Chapter 28 #2
“Mother,” Samantha said weakly, turning to look at her parents. “Father. What are you doing here?”
“We came to fetch you, of course,” Louise McKinnon said crisply. “And of course your father just had to take a detour to see this rehearsal.”
“I’ve been corresponding with Edmund since we knew you were going to stay with them,” Samantha’s father said with diction so crisp, he made his wife sound as if she’d had marbles in her mouth, “so I felt I should pay him a visit here.” He looked down his nose at Derrick. “And who, may I ask, are you?”
Derrick looked over his shoulder to see Connor striding up the aisle. He nodded toward him. “His younger brother.”
The amount of theatrical arse-kissing that then ensued made him realize that perhaps he’d gotten the better deal after all. He lasted approximately three minutes before he pulled his phone out of his ear, took Samantha by the elbow, and left the theater.
He gave the police a statement and all his pertinent information, listened to Samantha do the same, then found a bench outside the theater and sat down with her.
“We probably shouldn’t hold hands,” he said with a sigh.
“Probably not.”
That set less well with him than he’d thought it might.
He considered, then shot a text to his favorite detective inspector, letting him know the barest of details about what had happened and asking him to have a look at the case, which would definitely keep his lads and Samantha out of it. Then he texted Oliver.
***
Waiting on you.
I’m waiting on the parents.
Hahahahahaha.
Derrick pursed his lips and showed the conversation to Samantha, who only looked rather green. He continued to glance over at the door to the theater. And before he could truly digest the madness of the day, people poured out the front door and the press magically appeared.
“Amazing,” Samantha murmured. “Feels like home.”
Derrick grunted. He imagined her father attracted press as well, whether they wanted to come or not.
He didn’t move, though, even when Edmund moved close enough that Derrick could hear him clearly. Well, he would have heard him clearly across a stadium, but perhaps that was beside the point.
“That man there, Derrick Cameron, has restored to me my family’s legacy. And I have a confession to make. I made a mistake many years ago and gave a part that should have gone to him to another.” He bowed his head. “I’m grieved to this day and can only hope he’ll forgive me.”
“Slick,” Samantha said under her breath.
Derrick looked at the crowd gathered around Edmund, then sighed. “I’m not all that, am I?”
“Oh, I think you left people in tears four hundred years ago. I was one of them.”
He smiled. “I don’t think even my brother can top that.”
“Do you really care what your brother does or doesn’t do?” she asked searchingly.
He shook his head. “I don’t.” He looked up. “Your parents.”
She muttered a very unladylike expletive with surprisingly good diction.
He smiled at her, amused, then stood up and prepared to greet the family again. And he ignored the fact that his brother had come with them and was impatiently waiting to be acknowledged.
“Come along, Samantha,” Louise said imperiously. “We’re going to go visit Gavin’s gallery in London, then we’ll decide on a brief tour of the more important sites in the UK before we go home. Your father has rehearsals.”
Derrick held out his hand. Louise looked at it, then looked at him suspiciously.
“Who are you?”
He was fairly sure she’d heard him introduce himself to her husband, but perhaps she wanted to be acknowledged.
“My younger brother,” Connor said loudly, before Derrick could say anything.
Louise looked at Connor and frowned. “Is he?” She looked at her husband. “Is he?”
“They certainly look quite a bit alike.”
Derrick found himself on the receiving end of paternal scrutiny.
“I see,” Richard Drummond said, stroking his chin thoughtfully. “Edmund made some noises about his having cost you a role.”
“It was a long time ago,” Derrick said with a shrug. “Water under the bridge.”
“Degree?”
“Acting, from LAMDA,” Samantha said. “Scholarship. Insanely good reviews.”
Her father looked at her as if he weren’t altogether happy that she knew that, then turned back to Derrick. “Your brother acts. Why don’t you?”
“Because he can’t,” Connor spat.
Derrick looked at his brother and wondered for the first time why he had spared a moment’s thought over him.
He was a petty, jealous, little man who had never had any friends but those who didn’t know him well.
The rest lasted until they wearied of having him tear them down to make himself feel better.
He looked at Samantha’s parents. “I am going back to London myself. If you would like, I would be happy to take Samantha so you could speak a bit longer with Edmund. I can’t imagine he’ll want to let you get away before he’s able to tell you how flattering it is to have a couple of your reputation and stature visit his production. ”
Samantha’s mother puffed up. Her father puffed as well, though not quite as much. He looked at Derrick.
“I suppose,” he said slowly.
“I’ll deliver her safely to Gavin’s. Your son and I have done business together in the past and he knows me.” Just don’t call him for a character reference.
“Very well,” Richard said slowly. “We have an appointment with him at seven.”
“Seven it is,” Derrick said cheerfully. He looked at Samantha. “Miss Drummond?”
Samantha would have said good-bye to her parents, but they had already decamped for a spot in front of the press.
She walked with him away from the crowd.
She perhaps would have spoken, but apparently she realized at the same time he did that they were not alone.
Connor was following them like an Elizabethan London stench.
“Don’t tell me you’re still dogsbodying for Robert the Usurper,” Connor sneered. “Can’t find a better job?”
Derrick sighed. Sometimes there was just no talking to people.
“And how desperate is that girl there—”
Derrick stopped and looked at him. “Shut your mouth right there, Connor,” he said coldly, and in Gaelic. “If you say one more thing, I promise you, you’ll regret it.”
“You wouldn’t dare.”
“Oh, he would,” Samantha said cheerfully, also in Gaelic. “And if you don’t want him to kick your arse six ways to Sunday, I’d suggest you, well, I don’t want to be impolite.” She took Derrick’s arm. “Come on, Derrick. You can drive the car this time.”
“What car?” Connor shouted after them. “Some rental Ford?”
“Just keep walking,” Samantha said firmly. “Don’t look back.”
“I want to hurt him,” Derrick said distinctly.
“No, you don’t. You want to spend many years out of jail driving your car and sitting in front of your house and enjoying the money from the sale of your gem.”
“A fairy breathed on it and made it magical. I can’t sell it now.”
She looked up at him, laughed, then pulled him along.
“And why didn’t you tell me you spoke Gaelic?”
“A girl needs her secrets. Walk faster. Your brother is following.”
He didn’t imagine he would make it all the way to the car park without some sort of confrontation.
It made him feel slightly better to have Oliver almost run over his brother as he jaywalked across the street.
And if Oliver had left his hand on the horn a bit longer than necessary to alert everyone in the area to the indignity, Derrick wasn’t going to complain.
He stopped in front of the passenger’s side of the car and waited until he heard his brother come huffing and puffing up. Connor looked down his nose.
“This isn’t yours.”
Derrick clicked the lock, opened the door, then saw Samantha inside. He closed the door, walked around the back of the car and got in under the wheel. He started it up, let the engine idle for a moment or two, then backed out of the stall without looking at his brother.
“He looks like he’d like to throw up,” Samantha remarked.
“Did you take a picture with my phone?”
“I thought I should.”
“Did he see you?”
“Well, of course. What good would it have been otherwise?”
He paused, leaned over and kissed her, then smiled into her eyes. “You are a wonder.”
“And you have a forgiving heart.”
“Well, that’s debatable. Will you text Oliver for me and see what he’s up to?”
She did, then laughed a little now and then. “He says he’s on his way home, assumes you’ve tidied up the scene of the crime, and wonders if the reservation at the Ritz is still good or if he should stop at Marks and Spencer for something prepackaged.”
“Tell him thank you, that we have a few fairied gems to split up, and no, I’m not paying for his dinner. I’ll call him when we hit London. He loves art galleries and Peter could do terrible things to your brother’s computer system.”
“Sounds promising.” She laughed a bit more, then set his phone down and looked at him. “Do you want to come with me to Gavin’s?”
“I wouldn’t miss it. I need to go fetch something out of the flat.”
“What?”
“Your drawing of the sea.”
“Where is it?”
“In my bedroom, lass,” he said seriously. “Where I had intended to look at it every day.”
She was silent for so long, he had to look at her. A single tear rolled down her cheek. “I can draw you another,” she whispered.
He only reached for her hand.
And he held it the rest of the way back to the city.
· · ·
The brief foray into Gavin Drummond’s gallery was less satisfying than he would have hoped.
Gavin was absolutely gobsmacked by Samantha’s sketch of the view in front of his house—submitted anonymously for inspection, of course—wanted to know where Derrick had gotten it, and demanded that since he dealt in art and Derrick didn’t that he be given the artist’s number.
He also demanded the piece so he could sell it.
Derrick didn’t want to let it go, but the chance to give Samantha a start in something she loved was too powerful to refuse.