Restless Nights

by Catherine George

The bidding was brisk from the start, with keen interest shown in everything from the George I walnut lowboy Adam had mentioned to tables for every purpose imaginable, for playing cards, storing needlework or writing letters, sofa tables and drop leaf tables, and a large quantity of the small tripod-type Gabriel had fancied on her first visit. Silver teapots, coffee pots and candelabra came next, along with a wine coaster she thought must be the one Adam had bought on his way back from London. She swallowed. Everything came back to Adam. All kinds of reasons for his silence went through Gabriel’s mind as the auction proceeded. Had his parents disapproved of her after all? She blinked hard. Or was it the old, old story of losing interest now he’d finally taken her to bed?

  ‘Are you all right?’ whispered Wayne, and Gabriel forced a smile.

  ‘Fine.’

  At last the sale of the furniture and silver was over. Tom Dysart thanked the assembled crowd, then made way for the tall figure of his son. Like his father, Adam was formal in a dark suit of impeccable cut, his shirt dazzling and his tie sober, but despite the smile he swept round the room he looked haggard, and pale under his tan, the shadows under his eyes matching Gabriel’s.

  ‘Are headaches catching?’ muttered Wayne. ‘Adam looks worse than you do, Gabriel.’

  She frowned at him, and watched intently as Adam went into action. His father was a polished, experienced auctioneer, but Adam Dysart was in a class of his own. From the moment he stepped up into the auction box he had the assembled crowd in the palm of his hand as he conducted the bidding with all the skill and panache of an orchestra leader. He began by auctioning off a pair of French naive paintings which fetched at least half as much again as he’d forecast. He went on to gain impressive prices for Victorian landscapes in oil, twentieth-century watercolours of Cornwall, and took the bidding to a breathtaking sixty thousand pounds for an original watercolour by Russell Flint.

  Picture after picture was taken from the wall, and good prices made as Adam extolled their virtues. One or two lesser paintings failed to make their reserve, but Gabriel could tell that Adam wasn’t concerned, and her tension mounted as the time drew nearer for the sale of the Singleton.

  ‘Here we go at last,’ whispered Eddie in excitement, as two porters took the portrait from the easel and held it up so that everyone could see it.

  ‘Lot No 87 arrived too late for inclusion in the catalogue,’ announced Adam, and smiled. ‘But it seemed a shame to leave a pair of beauties like these languishing until the next auction. They are the sisters Henrietta and Letitia Scudamore, of Pembridge Manor in Herefordshire, where the painting is entered in a ledger of 1821 as a double portrait painted by Richard Taylor Singleton. Until now it has never been published, and had been stored in an attic from the moment it was finished until its recent restoration.’ His eyes met Gabriel’s for an instant above the heads of the crowd, then moved back to the portrait, leaving her devastated by his fleeting, icy rejection.

  ‘You two had a row?’ whispered Wayne, frowning.

  She shrugged non-committally, gesturing him to silence as Adam went on to describe the painter who’d died too young to become as well known as William Etty, his contemporary, or to achieve the fame of Sir Thomas Lawrence, his master and mentor. Gabriel could see several people murmuring excitedly into mobile phones, and spotted one of Jeremy’s assistants among them.

  ‘Singleton was well known for little tricks he liked to play,’ Adam went on. ‘In this case the reflection of one Benjamin Wallis, Henrietta’s betrothed, in the mirror on the wall behind the girls. Since he eloped with her sexy young sister Letitia the moment the portrait was finished, perhaps the painting should be entitled A Study in Infidelity.’ Adam smiled on the room at large, then started the bidding at five thousand pounds, in a tone which implied that the low starting figure was merely a whimsical formality.

  Local bidders were soon outclassed. It was left to a pair of warring London art dealers and the Dysart’s employees manning the phones as the bidding mounted, and soon surpassed the sum paid for the Russell Flint. The final sum paid by an undisclosed telephone bidder was so much more than Gabriel had ever dreamed the portrait would fetch she watched, dazed, as Adam brought the bidding to a close.

  ‘Are we all done, then?’ he asked, eyes glittering, and brought his gavel down with a triumphant rap of finality.

  Wayne and Eddie were brimming with excitement beside her, but Gabriel stiffened as flashing lights in her eyes warned that her migraine was returning in full force.

  ‘Can you take me home right now?’ she said with urgency.

  Wayne stared at her in surprise. ‘But surely you want to talk to Adam?’

  More than anything in the world. But Adam, it was plain, hadn’t the least desire to talk to Gabriel Brett.

  ‘I feel rough,’ she said hoarsely. ‘My headache’s back.’

  ‘I can see that—you look terrible,’ said Eddie in concern. ‘Come on, let’s get you out of here before the crush.’

  On the way back to the farm Wayne and Eddie were full of excitement over the success of the portrait.

  ‘Adam’s a brilliant auctioneer,’ said Eddie. ‘It was worth going today just to see him in action.’

  Gabriel said nothing. The vicious pain in her head grew worse by the minute, and as soon as Wayne stopped the car she fumbled her door key into the lock and staggered inside to throw up in the kitchen sink.

  To her everlasting gratitude both young men took this in their stride. Eddie held her head while Wayne damped a towel to sponge her face, then helped her into one of the easy chairs while Eddie ran water down the sink, washed it out without fuss, then filled the kettle to make tea.

  ‘Sorry about this,’ gasped Gabriel, eyes closed.

  ‘Have you got something to take?’ asked Wayne anxiously.

  ‘Yes. But I’ll have to stop throwing up first.’ She opened her eyes warily, and tried to smile. ‘Sorry, chaps. Paramedic’s not part of your job description.’

  ‘We’re glad to help,’ said Eddie, and found a biscuit tin. ‘You’d better have one of these, Gabriel, so you can take your painkiller.’

  ‘Not for the moment,’ she said faintly.

  ‘Shall we help you upstairs?’ said Wayne. ‘Then you can slip into bed and we’ll bring you a tray up there.’

  Gabriel agreed with gratitude, and once she was propped up in bed her faithful henchmen returned, made sure she had her pills and her cellphone, and everything else she needed, then with some reluctance took their leave.

  ‘Are you sure you’ll be all right?’ demanded Eddie. ‘We can easily hang on for a bit.’

  ‘I’ll be fine,’ she assured them. ‘I’ll probably sleep the minute I swallow my pills. Thanks, you two. I owe you.’

  ‘No, you don’t,’ said Wayne promptly. ‘I promised your father we’d look after you, remember.’

  ‘Thank you,’ she said huskily. ‘One more favour, please. Would you go round the house and turn all the lights on before you leave?’

  ‘Will do. And we’ll lock the door and post the key back through the letter box,’ promised Eddie, and exchanged a look with Wayne. ‘If you need us, just get on the phone, Gabriel, and we’ll come back. Any time.’

  Deeply touched, she promised she would, then lay listening as they went round the house, and slammed the kitchen door shut as they left. And at last she let herself give way to the tears which had been threatening from the moment the cold, hostile look on Adam’s face had made it plain that their brief, blazing love affair was over.

  After a while, when it became excruciatingly evident that tears were no cure for migraine, Gabriel lay dry-eyed and still. Eventually she poured herself some lukewarm tea, swallowed two painkillers, then tried to sleep, but the beep from her cellphone woke her almost at once, and she fumbled for it muzzily, and croaked a hoarse hello.

  ‘Gabriel, what’s wrong?’ demanded Adam. ‘Wayne said you’re very ill.’

  Her much-tried stomach gave such a sickening lurch at the
sound of his voice her own refused to function for a moment. ‘Migraine,’ she managed at last.

  ‘Have you taken something?’

  ‘Yes.’ For her headache, at least. She doubted there was any cure for the other pain that ailed her.

  ‘Are you alone?’ said Adam, as though the words choked him.

  ‘Yes. Wayne and Eddie left an hour ago.’

  ‘I was referring to Jeremy.’

  Gabriel stared blankly into space. ‘Jeremy?’

  ‘Yes. Your friend.’

  ‘Jeremy couldn’t make it. Bad cold.’

  ‘Then who the hell was the man you were making love to?’ snarled Adam.

  Gabriel gasped in horror. ‘Adam I wasn’t—’

  ‘Please don’t insult my intelligence,’ he sneered. ‘I saw with my own eyes. But you were so absorbed you didn’t see me come. Or go.’

  ‘Adam, please! Let me explain—’

  ‘Don’t bother. I’m not into sharing. Remember?’ His voice grew harsh with sudden emotion. ‘But for God’s sake, Gabriel, if you were still involved with the man to that extent why the hell did you make love with me?’

  Gabriel was seized with the sudden desire to lash out at him. ‘Because I felt obligated for the loan you made my father, of course—’

  She dropped the phone and bolted for the bathroom, retching again and again in misery until her ribs ached. And when she got back Adam, as expected, had rung off. At which point Gabriel’s pride came to her rescue. No way was she pleading with any man, Adam Dysart included. Now she was calmer she regretted the lie she’d flung at him. But if he was determined to think the worst of her nothing would change his mind anyway. By some horrible trick of fate he’d witnessed the nasty little scene with Jake Trent, but rushed off before the finale. Which explained everything. Now, at least, she wouldn’t lie awake half the night, waiting for him to ring. And when her mother called later Gabriel gave the performance of her life, with an animated account of the auction, and the success of the painting, and even managed to laud Adam’s charismatic skills as an auctioneer. But afterwards Gabriel lay back on the pillows, stomach churning and head pounding, feeling as though she’d been run over by a truck.

  ‘I hope you don’t mind, Gabriel,’ said Wayne next morning, ‘but I rang Adam last night. Did he get in touch?’

  ‘Yes, he did. And, no, I don’t mind.’ Gabriel gave him the keys. ‘Thank you, Wayne, for everything yesterday. I’m grateful.’

  ‘Is everything all right, then? Between you and Adam, I mean?’ He smiled diffidently. ‘You look a bit better today.’

  ‘I feel a lot better, but just for the record, Adam and I are history,’ Gabriel informed him. Which wasn’t the exact truth, but in time it would be. ‘And,’ she went on, ‘I’m going to take a day off. My head is better, but I just can’t face working today. Can you two cope on your own?’

  ‘Of course.’ Wayne looked troubled. ‘Look, Gabriel, did my meddling make things worse? With you and Adam, I mean?’

  ‘Far from it. You did me a good turn,’ she assured him cheerfully. ‘By the way, I’m not sure when I’ll be back. If it’s after five-thirty, just lock up and put the keys through the door, please.’

  ‘If anyone rings what shall I say?’

  ‘If it’s a customer take the details and say yes.’ She hesitated, then looked Wayne in the eye. ‘If it’s anyone else, I’m unavailable.’

  The day was cool and overcast, and later, dressed in white linen trousers and a strawberry-pink shirt, her dry, heavy eyes hidden by sunglasses, Gabriel said goodbye to Wayne and Eddie and drove up the lane from Haywards Farm, her mood lifting a little as she left it behind to make for the shops in Pennington before driving on to her destination.

  With Adam the drive had seemed short, but on her own, with a stop now and then to consult the map, it seemed a long time to Gabriel before she found the road that turned down to Pembridge Manor.

  ‘Good morning, Mrs Palmer,’ she said to the housekeeper who showed her in. ‘My name is Gabriel Brett. I rang earlier.’

  ‘Good morning. Miss Scudamore is expecting you. Lunch will be ready in twenty minutes,’ the efficient young woman told her. ‘Please sign in, then go on up.’

  Henrietta Scudamore gave Gabriel a warm welcome. ‘Do come in, my dear. How very nice of you to spend some of your valuable time with me. How is that young man of yours?’

  Gabriel followed the small, limping figure across the room to the window embrasure and sat down, as indicated, on the sofa she had shared with Adam. ‘He’s not my young man, I’m afraid. At least, not any more.’

  Miss Scudamore settled in her chair, her shrewd violet eyes full of concern. ‘I’m very sorry to hear that.’

  Gabriel smiled ruefully. ‘So am I. But I haven’t come here to depress you, Miss Scudamore.’ She took two photographs from her tote bag. ‘I thought you’d like to see the before and after shots of the double portrait.’

  The old lady studied the picture intently, her eyes full of respect as she raised them to Gabriel. ‘And you transformed this dirty old wreck of a painting into this amazing work of art! What a clever girl you are.’ She wrinkled her nose, laughing. ‘Or is it politically incorrect to use the term “girl” these days?’

  ‘I don’t mind,’ Gabriel assured her, laughing. ‘In fact, at my age I like it a lot. You can keep the photographs, if you like. I thought you’d like to hear how the auction went.’ She named the sum the portrait had finally fetched, and Miss Scudamore nodded, smiling.

  ‘Adam rang to tell me yesterday. My word, Gabriel, if that’s what this fellow Singleton fetches, how much do you think my Lawrence is worth?’

  ‘I couldn’t even begin to imagine!’ Gabriel took a bottle from the cool bag she’d brought. ‘I hope you like champagne. It seemed an appropriate choice to celebrate.’

  ‘How wonderful!’ said Miss Scudamore gleefully. ‘I asked for something special for lunch. I do hope the kitchen achieves something worthy of champagne!’

  Shortly afterwards a pleasant girl arrived to pull a small round table up to the window and lay it for lunch, and promised to provide glasses suitable for the wine.

  After an entire day without food Gabriel was quite ready for the poached salmon they were served, and even enjoyed a little of the champagne Miss Scudamore described as sheer nectar.

  ‘What a lovely surprise this is,’ announced the old lady, as she finished the strawberries which rounded off the meal. ‘I was so glad to receive your phone call this morning, my dear.’

  ‘I intended coming back to visit you,’ said Gabriel, taking off her sunglasses, ‘but I confess I badly needed to get away from everything for a while today.’

  ‘You and that handsome young man of yours have been fighting, obviously,’ said Miss Scudamore, looking at her guest’s heavy eyes. ‘Would you like to tell me about it?’

  And when their plates had been removed, and a pot of coffee provided, Gabriel smiled questioningly. ‘Are you sure you don’t mind?’

  ‘My dear, if you feel you can confide in me I shall be honoured.’

  Gabriel filled their cups, then told Miss Scudamore that since their previous visit to Pembridge Manor she and Adam had become lovers. ‘And I do mean lovers, Miss Scudamore. I love him more than I ever dreamed I’d love any man. And he said he felt the same way about me. Otherwise…’

  ‘Otherwise you wouldn’t have graced his bed?’

  Gabriel met the twinkling eyes and chuckled. ‘Exactly.’

  ‘So what’s making you look like a ghost today?’

  Gabriel explained about the abominable luck that had brought Adam to her door just as Jake Trent was pushing her onto the kitchen table.

  ‘The kitchen table! How vulgar.’ Miss Scudamore held out her cup for more coffee. ‘Did Adam march in and knock this Jake Trent down?’

  ‘No. I never even knew he was there. He took off without waiting for the exciting bit.’

  The faded violet eyes widened. ‘You’re not sayi
ng this man actually achieved his evil way?’

  ‘No. I kneed him where it hurt and hit him in the eyes with a stone ashtray,’ said Gabriel matter-of-factly.

  Miss Scudamore applauded enthusiastically. ‘Good girl! Splendid. So what happened when you explained to Adam?’

  ‘I haven’t. He wouldn’t answer the phone. And when he did ring me last night to enlighten me about his silence he wouldn’t listen to my explanation. And in any case I had to dash off to be sick in the middle of the phone call. When I came back Adam had rung off.’ Gabriel finished her coffee and smiled philosophically. ‘My pride kicked in after that. I’m not begging him to listen to me.’

  Miss Scudamore sat back in her chair, her eyes concerned. ‘Pride is a poor bedfellow, Gabriel. Can’t you think of some way to make up with Adam? In the circumstances you can’t blame him for his reaction.’

  ‘You like Adam, don’t you?’ said Gabriel, resigned.

  ‘Yes, my dear, I do.’ Miss Scudamore leaned forward to touch Gabriel’s hand. ‘But I like you, too. And I feel sure you and Adam belong together. Even after seeing you for a short time the other day, this was very obvious to me. So please don’t let pride get in the way of your happiness.’

  ‘Is that what happened to you?’ asked Gabriel gently.

  ‘No.’ The violet eyes took on a distant look. ‘I was quite the rage when I came out, but I refused all the proposals I received. Then when I was twenty-eight I met the love of my life. He was a captain in the Royal Artillery. I went to a charity banquet and he was there, in all the glory of full dress uniform. We were engaged a month later, but this was 1939, and Matthew insisted we wait to marry until the war was over.’ Miss Scudamore’s mouth curved in a wry smile. ‘We became lovers, of course, but Matt took great care not to make me pregnant. Though I would have borne his child proudly, married or not.’

  ‘What happened to him?’ said Gabriel softly.

  ‘He didn’t get back from Dunkirk.’

  ‘And you never met anyone else?’

  ‘I met countless other men, my dear. But after Matt I never wanted anyone else.’ Miss Scudamore sighed. ‘Your Adam reminds me so much of Matt. The physique and the black curly hair, and that God-given ability for charming birds from the trees.’