Page 100 of Tuxedos and Tinsel
But of course Andie was talking about her party proposal in businesslike tones. ‘You could generate the right kind of publicity—both for your potential business partner and in general,’ she said as he settled her into one of the white outdoor armchairs that had cost a small fortune because of its vintage styling.
‘While at the same time directly benefiting people who do it tough on the so-called Big Day,’ he said as he took the chair next to her.
‘Exactly,’ she said with her wide, generous smile. When she smiled like that it made him want to make her do it again, just for the pleasure of seeing her face light up.Not a good idea.
Her chair was in the shade of one of the mature palm trees he’d had helicoptered in for the landscaping but the sun was dancing off the aqua surface of the pool. He was disappointed when she reached into her satchel, pulled out a pair of tortoiseshell-rimmed sunglasses and donned them against the glare. They looked ‘vintage’ too. In fact, in her white clothes and turquoise necklace, she looked as if she belonged here.
‘In principal, I don’t mind your idea,’ he said. ‘In fact I find it more acceptable than the other.’
Her smile was edged with relief. ‘I can’t tell you how pleased that makes me.’
‘Would the lunch have to be on actual Christmas Day?’ he said.
‘You could hold it on Christmas Eve or the week leading up to Christmas. In terms of organisation, that would be easier. But none of those peripheral days is as lonely and miserable as Christmas Day can be if you’re one...one of the excluded ones,’ she said. ‘My foster sister told me that.’
The way she was looking at him, even with those too-perceptive green eyes shaded from his view, made him think she was beginning to suspect he had a deeply personal reason for his anti-Christmas stance.
He’d only ever shared that reason with one woman—Melody, the girl who’d first captivated, then shredded, his teenage heart back in that car park squat. By the time Christmas had loomed in the first year of his marriage to Tara, he’d known he’d never be sharing secrets with her. But there was something disarming about Andie that seemed to invite confidences—something he had to stand guard against. She might not be what she seemed—and he had learned the painful lesson not to trust his first impressions when it came to beautiful women.
‘I guess any other day doesn’t have the same impact,’ he reluctantly agreed, not sure he would be able to face the festivities. Did he actually have to be present on the day? Might it not be enough to provide the house and the meal? No. To achieve his goal, he knew his presence would be necessary. Much as he would hate every minute of it.
‘Maybe your marketing people will have other ideas,’ she said. ‘But I think opening your home on the actual December twenty-five to give people who really need it a slap-up feast would be a marvellous antidote to your Scrooge...sorry,miser... I meancheapreputation.’ She pulled a face. ‘Sorry. I didn’t actually mean any of those things.’
Why did it sting so much more coming from her? ‘Of course you did. So does everyone else. People who have no idea of what and where I might give without wanting any fanfare.’ The main reason he wanted to secure the joint venture was to ensure his big project in Brisbane would continue to be funded long after his lifetime.
She looked shamefaced. ‘I’m sorry.’
He hated that people like Andie thought he was stingy. Any remaining reservations he might hold about the party had to go. He needed to take action before this unfair reputation become so deeply entrenched he’d never free himself from it. ‘Let’s hope the seasonal name-calling eases if I go ahead with the lunch.’
She held up a finger in warning. ‘It wouldn’t appease everyone. Those cynical journalists might not be easily swayed.’
He scowled. ‘I can’t please everyone.’ But he found himself, irrationally, wanting to pleaseher.
‘It might help if you followed through with a visible, ongoing relationship with a charity. If the media could see...could see...’
Her eyes narrowed in concentration. He waited for the end of her sentence but it wasn’t forthcoming. ‘See what?’
‘Sorry,’ she said, shaking her head as if bringing herself back to earth. ‘My thoughts tend to run faster than my words sometimes when I’m deep in the creative zone.’
‘I get it,’ he said, though he wasn’t sure what the hell being in the creative zone meant.
‘I meant your critics might relent if they could see your gesture was genuine.’
He scowled. ‘But itwillbe genuine.’
‘You know it and I know it but they might see it as just another publicity gimmick.’ Her eyes narrowed again and he gave her time to think. ‘What if you didn’t actually seek publicity for this day? You know—no invitations or press releases. Let the details leak. Tantalise the media.’
‘For a designer, you seem to know a lot about publicity,’ he said.
She shrugged. ‘When you work in magazines you pick up a lot about both seeking and giving publicity. But your marketing people would have their own ideas, I’m sure.’
‘I should talk it over with them,’ he said.
‘As it’s only six weeks until Christmas, and this would be a big event to pull together, may I suggest there’s not a lot of discussion time left?’
‘You’re right. I know. But it’s a big deal.’ So much bigger for him personally than she realised.
‘You’re seriously considering going ahead with it?’
