Kelly Hunter - The Trouble with Valentine's

Clea’s laughter bubbled through the air. Hallie smiled guilelessly and Nick wondered – not for the first time – about the sanity of continuing on this particular path with the not-so-angelic Hallie Bennett in tow.

It still wasn’t too late to back out.

Henry glanced at Nick and narrowly avoided snorting.

‘Your sales manner is atrocious,’ Nick told his old schoolfriend.

‘Fortunately, my bullshit detector is as well honed as ever,’ said Henry. ‘I can set the Valentine ring aside for you for a couple of weeks. You can think about it.’

‘I don’t need the “let me set it aside for you” offer,’ said Nick. ‘I feel special enough.’

‘Old friend,’ drawled Henry. ‘Let me do it for you anyway.’

‘Did you get the week off work?’ Nick asked her as they exited Tiffany’s a short time later.

‘Yes. The owner’s niece is going to fill in for me,’ said Hallie, recalling the conversation she’d had with her employer earlier that morning. No need to tell Nick that if the niece liked the job, Hallie was out of one. If everything went to plan she wouldn’t need the job anyway.

‘What about your brother? The one you’re staying with. Does he know you’re going to Hong Kong?’

‘Not yet. It turns out he’s also going to be away next week.’ And wasn’t that a fine piece of timing. ‘I’ll leave him a note.’

‘That’ll go down well,’ muttered Nick.

‘Trust me. It’s as good a plan as any.’ Hallie smiled brightly. She really didn’t want to dwell on what Tris would have to say about this. ‘So where to now?’

Ten minutes later they were standing outside one of the most exclusive clothing boutiques in Knightsbridge. ‘Are we sure about this?’ asked Hallie hesitantly. Buying an outfit or two from a mid-range clothing store was one thing, dropping a bundle on a week’s worth of designer clothes was quite another. ‘I’m all for being well dressed but do we really need to shop somewhere quite this exclusive?’

‘Don’t worry, dear,’ said Clea. ‘I get a very good discount here.’

‘You want to hope so,’ Hallie muttered to Nick as she stared at the sophisticated power suit in the display window. ‘I think it only fair to warn you that I still have nightmares about the first time my oldest brother took me shopping for clothes. Pinafore dresses that came to my ankles. Sweaters up to my chin. Wide brimmed straw hats …’

‘And very sensible too dear, those hats, what with the harsh Australian sun and your skin type,’ said Clea.

Hallie groaned. And here she’d been hoping that Clea would be an ally when it came to clothes. ‘My point is I battled for years for the right to choose my own clothes and I’m not about to relinquish it now.’ She pointed a stern finger at Nick. ‘You can tell me what kind of look you’re after but I won’t have you choosing clothes for me. Are we clear on that?’

‘Well, I—’

‘Having said that, I will of course ask your opinion on the things I’ve chosen. I’m not an unreasonable woman. You can tell me if you like something.’

‘And if I don’t?’

Hallie considered the question. She could be a bit contrary at times. ‘Probably best not to say anything,’ she said and, squaring her shoulders, sailed on into the shop.

The boutique was streamlined and classy, the coiffed and polished saleswoman just that little bit daunting, never mind that she greeted Clea with friendly familiarity.

‘Size eight, I think,’ said the saleswoman after turning an assessing eye on Hallie.

‘Ten,’ said Hallie.

‘In this shop, darling, you’re an eight.’

Hallie liked the woman better already.

‘Do you have any colour preferences?’ the woman asked.

‘I like them all.’

The saleswoman barely suppressed a shudder. ‘Yes, dear. But do they all like you ? Let’s start with grey.’

Hallie opened her mouth to protest but the woman was having none of it. She pulled a matching skirt and jacket from the rack and held them out commandingly. ‘Of course, it relies on the wearer for colour and life but I think you’ve got that covered.’

‘Umm …’ Hallie took the suit from the woman and held it up for Nick’s inspection. ‘What do you think?’

‘I’m confused,’ he said. ‘If I tell you I like it you may or may not decide to buy it, depending on whether you like it. However, if I say I don’t like it you’ll feel compelled to buy it whether you like it or not. Am I right?’

‘Yes.’ Hallie felt a smile coming on. ‘So what do you think?’

‘Try it on.’

And then when she did and his eyes narrowed and his face grew carefully impassive. ‘No?’ she asked. ‘It’s probably not the look you were after.’

‘Yes,’ he said firmly. ‘It is.’

Still she hesitated. ‘It’s very—’

‘Elegant,’ he said. ‘Understated. Just what we’re looking for.’

Elegant, eh? Not a term she’d normally use to describe herself. She’d won the right to choose her own clothes in her late teens and in typical teenager fashion she’d headed straight for the shortest skirts and the brightest, tightest tops. Okay, so she’d matured a little since then—she did have some loose-fitting clothes somewhere in her wardrobe but truth was they didn’t often see daylight. She had never, ever , worn anything as classy as this. The suit clung to her every curve, the material was soft and luxurious beneath her hands, like cashmere only not. Even the colour wasn’t so bad once you got used to it. And yet …

‘It’s not really me though, is it?’ she said.

‘Think of it as a costume,’ said Nick. ‘Think corporate wife.’

‘I don’t know any corporate wives.’ Hallie turned to Clea, who was busily browsing a rack of clothes. ‘Unless you’re one?’

‘No!’ said Nick hastily. ‘She’s not!’

‘It’s very grey, isn’t it, dear,’ said Clea, who glittered like a Vegas slot machine in her gold trousers and blood-red chiffon shirt with its strategically placed psychedelic gold swirls.

‘Greyer than a Chinese funeral vase,’ agreed Hallie glumly. ‘Do you have anything a bit more cheerful?’ she asked the saleswoman.

‘What about this?’ said Clea, holding up a boldly flowered silk sundress in fuchsia, lime and ivory. ‘This is pretty.’

‘Why my mother?’ muttered Nick. ‘Why couldn’t we have brought along your mother?’

‘She died when I was six,’ said Hallie, and waited for the silence that always came. She didn’t mind talking about it, honest. She barely remembered her mother but the memories she did have were good ones.

‘Sorry,’ said Nick quietly. ‘You said you’d been raised by your father and brothers but I didn’t make the connection. Try it on.’

And when she did …

‘She’ll take it,’ he told the saleswoman, and Clea nodded her agreement. ‘That’s non- negotiable,’ he said to Hallie.

So much for the rules of shopping. The dashing Nicholas Cooper had a bossy streak she was more than familiar with. ‘Lucky for you I happen to agree.’

‘His father had excellent taste in clothes as well,’ said Clea. ‘Bless his soul.’

But Hallie wasn’t listening. She was looking at herself in the mirror and her reflection was frowning right back at her as she turned and twirled, first one way and then the other. Finally, hands on hips, she turned to Nick.

‘Does this dress make me look fat?’

Two hours later, Hallie and Clea had purchased enough clothes for a six-month stint on the QEII and as far as Nick was concerned he was neither the boring geek Hallie had accused him of being when he made her get the dove-grey suit, nor the skinflint his mother claimed. No, for a man to endure so much and complain so little, he was quite simply a saint.