
It had to go well. Penelope held the clipboard against her chest and clutched it a little more tightly as the music faded.
* * *
Rafe was quite content to have a moment or two to observe.
To bask in the glow of satisfaction he’d had from the moment he’d driven through the ornate gates of this historic property.
A property he now owned, for heaven’s sake.
Who would have thought that he’d end up with a life like this? Not him, that’s for sure. Not back in the day when he’d been one of a busload of disadvantaged small children who’d been brought to Loxbury Hall for a charity Christmas party. He’d seen the kind of kingdom that rich people could have. People with enough money to make their own rules. To have families that stayed together and lived happily ever after.
Yes. This was a dream come true and he was loving every minute of it.
He was loving standing here, too.
This room was stunning. A few weeks ago he’d had to use his imagination to think of what it might be like with music playing and people dancing on the polished floor. Reality was even better. He was too far away to get more than a general impression of the girl who was dancing but he could see enough. A wild cascade of platinum blonde waves. A tight, low-cut top that revealed a cleavage to die for. Enhanced by silicone, of course, but what did that matter? She was a true WAG and Blake Summers was a lucky young man.
What a contrast to Ms Collins—standing there clutching a clipboard and looking as tense as a guitar string about to snap. You’d never get her onto a dance floor as a partner, that’s for sure. His buoyant mood slipped a little—kind of reminding him of schooldays when the bell sounded and you had to leave the playground and head back to the classroom.
Never mind. As she’d pointed out herself, this could well be the last time the reception rooms of Loxbury Hall would be used as a public venue and there was a kind of irony in the idea that he could be putting on a fireworks show to mark the end of that era for the house and the start of his own occupation.
Remarkably fitting, really.
Rafe walked towards her as the music faded. Was her look supposed to be more casual, given that it was a weekend? If so, it hadn’t worked. Okay, it was a shirt and trousers instead of a skirt but they were tailored and sleek and she still had that complicated rope effect going on in her hair. Did she sleep like that and still not have a hair out of place in the morning?
Maybe she didn’t sleep at all. Just plugged herself in to a power point for a while.
Good thing that he was close enough to extend a hand to the young man standing beside Penelope. That way, nobody could guess that his grin was due to private amusement.
