It was silly, Henri knew, to have everything clear in his mind apart from the actual focus of the window; usually he started with the centre and worked outwards from there, layering image upon image as he created a snapshot of a miniature world but there was something about this which defeated him. Of course he knew, really, that if it defeated him then the answer was unlikely to be found with anyone else on the floor - they were paid, after all, to serve and not to think - but he couldn't help himself. Ideas often came from the strangest of places and he had already borrowed various items from the Accessories department that morning; one more thing couldn't hurt.

He wasn't surprised, therefore, when Miss Mardle told him that she wasn't going to do his job for him; what did surprise him, however, was the young girl who proffered a red silk rose and a short speech about love. If he hadn't known better, Henri would almost have thought that she was confessing her love for him right there; he did know better though and he also knew of the differences between English and French girls. Her innocence was clearly visible in the blue eyes which flickered up to him intermittently as she mumbled about lover's gifts and in a moment of madness he was almost tempted to hand the rose back to her, to tell her that it was his lover's gift to her.

Instead he smiled and replied, "I'll think about it," before walking away.

After that it was almost impossible to escape her; everywhere he looked he could see her, smiling as she served customers, going above and beyond what she had to do as she helped Miss Mardle, studiously ignoring the snide remarks which the other girls directed at her… Miss Towler, as he had discovered her name was, was everywhere. Or perhaps she was the only thing he saw because she was the only thing he looked at. Certainly he seemed to be near the Accessories department more often than he thought he really needed to be; he could almost certainly find some of the things he asked for from different places. Henri had no idea why he was so intrigued by her; the only thing his scattered mind could offer up was that he was so surprised to discover that spark, that tiny flicker of potential, in someone who would normally be utterly overlooked that he wanted to see more. She was different to any other girl he had met, artless and sweet; he wondered once, hearing the girls discussing something meaningless, how she managed to stay so untouched by the catty remarks which the girl with a weaselly face - Kitty, he remembered her being called once - directed at her.

He had spent the past few days locked away in his office as he devised the windows for the new cosmetics department which Harry wanted; he had been wracking his brains for days and once had idly wondered whether he could steal Miss Towler - surely she could recreate her success again? He had tucked his hands in his waistcoat pocket and strolled around the floor, pretending to be looking for materials which he could pilfer for the displays as he instead looked for the girl he could steal; after almost half an hour and so many stops at Accessories that he was running out of items that he could claim he needed to examine he gave up and retreated to his den. She wasn't there and he would have to do without her.

It took him by surprise then when he wandered out once the window was finished to look at what Harry had done to the floor and he saw her walking past the perfumes. She moved past them slowly enough that he was able to approach her before she left and to ask her about it and, as she looked up at him and laughed at herself, saying, "I'd be scared to touch them," he saw the bruise which had blossomed across her face. Only when her beauty had been marred did he realise how pure it had been beforehand, how her pale unblemished skin matched the purity he imagined drenched her soul and he almost recoiled in anger. He longed to ask her who had done such a terrible thing to her, to find him and punish him for it - no one should ever treat a woman that way, let alone his Miss Towler - but he didn't. He had some manners after all so instead he asked, "Do you wear scent?"

Miss Towler inclined her head slightly and breathed, "Yardley Lavender," her voice husky, as if she was embarrassed at revealing this secret to him. Henri, before he knew what he was doing and before he could stop himself, leaned in, desperate to press his nose to her neck and feel the heat radiate off her body, to know that she was a real person after all and not some ephemeral angel that flickered in and out of existence when it suited her; before he could do more than move his head forward she was called away and he strode off to his office, snapping at the boy who asked him about his hoarding of the silk.