Tears of Ink (Tears of ... Book 1)

by Anna Bloom

  Tears burn my eyes just as my phone vibrates right on time.

  Eli Jones: Did today go okay?

  My phone shakes in my hand and tears splash on the screen.

  Faith Hitchin: Yes.

  And that’s it. Every communication we’ve had in the last four days has been the same. Five little words that hurt.

  A giggle stops my pity parade, and I swipe at my face with the back of my hands. Lewis comes around the corner, but unless he’s lost his balls overnight the giggle wasn’t his.

  Tabitha.

  They are holding hands as they wander in the garden, lost in a conversation I can’t hear. She’s glowing, and his eyes are staring at her like he’s seeing the stars for the first time.

  Shit.

  Her eyes fall on me and she jumps in shock. “Faith, are you okay?” Stepping up quick and letting go of his hand with a blush, she drops onto the grass by my side.

  “I’m just peachy.” I give her a smile.

  “Is it my mother? What’s she done this time?”

  With a laugh, I shake my head. My laughter doesn’t sound quite right, but then truthfully when has it ever? “No, it’s just been a big few days, you know with my uncle being so ill and, and…”

  “Elijah leaving?”

  I nod, a lump sticking in my throat.

  She nods understandably. “He was pretty mad, but I know he’s made headway with Lewis’ mother’s case.” She squeezes his hand and the little gesture makes my chest ache more. “So that’s good, right?”

  “Sure. And we have created a wonderful mess.”

  They both laugh. Lewis’ eyes don’t leave her… and that’s what Abi said Eli was like with me at the weekend. Why didn’t I see it?

  “Listen, you two.” I wag my finger at the both of them and they both attempt innocence. “Be careful. Tabitha. I don’t know what messed-up shit goes on in your family, but I’d hate to see you both hurt.”

  His hand falls onto her shoulder. “We’re fine,” he says, and I eye them both sceptically.

  “Okay.” I hold my hands up and laugh. “Consider my warning given. If either of you need anything.” I look pointedly at Tabitha, “then you know where I am.”

  “Eli texted me.” Her change of direction takes me by surprise.

  “Yeah?” I attempt nonchalance.

  “He wants to make sure you are following up the theme for the ball.”

  I roll my eyes, which is all kinds of childish, but I don’t care. “And he can’t talk to me about it himself?”

  She shrugs, and I get up with a huff. “I need to talk to Gerard anyway.”

  Hell, I bloody do. He’s going to tell me exactly why he didn’t tell me about my work being sold before I came to this godforsaken place.

  I jump from the lawn, brushing away the dried grass stuck to my skin and march for the house. As I leave, I hear Lewis mutter about “Gerard needing back up,” followed by Tabitha giggling.

  Lewis is going to be kicked out of the house by the time the ball comes around if they don’t watch it.

  Jennifer is watching me run up the steps. “Everything okay?”

  “Hunky dory.” I breeze past her and head towards the drawing room where I know Gerard will be, drinking scotch he can’t afford normally, and talking utter bollocks with Peter. I’ve seen Peter more this week than I have since arriving, and as much as I’m hurt by Eli, I’m relieved that I did in fact pick the less twatty brother.

  “Hey.” I launch into the room not bothering to knock. Jennings is serving drinks, and he gives me a small smile when he can. I’m still hanging out in the kitchen with Lewis, to hell with Jennifer and her false appearances. Elaine and Jennings have been looking after me, making sure I eat and rest, drink enough water, etc. Who knows why they’re making such a fuss, but it’s appreciated.

  “Faith, lovely for you to join us. What fireworks can we expect today?” Peter smirks with his greeting. I will punch him soon, purely for the fact he’s breathing and annoying me.

  “Shut it.” I scowl and turn to Gerard. “Why didn’t you tell me my pieces had sold at Whitlocks?”

  “That dump,” I hear Peter grumble, but I’m not giving him the time of day.

  Gerard hold his hands up, but the look on his face tells me he can’t believe it took me this long to ask the question. “I didn’t want you to ditch your degree because you started making money.”

  I step closer, toe-to-toe with my once friend. “You didn’t want what?”

  “Come on, Faith. You would have sold a few pieces and then been offered more contracts. I knew you’d decide to drop out.”

  “How did that work out for you?” I sneer in his face. “I left anyway, because of you.”

  “Yes, well, I’m still hoping you might come back.”

  My head shakes with a force of its own. “I’m not coming back. I don’t trust you, no matter what you say. Even more so now, I can’t believe that, Gerard.”

  “You didn’t need the money anyway, you’ve got all that tattoo money tied up in that apartment of yours.” I sense Peter’s attention sweep in my direction.

  “Money’s got nothing to do with it.” I throw my hands in the air. “It would have been good to know someone wanted my work, that somewhere, something I created was sitting on a mantlepiece being admired.”

  Gerard places a hand on my arm. “Faith, your work is appreciated everywhere. Why do you think you haven’t been turfed out of here yet?”

  “Yet,” Peter snipes, but we both turn to him and shout.

  “Shut up,” in unison.

  Gerard tries to make eye contact with me, but I won’t meet his gaze. “It’s because you are ridiculously bloody talented. The Faircloughs need you here because when they have the national press descend at the end of their little art project they need the finest work possible waiting for them. It’s why I wanted you to take this job—not Meg, or anyone else.” He catches my fingers and holds them up until I look at them. “These are gifted. And if I’ve done wrong by you, then I’m sorry.”

  Bollocks. The guy’s got that hangdog thing going.

  “I’m so fricking furious, Gerard.” I sigh a breath. “This place is messed-up; it’s not healthy.” It’s not healthy for my heart I know that.

  “And when the acquisitions buyer from The Tate Modern is staring at something amazing you created, on the night of the ball, how messed up will it be then?”

  More messed up than I can contemplate.

  “I’d better give them something amazing then.” I turn to leave. I need to go and think, to clear my head.

  “What’s the theme again?”

  I turn at the door but can’t quite raise a smile. My emotions have been through the ringer these last few days. “Dreams.”

  As I walk the stairs up to Elijah’s secret attic studio, I wonder what I would dream for if I could have anything my heart desired.

  My hand turns the handle and with a sinking dismay I know the answer. Him.

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Everything is covered in a fine layer of dust, but the paintings are still as wonderfully vibrant as the first time I saw them. I wonder how much someone would pay for one of these. As I turn to the roses, so thick and lush and beautiful, I can imagine them sitting in a gilt frame on some swanky Burlington Arcade gallery, stark and bright against a black background.

  I step closer to run my fingers across the thick paint and then I see the envelope tucked against the edge of the easel. What is that? I pick it up and see my name scrawled across it. It’s heavy and lumpy. Tearing it open, I tip the contents into my palm—the MG ignition key landing on my hand. “What the hell?” My voice reverberates back from the bare walls. A card slips out into my hand. It’s a business card: Elijah Fairclough, Barrister, imprinted in embossed ink on the thick vellum card stock. I frown at it and then turn it over. An address in Kensington is scrawled in biro across the back.

  My heart—it near on takes to flight.

  Did he leave thi
s for me days ago? Have I been sending him one-word answers to his messages while he’s been waiting for me to come up here and find a car key and a card with an address?

  Does he want me to go?

  I slip on the stairs, my pulse raising. Connie’s door is open as I fly past, but I don’t even care. I run to the outhouses hoping I’ll find Tabitha.

  “I’ve got to go to an urgent meeting,” I shout as I launch into the clay studio. She and Lewis are doing a really shit job at pretending to be busy and not kissing. I haven’t got time for it now. “Elijah’s leant me his car, where is the MG parked?”

  She smiles. “He parks at the gatehouse normally. That way he can come and go unaccountable to Gran and Mum.”

  I’m about to run for the gates when I have a thought, remembering Connie’s doors opening and knowing she would have seen me coming down the stairs. “Guys, can you do me a favour? Upstairs there are some paintings, in the top room on the top flight of stairs. Can you bring them down? They are imperative for the ball.”

  “What are they?” Tabitha asks.

  “Dreams,” I shout back, but I’m already running, desperate to find out if my own dream has wings to fly.

  The traffic is awful, but the worst of it is coming away from town, not into it. I use my GPS on my phone to guide me through the streets until I find a small mews marked Private. There’s a man in a box, in charge of a barrier, but when he sees the MG, he waves me through. I give him a thank you and then park up.

  It’s half-eight, and starting to get dark now summer is halfway through her peak. It’s now I glance down and realise I’m still wearing the cut-off dungarees and vest I wore to the group session. Crap. Too late now. I left Bowsley with nothing.

  I walk up to the door numbered twenty-one in brass and give a gentle knock. There’s a chance my insides are going to twist into a knot and I’m going to puke. I manage to hold it together as footsteps land the other side of the door.

  When he opens it up, the breath steals from my throat. He looks like something not even made on this earth. Wide blue eyes, hair trimmed short, and built like an Adonis under a soft grey T-shirt and black jeans—barefoot.

  Holy crap.

  “Take your time why don’t you, Faith?” He leans against the door frame, a slow smile spreading across his face.

  “What? I don’t understand?”

  As quick as a whip he reaches out and pulls me in. “Fuck, I’ve missed you.” He buries his face in my hair and the skin of my neck, inhaling deeply. “I need you.”

  My legs quiver as I slide my hands around his neck and plant my mouth against his. “And I need you.” I need him more than I’ve ever needed anything in my whole damn life and I’m struggling to stay afloat while the unknown emotions threaten to pull me down.

  Then we are in his hallway. I don’t even look at his home. All I see is him, holding him as he swoops me up and stalks me to a room upstairs.

  I close my eyes and shiver with anticipation as we fall together, fast and hard, burrowing deep until there’s just the two of us and the rest of the world ceases to exist.

  I’m face down, hugging the pillow, Eli’s fingers trail along the exposed skin of my spine. His eyes are closed, his face serene and content, and a warm glow evolves inside my chest when I realise it’s me who’s given him that expression.

  “Still, I can’t believe it took you four days to find that envelope.”

  I’m in shock that this has happened. I was sure it was over between us. I’d resigned myself to it. “You made it seem very real, Eli.”

  His lashes flutter open and his deep gaze settles on my face with a heartfelt plea. “It had to be. I won’t have my mother ruin your prospects.”

  “Maybe you should let me decide?”

  He shakes his head, face serious, lips pressed into a line. “No.”

  I sigh and roll over onto my back, facing the ceiling. “Why does this feel like it’s getting messy? I know that’s not what we agreed.”

  His fingers turn my chin. “None of this is what I expected.”

  “What do you mean?” I still can’t believe I’m here, back in his arms. When I think of that chest crushing ache that’s resided within me the last few days, it’s like I’ve allowed myself to be weak. But, here by his side, the furthest thing I feel is weak. I’m brave. Free.

  A deep sigh pushes from his chest. “Nothing is what it should be. Things are clean-cut, simple. I do what I’m told, and I get an easy life for it.”

  “I’m sensing a but?” My fingers drift over his warm skin, relishing every touch.

  “But nothing is clean-cut with you, and nothing’s easy.”

  I snicker. “See, this is what I’m talking about; there is nothing easy about me despite what people think.” It’s a crass joke and it doesn’t make him laugh.

  His hand reaches for mine and he sits up, pulling me along with him. Between his brows a deep line mars his beautiful face. “What you told me in Brighton, about Aiden and your father…”

  “Don’t make me regret sharing, I hate pity.”

  “You’d rather be angry and constantly run?”

  “Me, run? You’re the one who ran from his home the other day.”

  He palms a hand through his hair. “Nothing is simple with you.”

  “Sorry I’m not as pliable as you’d like.”

  He shakes his head and gives a rueful laugh. “Pliable? You are the exact opposite. It’s why I’m crazy about you. Why I’ve been unable to focus for days. Why I can’t stop thinking about that bastard hurting you, and your father letting you down.”

  What did he just say? He doesn’t give me a chance to process.

  “It’s why I want you to speak to the authorities about what happened to you.”

  And now what did he say?

  I shake my head. “If my own father doesn’t believe me, I won’t hold my breath on the police.”

  “But I believe you. Al does, Abi does, and Dan.” Eli’s eyes darken a little at the mention of Dan.

  “Don’t you like Dan?” I watch him closely.

  “Yeah, sure. He seems a stand up guy.”

  “See, your mouth’s saying the words, but your face isn’t agreeing.”

  He groans and falls back on the mattress and I can’t help but greedily absorb the naked sight of him. “You can’t blame me for being jealous of the guy you’ve spent your whole life with.”

  His words floor me. We aren’t supposed to be jealous, because this is nothing. It’s just a summer fling until we walk away.

  We stare at one another long and hard and we both know. This isn’t nothing.

  There’s a good chance it could be everything.

  With a flash of a smile he leans up and kisses me swiftly on the lips. “Are you hungry?”

  “No.”

  “Have you been eating properly?”

  Ah—Jennings and Elaine—it all makes sense. “Did you ask Elaine to feed me up?”

  His fingers grab for my ribs and he laughs as I squeal. “You are very skinny, you need fattening up.”

  “Better feed me then,” I say, but I don’t mean with food.

  A broad smile lights his face. “Come.”

  His little Kensington mews house is something close to wonderful. Open plan and all echoes of black, white, and grey. It’s sleek and masculine without being testosterone fuelled. It’s also impeccably clean—not a pizza box in sight. And nothing like Bowsley.

  Stood in the kitchen and lounge area, I turn and take it all in.

  “You like?” he asks, rummaging around at the kitchen island. He’s pulling open cupboards and peering inside. Dressed in only a pair of grey joggers which are hanging low on his hips, he’s looking probably finer than he ever has. I think the joggers and bare chest win over the suit—just.

  “It’s smart.” I send him a smile. “Now I feel pretty daft taking you to the hovels in Brighton.”

  “I loved that.”

  I smile, but the difference in our paths
is glaring me smack in the face.

  “How’s Al?”

  I step towards a wall of shelving holding books and CD’s. I can even see some old vinyl—now, I definitely want to know what’s on them.

  “Same.” A deep huff of breath escapes me. “I’m going to try to get back this weekend, just in case. We’ve still got the rest of this week and next before the ball.”

  I can’t believe it’s gone so quickly. Earlier this week I couldn’t wait for it to be over, but now I want August to stretch on forever.

  “How’s it going? And don’t give me a one worded reply.”

  “Fine?” I grin, but then I’m distracted by a shelf on the right. “What the hell?” My feet carry me forward, my heart giving a boom. He’s watching me I can tell. “Why have you got my sculptures here? These are the ones from Whitlocks.”

  He shrugs and carries on rooting about for something to eat.

  I pick up the ornament that’s caught my eye. Largely experimental, it was a mixture of plaster and cement plaster suspended on wire and then painted with bright shades of red and orange. When I’d made it, it had reminded me of the sun coming up over the pier at home.

  “Have you bought these since you’ve known me?”

  But I know he can’t have done. Damien said they were sold months ago. My eyes search Elijah who can no longer pretend to be busy. “Start talking.”

  “I bought them a while back, before we met.” He runs a hand through his hair. “I mentioned them to Mother and decided to find out who you were to see if you’d be interested in working at Bowsley.” He nods at the piece in my hand. “I liked them, they were fun and fresh. I wanted them on my shelves and I knew I’d like whoever made them to do the installation.”

  “So your mother never approached Gerard to ask for a recommendation?”

  Eli has the sense to look shamefaced. “Well, sort of, but we knew who we wanted.”

  “Is this that royal we again?”

  “I.” His eyes are bold and bright. “I knew who I wanted.”

  I look at the knickknack in my hand. “Really?”

  Padding barefoot across the wooden floor, he comes and takes it out of my hand. “You don’t seem to realise how talented you are. Those glass flowers in the hallway at the house are beyond anything I expected.”