Chapter Seven
D elia entered the bustling café and scanned the crowd, hoping to spot her brother. The noise was deafening, but she tried to block it out.
Tom, true to form, was already there and waved from one of the tiny tables at the far end of the room. “Hey, sis, this way.”
She smiled and weaved through the tightly packed tables and chairs.
He stood and enveloped her in a bear hug. “Come here, my favorite workaholic.”
“Ah, Tom, good to see you. Thanks for getting us a table. It’s bedlam in here.” She patted his back before releasing him.
Her shoulders dropped, and her jaw relaxed. She’d been rushing around all morning at John Winter’s behest, but being with Tom always calmed her. Even here, in this noisy, packed space thick with the aroma of melted cheese.
He pulled out a chair for her and sat back in his. “The trick is to arrive before the students get released from their holding pens.”
She studied the table top and bit her lip. “Sorry, I’m late again, but things are crazy busy at the lab.”
He arched an eyebrow. “When are you ever not run off your feet?”
She perked up. “Ah, you know, things will calm down once I get tenure. I’ll be able to plan my future and will no longer be beholden to bloody John Winter.”
“That tyrant in lab coat has been dangling that job in front of your nose for exactly how long now?”
“Too long,” she admitted. “But this time, I’m nearly there. The interviews are starting soon. And I’m the most qualified person for the job—teaching experience, research, publications.”
They had to give the position to her. She didn’t want to even contemplate the alternative.
“Yeah, but that doesn’t always carry the day in academic circles, does it?” He held up both hands. “Sorry, that sounded cruel, but I’m worried about you, sis. I don’t want you to be disappointed.”
“I know, you’re only looking out for me.” She briefly squeezed his hand.
He was the sensible one; always had been. Their differences in temperament aside, they were close. Since their mum had emigrated to Australia with her new husband five years ago, they were each other’s only family in England.
Their dad and his current girlfriend lived in the Scottish Highlands, and even though he was on the same landmass as his two kids, he only made the trip down south every two years, all going well. Holed up in his tiny cottage on the outskirts of Inverness, he didn’t encourage visitors.
Delia was occasionally angry about his lack of contact, but Tom was all Zen. ‘He couldn’t be bothered with us when we were small, why should he bother now?’ was his stance. She sometimes wished she could reach that level of detachment.
“How’re Anjali and the kids?” Delia glanced at the menu, then dropped it onto the table. She’d go for her favorite quiche with a side salad again.
“All well. Jamie’s done with teething for the moment, thank God.” He leaned back and took an expansive breath. “And Rubina, your favorite, made a new friend at school this week.”
“I’m not surprised; she’s a little angel. But I’ve no favorites. I love Jamie equally well. Let me know when Anjali and you need another date night. I’ll be happy to babysit, especially now Jamie’s latest set of baby teeth has broken through.”
They both laughed.
“I’ll take you up on that offer in a week or two.”
The waitress arrived, and they ordered their food.
He tilted his head and focused on Delia.
“At the risk of sounding like an overbearing big brother, let me just say this. You should have your own children. Judging by the way my kids adore you, you’d be a great mum.
Your career’s important to you, and that’s wonderful, but maybe take a break every so often.
Find a nice man to start a family with.”
She rolled her eyes. “Not that again. I’ll have a baby, at least one, via a sperm donor once I’ve got tenure, when they can’t sack me for getting pregnant.”
“Raising kids is hard work. It’s easier with two parents involved,” he said. “You need a proper support system, a partner, and a couple of good friends. Right now, your job is leeching every ounce of energy from you, and I’m concerned that you’re left isolated.”
“I’m used to the grind, and hardly any man is as good a dad as you are.
” She patted his forearm. “There’s a host of women who have partners but are still left with the lion’s share of care work.
” Heat swept through her gut. “I might as well do it on my own. At least that way I get to call the shots.”
He sighed. “I know where you’re coming from, I really do. But not every marriage is like our parents’ shitshow.”
“Yes, but what Anjali and you have is a rare phenomenon and not at all easy to replicate.”
He covered her hand with his. “How will you ever know if you’re not even trying?”
“It means I can’t fail.” She lifted her chin and slowly extricated her hand.
He studied her with a thoughtful expression. “Sorry, I overstepped. Any news with you? Other than experiments that work out and those that don’t?”
“Hold your breath, brother.” She braced her elbows on the table and rested her face on her palms. “I’m being painted. A full-length portrait. By a real artist.”
His forehead crinkled. “Delia, what’s this now?”
“Don’t stress.” She gave a dismissive wave. “It’s not a nude if that’s what you’re worried about. I’m wearing a floor-length ballgown.”
He snorted. “You in a ballgown.”
She smirked. “I know.”
There was a lull in the conversation when the food arrived. They grabbed their cutlery and started eating.
“By the way, who’s the artist?” he asked, between bites of his burger.
“I met him through work. He just lost his dad, and he likes to paint. I thought it’d be a nice thing to do, to pose for him, take his mind off things, you know. He’s also in a pretty tight spot financially.” She speared a cherry tomato with her fork and put it in her mouth.
Tom sat up. “And how did this come about?”
“John Winter needed DNA from the painter’s ancestor, and he sent me to collect some teeth so—”
Tom tsked. “Your boss asked the poor bloke for his dead dad’s teeth? A clear sign that he’s finally lost his mind.”
“No.” She put up a hand. “Not his father’s teeth, rather those of his great-great-great-great grandfather.”
“But how does he even know where his remains are?” he asked.
“They’re interred in the vault underneath their chapel. You know, the Kirwans of Renwood Hall.”
Tom’s eyebrows wandered toward his hairline. “You’re being painted by the new Earl of Renwood? ”
“Yes.” She chewed on a mouthful of quiche, unbothered by the artist’s aristocratic pedigree.
Tom leaned his forehead on his hand. “This is totally mad. Those posh people don’t mix with the likes of us.”
“He’s down to earth though. Not snobbish at all. And he may soon have to sell Renwood Hall, I believe.” She put down her fork and tugged at the corner of her napkin.
“Oh, how the mighty have fallen.” He glanced at the ceiling with mock-solemnity. “This whole bloody town and the university’s named after them, and now this.”
“Yeah, I feel sorry for him, you know. He’s so sad underneath his friendly courteousness.” The edge of her napkin was frayed, but still she kept pulling at it.
“A man who can move your heart. Is there a glimmer of hope after all?” Tom grinned.
“Oh no no no.” She lifted her fork and broke off another piece of quiche. “He’s a serious one and will need a proper countess to keep the dynasty going.”
Maybe telling Tom about this hadn’t been such a good idea. He was far too interested in the particulars.
“What’s the use of it when he’s about to lose their fancy house?”
“He may still be able to save it. I’m not sure.” She rubbed her lower lip. “I don’t like to ask, you know.”
Tom chuckled. “Best of luck to your new aristocratic friend.”
~ * ~
“H ave you been for a run in our park yet?” Gabriel asked while sorting the brushes he’d need for this day’s painting session.
Delia shrugged out of her coat. “Oh, I’d completely forgotten, but I’m not sure I’m comfortable coming and going without you. We could go for a run together. How does that sound?” She dropped the coat and handbag on the armchair beside her and rubbed her hands.
“Great idea. Renoir will also want to come along, I’m certain.”
“He’ll make sure we run at a proper pace.” She scanned the green drawing room. “Now, where’s that glamorous dress? Ah, there it is.” Two strides brought her to the chaise longue.
She picked up the shimmering folds of silk with careful hands and got ready for another stint of modelling. As she glided into the pose, he had to admit, he liked to watch her assume the role of countess with ease.
“What type of research are you doing in your lab?” Gabriel peeked past the canvas. She knew so much about him already; it was time he asked some questions.
“We’re trying to discover how DNA transactions work in human cells. Sounds vague, I know. Do you want me to go into more detail?”
There was a tiny moment where he was tempted to feign an ardent interest in science, but he opted for the truth instead. “Umm, maybe not, it’ll go right over my head anyway.”
“No, it wouldn’t.” She fixed him with a sparkling look. “Properly explained, it becomes very clear. But would it bore you? I’ve lately come to realize not everyone is crazy about genetics.”
“I won’t be able to concentrate on it while painting, but I’d love to hear more about your research some other time?” Did he sound desperate for friendship? Was it too obvious he’d like to keep meeting her after this portrait was finished?
He clenched his jaw and suppressed the emerging self-doubt. Being in her company felt good, and until she told him otherwise, he’d keep pursuing this friendship of sorts they’d forged under rather unusual circumstances.
“Yes sure.” She beamed. “I’ll come for tea and bring my model of the DNA molecule. It’s my favorite thing, nice and old-fashioned. I take it to all my introductory lectures in biochemistry.”