Epilogue
Just over two years later . . .
The weather outside was typical of a January evening in Edinburgh: freezing cold and raining, but inside the gallery it was warm and bright and alive with the hum of people milling around, champagne flutes in hands, and enjoying the watercolour collection on display.
Rose walked about the exhibition taking in the atmosphere and attempting to be as surreptitious as possible. There was plenty of champagne left, she noted, and canapés were circling — once you’d worked in events, she supposed you never stopped checking things were running smoothly.
“You’ve done beautifully, my dear,” said Aunt Helena from next to her. Aunt Helena looked resplendent in a bright pink kaftan and was obviously in her element.
“Do you really think so?” Rose asked.
“I do. Have you seen how many sold stickers there are already? I don’t think I sold a single piece from my first exhibition.”
Rose raised an eyebrow.
“All right, maybe I did sell one or two,” Aunt Helena admitted.
“I bet you didn’t have a mentor who organised your first exhibition in one of the most famous galleries in the UK,” Rose commented.
“Believe me, they didn’t need much persuading. Your work is exceptional.”
“Thank you!” Rose surprised Aunt Helena with a hug. “I can’t believe I have a collection and that people have come and are interested in seeing it!”
“I have absolutely no trouble believing this,” said Alastair, coming up behind Rose and putting his arms around her. “Are you okay?” he whispered into her hair.
“I think so,” she murmured. “I feel better with you here.”
“It looks amazing,” he assured her. “I’m so proud of you.”
A waiter came over. “Would you like a drink?” Alastair asked, helping himself to a glass of champagne from the offered tray.
“No, thanks. I should keep a clear head,” Rose said.
“There she is!” Isla appeared from the crowds, followed by her aunt and uncle.
“Thank you all so much for coming,” Rose said as she found herself surrounded. She couldn’t stop smiling. This evening was like a dream come true. A dream she’d tucked away for so long, sure that it was out of reach. She just wished her mother could be there.
“Excuse me? Rose?” said a young man carrying a dictaphone. “I’m Rob Harrow, from the Edinburgh Tribune . Have you got a minute to answer some questions for a piece about this evening?”
“Sure!” Rose tried not to show how nervous she was.
“We’ll leave you to it, and catch up later,” said Fiona, kissing Rose on the cheek, and leading her husband and Aunt Helena away to go and look around the exhibition.
“Great! Well, first of all, is it okay for me to call you Rose or do you prefer Lady Rose now that you’re a laird’s wife?”
Rose laughed. “Rose is fine!”
“And you’re supported by your husband tonight?”
“She is,” said Alastair. “I wouldn’t have missed this for anything.”
“And her daughter!” said Isla, anxious not to be left out.
Rose put her arm around Isla. “That’s right.”
“Mum properly adopted me last month,” Isla announced, sounding so proud. “She’s the best mum ever.”
Rose wondered if she would ever stop feeling emotional when Isla called her mum; she suspected not. Especially when she recalled the look on Isla’s face when she unwrapped her completed adoption papers on Christmas Day.
She felt Alastair taking her hand in his and giving it a little squeeze.
“Wow, congratulations,” said the reporter. “And this is your first exhibition?”
“It is,” said Rose. “And it’s dedicated to the memory of my mother, Elaine Alridge. It’s a collection based on the things she loved most. Her favourite landscapes, people, buildings, flowers. Anything that I remember she loved, I have included.”
“What a wonderful memorial.”
“I hope so,” Rose said. She could feel tears pricking her eyes.
“My wife needs to mingle with her guests now, but if you have any more questions, I’m sure she’ll be more than happy to answer them if you want to call or arrange a meeting,” said Alastair, smoothly. “Let me give you a contact number.”
“Thank you,” Rose mouthed as the journalist left.
“Not a problem. Isla, would you mind going to check with Aunt Fiona that everything’s set up with the microphone?”
Isla gave a salute and set off in search of her aunt.
Alastair turned to his wife. “It’s nearly time for you to give your speech. Are you sure you don’t want a little Dutch courage?”
“I would,” Rose said, “But I can’t.”
“I can get you one . . .” Alastair looked around for a waiter.
“No, I can’t because I’m pregnant,” she said, completely failing to hide her massive grin until she’d finished her announcement.
“Pregnant?” Alastair whispered. “Rose! Oh, wow!”
“Are you pleased?”
“Are you kidding me?” he said beaming, pulling her gently into a hug. “I’m thrilled, absolutely thrilled.”
“And do you think Isla will be happy? I don’t want her to think she’s being usurped . . . We had said we’d wait a little while . . .”
“She is going to love having a little brother or sister to boss around. Can we tell her this evening?”
“Yes, but shall we wait until we get home?”
“That sounds like a great idea. That way she can let Houdini know straight away too.” Alastair rolled his eyes.
“You know I caught him in the pantry again this morning. I don’t know how he does it!”
“He’s a nightmare, but he’s Isla’s nightmare.”
“He is indeed,” said Rose.
“Come on then my ridiculously talented wife. Let’s get your speech out of the way and then you can relax and properly enjoy your special evening. We’ve got a lot of celebrating to do.”
“I couldn’t have done any of this without you.”
“I didn’t do anything,” said Alastair, gently.
“Yes, you did. You, and Isla, and Mrs Reed, and Aunt Helena and Fiona and Paul, and even Houdini I suppose. You brought me back to life. Without you, I’m not sure I would have ever returned to art.”
“I’m very happy for any tiny, miniscule part I played in this exhibition,” Alastair said, “But the talent and the hard work is all down to you.”
“I love you,” said Rose, reaching up to kiss him.
“And I love you,” Alastair replied, holding her close. ‘So very much.’
THE END