Unexpected Blessings (21 page)
He had just awakened. But she was gone. Was she gone forever? He hoped not. He wanted her in his life. Would she stay? He didn’t know the answer to that.
It would all come out now. About his affair with Melinda. His long relationship with her. The press would know about his child. Atlanta. Just a very little girl. Beautiful Atlanta. He didn’t want that to happen. But he knew it would. And the police would be on top of him. They hadn’t talked to him yet. Because he had been incapacitated by the anaesthetic. But they would be back tomorrow. To ask their questions. Sure as God made little green apples they’d be back. With their notebooks. Writing everything down. It would all read so badly. But Melinda hadn’t meant to hurt him. It was an accident. She’d been after damaging the painting. Wanted to spoil it. Incensed by the sight of another woman in his studio. How had she managed to get out of the hospital? Get into his studio? His fault, that. He hadn’t locked the door this morning.
What to tell India? All of it, that was the only way. Real honesty.
How
to tell her. That was the question. Find the right time. Tell her about Melinda. Tell her about Melinda’s sickness. Her drug-addiction. Tell her about their child. His beautiful little girl. He loved her. Atlanta. India. He loved them both.
What to do about Melinda? How did he get her well? Get her on her feet? And get her out of his life? Thank God he had never married her. Still, he had to be responsible. Help Melinda. Get Atlanta. Keep India…
When the nurse looked in a short time later she saw that Russell Rhodes, the famous artist, was sleeping soundly again. Best thing for him, she thought, knowing that it had been touch and go for a while, earlier that day. There was a moment when he might easily have died. Thank God he hadn’t. Luck was on his side. Everyone needed luck sometime in their lives, Nurse Paston thought, and she quietly closed the door of the room and went about her other duties.
T
he buzzing of the intercom brought Evan’s head up with a start and her eyes flew to the clock on the mantelpiece. It was exactly twenty minutes to seven and her parents weren’t due to arrive until seven, but she knew it was them. A moment before, she had pulled on a pair of black linen trousers; now she slipped her feet into black patent high-heeled mules and quickly buttoned her white cotton sleeveless blouse as she ran to the door.
The buzzer was shrilling again, and she snatched up the small wall phone and said, ‘Hello?’
‘It’s us,’ her father’s slightly disembodied voice informed her from the street.
‘Hi, Dad! I’ll buzz you in. Just push the door open. I’m on the third floor.’
‘See you in a minute.’
She replaced the receiver, ran back to the bedroom, put pearl studs on her ears, turned to run out again, then dashed back to the dressing table to get her sapphire engagement ring, which she slipped onto her finger. Finally she hurried back to the front door, opened it, stood poised on the threshold waiting–waiting for her mother and father to get out of the lift. It was almost but not quite opposite her front door, and as they suddenly appeared, stepped into the hall, she broke into smiles; excited, thrilled that they were here, she ran across to greet them, hugging her mother first and then her father.
After a big all-encompassing bear hug, Owen Hughes held her away from him and searched her face, his own wreathed in smiles. ‘It’s great to see you, Evan!’ he exclaimed. ‘Just wonderful.’
Her mother, also smiling, said, ‘We missed you, honey.’
‘And I’ve missed you, and it’s lovely to see
you
both after all these months,’ Evan responded, glancing first at her mother and then back at her father.
She stared at him intently for a split second, her stomach lurching, instantly thought: My God, he’s a younger version of Robin Ainsley. I always believed he resembled Richard Hughes. How peculiar he should resemble both men: one his biological father, the other the man who adopted him as a newborn. Except that Robin and Richard
were
exactly the same type–tall, lean, almost rangey, with bright blue eyes and dark hair. Well, Robin’s wasn’t exactly dark anymore, and Richard’s had turned pepper and salt long before his death.
Seemingly her grandmother Glynnis had fallen for the same type of man: men of similar physical appearance at least, like most women usually do, she had realized long ago. Suddenly becoming aware of the growing silence, a slight awkwardness between them, Evan said swiftly, ‘Well let’s not stand here in the hall…come in, come in.’ So saying she turned and led them into her apartment.
They followed rapidly on her heels, and she was instantly aware that their eyes were taking everything in as she closed the door and joined them. ‘This is the living room,’ she explained, ‘and there’s a small kitchen down at the far end. That’s where the room turns into an L shape, and becomes a small dining area. I have a bedroom and bathroom, and that’s it. It’s not very grand I know, but I love it.’
‘Somehow I thought it would be much larger,’ her father murmured as he continued to glance around. ‘The way you spoke about it…’
Evan thought he had sounded slightly critical and somewhat defensively she exclaimed, ‘It’s a lovely flat, Dad!’
‘Oh yes,’ he said, nodding, and walked the length of the room, still looking around. He remained silent, as if he were at a sudden loss for words, then made for the sofa near the fireplace.
Her mother said in a warm and confident tone, ‘I think it’s very nice, very nice indeed, Evan. Comfortable, cosy even, and perfect for you.’
‘Yes, it is, Mom.’ Evan was really surprised that her mother had sounded so firm, positive, and perhaps not quite as intimidated by her husband as she had been in the past. Taking hold of her mother’s arm affectionately, she led her over to the chairs placed opposite the sofa, where they both sat down. ‘I didn’t want a large apartment, Dad. Anyway, I was extremely lucky to get this. It’s a sub-let, furnished, and it’s ideal. It doesn’t need a lot of upkeep and it’s easy to keep clean. Besides, it’s near the store, and I can walk to Harte’s every day.’
Once again, it was her mother who spoke up. ‘I like it very much, honey, and I can see so many of your own little touches in evidence. Lots of plants and flowers, which you always love to have around you, the photographs of us all, your favourite books, the fashion and news magazines you enjoy, and bits and pieces I recognize. And I bet all of these cushions are yours, that you just bought them recently. Yes, you’ve really made it your own.’ When Evan was silent, Marietta asked softly, ‘I am right, aren’t I, Evan?’
‘Yes, you are, Mommy, and thanks.’ She grinned at her mother. ‘And I did just buy those cushions, you’re right. I tried to superimpose a little of my own taste, put my stamp on the flat. You see, the owner had taken out all of the small objects and accessories, so it was quite impersonal, almost cold. I had what I thought of as a blank canvas to work with. Anyway, it’s not forever, just a temporary place.’
‘The furniture’s very nice,’ her father remarked, obviously wanting to make amends for his first rather churlish words of a few moments ago. ‘That’s an extremely good-looking Georgian desk over there, and I’m sure the bookcases are Georgian, too.’ He got up, walked over to the bookcases, looked them over with an expert eye. ‘Yes, just as I thought.’ He glanced at the mirror hanging on the long back wall, and added, ‘That’s definitely a Georgian mirror. All very valuable pieces. Who owns this place?’
‘I don’t actually know,’ she answered swiftly, resorting to a fib, deciding that a small white lie of this nature didn’t matter if it kept the peace for the moment. ‘I made the deal through a real-estate agent. The young woman who owns it is living abroad.’
‘I see. Well, yes, it’s very nice,’ he murmured, obviously extremely impressed by the antiques, and returned to his seat on the sofa.
‘Now can I get you both a drink?’ Evan asked, rising. ‘A soft drink? Scotch or vodka? Wine? I’ve even got champagne.’
‘I’ll have a glass of white wine, Evan,’ her father said. ‘Thanks.’
‘And I’ll have one, too, please,’ Marietta announced in a light, clear voice.
Startled though she was by her mother’s request, because she never drank alcohol, Evan nonetheless managed to keep a neutral expression on her face. ‘Coming right up,’ she said, and hurried across the living room, making for the kitchen.
Once she was alone, Evan immediately took off her sapphire engagement ring and slipped it into the pocket of her trousers, hoping they hadn’t spotted it on the third finger on her right hand. But her father would have remarked on it if he had. He would have been unable to resist asking a few potent and probing questions.
As she opened the bottle of Sancerre she admitted to herself that she was afraid to discuss her engagement to Gideon, explain about him to her parents. And how furious
he
would be if he knew she had taken off his ring. But she felt easier within herself holding back this news. At least for the moment.
Pouring white wine into the elegant crystal goblets she had taken out of the cupboard, she thought about the changes in her mother. They were startling.
Firstly, Marietta looked very different. Her general appearance was much smarter than usual, her hair better groomed, her make-up nicely applied, and surprisingly she was well dressed. The navy-blue linen dress she wore was obviously expensive, superbly cut and styled, and more than likely it had cost much more than her mother was used to spending on herself. No, this was not her mother’s normal way of dressing, she who favoured t-shirts and slacks most of the time, and often looked sloppy and dishevelled.
Secondly, her mother was somehow managing to assert herself with Owen. Evan had been taken aback, and still was, because she had never seen her mother stand up to her father in her entire life. Certainly not in the way she just had, overriding his comments with opinions of her own. Why, she had practically pooh-poohed his opinion of the flat.
It struck Evan now that her mother seemed not only much better in health, but much more independent, even
spirited.
Evan couldn’t help wondering what had brought about this extraordinary change in a woman who had always seemed cowed, unhappy and depressed. She was just the opposite this evening. And this pleased Evan, made her happy for her mother, who had been a manic depressive for years and years. It’s amazing, she thought. And also puzzling. Was it a new medication finally kicking in? Or something else?
Opening the refrigerator, Evan took out the platter of hors d’oeuvres she had made earlier, and began to peel off the plastic wrap, thinking about her father. She had known Owen would spot the genuine antiques in the flat; after all, he was a leading antiques dealer in Manhattan and Connecticut, and a well-known expert in Georgian furniture, even gave lectures.
And everything in the flat
was
Georgian and valuable, he was correct in that assessment. It all belonged to Emily Barkstone Harte, Gideon’s mother; she also owned the flat which was normally occupied by her daughter Natalie, Gideon’s sister. Since Natalie was currently doing a stint at the Harte newspaper company in Sydney, Gideon had arranged for her to move in for a few months until Natalie returned to London.
Evan had been anxious to leave the charming little hotel where she had lived since her arrival in London in January until a few weeks ago. And Gideon had wanted her to leave, to have a place of her own, and blessed privacy. The hotel belonged to her father’s great friend George Thomas, and they both agreed that whilst Arlette, George’s wife, was a lovely, loving and motherly woman who doted on Evan, she was far too keenly interested in their relationship for comfort.
Evan constantly had the feeling that her comings and goings were noted by Arlette and reported to her father, albeit in the most innocent way, with no malice aforethought. But nonetheless she believed it wiser to move on, so that she was totally removed from Arlette’s scrutiny and her never-ending questions about Harte’s store and her private life.
There was no reason for her parents to know anything about her reasons for leaving the hotel, other than that she wanted a place of her own to call home. Or to know about the ownership of this flat filled with these beautiful Georgian pieces. It was nobody’s business but hers. She was, after all, free, white and twenty-one. Twenty-seven actually, self-supporting and therefore her own boss. She did not have to explain or answer to anyone.
Feeling more comfortable now that she had removed the engagement ring, Evan carried the tray of drinks into the living room and put it down on the coffee table near the sofa.
After handing her mother and father a glass of wine she turned and went back to the kitchen, saying over her shoulder, ‘I made a few little snacks, I’ll only be a moment.’ And she was, hurrying back within a second or two, her face full of smiles.
Placing the platter she was carrying on the coffee table, she sat down next to her mother and reached for her glass. ‘Cheers, Mom, Dad, and welcome to London.’
‘Cheers,’ her parents said in unison, and both of them took a sip of their wine.
‘Help yourself to the smoked salmon and little sausage rolls,’ Evan instructed, love and warmth echoing in her voice. ‘I made them myself.’
Her mother beamed at her. ‘You’ve gone to a lot of trouble, thank you, honey.’
Her father said, ‘So fill us in, Evan, tell us your plans. We’re dying to hear what you intend to do for the rest of the year.’
Evan stared at her father in surprise, and exclaimed, ‘But I talk to you once a week, every week, and you know my plans, Dad. I love working at Harte’s, and that’s what I’m going to do for the rest of the year.’ She felt like adding, and the rest of my life, but refrained. She sat back, her eyes on her father.
‘I see. But a moment or two ago you said this flat was only temporary…’ His voice trailed off and he looked suddenly baffled, uncertain.