Chapter 2
Chapter Two
A s Dilly sat back she started to feel emotional, staring at the painting she had just finished. Already, she knew this one held a special place in her heart and she couldn’t wait to showcase it in the gallery. She’d decided to title it ‘Sail Away with Me’, and it was her new favourite. The deep blue sea stretched from the bay to the lighthouse and in the distance, puffins hovered on the cliffs. The different highlights, shading and vibrant colours brought the sentimental image to life.
The couple that stood in the tower at the top of the lighthouse represented her grandparents, and on the path at the top of the cliff she’d painted a couple walking hand in hand, which paid tribute to Dilly’s mum and her mum’s partner, Anton, who had both been killed in a car accident. It had taken her five days to create this latest piece of art, having started it the very morning she’d learned the lighthouse was up for auction, and the thought of winning that auction hadn’t left her mind since. Taking her usual pen she signed the bottom of the painting before fetching the small ladder from the studio at the back of the gallery along with the picture hook, hammer and tape measure. She’d decided that the painting was going to hang on the new signature wall of brand-new releases, knowing it would catch the eye of potential buyers as they walked past the gallery.
Climbing to the top of the ladder, hammer and hook in hand, Dilly balanced the canvas at the top of the ladder against the wall just as a sudden wave of dizziness washed over her. The room began to spin, her vision blurred, and Dilly tried to steady herself, gripping the ladder tightly… but it was too late. Her head felt light and her knees buckled, and the last thing she remembered was the picture falling to the floor before everything went black.
* * *
‘Hey, Dil, are you okay?’
As Dilly slowly regained consciousness, the room around her swirled like a Jackson Pollock painting. Through the haze she glimpsed a familiar figure leaning over her.
‘Am I dead? Did I just score a one-way ticket to the afterlife?’ she murmured, her gaze taking in the figure before her, who slowly sharpened into the guy whom she’d secretly desired in her early twenties. ‘It can’t be you. I must be dead. Are you dead too? At least heaven has excellent taste in company.’
‘You are not in heaven, but you have spectacularly face-planted in the middle of the gallery.’
Dilly realised with a jolt she was very much alive. She blinked, then blinked again. As fate would have it, she’d fainted at the feet of none other than her art teacher from college. The painting had been tossed into the air, the ladder had fallen over and Dilly was frozen like a deer caught in headlights, still staring up at him with a mix of embarrassment and nostalgia. ‘Mr Harrington, is that actually you?’
‘It is.’
‘Well, this isn’t awkward at all.’ Dilly tried to get up quickly but felt dizzy again.
‘Don’t move for a moment. Can I get you some water?’
Dilly pointed towards the door at the back of the gallery marked ‘private’, which led to the kitchen. She watched as Mr Harrington disappeared and soon returned with a glass of water, which he placed on the desk.
‘Let’s get you to the chair.’ He extended his hand and helped her up before hooking his arm through hers. He walked her slowly towards the chair.
Dilly took in his aroma as she caught his eye. She recognised that smell. It was a subtle, lingering scent that released a cascade of memories from the past. He held her gaze for a brief moment before Dilly gave herself a little shake, catching another whiff of his aftershave in the air.
She swayed a little before she took a sip of water. The painting was lying face-down on the floor and Mr Harrington walked over and picked it up.
‘Luckily it doesn’t look damaged. What a magnificent painting it is. Is that the Puffin Island lighthouse?’
‘Thank you, Mr Harrington, and yes, it is.’
‘Will you stop calling me Mr Harrington? It makes me sound ancient when in fact I’m only around six years older than you. It’s Max. Is this going up here?’ he asked, gesturing to the spot on the wall she’d designated for the painting.
‘Yes,’ she replied, watching him pick up the fallen ladder.
‘Are you hurt?’
She shook her head. ‘Just embarrassed.’
Picking up the hammer and hook, he placed them at the top of the step ladder before grabbing the tape measure. Dilly watched as Max focused. He took hold of the tape and measured the gap between the other paintings on the wall with such precision. It had been a little over five years since she’d seen him last – it had been the 15th of July, the day she left college – and still he looked exactly the same, though maybe a little thinner in the face. He had the most gorgeous hazel eyes, with thick, long lashes any woman would die for and a head of brunette curls that was swept back in a headband like the one footballer Jack Grealish wore. Max wore navy shorts, showing off his tanned, muscular legs, and battered boat shoes. His tight-fitting T-shirt had Dilly blushing at the sight of his toned torso.
With the painting now hanging on the wall, Max stepped back and admired it. ‘I love it. There’s an air of romanticism with the couple walking on the cliff, the boat bobbing on the water, the swirling vivid blues conveying a beautiful sunny day. The multi-layered cliffs and those puffins are also very dream-like. It all ties in beautifully together.’
Dilly’s smile grew wider. Max was talking about her painting with such passion. He genuinely loved it, she could hear it in his voice. ‘I must have had a good teacher.’
‘Talent like this has nothing to do with me and everything to do with you. You always stood out from the crowd. I still remember your very first painting in class.’
Dilly laughed. ‘The bowl of fruit.’
‘It looked so real. It was unbelievably good and so much better than mine. In fact, it put my painting to shame and that’s why I didn’t show mine to the class.’ His eyes twinkled and Dilly felt that tiny rush in her heart that she had felt in every art class at college.
‘How do you even remember what I painted all those years ago? I can’t believe it stayed with you.’
‘Because it was a masterpiece.’
She pointed to the wall at the back of the gallery. There it was, her very first painting, hanging in pride of place behind her desk.
‘You still have it?’ Max looked amazed. He walked towards the painting. ‘It’s exactly how I remember it. I’m surprised it’s not been sold. You’d make a fortune from that with your fame.’
‘It’s not for sale. That’s where it all started. I can still remember that day. I was worried mine would be the worst painting of the class.’
Dilly had walked into her first art class with a mix of excitement and apprehension, clutching her new set of paints, wondering whether she could actually paint. As she looked around the room, she saw her classmates confidently setting up their easels and talking about their previous creative masterpieces. A wave of doubt had washed over her as she worried that her skills wouldn’t measure up to their apparent expertise.
‘You had nothing to worry about,’ Max said. ‘And look at you now, world famous.’
‘I wouldn’t quite go that far.’
‘I would. I saw you in that Netflix documentary and then you seemed to appear in every art magazine I picked up. I couldn’t believe my eyes when I switched on the TV and there you were on breakfast telly. I’m really happy for you. You were always one of the talented ones and not many people are lucky enough to make a living doing something they love.’
‘You did. You taught art and sold your art.’
‘Not anymore. Things have changed for me.’ Max didn’t elaborate but Dilly noticed a flicker of sadness in his eyes. He swiftly changed the subject. ‘And how are you feeling now?’ he asked. ‘Have you eaten this morning?’
Dilly shook her head. She hadn’t fancied breakfast for several days. In fact, over the last couple of months, she hadn’t felt like eating much at all. ‘If I’m being honest, I’ve neglected myself a little.’ Since discovering what a rat Giles was, she’d fallen into a rut, consumed by hurt and anger. There was a time she used to love cooking meals, sourcing local produce from the deli and devouring gorgeous treats from the bakery, but her appetite had dwindled of late, more than likely due to all the stress and discovering her relationship wasn’t what it seemed.
‘I’ve been skipping breakfast for a while,’ she admitted.
‘You need breakfast to set you up for the day and you need to look after yourself.’ Max reached into the bag that was slung across his body. ‘Here, I have a couple of croissants. Take them. I’ve just picked them up from Beachcomber Bakery.’
‘I couldn’t possibly. That’s your breakfast.’
‘You need them more than me; it’s not me who’s fainting.’
‘One each?’ she offered with a smile, suddenly feeling ravenous.
He smiled back and handed her the bag. ‘If I remember correctly, you liked croissants. Every morning you queued up in the bakery opposite the college.’
‘I did,’ she replied, pleased that he had remembered.
‘You’ve done amazingly and all this… it’s so impressive. A gallery! Congratulations on your success.’
‘You deserve some of those congratulations. After all, you did have a little something to do with my career choice. You inspired me. Made me believe I could make money from painting. You played a crucial role in my journey.’
‘That’s lovely of you to say, but I disagree. You were always going places. I often wondered whether you’d stuck with your painting. I’d look out for you in the Sunday supplements and then one day there you were. Your name was up in lights.’
‘You did?’
‘Of course I did.’
‘You should get your easel out while you’re here. There’s so much beautiful scenery on the island and you were always such a fantastic artist.’
He smiled at her. ‘Beautiful scenery indeed.’
His smile was just as radiant as she remembered and his gaze was just as intense as it had always been. There was a familiar flip in the pit of her stomach, the same flip that she had experienced all those years ago.
‘I’m so glad all this has worked out for you. You deserve it all. I wish I could stay longer and chat, but I need to get going.’ He pointed towards the door. ‘But are you okay? Do you need me to call anyone?’
Dilly shook her head. ‘Honestly, I’m fine. I’ve just been working a little too hard of late. Are you sure you can’t stay for a coffee?’ She hoped he didn’t notice the hope in her voice.
‘Tempting, but I need to be somewhere and I don’t want to be late.’
‘It was lovely to see you again.’
‘And you. It really is.’
Checking his watch, Max edged backwards towards the door but then stepped forward and pressed a soft kiss on Dilly’s cheek. There was a brief moment of surprise, followed by a shared smile that captured the blend of admiration and the awkwardness of the moment. It was only after Max walked out of the gallery that Dilly realised she had never asked him how he was, or why he was here on the Island, and suddenly she wanted to know rather desperately. She really hoped she would see him again. She touched her cheek. Even after all these years, Max Harrington had her completely flustered.