‘I hope we don’t have to wait too long, and most of all I hope that Louis is all right. He acts tough but he’s only a little boy, and Rachel sounded dreadfully upset.’ Cassie’s voice trembled as if she was about to cry herself.
He ripped the sachets of sugar and poured the sugar into her coffee and stirred it in, then handed the cup over together with the muffin.
She smiled at him, and whispered a thank you.
Time seemed to stand still. People were coming in and out – patients and their families, paramedics, nurses – and still there was no sign of Rachel or Louis. When they finished their coffee, he showed her the magazine he’d bought. ‘Why don’t you read this? It may help the time pass more quickly.’
‘I love that magazine,’ she said, reaching out for it. ‘My granddad buys it for me every month, but he lost the latest issue.’
She put the magazine on her knees and started flicking through it.
Suddenly she stiffened, let out a gasp, and brought the pages closer to her face. ‘I don’t believe this!’
Chapter Twenty-Three
Cassie stared in disbelief at the photos of a bedroom with walls painted in sunny yellow with white and pale lavender stripes and furniture consisting of a Provençal style chest of drawers, a tall wardrobe and a cherry wood double bed covered with a white quilt and cushions matching the wallpaper.
Her fingers clasped the magazine more tightly as she examined every detail. It was no wonder she recognised the room. It was almost identical to the sketches she had presented to Nathan two years before, down to the embroidered counterpane, the delicate lace curtains that created enchanting patterns on the wooden floor as sunlight streamed into the room, and the bouquet of lavender sprigs standing in the clear glass vase on the bedside table.
According to the captions they featured a bedroom in the five star London boutique Maritel Hotel. How could this be possible?
Her throat tight and her brain fuzzy, she read the interview with Maritel Hotels’ director, then read it again.
‘Nathan Hardman’s delightful Provence-inspired designs for our London hotel won him the commission for the refurbishment of the whole of Maritel’s UK hotel chain. We want him to replicate what he achieved in our flagship London hotel. His ideas are the mark of his incredible talent. He has managed to capture the very essence of our brand and the comfort, luxury and escapism that we want to offer to our guests.’
Alongside the article was a photo of Nathan standing next to his drawing board, looking his usual sharp and handsome self in a navy three-piece suit, crisp white shirt and dark plum silk tie, his dark hair artfully ruffled, and his dark brown eyes moody and thoughtful.
‘The best ideas are often the simplest,’ he was quoted as saying. ‘Provence will never be out of fashion, because it represents the ultimate nostalgia – a dream, a fantasy, of sharing simple, delicious food in the sunshine with friends and family, listening to the woody call of cicadas in the heat of a lazy summer afternoon, breathing in the scent of aniseed and lavender drifting in the air, and drinking a glass of chilled rosé wine or homemade lemonade.’ That was beautifully put – a lot better than she could ever have described the concept behind her designs, but then again Nathan was better educated and had been in the business for years.
According to the article, the hotel refurbishment had been completed a couple of months before and Nathan had travelled extensively to France then the US. Was that the reason why he hadn’t been in touch to tell her he had used her ideas? Did he want to surprise her with the finished project before telling people that the whole Provence concept was originally hers?
A queasy feeling spread in the pit of her stomach. What if he had presented the Provençal scheme as his own and had no intention of giving her any credit for it? She dropped the magazine on her knees. No! Nathan would never do anything so dishonest… Then why had he not contacted her?
‘This reminds me of a farmhouse in the South of France I once stayed in as a child,’ Stefan said, pointing at one of the photos. He glanced at her, looking puzzled. ‘What’s the matter? Don’t you like the photos?’
‘I do. It’s just that…’ She might as well tell him. ‘These were actually my designs – or at least, they very much look like my designs. I had no idea they had been used. Last time I saw them, Nathan… that’s him, there… he told me they weren’t good enough, but now, it seems he used them anyway.’
‘Without asking you?’
‘There must be an explanation. He is a very creative person, a wonderfully talented and innovative designer, but always very busy – too busy to get in touch with me, no doubt.’
‘How well do you know the guy?’
‘I cleaned his office in Ambleside for years. He inspired me to study for a diploma in interior design.’ Her voice mellowed as she recalled the charming, seductive man she used to have a terrible crush on… Not any longer. He was still terribly handsome, and stylish, and he looked as moody and brooding as ever, but all she felt now as she peered at Nathan’s photo was confusion.
‘I see.’ Stefan lifted his cup to his lips to drink, but must have tipped it too fast, and some of his coffee spilled onto his pullover and his trousers. He muttered something in French and took a paper napkin from the table to pat the stains dry.
‘Cassie!’ Rachel called from the doorway to the waiting room. She looked pale and worn out. Her handbag and Louis’s rucksack hung from her shoulder, and she carried her son’s anorak and school sweatshirt on top of her own bulky coat.
Next to her, Louis toddled in, sporting a bright blue and red splint on his arm. ‘Look, Cassie. I have a spit on my arm,’ he shrieked.
‘It’s called a splint,’ Rachel corrected, almost stumbling under the weight of the coats and the bags, ‘and remember what the doctor said. You’re not supposed to mess with it and you have to keep it still.’
Cassie forgot all about Nathan and Maritel Hotels and jumped to her feet, followed by Stefan. Hurrying to Louis’s side she gave him an awkward bear hug, taking care not to touch his arm. ‘How are you, darling?’
Louis nodded. ‘I’m all right now, but I’ll have to come back for another test.’ Turning to Stefan, he added, ‘I was scared and I cried at first, but then I thought about you and how much you must have hurt when you broke your face, and I decided to be brave.’
‘Crying is allowed, even when you’re brave,’ Stefan said, crouching in front of Louis and ruffling his hair. ‘I cried too when I… broke my face.’
Rising to his feet, he reached out for the coats and Louis’s rucksack Rachel was carrying. ‘Let me take those for you.’
Rachel let out a sigh of relief as she unburdened herself of the coats and bag. ‘Thank you, and thanks for coming too. I’m sorry I dragged you all the way here, but I didn’t know who else to call.’
‘Don’t be. It’s no problem.’ He draped Louis’s anorak on his shoulders, and made a show of pulling a face as he lifted his rucksack. ‘What do you have in there? It weighs a ton – it’s almost as heavy as my army bag.’
Louis looked up. ‘Really? What do you have in your bag? Weapons?’