Chapter Seventeen
Aster practically skipped down the sidewalk, her heart light and her steps buoyant as she made her way to the convent. Last night’s drinks with Jimmy had been fun and light-hearted and she realised how much she had missed that. Just a simple night out with a mate, no plotting, no angles, just celebrating a plan gone well.
And now she couldn’t wait to tell Sister Bernard the good news - the painting was safe, back in the hands of those who would truly appreciate its value. She was also gratified to see her video was gaining traction. It wasn’t properly viral yet, but it was gaining ground. The comments were universally horrified, some asking why anyone was surprised. Others saying they drank there, tagging friends. There were also links to various studies and reports about what an under-reported crime this was. Aster was pleased to see others pointing out that there was no point in reporting the crime if the victim was ignored or dismissed.
The convent came into view, its weathered stone facade a welcome sight. As she slid her phone away, Aster bounded up the steps and pushed the heavy wooden door. She checked quickly in the chapel. Seeing it was empty, she returned to the corridor and knocked on the convent door. A moment later, the visitor’s grille slid open to reveal Sister Joan’s smiling face peering out, her eyes as rheumy as ever.
‘Aster, dear! What a lovely surprise.’ The old nun beamed at her. ‘Come in, come in.’
‘I was hoping to have a word with Sister Bernard?’
‘Let me see. She has a visitor, but I’ll let her know.’
The grille slid back and Aster paced in the stone corridor, ignoring the benches as she waited for Sister Joan’s return. She had envisaged sweeping in to share her good news with the Mother Superior, but now she had to pace and wait.
The door swung open and Sister Joan beckoned her forwards.
‘Her visitor has had to take a call, so she can see you briefly, if it’s important?’
Aster would have liked more time, but good news couldn’t wait. Saying that would be fine, she walked behind Sister Joan, shuffled along the hallway, Aster practically hopping from foot to foot behind her.
Knocking on the door, Sister Joan swung it open, announcing Aster.
‘I think she’s in a fearful hurry to tell you something, Mother.’
Turning, she patted Aster on the hand and the shuffled back along the corridor.
‘Goodness me, child. You are quite giddy.’
Aster raised an eyebrow, but the nun waved away her indignation, pointing to her chair.
‘Out with it,’ she said. ‘I take it from your grin that you have some good news for me. Let’s have it, and then I can share my good news with you.’
For the first time, Aster properly noticed the Mother Superior. She was also smiling, beaming in fact, and her cheeks were flushed red. Whatever her good news was, Aster couldn’t wait to hear it, but she bet it didn’t beat what she was about to tell her.
‘Sounds exciting, but here’s mine. I got your painting back!’
Sister Bernard stared at her in confusion as Aster ploughed on.
‘Your painting, the Pietà, the one you sold. It went into auction the other day and I bought it back!’
‘I don’t understand. You bought it? But-’
Aster cut her off and carried on.
‘I’m pretty certain it’s an old master. I think whoever you sold it to also knew that and was ripping you off.’
‘No, but-’
‘But it doesn’t matter. I’ve bought it back and I’m going to get it restored and then you can re-auction it and sell it for oodles of cash. Enough to help your orphanage for years to come. Although I will need the cost of the renovation back, my sister is furious with me.’
‘Aster, will you let me speak! I have the money from the sale. Edward gave it to me just now. He bought the painting with the intention of re-selling it and donating the profits to the convent.’
‘What?’ Aster stared at her in confusion. None of this made sense.
‘The man who bought it wasn’t conning us. He didn’t tell me his intentions, but he was acting out of the purest motivations.’
‘Why didn’t he tell you?’
‘He said he didn’t want to raise our hopes. But now you bought the painting and want to give it back to us. Oh dear, I can’t have the money and the painting. I must give you the money back.’
The nun’s face fell as she realised her own good news had just disappeared up the chimney.
‘What, no, that’s not what I meant,’ said Aster staring at the nun in horror. How had this gone so wrong, she was certain that the buyer was a conman?
There was a knock at the door and the nun told the visitor to enter. Aster didn’t bother turning around as Sister Bernard jumped to her feet, a picture of dismay on her face.
‘Sorry about that, I had to take that call.’
Aster flinched, she would know that voice anywhere, it haunted her every waking moment.
‘Oh Edward, there’s been a terrible confusion. My great friend here bought the painting, thinking we had been conned.’
Edward, this was Edward, this was the man that had bought the painting.
Aster leapt up, her chair falling backwards, and swung around to face him.
Edward’s eyes widened slightly as he took in Aster’s appearance. A flicker of recognition passed over his face before it settled into an impassive mask.
‘You,’ he said, his deep voice a mixture of surprise and something else Aster couldn’t quite place.
Aster felt her cheeks flush as memories of that night at the club came rushing back. His strong arms around her, shielding her from harm. The intensity in his steel-blue eyes as he looked at her with concern.
‘I… I didn’t realise…’ she stammered, suddenly flustered under his intent gaze.
Sister Bernard looked between them, bewildered. ‘You two know each other?’
Edward was the first to recover. ‘We’ve met,’ he said evenly, never taking his eyes off Aster. ‘Though I didn’t catch your name that night.’
Aster swallowed hard, her mouth suddenly dry. ‘Aster. My name is Aster.’
Sister Bernard had also risen to her feet. ‘Aster, my dear. This is Lord Edward Montclair, Duke of Peveril. Edward, this is Lady Aster Byrne Hiverton.’
A ghost of a smile played across his lips. ‘Well, Lady Aster, it seems we have a lot to discuss.’ His tone held a hint of amusement, but also an undercurrent of protectiveness that sent a shiver down her spine.
She had no idea what kind of man this Edward truly was – a conman, a hero, a bloody duke of all things, but as she held his gaze, one thing was certain: her life had just taken an unexpected turn, and he was going to be at the centre of it all.
‘You’re the man who put the painting in the auction?’
‘I am.’
He moved into the room and picked up Aster’s chair, inviting her to sit before he brought another chair and sat down.
‘And Aster is the person who bought it,’ said Sister Bernard, glancing back and forth between the two of them.
Aster placed her hands under her thighs and tried to calm her racing heartbeat. Edward was too large for this room of small prayer cards and crochet doilies on the furniture.
‘You bought it!’ He glared at her. ‘Did you have anything to do with the sabotage of that auction?’
‘Of course she didn’t,’ said the nun quickly. ‘Aster is one of our most thoughtful and generous of patrons. You two have a lot in common.’
‘I did,’ said Aster jutting her chin out defiantly.
‘Aster!’
‘I did nothing wrong. Your painting was being sold off for a song.’
‘The painting sold for fifty-five thousand pounds, hardly a song, and it could have been even more if someone hadn’t started spreading rumours.’ He broke off, laughing. ‘My God, that was you in the burqa, wasn’t it? On the viewing day. I knew I recognised your voice! You’ve been planning this for weeks.’
‘Since I first realised the nuns had been hoodwinked, actually.’
Edward’s face flushed. ‘Now hang on a minute–‘
‘No, you hang on. Before we go any further, we need to discuss the painting and your mistake.’
‘My mistake?’ He raised an eyebrow and chuckled. ‘I bought a painting that I thought would sell well on the open market and I planned to give all the money to the nuns. How exactly was that a mistake?’
Emboldened by his attitude, Aster pressed on. ‘You made a mistake in not having it restored or authenticated. The painting is clearly a work of the highest quality. Yesterday, someone was about to walk out with a bargain.’
‘I don’t consider fifty-five thousand pounds a bargain.’
‘Nor do I, but it was better than letting it get sold to someone that wouldn’t give the nuns its true worth.’
‘But I would. That was the plan.’
‘And what? Someone could have picked it up for two hundred, half a million?’
He narrowed his eyes. ‘That sounds like an impressive amount to me.’
‘Not for a Raphael it doesn’t, or a Caravaggio.’
‘What!’ Now he looked startled.
‘If it’s an authentic old master, it would be worth millions, but in your ignorance, you tried to make a fast buck.’
Sister Bernard gasped, her eyes widening. Edward, however, simply inclined his head thoughtfully.
‘I see. Then it seems I owe you an apology…’ His gaze flickered to Sister Bernard briefly before returning to Aster.
Aster rose to her feet. She could feel her hands shaking and her breath was becoming unsteady. Memories of the nightclub were flashing in her head and she began to sweat.
‘Sister Bernard, I’ll be in touch once the restoration is complete and we’ll look at re-selling it. In the meantime, spend the money that this man has just given you.’
‘But I can’t-’
‘Yes, you can,’ said Aster. Her voice shook as a tsunami of emotions engulfed her. Just being this close to Edward in an emotional state was bringing on what felt like a panic attack. ‘I have the painting, you have the money. Leave it with me. I have everything under control.’
Without looking at Edward, she turned and fled from the room. The urgency in her step morphed into a full sprint as she exited the convent. Behind her, she could hear Edward calling her name and his footsteps growing louder, echoing through the corridor.
Bursting through the front door, she was blinded by the bright sunshine. Dodging traffic, she heard him shout her name again, his voice carrying a mix of confusion and frustration. She sprinted for the tube station, her heart pounding in her chest.
Leaping the barrier, she raced down the escalators. A quick glance behind revealed no sign of him. She fled onto the first train that was leaving, the doors hissing shut behind her.
As the train jerked forwards, Edward rushed down the stairs, his eyes frantically scanning the platform. Her heart raced even faster, but as the train pulled away, she realised he hadn’t made it. Relief washed over her. She had escaped.
She weaved through the crowded carriage, finding a secluded corner where she could finally catch her breath. As she slumped onto the prickly seat, she put her head between her knees and tried to calm her racing heart. Why had she run? Why did she completely overreact in his presence? The questions swirled in her mind, but for now, all she could focus on was the rush of adrenaline and the fleeting sense of dismay.