Kate Hardy - British Bachelors - Fabulous and Famous

Instantly the gallery owner and several of the guests surged forwards to shake Adele’s hand, smiling and laughing and crowding in to get attention from the star of the show.

Lottie tried to peer over their heads but it was no good. Adele was swamped.

And right on time the first batch of art-student waiting staff emerged from the kitchen carrying platters of hot canapés straight from the oven.

It was show time!

* * *

He had known that this was going to happen.

Worse. It was entirely his own fault.

He should never have left his mum alone at the hotel with the champagne that the gallery had sent around and several packs of cold medicine.

He had taken his eyes off the ball and indulged in a little free time with a lovely blonde who had turned out to be the opposite of what he’d expected.

And now his lovely mother was as high as a kite.

Flying over everyone’s heads but coming down to earth just long enough to make polite and quite sensible conversation with the very people who had the power to make her life miserable if she imploded.

He had let her down.

There was no other way of describing it. The most important exhibition of her career and Adele Forrester had just described her signature style to the art critic of the largest broadsheet newspaper in London as Californian rain.

The real problem was that she adored chatting about her art so much. This was her world and she was amazing. Truly. Grabbing her arm and dragging her away would not only be creepy, but annoying.

That wouldn’t work. So he had switched to plan B. The oldest technique in the world. Distraction and diversion.

Now. How many lovely lady art critics could he charm just long enough for them not to notice that the artist they had come to chat to was totally sozzled? Time to find out.

* * *

‘Lemon drizzle cake! Oh, how did you know that was my absolute favourite? You are a complete genius and I don’t even know your name. How embarrassing. My son never makes me lemon drizzle, no matter how often I plead with him.’

Lottie grinned and loaded a plate with three squares of moist cake. ‘Lottie Rosemount. And I am told that your agent made a special request, Miss Forrester.’

‘Oh, one more reason why I love Sally so much. And please call me Adele.’

Lottie watched Adele dive into her bag and sneeze onto a lovely hand-embroidered hankie, which was now sodden. She squeezed her eyes together, then blinked a couple of times.

‘Can you believe it? I wait eight years for an exhibition and I have to come down with a horrible head cold. Almost through it, but my head! It feels as though it is totally full of cotton wool. Excuse me, darling. Time for another of these cold tablets I bought this morning. They really are the perfect pick-me-up.’

Adele popped one into her mouth and washed it down with a huge slug of pink champagne before smacking her lips. ‘Quite delicious.’

Lottie took a quick glance at the medicine box Adele had left on the table.

‘Er. Adele, those are one-a-day tablets. Are you sure it’s okay to take so many with alcohol?’

‘One a day? Really? Oh. Well, that must mean that they work faster. Excellent.’

Adele rested a beautifully manicured hand on Lottie’s arm and swayed slightly. ‘As long as they get me through the night, sweetie, I am prepared to take the risk. I have waited a long time for tonight. There is no way that I am going to miss a single moment.’

Then her eyebrows lifted and a huge sweet grin illuminated the room. ‘Ah. There’s my son. Better load my plate up with those delicious-looking bites before he catches up with me and reminds me that it is way past my bedtime.’

Then Adele flashed a completely over-the-top dramatic wink before blinking in rapid succession.

‘A girl can always use more pizza squares. Don’t you think? Ah. Rob. Perfect timing as always. Give your old mum a hand and hold my glass while I sample these pastries, will you, kiddo? They all look so good.’

Lottie inhaled a long slow breath, redolent with the aroma of the last of the mushroom-and-anchovy croustade slices Adele was tucking into with great relish, before slowly sliding her gaze up Adele’s arm into the face of Rob Beresford.

The man who had sat down on that bench and let her prattle on about the paintings without even giving one tiny hint about why he knew so much about Adele Forrester.

Because apparently this lovely woman with the amazing artistic talent...

Was his mother.

There were bad words to describe men like Rob. And kiddo was not one of them.

And he had been accusing her of playing games!

Oh, Adele. Where had it all gone wrong?

The snake waited until Adele was chatting to Ian before sliding closer to the serving area. ‘Charlie... No. I mean, Lottie. Good. You are still here.’

Rob glanced from side to side before asking in a low whisper, ‘I need a back way out of the gallery and I need it fast. Start talking.’

His fingers started tapping out a beat on the table and his whole body language screamed out impatience and frustration.

Lottie glanced over his shoulder at the cluster of giggling press ladies in regulation black who had their heads pressed together comparing their mobile-phone photos and shooting very unsubtle smoochy glances in his direction. Hair flicking and quick-fire reapplication of lip gloss seemed to be the order of the day.

‘So I see,’ Lottie replied with the same fixed, professional smile that she had used all evening, the one that made her jaw ache. ‘The owner has a very useful gallery plan. You will find it just over there. Behind the barman’s head.’

Lottie pointed to the large display on the wall next to the drinks table, which was slowly emptying as the remaining guests wandered out onto the terrace to enjoy the cool late-evening air before heading home.

‘What’s the matter, Rob? Need to make your escape before the girls pounce on you?’

The smile dropped from the handsome man’s face and he half turned and flashed her the withering, contemptuous look that had made him notorious in the hard-nosed cookery shows, but had no place at all in a fine-art exhibition.

It was nothing like as angry as the look he had given her when he had fired her but Lottie reared back and pretended to dodge to one side. ‘Oh, my. Are those daggers aimed at me? I do hope that the wind won’t change because you would not want your face to stick like that.’

Then she leant forwards a little and winked. ‘I worked in banking for many years. So the hard approach is wasted on me. Same goes for sighing loudly and frowning. Been there, done that. Not putting up with it a moment longer.’

Rob’s eyebrows shot up and he stared at her in what looked like real astonishment.

To her delight the hard line of his mouth lifted up into the tiniest of smiles. ‘Okay. Let’s try it your way,’ he replied in a low, hoarse voice that almost trembled with suppressed energy. ‘Excuse me, Miss Rosemount, but could you please direct me to the back way out of the gallery through the kitchens?’

Her hands got busy stacking her bakery platters into a wide plastic crate. ‘Of course, Mr Beresford. If you go through those two swing doors and walk about ten metres past the dishwasher there is a fire door to the main staircase to the building. It comes out at the loading bay at the back of the gallery.’

His reply was a quick ‘thanks’ as he strolled past her at jogging speed, one hand in his pocket as though he were boarding a yacht.

‘You’re welcome,’ she murmured to his back.

What was that all about?

Or rather who was that all about?

Lottie swung the final platter and table cover into the carry crate and looked up to scan the room.