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“Mikey,” a woman with very badly dyed hair muttered. She ushered the boy to the side and peered up at the camera. “Oh, it’s on?”

  Mikey jumped up and down. “Tell Doctor Darcy Kate smile.”

  Oh, he was cute, and he’d had peas for lunch. Should sprouts eat other vegetables? A touch on the violent side.

  “Right. Hi, Ms McGregor. My name is Mildred Bonvilston.” The woman now had an odd attempt at a posh accent. Sounded more like she had a cold. “I’m Kate’s mum, and I—”

  “We!” Mikey jumped up and down.

  “We,” Mildred said with a sigh. “We need your help with Kate. She’s a good girl. A really good kid who has been heartbroken…twice.”

  Twice? She frowned. Once was unfortunate, but twice was just careless.

  “She was in love with Bennie, her best friend, for a very long time, but Bennie isn’t very nice.” Mildred lit a cigarette.

  “Ben slapper,” Mikey said with utter seriousness.

  “Mikey!” Mildred covered his mouth. “Sorry, children… Anyway. Then her partner ran off with Bennie, and, well…” She puffed on her cigarette. Hmm, she had crows’ feet and needed a more mature skin care regime. “Kate’s been very quiet since.”

  Darcy twirled her pencil. Bennie? If he’d run off with her partner, then Kate fell in love with gay men? How were clothes going to help that? She glanced at Marge, who was studying her as if waiting for a reaction.

  “You did say you’d decided on a challenge, but don’t you think Kate is beyond our remit?” Just a gentle suggestion. She could change the clothes and rejuvenate the woman, but she wasn’t going to be able to change who she loved, was she?

  “What do you mean?” Susannah snapped from the back of the bus. She tussled with the poor make-up artist, Harold or George or whatever his name was. Marcus? No, no that was the hair stylist.

  “I mean that Kate’s case is hopeless. How can I change her…tastes?” Not quite the correct term. Love focus? No that sounded like something Zoë would say.

  “See, told you,” Susannah muttered to Marge.

  Marge scowled enough that her wild eyebrows covered her sunken eyes and her overly large nostrils flared. “You try, like you do with everybody else.”

  Did Marge fall in love with gay men too? Darcy turned back to the screen to ignore the glare. Kate walked into a room, some family function with girls in white tights giggling as boys in waistcoats slid across a dance floor on their knees.

  Kate was tall, slim, had a graceful way of walking, yet was not quite feminine. Her body shape was more athletic. Yes. No real shape, or at least none in that disgusting excuse for a dress. Who put a bridesmaid in floral and straight leg to the knee? She looked like she should be in the Women’s Institute, not a function. Then she turned to the camera, strolled over, and beamed. Green eyes, long eyelashes, glossy lips, and a handsome smile—charming, sure, sexy.

  Darcy swallowed. “Definitely hopeless.” She clutched her pencil. Had she squeaked? Did Susannah notice? “Can’t do a thing with her.”

  “You’ll have to.” Marge nodded to the guys at the back, who rolled open the doors. “We’re here.”

  “No…” She flicked her pencil through the air. She couldn’t. No, no, no.

  Marge motioned to the doorway. “You can sit and sweat or have a touch up… Or would you prefer Susannah took the lead?”

  Susannah scowled at her from the back. “Yeah, I could tell her there’s nothing wrong with her dress sense and to be happy with who she is?”

  The video rolled on. Kate was in work as a security guard. Somehow, she looked more feminine, but in that stage-like way when a voluptuous screen siren strolled out in a tux. She snapped her pencil. Oh dear. Oh dear. Shit.

  “That a yes?” Susannah went for the door.

  “No.” Darcy stood up. Her tablet dropped onto the floor, the headphones yanking at her earlobes. “No, you stay.” She rubbed at her throat. She’d need champers for this…a lot of it. “I’ll—” She rubbed harder, then stopped. Best not to leave marks. “Touch-up.” She stumbled off the bus and straightened out her jacket, only to see lead on her hands. “Wet wipe.”

  The make-up artist hurried over—Joe, no, Lionel…no—and dabbed at her neck.

  “And rolling…” Marge nodded to her and motioned to the house where the crew were lurking.

  Darcy turned on the smile. “Good evening. Self-confidence is all about knowing who you are.” Go with it; the opening spiel was always drivel. “It’s a balance of what you want and what you need. Kate Bonvilston is a young woman who wants the unobtainable…yet needs to love herself first.” She strolled forward, stumbling over the wire. Never did that. Idiot. “Many women are forced to wear a uniform, whether that is physical or emotional, but it’s easy to lose oneself in that corporate battlefield. So in this style surgery, we secure the security guard some style and help her find her inner smile.”

  “And roll the opening credits.” Marge barked into her radio, then rolled her eyes and stomped over to the front door. “I want a picture of the door before Darcy treads all over the wires again.”

  Darcy wheezed out a breath and looked to Susannah, who studied her.

  “Inner smile? So you listen only to super-vegetables, or all of them?” Susannah picked up the discarded tablet with a daft grin. “Do you give peas a chance too?” The screen showed a frozen picture of Kate with that sure, sexy smile on her face. “Maybe I need to dress up as a carrot—no, an onion—so you pay more attention to me?” She motioned around her. “Or, as we’re in Wales, how ‘bout a leek?”

  “He wasn’t a pea, and he was right.” She narrowed her eyes. She could Google the national emblems of Wales too. “You’d have to be a daffodil, not a leek. Less pungent.” She smiled and touched her thumb to Susannah’s cheek, wiping a splodge of foundation. “But one must always listen to sprouts. They often make sense…a bit like daughters.”

  She held Susannah’s gaze, the twinkle of a smile in her brown eyes. She hadn’t seen that look for so long, too long. A swell of love bubbled up, and she kissed her on the forehead.

  Susannah stared at her.

  “Darcy, in position,” Marge snapped. Clearly the hormone replacement needed a higher dose. “Credits are nearly finished!”

  “Of course,” she chimed, and strolled over on shaky legs. Now to meet Kate…live on camera.

  Shit.

  Chapter 10

  Kate checked her hair in the mirror again and took a slow breath. Mum was polishing the living room for the fifteenth time, Mikey was running through the living room, kitchen, hall on some imaginary racetrack, and her stepdad had decided to work late. He always got out of things. Why couldn’t Darcy make him over? He had cement-dusted skin and a bald head. That’d be a challenge.

  The doorbell rang.

  Mum shrieked, threw the polish like it bit her, and sprinted toward the front door.

  Kate caught her in the doorway. “Mum, calm…calm down. You’re not supposed to know they’re out there.” She dragged her to the sofa and plonked her down, picked up the polish and duster and shoved it into the side cabinet, picked up Mikey mid-zoom and shoved him under her arm, and pulled open the door. “Alright?”

  Darcy stared at her, then her gaze dropped to Mikey, then back up to her. Darcy was tall in heels. Really tall. What did they feed her? “Kate,” she said in a clogged-up voice. “The Surgeon is paying a house visit.”

  Yeah, that line wasn’t cheesy, was it?

  “Okay, I’ll get Mum,” she said, like Darcy flipping McGregor always knocked on the door. Her hands were shaking. She turned and headed to the living room. “Mum, Darcy McGregor is here to see you.”

  “No, dear,” Darcy said in her patronising tone. “I’m here to see you.” She breezed into the living room. Wow, was it weird seeing the woman on TV standing next to the picture of her and Mikey eating ice cr
eam in Western-Super-Mare and Mum and Stepdad’s wedding day. “Your mother called…” She beamed at Mum. “Hello, Mildred.”

  Mum just nodded, dumbstruck.

  “And your brother, Mikey…or as he was then…Sproutman?” Darcy stooped to smile at Mikey, who’d ceased wriggling and stared up at her.

  “You know?” He dropped down to his feet and peered up at her with awe. “I love you.”

  Darcy “ahh’d” to the camera and then tapped him with a manicured finger on the nose. “I always love a superhero.”

  Mikey wobbled. He was going to faint.

  Kate picked him up and plonked him next to Mum. Two gibbering family members on national TV. Dad must be laughing his ass off. “So, why are you helping me?”

  Darcy cleared her throat. “Kate, it’s clear that you have a condition. Inside you’re heartbroken, and outside it’s showing. But don’t worry. You have the Style Surgeon at your service, and I’m going to give you back that smile.”

  Mikey cheered and clapped.

  Wow, it was so much cheesier in reality. Kate clamped her lips shut. How did so many people watch this shit? “What if I’m happy and I like my clothes?”

  Darcy laughed, patronising. Yeah, she was hot, but what was with the laugh? “I know it’s hard to accept help.” She motioned to the camera. “But give it a shot. You’ll be surprised how good I am.”

  And that sounded so much like a line. Darcy’s eyes flickered like she realized. Yeah, not awkward at all.

  “At clothes,” Darcy managed, her voice clogged up again. “Now, we have a process—”

  “I’m still not sure.” Okay, it was fun baiting the woman. Why was she teasing her? She should be gibbering on the sofa too. “I mean, I have to go to work. I don’t have time to shop.”

  Darcy’s eyes glinted. “You have time off.”

  “I need the overtime.” She nodded. When did she ever do overtime?

  “You need some help.” Darcy narrowed her gorgeous blue—but not really blue—eyes. Yeah, she was hot when she was fired up. “And I’m going to help you.”

  “No thanks.” Kate turned and headed toward the camera. Some woman with grey hair that fired out at all angles clamped her hand over her mouth, eyes watering. A young girl beside her, or Susannah McGregor—unmistakable. She looked like her mum in every detail but the brown hair and brown eyes—sniggered as she kept one eye on her phone and one on Kate.

  “Kate, don’t you think you should listen to the professional?” Darcy hurried around to stand in front of her. Her cheeks were flushed, her neck was flushed, and her chest rose and fell, up and down, up and down.

  “I didn’t see your credentials,” came out as she smiled at the necklace dangling down below Darcy’s top button.

  Darcy cleared her throat. “I’m Darcy McGregor. That should be enough.” Said through gritted teeth.

  Kate smiled and lifted her gaze. “You got a smudge on your shirt.” She nodded to it. “I’m not sure you’re qualified.”

  “Fine.” Darcy held out her hand, and one of the crew handed her a tablet. “Fashion shows in Milan, New York, London, Paris…more awards than you could fit in this room.” She shoved the screen up. A slinky model strutted along a catwalk. “I make women look good.”

  And that sounded like another line.

  “You don’t think I do?” Kate asked and held Darcy’s fiery gaze. Something flickered there again.

  “No.” Darcy lowered the tablet and put her hands on her hips. “Which is why I’m here. Now, move it, we have a process to follow.”

  “Are you always this pushy?” she fired back.

  “Only when dealing with awkward people.” Darcy’s brow dipped. Brown eyebrows. So she wasn’t a natural blonde?

  “Maybe I wouldn’t be awkward if you stopped muttering at me.” She put her hands on her hips. Was it her, or did they look like they’d have a punch-up?

  “I’m not muttering at you.” Darcy slammed her tablet to her thigh.

  “Yes, you are.” She couldn’t help the smile creeping up.

  “Am not.” Darcy threw her hands in the air and growled. “I will style you, so get in the minibus.” She glared at the camera. “Cut.” She wagged her finger at Kate, then stormed out the front door.

  “Switch to adverts. Run the sponsor segment,” the woman with grey hair said into a radio. “We’ll shoot Darcy’s next section on the bus.”

  Kate stared through the open door as the cameras lowered. Wow, what a woman. She grinned at the crew and gave Mikey a thumbs up. “I think she likes me.”

  Chapter 11

  Darcy put her tablet on the table at the back of the minibus. She supposed it was much like a large camper van: eight seated in front facing forward, and the table area at the back with a booth-style feel. The crew travelled everywhere, and a van with cameras followed on behind, but she hopped in for just the short stretches. She’d completed her analysis of Kate in transit and, thankfully, that was the live section out of the way, for now.

  The live segments hadn’t bothered her with her previous case. The routine was simple: The recorded clips gave a round-up—a build-up, in essence—then a half-hour live segment went out with some interaction from the viewers. Easy. In theory. Usually she offered her “patients” a flight with her, but maybe Kate would be better off with the crew, seeming as they liked her so much. What was so funny about being irritating? She scribbled irritating in big letters on her notes.

  “Oh, we’re trending!” Marge was another irritating awkward pain in her backside. Yes. If Marge wasn’t careful, she’d send her to Marcus the hair stylist. “They love it.”

  “Of course they do.” Her tone was pleasing. Calm, professional, and no hint of anger.

  “No, Mum, it’s like crazy trending. People want Kate to give you a run for your money.” Susannah snorted, then grinned at Kate beside her—and irritatingly opposite Darcy.

  “I think that I get like that when I’m nervous,” Kate mumbled and rubbed the back of her elegant neck. She’d suit a showpiece necklace. It would draw attention to her… Darcy caught herself trailing the seam with Kate’s shirt and cleared her throat. Maybe not.

  Kate cocked her head, green eyes twinkling. She’d never plucked her eyebrows, that much was clear, and they didn’t look too bad. Naturally shaped—even more irritating.

  “Then feel free to stay nervous,” Marge said with a grin, spiralled hair bouncing about. “You’re a hit.”

  “Doubt that,” Kate said. Her accent held a hint of Welsh and some neutral-sounding tone. “They just want to see how I’m tackled.”

  Darcy raised her eyebrow. Of course that’s what the viewers wanted—irritating and stated the obvious. She noted that one too.

  “So, what’s the…um…” Kate shrugged and flapped hands. Oddly camp. She’d note that. “The process…thing?”

  Susannah snorted with laughter. “You don’t know?”

  “Mum’s the fan.” Kate glanced down at the table. Was that quite the truth? Her eyelashes fluttered—she didn’t wear mascara. Her brown hair flopped into her face—would suit a good chop to it and some feathering. “Mikey too, of course.”

  She smiled. Ah, yes, her little sprout. “He feels you need to find your smile.”

  Kate met her eyes—hers were intense, passionate, then cheeky. “I found that already, thanks.”

  Darcy scowled. Defensive. She added that to the list. She’d pin it somewhere and memorise it. Yes, many negative issues. Many.

  Marge cleared her throat. “There are several segments, as you can expect from a month-long live show. Some bits are prerecorded. Some of it is live.”

  “It’s seriously that long?” Kate stared at her. “You don’t just tape it and play it?”

  “No,” Susannah said with a grunt. “Which is why I get palmed off to boarding school.”

 
“You demanded to go,” Darcy muttered. She’d rather have not paid the huge bill.

  “I was ten. You upset me.” Susannah folded her arms, scowling inner child on show. “I wanted to come home after a week.”

  Kate sucked in a breath “Yowch. Maybe your mum wanted the best education?”

  Susannah laughed—sounded very familiar—too familiar, like her own, and she used it out of annoyance. “Not Mum. It’s just easier when she’s shopping.”

  Darcy twirled her pencil. Good thing she kept spares: 2B, 4B, technical. “You hate clothes.”

  “I hate being sent away.” Susannah got up and stomped off down the bus.

  Kate watched her go. “My boss will be bouncing.”

  “Why, does he have difficult teenagers?” she muttered. She’d never backchatted her own mother, but then, her mother had passed on not long after her father had left, and she’d lived with the neighbour.

  “No, he makes your pencils,” Kate said with a sweet smile—a smile that oozed sensuality and showed off her stunning dental work—natural, no veneers.

  Darcy twirled said pencil. “They’re the best.”

  Kate fished in her pocket and pulled one out. “Yeah, they are. Just don’t tell him, or you’ll need a restraining order.”

  She laughed. Shouldn’t have. The woman was irritatingly humorous too. “Show consists of this: diagnostic—that bit we’ve done; consultation, examination, surgery—various sorts, rehabilitation, follow-up, the discharge reveal.” She reined in a smile. No smiling even if Kate was cute—cute? No, oh no. Shit. “Each segment takes a few days to film, longer if you’re problematic.” She noted problematic down and underlined it. “Then we rehab. You go away for a month, and we discharge you.” She met amused eyes. “And you can go back to your pencils.”

  Kate smiled. That sensual smile. Whether Bennie was gay or not, no wonder the poor man couldn’t resist her. “I just protect them.”

  Marge looked from Kate to her, and some smug smile crossed her face.

  “You protective of pencils, dear?” she snapped. She knew that look—never trust her smug smile.