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The next morning John cooked breakfast for her. He made a cheese omelette and English muffins, and they left the house at the same time for their respective offices. Jamal arrived just as they went out, and he stared at Fiona in surprise. Men had spent the night from time to time over the years, and the conductor had lived with her, but he hadn't seen anyone at the house in the morning in a very long time. He didn't know if this was a temporary fling for her, or someone who was going to stick around. Her next words to him spelled it out.

“This is Mr. Anderson, Jamal. I need a key for him,” she said offhandedly, she had an important meeting at the office and was in a hurry. “Just make a copy and leave it on my desk.” She reminded him that he had to be there when they brought Sir Winston home at four o'clock, and with that she and John hailed cabs simultaneously, kissed in the middle of the street, and left for their respective workdays.

They had promised to meet at her place that night. He was going to his apartment first to pick up some stuff. It was as easy as that. Presto magic, she was living with a man in her house. For the summer at least.

Until his daughters and housekeeper came back. Once the girls left for school again, she assumed he would move back in with her again, as long as they both liked it. And she hoped they would. She hoped so with all her heart. She wanted this to work, more than she'd ever wanted anything in her life. She was seriously in love with him, and thought him an extraordinary man. And she knew he felt the same way about her. Blind luck.

“How was St. Tropez?” Adrian asked with a knowing grin as she came through the door with an armful of papers and files and magazines she'd brought back from Paris. They had a lot to talk about.

“Fabulous.” She beamed at him, he could see it in her eyes. She had never looked as relaxed.

“And where is he now?”

“At his office.”

“Where was he last night?” Adrian teased. He was like a brother to her, and she didn't mind. She had few secrets from him, if any.

“None of your business.”

“I thought so. Have you told Sir Winston yet?”

“We're breaking the news to him tonight.”

“Call the vet and get Valium for him. This could be hard.”

“I know.” And then she lowered her voice. “I have a serious problem, and I don't know what to do about it.”

He looked instantly worried for her. “Nothing too serious, I hope.”

“It could be. Adrian, I need closet space. I don't have room for so much as a hankie in my closets.”

“Is he moving in?” Adrian looked impressed. This was quick. But that's how things happened sometimes. And this had.

“Sort of. For the summer. Till his housekeeper gets back. I swear, if he brings over so much as a pair of pajamas, I'm screwed. I looked in every closet last night. My fur coats are in the guest room, my summer stuff's upstairs. My evening gowns, nightgowns, office clothes—hell, Adrian, I have more stuff than a store. I don't have room for a guy.”

“You'd better find some fast. Guys don't like digging their boxers out of your pantyhose drawer, or fighting through your evening gowns to dress for work. If he doesn't cross-dress, you have a serious problem.”

“He doesn't.”

“You're screwed. Sell your clothes.”

“Don't be ridiculous. You have to figure something out.”

“I have to figure something out? Do I look like the closet police? He's not moving in with me, he's moving in with you.”

“What would you do? You have as much junk as I do.”

“How about renting one of those nice trailers and parking it on the sidewalk for your clothes?” He was vastly amused by her dilemma, but they both knew it was a nice one to have.

“You're not funny.”

“No, but you are. Just toss all your stuff out of one closet, and maybe dump it in the guest room, or put it on rolling racks, and push it around the house.”

“Great idea.” She looked relieved. “Do me a favor, go to Gracious Home at lunchtime and buy me a bunch of racks. Have someone take them to the house. I'll tell Jamal to set them up in the guest room, and I'll just empty a closet for him tonight.”

“Perfect. See, people make a huge mistake. They think the challenge in relationships comes from sex or money. That's absolutely not true. It comes from closets. I had to ask my last lover to move out. It was him or my Blahniks. I felt terrible about it, but in the end, I was more attached to my shoes.” She knew him better than that, and also knew that his last lover had cheated on him, and Adrian had been heartbroken and thrown him out and cried for weeks. He was a decent guy, and the boyfriend hadn't been. He had damn near broken Adrian's heart.

“You're a genius. Just get me the racks. I'll try and get home early and start emptying a closet for him. I feel so stupid to have so much stuff.”

“You'd feel dumber in our line of work if you were badly dressed. Let's be real here.”

“All right, so we're shallow, terribly spoiled people. And you're right. Maybe I'll rent an apartment for my clothes and just switch seasons. That way I'll only need half the closets.”

“See if the relationship works first. How is it, by the way? I assume it must be okay if you're letting him move in with you.”

“He's not moving in,” she corrected him. “He is staying with me for the summer.”

“Sorry, ‘staying with you.’ Things must be pretty good. No one has ‘stayed with you’ in years.” Adrian reminded her of what she knew already.

“I figured no one ever would again. I thought it was me and Sir Winston for eternity, or as long as we both shall live.”

“One of you is going to live longer than the other in that relationship. And considering Sir Winston's age and heart problems, I hope it's you.” She nodded, sobered by the comment. She liked to believe that Sir Winston would live forever. Adrian figured she'd be lucky if she got another year or two out of him, if that. He had already had a couple of close calls. He just hoped, for Fiona's sake, that sharing her with a two-legged admirer wouldn't push Sir Winston over the edge.

Having solved her most pressing problems of the hour, Adrian and Fiona got to work. He brought her up to date on all the follow-up from Paris. She had a general staff meeting set for eleven o'clock, which, as it turned out, went till two. She spent the rest of the afternoon catching up, looking at shots of the couture, and checking on schedules and details for shoots. They were insanely busy. They had just closed October and were starting on November. And in another month they were going to be up to their ears in Christmas, which was always a big issue. And Fiona was disappointed to discover that two of her favorite junior editors had quit while she was away and had already left. Adrian had hired replacements for them while she was gone.

She was startled to realize there was a major shoot scheduled for later that week with Brigitte Lacombe. And an even more complicated one with Mario Testino over the weekend. It was going to be a totally insane week. Welcome home.

But in spite of everything happening, she managed to leave the office by six o'clock and almost flew home. Adrian had sent someone out for the racks for her, and Jamal had set them up in the guest room, although she didn't discover until they collapsed twice with all her evening gowns on them that he had set them up wrong. He had been holding the diagram upside down. And he helped her get them right.

“You must really like this guy,” Jamal commented, as she picked all her evening gowns up off the floor for the third time and put them on the rack. She had taken all of two minutes to kiss and hug Sir Winston, and he had given her the cold shoulder. He did not like going to “camp,” and whenever he did, he took it out on her for weeks afterward. She was in the doghouse. And he was stretched out on her bed, snoring loudly.