Chapter 28 #3
And just as he knew when a good deal was about to go sour, he knew that she was going to go off with her parents and there wasn’t a damned thing he could do about it.
He managed to get her off into a corner by herself whilst her parents and brother were otherwise occupied.
And once he had her there, all he could do was look at her.
“Aren’t you going to tell me not to go?” she asked quietly.
He took a deep breath. “I’m not sure this is my day to boss you.”
She looked slightly shattered. “I see.”
He reached out and pulled her against him, then held her as fiercely as he dared.
“I want you, Samantha Drummond, to make up your own mind,” he whispered against her ear.
He had to take several decent breaths before he could pull back only as far as was required to be able to look at her.
“And while I’m not an advocate of ruining relationships, I can’t take away from you what you need to gain by drawing the line for your parents yourself. ”
Her mouth fell open.
He realized his was hanging open as well.
“Where did that come from?” she asked.
“I have no idea.”
“You sound so reasonable and grown up.”
He started to defend himself when he realized she was teasing him. “Trust me, it’s like a fever. It’ll be gone soon enough and I’ll be back to my world-weary, unpleasant self.”
She threw her arms around his neck and held on to him tightly. She held on to him even though harrumphing had started up over in the direction of her parents. She lasted much longer than he’d expected she would. She sank back to her heels and looked at him.
“I need to go.”
He nodded, because he couldn’t say anything.
She kissed him, a fleeting kiss he scarce felt, then she turned and walked across the room.
Derrick walked out of the gallery and went home. Because he could do nothing else.
· · ·
He got up the next day, showered, went downstairs and made himself coffee, then found his keys and walked to the door. Because that’s just what he did.
There was an envelope that had come through the mail slot. His first instinct was to call a bomb squad, but he rolled his eyes instead and picked it up. His name was on the front, which was somewhat reassuring. He opened it, then pulled out the single sheaf of paper.
All the Things I Like About Derrick Cameron.
He looked off into his salon, then decided that he should save something for a reward after he managed to get through the day.
He returned the page to its spot inside the envelope, shoved the envelope into the back pocket of his jeans, then left his apartment and caught a cab to his office.
His phone rang. He looked down, then sighed, but answered anyway.
“Interesting, that a piece of Victorian embroidery turned up here in my office,” said a familiar voice.
“Yes, Detective Inspector Avery,” Derrick said politely, “I imagine it was.”
“Don’t suppose you would have any idea where it came from.”
“Did it find itself back in the proper hands?”
“Happily, it did.”
“Then I would have to say that I can’t remember anything about it.”
“Why did I know you would say that?”
“Because you know there might be other times when I might say something else entirely and hope springs eternal?”
“I suppose so.” Avery cleared his throat. “Stop sweeping for speed cameras on your long drives, Derrick. You’re about to bankrupt us.”
Derrick smiled, then rang off and continued on his way.
He wandered into his office half an hour later, cursing traffic under his breath and considering cursing other things quite audibly. He paused, then took stock of the situation.
Oliver was passed out in the middle of his rug, looking fairly dead.
Peter was staring off into the distance as if he considered things he shouldn’t, a glass of some sort of green sludge in one hand.
Sunny’s doing, no doubt. Rufus was happily buried in the Financial Times, but he at least looked up and winked.
“Cousin?”
Derrick looked over to see Cameron standing at his door. “Aye?”
Cameron opened the door fully and nodded for Derrick to come in. Derrick did because Cameron was his laird and he liked to make the odd display of obedience now and again.
“Well?”
“Well, what?” Derrick asked.
“You aren’t just going to let her go, are you?”
“Why is everyone so interested in my love life?” Derrick asked crossly.
“Because I like her. She’s just the breath of fresh air you need.”
“I don’t need any fresh air.”
“Derrick, my lad, you need a woman who doesn’t care about what you own. And Samantha doesn’t care. Does she have any idea what you have in the bank?”
“Of course not. But she covets my Vanquish.”
“I never said she wasn’t a bright girl, just not a greedy one. As for anything else, I’m not sure what else you want.”
Derrick leaned back against the door. “I want her to have time. I might be the first bloke she’s ever kissed.”
“And this is a bad thing?”
“What if she’s not content?” Derrick asked, though the words were almost more than he could spit out.
Cameron looked at him seriously. “Derrick, I didn’t know your mother, but if I might make a comparison, she sounds as if she was every bit like mine.
” He paused. “There are some people, men and women both, who will never be happy, no matter in what circumstances they find themselves. There is not enough money, no castle grand enough, no life easy enough to content them.”
“‘My crown is called content; a crown it is that seldom kings enjoy,’” Derrick said with a sigh.
“Exactly.”
“But Sunny’s content,” Derrick said slowly.
“In Scotland, in London, walking the floor with a lad who thinks naps should be limited to a quarter hour a day,” Cameron agreed. “If you want my suggestion, give your Samantha time, but give her a chance.”
Derrick sighed.
“I think she might surprise you. Oh, I have something for you.”
Derrick accepted the package, opened it, then looked at the mounted colored pencil sketch in his hands.
It was the drawing of Samantha’s that he had given to Gavin the night before, the drawing of his shore.
He looked at his cousin. “How much did you pay for this?”
“Five thousand, but that was a special price for me because of our long personal history with Gavin Drummond. He promised me that when he got his hands on more by this artist, the price would go up sharply.”
“His head will explode when he learns whose art he’s selling.”
“I’d suggest keeping it quiet then, until he’s well and truly hooked on the commissions this mysterious Scottish artist is bringing him. Apparently he hasn’t figured out who Sam is, though perhaps he thinks it’s the artist’s initials and not her name.”
Derrick smiled. “She’ll be pleased with both things.”
“I forced him to allow me to set up an account for her. The money’s waiting when she wants it.”
“Good of you.”
“He’s an untrustworthy whoreson, but there you have it.” He studied Derrick. “What are you going to do now?”
Derrick considered all the things he could do. He could go back into his office, nudge Oliver awake, and get back to business. He could go home, bury himself in his salon, and read fiction until he was numb.
Or he could take a chance on something that was so spectacularly wonderful, he hardly dared hope that it might be within his grasp. He looked at his cousin.
“I’m going back to the flat to hang up my gift. Thank you.”
Cameron smiled. “Then what?”
Derrick got up and walked to the door. He looked back at his cousin briefly.
“I’m going to go make a list for someone I love.”