Free The Boat Builder's Bed by Kris Pearson Page B

remember Faye Severino who I used to work for? Her husband. Well, they’re separated these days. And he has this huge house he wants finished now he and Faye have split up.”
    She hugged herself with her free arm and did a little dance through to the bedroom where she kicked off her sandals.
    “Goodness, Sophie, you’ve really had a day of it.”
    “You can’t imagine. But I’m absolutely whacked. I’m going to do some quick paperwork, make an omelet, and crash into bed pretty darn soon. I’ll tell you everything tomorrow morning once I’ve calmed down.”
    “As long as it’s good news.”
    “More than good. I’ll ring you before eight, okay? Can I have Camille for a moment now?”
    She waited through some muffled noises and then her tiny daughter said “Hi Mommy.”
    Immediately her heart swelled with love and ached with loss. She pictured Camille’s petal-soft skin and flossy hair, and could touch neither. She should be crouching beside her little daughter, kissing her, swinging her up into her arms. Instead the too-short Sunday visits and frustrating evening phone-calls were the only current possibilities.
    “Hi Sweetie. How are you today?” She hoped her voice was steady and betrayed none of the intense emotion that swamped her every time she spoke with Camille.
    “Good, Mommy,” came the piping reply.
    “Did you have a nice time at kindergarten?”
    “We painted elephants.”
    “And I’ll bet yours is wonderful. What color is it?”
    “Blue.”
    “Of course,” Sophie agreed, smiling sadly. “A lovely big blue elephant. You could hang that on Nanna’s fridge door, couldn’t you? Or you could give it to me and I could hang it on mine with those pretty pink flower stickies you gave me?”
    “And we did sand-castles with flags on. And red harbottles.” Camille chattered on, unaware of her mother’s distress.
    “Goodness,” Sophie managed, wondering what on earth red harbottles could possibly be. Any other evening she’d stop and ask. “You’ve really been busy, haven’t you? Well, so have I, and I’ve made your Barbie a princess dress with silver sparkles. Okay?”
    “And new shoes, Mommy?”
    “Not yet, Cammie. But maybe I’ll find some that will be just perfect. I’ll see you on Sunday morning darling. Can I talk to Nanna again? Big kisses.” She blew some into the phone and Camille did the same.
    She closed her eyes, trying to feel Camille’s soft lips on her cheek, the brush of her golden hair. Imagining she was hugging Camille close instead of consigning her love to the empty air.
    “Sorry to dash so fast, Mom,” she apologized once her mother had the phone again. “It was an amazing day. Unbelievable. The studio looks great—or it will by the time I’ve tidied up tomorrow morning. Maybe you could come over for a day or two sometime soon? I’ll bring you some photos, but it’s not the same, is it?”
    “I’ll enjoy your photos anyway.”
    “I’d love you to see the real thing.”
    “We’ll see what we can manage. Get a good night’s sleep, honey, and I’ll catch up again tomorrow.”
    “Bye Mom.”
    “Bye darling. So proud of you.” And the line went dead.

    “So this is what you get up to when I’m not keeping an eye on you?” Rafe said, pushing the studio door further open next morning. He strode in with the two takeaway coffees he’d bought, pleased to see Sophie’s guilty jump. He set them on her desk well clear of the fabric swatches she was flipping through, and grinned at her discomforted expression. The most visible sample featured blue and white stripes with pink rosebuds. Definitely not for him.
    “You’re not my only client,” Sophie said, interpreting his expression correctly.
    Was that a blush climbing her pretty cheeks?
    “Pleased to hear it. Is this for a little old lady?”
    She laughed at that and shook her head.
    “A little old lady’s dog , if you can believe it. A white Bischon Frise , and Miss Templeton wants to pretty up the