Chapter 22 Savi
Savi
The day was a tad chillier than Savi had expected, but Ma didn’t seem to mind.
They sat on the Dower House’s stone terrace, beside the tranquil waters of the loch, its surface a deep blue. The forest around them was less traditional, the green hues having transformed into a sea of red and orange.
Autumn was upon them, but the view had never been more beautiful.
To Savi, it was breathtaking, and she itched to come out here with her easel before the colours faded to brown.
To Ma and Ophelia? They’d hardly taken their eyes off it, their gaze pulling towards the view whenever there was a lull in conversation.
When Savi thought of the view the two of them had had over the last five and three years, respectively, it was easy to see why.
To go from a dank cellar to Silverburn’s magnificence must feel like something out of a dream.
The two of them had been joined at the hip since they’d arrived in Edinburgh, although Savi suspected that was more for Ophelia’s benefit than Ma’s.
Savi half wanted to spend every waking hour with Ma, catching up on what they’d lost. She’d quickly realised she needed to be more realistic in light of Ma’s relationship with Ophelia. It would have been easy to feel jealous over their dynamic, but she found she had none.
Savi was a self-assured woman approaching thirty; Ophelia was a traumatised pregnant girl who’d been imprisoned and brutalised.
Out of the two of them, Savi knew who needed Ma more.
Although Ophelia did seem to be branching out. Her interactions with the rest of the family had been brief, but at that very moment in time she was talking to Ben, their voices lowered and half a smile gracing Ophelia’s face.
Ma’s conversations had been more varied, from reminiscing with Savi, discussing the estate’s business ventures with Alex, giving Lily advice on which hair products were less likely to permanently damage her hair, catching up on Ben’s treatments, discussing the case against Franklin and Raj with Alex’s solicitor, even to giving the cook advice about Indian recipes.
Ophelia had been her silent shadow through it all, but Ma was leaping into life at Silverburn.
Savi loved to see it.
The only niggle in her consciousness had been how little George was coping.
No one other than Alex knew that she’d gone to Belgrave Square after Raj had been arrested. According to Clarkson, Raj would be allowed to send a letter to Katherine and the children once his paperwork had been sorted, but it still hadn’t been delivered by the time Savi arrived there.
Before she’d explained a thing, Savi had asked the question that had been rattling around in her mind for years prior to Ma’s confirmation. “When did you and Raj begin your affair?”
Katherine had recoiled, her eyes widening in surprise. “Savi,” she chided, looking over at the closed morning room door, presumably to check they weren’t in danger of being overheard.
“Please just answer the question.”
“It was never an affair,” Katherine whispered. “Raj and your mother were divorcing. Why—why are you asking about such a thing?”
Her brows had furrowed slightly. Hadn’t Ma said she’d only asked for a divorce a week before she’d been imprisoned? “When did he tell you about the divorce?”
“I—I don’t remember. It was years ago, Savi. Not long after we met. Probably at a dinner party somewhere.”
“Was it before your affair began or after?” she asked pointedly.
“Oh.” The confusion left her face. “Before, obviously. I’m not a—” Katherine lowered her voice “—a mistress.”
Savi nodded, her exhale weighed down with the events of the day.
Did that mean Raj was intending to divorce Ma?
Or was it simply a story he spun to begin an affair with Katherine?
After today, she was more inclined to believe Katherine than trust a single word that left Raj’s mouth, but she accepted that it was likely one of those things she would never truly get to the bottom of.
And frankly, there were more important things she needed to discuss with Katherine.
“Where is your family seat?” Savi began, knowing that once the news of Raj’s arrest broke—and the scandal that would inevitably follow—it would be better for Katherine and the boys to leave London. She knew they took George there on holiday every year, but its name and location escaped her.
“Thorncliffe Abbey? It’s near Berwick. In Northumberland.
” Katherine’s expression was torn between bewilderment and fear, and Savi was suddenly reminded just how young Katherine was.
When she was being a mother to George and Albie, it was easy to forget that her stepmother was six months younger than her.
“Why are you asking me these things? Where’s Raj? Is he still with the prince?”
“You may want to sit down,” Savi murmured gently.
“No.” Katherine’s fear lined her voice. “Where is he?”
The touch of Alex’s hand over Savi’s spine brought her back to their picnic beside the loch.
The conversations around them had carried on—Ophelia’s smile had grown as she and Ben spoke, Possum the cat sitting in his lap.
Ma was discussing the upcoming Diwali celebrations with Lily, something that Savi had barely given a thought to.
She’d been so consumed with discovering the sanatorium business that she hadn’t been living her life.
Her only reprieve had been the time she spent either with Alex or in her art room.
“You okay?” Alex asked, too low for the rest of the family to overhear. Her leather satchel hung over his chair, swaying in the slight breeze.
She nodded, a smile coming to her face. “I am.” Now that Ma had her freedom, Savi was allowing herself to live, rather than feel guilty about her own freedom.
Alex had already taken her to an exhibition at a museum in Edinburgh.
They’d been over to Inchcolm Island on a sightseeing trip—mainly to allow her to draw the grey seals and puffins that lived there.
Silverburn’s ghillie was tracking down a red stag—specifically a monarch, as requested by Alex.
They were even planning on a trip to Oxford, so Savi could give Alex a tour of the city.
She was no longer just existing. She was living.
And she had a very important phone call scheduled this evening.
By the time the picnic ended, darkness was falling, and the temperature with it. Lily was first to leave, with Ophelia and Ma going with her, but Savi and Alex hung back, wanting to speak to Ben alone.
“Help yourselves to drinks,” Ben offered, leading them into the house. He walked along a long rug running into a small library—a raised path for him to follow. It ended at the foot of a plush armchair, beside which lay a table containing a small selection of drinks.
Possum quickly caught up to them, jumping onto the arm of the chair and looking up at Ben, clearly expecting him to sit down.
“Actually,” Savi began, “I wanted to give you something.” She’d just wanted to wait until the picnic was over to hand it over privately. Personally, she’d always hated being watched opening gifts; it wasn’t something she wanted to force on someone else.
Ben turned towards them, one hand on the armchair. “Oh?”
Possum let out a mew.
Alex handed Savi the leather satchel he’d insisted on carrying for her, unfailingly chivalrous.
She pulled out the tiny six-by-eight-inch canvas—the smallest canvas size the shop in Edinburgh carried.
As she’d used generous helpings of paint to create the effect she’d wanted, Savi had mounted the canvas to a wooden panel.
It had taken an age to dry, but as to whether it would produce the intended effect?
The proof would be in the pudding.
“Here,” Savi approached Ben, guiding his hand up to the wooden board before passing it over.
A muscle twitched between Ben’s brows. “I can smell the paint, but…” He trailed off as he ran his touch over the painting. “Is this in impasto?”
Savi nodded automatically, instantly realising he wouldn’t be able to see it. “It is.”
“Did you p—?” Ben’s scarred eyes widened as shock bloomed in his expression. Taking a moment to recover his slacked jaw, he flashed his teeth in a grin—a sight she’d never seen before. “Is this a cat?”
The fact that he was able to identify what it was made her want to bounce with excitement. “Bloody hell,” he laughed, running a hand through his piebald hair before re-examining the painting, following the brushstrokes with his fingers. “It’s incredible. Did you paint this?”
“I did, with the help of Possum modelling.” The cat had been damned hard to find. It was her first time actively hunting down a life model, but eventually she’d managed some preparatory sketches on the shores of the loch.
Although Possum did occasionally visit Silverburn, she largely stuck to the Dower House—and her person.
“I got the idea when you mentioned Braille at dinner; you needed something tactile to touch, to read. It’s not a technique I’ve used with any great frequency, so it’s a bit rudimentary—”
“I could instantly tell what it was,” Ben waved off her dismissal, as boyishly keen as she’d ever seen him. “It’s amazing. Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.” Savi beamed, feeling unusually bashful. “I do have another couple of impasto paintings drying, just practicing different styles in case you wanted more done. One’s Silverburn itself and the other is a landscape of the loch.”
Ben nodded, his white forelock bouncing. “Yes, please. Both of those…” His throat shifted as he swallowed. “They would mean the world to me.”
“I’ll bring them over as soon as they’re dry,” Savi promised, a little uncertain at the sudden emotion on Ben’s expression.
“Let me know if you want paintings of anything else, or other paintings copied in that style.” She knew he had been a lover of art prior to the mustard gas attack. “I’m no Van Gogh, but I can try.”