Chapter Twenty-Three #2
Tom tightened his hold on the steering wheel.
If that man had only held out a little longer for Delia to come around.
He shook his head; not for him to judge.
His main concern was how his sister would cope with heartbreak while also preparing to become a mother.
Anjali and he would do all they could to support her.
Thank God, Delia had taken him up on his suggestion to see a therapist.
He relaxed his hands and halted in front of the large cast-iron gate to the Renwood Estate. It was wide open, and he supposed it was all right to drive through to the big house. He restarted the van and crept down the road lined on either side with imposing lime trees.
The Hall loomed on the crest of a hill clearly visible through the bare branches.
Tom marveled at the view; he’d never been past the entrance gate.
A singular atmosphere took hold of him, as if he’d stumbled into the middle of a period drama.
To think that Delia, his practical scientist sister, was carrying a little Renwood.
A little Wright, he corrected himself, since she was no longer involved with Gabriel.
When Tom approached the mansion, impressive in the rose-golden light of the late afternoon, Gabriel was standing at the bottom of the sweeping staircase that led to the main entrance. Tom came to a stop on the curved gravel driveway and gave an awkward wave.
Man, that guy can’t wait to get rid of Delia’s portrait.
Tom got out of the car, and Gabriel approached him, his face grave, his greeting stiff and formal.
“The portrait is in the vestibule if you could help me carry it down the stairs?”
“No problem.” Tom followed him up the stone steps.
The silence between them hovered somewhere between awkward and just-about bearable. What was he supposed to say? Sorry it didn’t work out with you and my sister. Such a pity, you would have been good for her. Not likely to go down well.
“Ahm, here it is.” Gabriel pointed at a two-meter-tall object covered in packing paper and bubble wrap.
“My God, it’s massive.” Tom craned his neck to take it in. Where would Delia even put such a huge thing? Fair enough, her flat had high ceilings but this...
“Um, yes.” Gabriel pressed his lips together.
“Good thing I brought the van,” Tom said.
“If you could...” Gabriel moved to the opposite side of the painting, and without another word they lifted it, carried it outside then slid it carefully into the van.
“Right.” Tom rubbed his hands together. “I suppose I’d better be off.”
Gabriel held himself like a man recovering from abdominal surgery. “Thanks, er, thanks for collecting it. I mean, it’s a cumbersome thing to transport.”
“Yes. But, sure—” Tom dropped his gaze to the ground.
Footsteps on gravel made him lift his head. A blonde woman dressed in horsey clothes and riding boots walked toward them, her hand outstretched. “Hello, nice to meet you, I’m Vanessa, Gabriel’s partner.”
Tom shook her hand automatically. “Hello, I’m Tom. I came by to collect the portrait of my sister.”
The woman’s expression remained friendly, and Tom regretted his belligerent impulse to point out who he was. She hadn’t usurped his sister’s place. Delia had well-and-truly slammed the door on that one.
He looked from Gabriel to Vanessa, and he had to admit, they were of a piece those two, the perfectly matched lord and lady of the manor. Tom gave a quick nod and headed for the van. Time to get out of there.
~ * ~
“I hope this thing fits into your elevator,” Tom grumbled. “I don’t fancy carrying it all the way up to your floor.”
Delia patted her brother’s arm and focused on the illuminated numbers, counting down to the ground floor. “Thanks so much for going to the Hall to collect the painting. I’m not sure I could have held it together. Did you, uh, see her?”
“Vanessa?” He squinted. “Briefly.”
She compressed her lips and tried to ignore the shard of pain slicing through her.
“Let’s get this package upstairs, sis,” he said.
The elevator pinged open, and they manhandled the unwieldy object into the cabin.
“Excellent.” She pressed the button to her floor and slumped against the stainless-steel wall. “Where will I put it?”
He hummed. “Living room?”
“Bit vain, isn’t it?” She laughed mirthlessly. “To have a life-sized portrait of oneself hanging in the living room for all to see?”
“It’s not as if you commissioned it,” he said, reasonably.
“No, at the time Gabriel was desperate to paint me.” She hung her head.
Tom laid a hand on her shoulder. “You’ll get over him, I know you will. You’re doing all the right things, and once the baby is here, you’ll have your hands full with no time to ponder.”
“But I’ll also have to see him regularly.” She sighed, and he gripped her hand. “Confrontation therapy, I suppose.”
The elevator stopped, and they pushed the wrapped painting through the open doors. She unlocked her flat. “Let’s carry it to the bedroom. I’ll leave it there for the moment.”
She faced the painting that was now looming large from the wall opposite her bed. “Do you want to see it?”
He studied her face. “If that’s okay for you?”
“I’ll have to unwrap it eventually.” She bit her lip. “Better to have company.” How she was to live with the painting day-to-day was a different problem.
“Let’s do it together then.” He turned to leave. “I’ll get the scissors from the kitchen.”
She couldn’t wait but tore at the bubble wrap with her fingernails.
Her brother returned, brandishing the scissors. “Hey, let me.”
She moved to one side while he methodically finished the job she had started.
“Good God.” He stared at the portrait now freed from its packaging and pressed a hand to his mouth.
It was as magnificent as she remembered and clearly the work of a painter in love with his model.
“Don’t say anything.” Silent tears rolled down her face. “I can see it for myself.”