“You’re probably right,” Theodosia said.
“Those two guys over there . . .”
Theodosia looked over at Marvin Chauvet and Harvey Bateman.
“Harv and Marv,” Echo continued. “They’re really trying to push the crap out of their Lemon Squeeze Couture line. They think there’s big money to be made.”
“Is there?” Theodosia asked.
“The athleisure trend will stay popular for a while, sure. But I’m more interested in getting out ahead of the next trend.” Echo made a wavy up-and-down motion with her hands. “You know, try to be like a porpoise flitting along the bow of a ship.”
“Staying out in front,” Theodosia said, intrigued. “So what is the next big trend?”
“I think it’s going to be high-low.”
“Sounds like a card game.”
Echo laughed and aimed an index finger at her. “Good one. But no, in this context high-low means fashion juxtaposition. Like wearing inexpensive jeans with a fabulous designer sweater. Or pairing an exquisite full-length skirt with a plain old sweatshirt and then adding a jeweled statement necklace.”
“I think I do that all the time,” Theodosia said.
“There you go,” Echo laughed. “You’re already on trend!”
“My, my,” Delaine said, walking back to them with her full glass of wine. “Aren’t we having fun.” Her green eyes glittered. “Are you going to let me in on your private joke?”
Echo waved a hand. “We’re just jabbering about fashion.”
“Delaine,” Theodosia said, “you haven’t introduced me to Mark Devlin yet.”
“The designer? You haven’t met him? Well, come on.” Delaine looped an arm through Theodosia’s and pulled her away.
Echo gave a little finger wave as they walked off. “Play nice, you two.”
“This,” Delaine said rather breathlessly, as she parked herself in front of a tall, dark-haired man, “is the illustrious designer Mark Devlin.”
Devlin wore a cream-colored sweater with loose-fitting slacks that looked as if they might be Egyptian cotton. His hair was pulled into a samurai topknot, and he had a silver piercing over his left eyebrow. He smelled vaguely of sandalwood and wore leather sandals.
“Mark, sweetheart,” Delaine said. “This is the tea lady I told you about. Theodosia Browning.”
“Nice to meet you,” Theodosia said, shaking hands with him.
“Adore tea,” Devlin said. He raised a hand in a theatrical gesture, and Theodosia immediately thought, Drama queen.
“Especially Japanese green tea,” Devlin continued. “It’s so calming and Zen.”
“We serve several varieties of green tea at the Indigo Tea Shop,” Theodosia told him. Devlin was interesting in that he looked like some kind of guru. A design guru? Or maybe he was just a garden-variety poser.
“I’ll be sure to stop by your tea shop sometime,” Devlin said. “You’re located where?”
Delaine smiled brightly. “Theo’s on Church Street. Just down from St. Philip’s.”
“From what Delaine’s told me, it seems you single-handedly designed the Lemon Squeeze Couture line,” Theodosia said to Devlin.
“Harv and Marv had a lot of fun ideas for the brand. And once they laid out their vision, as well as their marketing and merchandising strategies, it was kind of a slam dunk.” Devlin turned eyes back on Delaine. “I know I told you this before, but I’m very sorry about your sister. Here . . .” Devlin peeled a brown bead bracelet off his wrist and handed it to Delaine. “These are juzu—Japanese prayer beads. Please accept them for your peace and comfort.”
“Thank you,” Delaine said, fingering the beads, but not really looking at them. “It’s been a tough situation. But I have to say I’m ready to move forward. And to work with you.”
“There is that,” Devlin said.
“And of course we’ve got the Lemon Squeeze Couture Fashion Show coming up in a couple of days,” Delaine said. “We’ll finally be showcasing the entire line, not just bits and pieces on a shared runway with other designers.”
“When’s that happening?” Theodosia asked.
“Thursday afternoon. At Cotton Duck.”
Which is probably why you rushed the visitation and funeral, Theodosia thought to herself. Business first, family second.
“I’m looking forward to styling the models,” Devlin said to Delaine. “Working with some of the accessories in your boutique. Should be interesting.”
“Mr. Devlin?” A young woman was suddenly standing at his elbow. “Excuse me . . . I don’t mean to bother you . . .”
Devlin turned. “You already did,” he said. Eyebrows raised, his demeanor was suddenly haughty and a little unkind.
“I’m sorry, really sorry, to interrupt, but Mr. Bateman would like a word with you,” the woman said.
Devlin sighed heavily. “Now?”
“If it’s okay with you.” The young woman fidgeted, clearly nervous and uncomfortable.
“Whatever,” Devlin said. “Theodosia, this is Julie Eiden, our intern. Julie, do something constructive for a change and entertain Theodosia while I go talk to the old man, will you?”
Julie turned frightened eyes on Theodosia as Devlin slipped away.
“I’m off, too,” Delaine said. “Got to hobnob with the guests.”
Which left Theodosia standing there with the intern.
“Julie?” Theodosia said. The girl was petite and elfin, early twenties, with reddish-blond hair, hazel eyes, and a pointed chin. She wore her nervousness like a cloak. “Are you okay?”
“Um . . . I guess,” Julie said. “I didn’t expect to be here tonight, and then Delaine told me I had to come. To help out, I guess, though there isn’t a whole lot for me to do.”
“No, probably not. Delaine tends to have things buttoned up.”
“Just like her sister.”
“So how’s the internship going?”
“It’s okay,” Julie said.
“Just okay? Then again, I suppose the learning curve on developing and marketing a brand-new clothing line would be fairly challenging.”
“No, it’s not that,” Julie said. “It’s more the personalities involved.”