Sensing it was too bright for her diffident client, the stylist immediately swapped the vivid dress for the same model in a soft coral instead.
‘Or this one?’ she asked.
‘Um...OK,’ said Lyn, nodding gratefully. Turning heads was not what she wanted to do—that was far too scary a thought.
But then this whole experience had been scary. For the last two hours she’d been subjected to one beauty treatment after another, and now—finally—with hair, nails and make-up all done, it was time to choose new clothes. The beautifully made dress slipped easily over her and the stylist got to work smoothing it and fastening it, then standing back to view her efforts. Lyn stood meekly, reluctant to look at herself in the mirror. A lot of effort had gone into improving her, and she was not at all sure about the results...
‘Now—shoes,’ said the stylist, and went to consult the trolley full of shoeboxes that had accompanied the dress rack. She pulled out a pair and held them momentarily against the fabric of the dress, then nodded. ‘Yes, these are the ones.’
She helped Lyn into them, even though her client was looking at them, alarmed.
They had a high heel and a very narrow fitting. Yet they felt surprisingly comfortable on—presumably a sign of how scarily expensive they were. But it wasn’t her place to object to any of this vast expenditure, so she said nothing. Nor did she say anything when she was presented with a matching clutch and, as a final touch, a piece of costume jewellery consisting of a couple of linked chunks of a copper-coloured stones was draped around her throat.
The stylist stepped back. ‘There!’ she exclaimed. ‘Ready to roll.’
Even as she spoke another member of staff put her head around the door behind her. ‘Mr Telonidis is at Reception,’ she said.
‘Just in time.’ The stylist smiled at Lyn.
Stiltedly, Lyn smiled back. ‘Um...thank you very much for everything,’ she said.
‘My pleasure,’ said the woman.
Her voice was warm, and Lyn knew she was trying to be encouraging.
‘I do hope you’re pleased with the results.’
‘The clothes and accessories are beautiful,’ Lyn assured her, feeling awkward. Then she turned away from the window she’d been standing next to, doggedly staring out over the London skyline beyond, ready to go out and face the man she was going to marry and hope—just hope—that all the money he’d spent on her had not been completely wasted!
As she turned a woman came into view and Lyn halted. Where had she come from? She hadn’t heard the door open again. She must be the stylist’s next client. Curiously, she seemed to be wearing a very similar dress to the one the woman had put on her. Maybe it was a favourite of the stylist’s, she thought, confused. It certainly looked wonderful on the other woman, with the soft neckline draping over her bust and the dress lightly skimming her slim hips. The total image was one of effortless chic, from her beautifully cut hair to the elegant high heels and soft clutch handbag.
She gave herself a mental shake. She couldn’t stand here gawping. The other woman obviously wanted her to vacate the room, as she was still standing there expectantly. Lyn took a step forward, wavering slightly on the high heels she wasn’t used to, and saw the woman step towards her as well.
As if her brain cells were ungluing painfully, the truth dawned on her.
Oh, my God, it’s me!
She stopped dead, frozen and motionless. Just staring. Her reflection—because of course, as her brain cells had belatedly worked out, that was what it was—stared back.
The stylist was by the door, holding it open for her, and numbly Lyn walked through and went out into the reception area.
Anatole was there, leaning over Georgy in his buggy, but he straightened as she emerged.
Then, in front of her eyes, he too froze. And stared.
‘Lyn?’ The disbelief in his voice was evident—he couldn’t hide it—but it was impossible to believe what his eyes were telling him. That the woman walking up to him had once been the drab, badly dressed female he’d handed over earlier. That woman was gone. Totally gone.
And she is never coming back!
The thought seared unbidden through his brain. Unbidden, but undeletable. That old version of Lyn was gone for ever! But this one—oh, this one could stay as long as she liked!
From deep inside him came an ancient, powerful emotion. Whatever it was that was calling it from him—the lissom lines of a figure he’d never had the faintest idea was underneath her old shapeless clothes, or the silky swing of freshly styled hair that had been released from its customary straggly knot and now skimmed her slender shoulders—his eyes narrowed infinitesimally as his masculine assessment moved to her face. Quite extraordinarily, the skilfully applied make-up now finally revealed her features—no longer muted but defined, enhanced...
Her eyes! Clear, wide-set, luminous. With delicately arched brows and their sockets softly deepened, the lashes richly lush. And her mouth—yet again Anatole felt all his male hormones kicking in powerfully—her mouth was as tender and inviting as a budding rose.
He murmured something in Greek. He didn’t even know what it was, but it was repeating itself in his head as he finally gelled into movement. He stepped towards her and reached for her hand—the one that wasn’t clutching a soft leather handbag as if it were a life-preserver—drew her towards him.
‘You look fantastic!’ he breathed.
His eyes worked over her. And over her again. Disbelief was still not quite dissipated. He took a step back again, and looked again still keeping her hand in his, trying to take in what exactly had been done to her. It was...everything! That was all he could think. Just...everything.
And yet it must have been there all along...
That was the most remarkable aspect of all. That underneath that wouldn’t-look-once-let-alone-twice image there had been this waiting to be revealed.
He went on staring—oblivious, for now, of the fact that the expression on her face had reverted to the kind of stiff, self-conscious, tense awkward one she had had right at the beginning, when she hadn’t been able to relax in his company even an iota.
Then, breaking into his studied scrutiny, he heard Georgy demanding attention.
Dropping Anatole’s hand, Lyn jerked forward. Thank God for Georgy! Thank God for her being able to escape that jet-powered, laser-intense gaze focused on her like that...
She hunkered down beside Georgy and started to make a fuss of him. Behind her Anatole finally surfaced and, with a start, stepped towards the counter to settle up. As he handed over his credit card it came to him that never had his money been better spent. He turned back to Lyn and another wash of disbelief hit him—followed by a very strong male response.
‘Time for lunch, I think,’ he said as he took the buggy handles and executed a neat turn of the wheels. His voice was warm with satisfaction.
* * *
They lunched at the same swish restaurant they had before. Anatole reckoned that Lyn would probably prefer a familiar place. Though this time she looked like a totally different woman! His feeling of satisfaction intensified. Yes, he had done the right thing—absolutely the right thing—in insisting on her having a makeover. To think that this elegant, soigné woman he could not take his eyes off had been there all along! He still found it hard to credit. What he did not find hard, however, was having her sitting opposite him like this. It meant he could study her in detail, take in every last dramatic improvement.
The only problem, to his mind, was that she seemed so ill at ease. He wondered why, and asked her right out.
She stared at him as if he had asked a really stupid question. Which, to her mind, he had. Of course she was feeling awkward and self-conscious! She’d felt that way when she’d looked awful—badly dressed and shabby—and now she felt that way when she looked the exact opposite! For exactly the same reason.
Because he makes me feel excruciatingly self-conscious all the time! Because I’m just so punishingly and constantly aware of how devastating he is! Because I just want to gaze and gaze at him, but I can’t, because that would be the most embarrassing thing in all the world!
The stark truth blazed through her: Anatole Telonidis the man—not the millionaire, nor the man who was Georgy’s father’s cousin, nor the man she was marrying so she could keep the baby she adored—who sat there, effortlessly devastating from the top of his sable-haired head right down through the long, lean length of his body, was a man who could have an effect on her senses no other man had ever had.
That was why she could only sit there, quivering in every limb, unable to make eye contact, feeling so totally and utterly aware of him on every female frequency any woman could possess!
His sloe-dark expressive eyes were resting on her, expecting some kind of answer to his question. She had to say something. Anything.
‘Um...’ she managed, fiddling with her cutlery with fingers whose tips were now beautifully shaped with varnished nails. ‘I guess I’m just getting used to being all dressed up like this.’