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Or maybe it did. After all, he was thirty and he’d done exactly that.
Not, he reminded himself, that April’s life goals mattered to him. Except in so far as an understanding of them might make it easier for him to persuade her to drop the story about the night of Axel’s death. He just didn’t like to see her sell herself short...
Not your business.
‘Actually, I can help out there,’ he said. ‘Sunita has recommended a boutique.’ He glanced at his watc
h. ‘I’ll take you there now.’
An expression he couldn’t interpret crossed her face.
‘Is that a problem?’
‘I’m quite capable of shopping by myself. There is no need to come with me.’
‘I couldn’t agree more, but Sunita asked me to—apparently people have taken to going into boutiques pretending they have been sent by her in the hope of getting a discount. I need to come along to vouch for you.’
‘Oh.’
Marcus frowned. He couldn’t help but wonder what train her thoughts had climbed aboard.
‘Then...um...thank you.’
‘No problem. Let’s go. We can walk from here. It’s called Fashion Plate.’
The short journey was achieved in silence. Marcus could sense the discomfort emanating from April, as if she were heading out to do something she found almost distasteful. It seemed clear that her claim to dislike shopping was genuine.
Though she did stop as they approached the shop in order to study the window display—four mannequins of different race, hair colour, height and build had been posed as if they were marching around a plate-shaped display of accessories—shoes, bags and even tiaras.
As they pushed the shop door open to the sound of a small discreet chime, a woman headed straight for them. Svelte and elegant, she epitomised chic, and her smile was the perfect blend of welcome and discretion.
‘Welcome to Fashion Plate.’ Her eyes widened slightly as she looked at Marcus. ‘I am Gabrielle. You are Marcus Alrikson and this must be April. Your PA contacted me, and of course we are most happy to help.’ Her eyes swept over April and she nodded. ‘We have set aside some time for a fitting, and of course to discuss what you are looking for. I understand you need a dress for the Martinez Charity Ball?’
‘Yes.’
April had tensed beside him, her expression less than enthused, though her tone was polite.
‘But there is absolutely no need for a fitting as I am pushed for time. I am quite happy to simply browse and find a dress myself.’
Gabrielle looked horrified. ‘No, no. I wouldn’t hear of it.’ Her expert eye travelled over April again. ‘You and Mr Alrikson will be given refreshments in our private room, and I will find a selection of dresses for you to look at. You are a friend of Sunita and I insist.’
‘Um...’ April hesitated and then, with a fulminating stare at Marcus—for all the world as though this were his fault—followed Gabrielle through the shop.
Minutes later they had been seated in a small but cleverly furnished boudoir-like room. The walls held a selection of black-and-white photographs from different eras of fashion, as well as large mirrors that created a feeling of space. Another assistant served them tea in exquisite china cups, along with a plate of melt-in-the-mouth biscuits.
April waited until the assistant had left, and then glared at Marcus. ‘Well, thanks for the help.’
‘What did you expect me to do? Acquiescence seemed to be the quickest way forward.’ He smiled. ‘You’re lucky I came with you and not Sunita—believe me, she would have insisted you go the whole nine yards with the fitting. The only reason she didn’t come is that Amil isn’t very well, and whilst Sunita may love clothes she loves Amil more.’
For a second he thought April flinched, and in a movement so swift he barely noticed she squeezed her hand into a fist, almost as if she were pushing her nails into her palm, and then she relaxed her hand again.
‘As she should—he is her son. But you’re right. This would have been even worse if she were here. Sunita and I have a differing view on clothes. For her, they are a vocation. She is a mine of knowledge and expertise on all aspects—the design, the feel, the material, the costs, the labour. She feels real passion for clothes.’
‘And for you?’
‘They are functional.’ Picking up a biscuit, she took a small bite and huffed out a sigh. ‘Anyway, whilst we are stuck in here we may as well use the time. What’s your take on clothes?’
‘Same as yours. They are functional.’
