by Anne Barwell
“I’m so sorry, Jane,” Ethan said, “and I apologize for my insensitivity earlier. It was completely out of line.”
She managed a shaky smile. “Thank you for being understanding. Good afternoon, gentlemen. I guess it’s a good thing that I have the day off, isn’t it?”
“I’m sorry for kicking you,” Donovan said after she’d left.
“I can be an insensitive jerk at times. Lord knows, I’ve been told that often enough.”
“Not always. You’ve got a kind side to you too.”
Ethan’s concern for Jane had been real enough, as was his mortification that he’d been rude once he’d seen that she was upset.
“You say that like it’s a good thing.” Ethan retrieved his napkin from the side of his plate and wiped his mouth. “Sometimes it’s not, you know. People take advantage. Not that I’m saying she is, but….” He sighed. “Just forget it, okay.”
“Okay.” Donovan wondered who had hurt Ethan and recently. He’d seen enough to connect the dots. “Lots of assholes in this world, unfortunately.”
“And some decent people too. Oakwood’s been good for reminding me of that.”
“Are you sure you’re okay to come to London with me tomorrow?” Donovan couldn’t help but think that something in their conversation had triggered Ethan’s reaction. He’d said Mitchell and Vincent were good friends. Perhaps it was this acquaintance he’d mentioned? The one who had introduced him to them.
“I’m looking forward to it.” Ethan glanced at Donovan’s empty plate. “Have you had enough lunch?”
“Yes, thanks. I was hungrier than I realized.” Donovan finished the last of his beer.
“I went to see the owner of the Chronicle the other day, but he was too busy to talk and suggested we meet briefly today instead. I’m hoping, as he’s been working at the newspaper a while, he can tell me some old stories about Oakwood that didn’t end up in print. You’re welcome to come if you’d like.”
“Thanks for the offer, but I need to do some work at the inn this afternoon. We had to replace some weatherboards a few months ago, and I need to get them painted before winter.” Donovan wished he could have said yes, but Heidi was stressing about it. If he didn’t get onto it soon, she’d be out there doing it herself, and she did enough already. Part of their agreement in taking on the inn was that they split the workload between them, and Donovan made sure he pulled his weight. “You’re okay to find your own way back?”
“Yes, I’ll be fine. Thanks for asking.” Ethan pushed back his chair and walked over to the counter to pay for their meal. “I’ll see you later, at the inn.”
“Okay. Sounds good.” Donovan didn’t follow him immediately but instead stayed at the table watching Ethan at the counter. His hair curled up slightly at the back, his jacket falling to mid-ass, not quite covering it. He had a very nice ass.
Bet he kisses well too.
Oh fuck. Donovan closed his eyes for a moment. Where the hell had that thought come from? He was falling for the guy, wasn’t he—falling for a guy who wasn’t interested and would be walking out of his life in a couple of days.
Donovan heard footsteps walking away. He opened his eyes just in time to see Ethan disappear out the door. It was time to leave and bury himself in the work he needed to get done. He stood and headed for the door, giving Eoin and his friends a wave as he passed their table.
He hadn’t missed the money the three men had given Craig or the grins they all wore.
Donovan groaned. Great, that was all he needed. The pub door slammed as he stalked through it. Yep, they were running another betting pool all right.
It wasn’t his fault they were wasting their time. They’d find that out soon enough for themselves.
Chapter 9
THE DAY hadn’t gotten off to a great start and wasn’t getting any better. The chilly morning didn’t bother him, but having his car not start after loading it up, ready to go, was annoying as hell.
Sure, it could be temperamental, but this time Donovan couldn’t find out what was wrong with the damn thing. At least not without taking it apart to get a proper look, and he didn’t have time for that this morning. He loved his car, but this was one of those days when their relationship felt somewhat strained.
If he didn’t know better, and he didn’t believe in that kind of stuff anyway, he could have sworn it had refused to start deliberately. It had happened before, and then the problem had seemingly gone away again with no rhyme or reason.
While it was great of Heidi to loan him her Land Rover, the vehicle wasn’t one that would give the impression he wanted when meeting Ethan’s friend, Mitchell.
Crap. Why was he worried about appearances all of a sudden? He usually figured that if people didn’t accept others for who they were, they weren’t worth doing business with. However, times were tough, and when push came to shove, he needed the money selling his carvings would bring in, so this meeting was an important one.
By the time they reached London, Donovan found himself even more on edge. Ethan seemed quieter than usual, which hadn’t helped. He’d told Donovan that his visit to the Chronicle hadn’t revealed the information he’d hoped for, and he was no closer in finding any clues as to Tomas’s whereabouts. Then he’d received a text shortly after they left and said almost nothing since.
Donovan had tried to make further conversation, but his questions about Mitchell and the gallery only seemed to make things worse. Whatever was in the text Ethan had received, it must have hit him hard.
“Sometimes it helps to talk, you know,” Donovan said finally. He turned the radio down. It wasn’t drowning out the silence, and in a way made it even more obvious.
“I’ve heard that.” Ethan hunched down further into his coat. “Do you really believe it?”
“Not always,” Donovan had to admit. “Do you want to talk about whatever was in that text? Maybe I could help?”
“I don’t want you getting involved with it.” Ethan sighed. “I… it was from someone I didn’t want to hear from. At least not today. Or any day at all, given the choice.” He pulled himself upright. “Damn it. Sorry, take a left one street back. I should have been paying attention.”
“It’s okay.” Donovan pulled into the curb. Traffic was heavy, and he wasn’t going to risk a U-turn. “If I turn left at the next one, can I backtrack?”
“Yeah, that would work. Sorry. It’s not quite as direct a route, but we’ll still get there in time.” Ethan watched the small plush pink rabbit that hung from the rearview mirror swing from side to side as Donovan eased the Land Rover back into the traffic.
“I don’t think getting there on time is going to be a problem.”
Ethan cracked a smile. “Do you always insist on getting everywhere so early?”
“I like to cover every angle,” Donovan told him. “Warm enough? I can crank up the heating some more if you’re not.”
“I’m fine,” Ethan said. “Thanks.”
“It’s probably a good thing my car wouldn’t start.” Donovan tried to put a positive spin on things, although he suspected he was trying to convince himself, not Ethan. “My heater isn’t so great.”
“Nothing’s perfect. I don’t mind the cold.” Ethan grinned suddenly. “Heidi’s Land Rover isn’t exactly subtle, is it? It’s not a vehicle you’d drive if you were trying to blend in.”
“Does that bother you?” Donovan only drove it when he had to, but Heidi loved the thing, despite its patchy pink paint job and rabbit accessories.
“I’m not the one in the driver’s seat. Right up here, and then the next left.” Ethan scratched at the faint stubble on his chin.
Donovan quickly returned his attention to the road. Now wasn’t the time to remember how he’d accidentally walked in on Ethan shaving that morning, his shirt open, his hair still mussed from sleep. Donovan had mumbled a hurried apology and fled from the room. There was something to be said for a hot bare-chested guy sliding a razor over foam-covered cheeks.
Even if Ethan hadn’t been the best of company. That text had definitely done a number on him.
“The gallery is on the right, not far up this street.” Ethan’s voice pulled Donovan out of his musings. “There are a couple of customer car parks out front. Mitchell said he’d keep one free for us.”
The building wasn’t as big as Donovan expected, but the shop front was welcoming. The door was painted in lavender hues, and he immediately noticed the dark purple sign framed by the window. “Lily Art Gallery,” he read out loud.
“It used to be a café, and a tearoom before that,” Ethan said. “The building has been in Mitchell’s family for years and has quite the history. Although he renovated the inside before he opened the gallery, he wanted to keep the name.”
“It’s important to remember your roots,” Donovan agreed. He’d noticed that Ethan didn’t talk about his family at all, but then Donovan hadn’t either. He missed his family, but they understood why he’d needed to make a fresh start. Donovan smiled, remembering the recent photo his sister had sent of his niece. Cassandra was growing up too quickly. Soon she’d be a teenager, although she’d assured her uncle she’d never be too old for fairies and unicorns. Nevertheless, he’d better focus on finishing the mirror for her before the time came for her to move on to other things.
“I don’t remember much about mine,” Ethan said. “I was raised by my aunt and uncle.” He climbed out of the Land Rover and walked over to the front door of the gallery.
“I’m sorry.” Donovan caught up quickly, but before Ethan could say anything, the door to the gallery opened.
“Ethan!” A man in his fifties with graying hair gave Ethan a hug. “It’s good to see you, my friend.”
To Donovan’s surprise, Ethan didn’t seem uncomfortable by the display of affection—or if he was, he didn’t show it. He looked more resigned to it than anything. “Vincent, it’s good to see you too. This is my friend, Donovan Campbell. Donovan, this is Vincent Halliwell, Mitchell’s partner.”
“Ah, Donovan, we’ve heard a lot about you.” Vincent’s blue eyes had a twinkle to them, and his lips curved up into a smile. He held out his hand to Donovan. He had a firm grip. “Please come in. Mitchell’s talking to our other guest, so I’m on welcoming duty.” He waved toward the Land Rover. “We can bring your stuff in later. Introductions are more important, don’t you think?”
“Yes, they are.” Donovan liked this guy already. He felt his earlier stress begin to trickle away and wondered if that was the real reason why Mitchell had sent his partner to meet them. Vincent hadn’t mentioned the Land Rover either, which was a plus—most people couldn’t resist some kind of comment.
Stepping through the door, he found himself in a decent-sized room. A counter stood by the back wall, paintings and photos adorned the walls, and cabinets showed off various carvings, pottery, and other types of art.
“Impressive, isn’t it?” Ethan said quietly from behind him.
“Very.” Donovan ran one hand gently over the nearest carving, then pulled it away quickly, wondering if he should have touched it.
“Beautiful things shouldn’t just be admired from a distance,” Vincent said. “After all, carvings are very tactile, so we encourage prospective buyers to touch too.” He grinned. “Of course, the breakable items are behind glass. One has to be sensible about such things, and we believe in that saying: break it and it’s yours. After you’ve paid for it, of course.”
“Of course.” Donovan turned his attention to one of the paintings. It was of a beach, with seagulls haunting white-crested waves. He frowned. It was a beautiful painting, but something was missing, something he couldn’t put his finger on. He peered at it more closely, and it hit him. The emotion in it seemed forced—artificial—as though the artist had painted what he thought his public wanted to see rather than what was reflected in his own soul. Donovan took a step back, wondering if he was too close, but that wasn’t it. He read the name written in sprawling writing on the bottom right-hand side of the painting. “Duncan Kinsey.”
He looked up just in time to see Ethan and Vincent exchange a glance. Something dark crossed Ethan’s features, and he grimaced.
“Mitchell’s going to wonder what’s taking us so long,” Vincent said quickly. “Please follow me upstairs.” He led them across the room and through an open door into a hallway. “This part of the building used to be completely separate so the people using the offices upstairs didn’t disturb the customers in the tearooms.”
Donovan nodded. “Ethan told me a little of the history of the building. You’ve done a great job with it. I wouldn’t have known it had been anything but a gallery otherwise.”
“Thank you.” Vincent pointed to a door to their left. “This was the original outside door leading to the stairs. We thought about plastering it over, but decided to keep it as is, although it’s locked now of course.” He kept talking about the building as they climbed the stairs.
He’s giving Ethan the opportunity to compose himself, Donovan realized. Whatever the connection between Ethan and that painting, Vincent knew about it.
Hold up.
Duncan Kinsey. As in Duncan, the name Ethan had started to say several times before catching himself and not so subtly changing the subject?
Whoever this Duncan was, Ethan knew him, that was for sure, and didn’t want to talk about it.
“This is my favorite part of our renovations,” Vincent said as he ushered them through the open door at the top of the stairs. “The gallery.”
“Wow,” Donovan exclaimed. “I can see why.” The floor was completely open plan, and reminded him of a studio apartment, although the decor retained the old-fashioned feel of the building. The antique furniture and wallpaper added to the impression that he’d just stepped back in time. Paintings hung on the walls, some depicting scenes and people of a time long past, others more modern.
“Some of the furniture is from the original offices, although we had to restore the desk. Would you believe Mitchell dug a bullet out of it?”
“Vincent does love his renovation stories.” A man, about the same age as Vincent, got up from the sofa he’d been sitting on and walked toward them.
“Hey,” Vincent said. “That one is yours, and from what I remember, you were pretty damn excited about it when you found it.”
The man chuckled. His blond hair had streaks of silver in it, and his striking green eyes reflected his amusement. “That I was.” He nodded toward Ethan. “Hello, Ethan. It’s good to see you. This must be your friend Donovan.” He held out his hand to Donovan, who shook it. “Hello, Donovan. I’m Mitchell Ramsay. You’ve already met my partner, Vincent.”
“Donovan Campbell. I really appreciate you agreeing to look at my carvings.” Donovan relaxed his posture, just a little.
“I knew I had to see them as soon as Ethan told me about them. It takes a lot to get him this excited about something.”
Ethan turned red and studied the floor.
“Mitchell knows a good thing when he sees it. The figurine he showed me was most exquisite.” The woman, still sitting on the sofa Mitchell had just vacated, smiled at Donovan. “Come, sit with me, Donovan. I’m sure we have much to discuss. And pleased to meet you too, Ethan. Both Mitchell and Vincent speak highly of you.” She had short brunette hair and spoke with an American accent.
“Ethan, Donovan, this is my associate Daphne Waterhouse. She owns an art gallery in the States and often travels here on business. I showed her the figurine you sent, and she expressed an interest in meeting you.” Mitchell sat down on the other end of the sofa, opposite Daphne, leaving the seat between them free.
Ethan hesitated, as though unsure whether he should sit, or even stay.
“Ethan, we have much to discuss. It’s been a while since we’ve had the chance to talk.” Vi
ncent took Ethan by the arm and ushered him away. “Mitchell’s bought this new painting I’d like you to take a look at, and I’m sure you have news of your friend Tomas. We’ve been quite concerned.”
Donovan watched Ethan go. Vincent’s action had been very smooth, and the tension was easing out of Ethan’s shoulders before they reached the stairs. He hoped Vincent could get something out of him about whatever had him on edge.
“You have some serious talent, young man,” Daphne said. “I’m very interested in displaying some of your work in my gallery, and procuring some sales for you. I suspect, given the detail in the figurine, that the photographs I’ve seen don’t do your work justice.” She paused. “So what part of America are you from?”
“Pennsylvania,” Donovan said, “although I’ve been living here for a while now.” He wasn’t sure whether to be insulted by her calling him a young man or not, as she only looked a couple of years older than he was. “My family’s still there.”
Daphne nodded. “I remember Pennsylvania well, although it’s been several years since I’ve been there. I own a few galleries in different parts of America, and I’m always on the lookout for new talent. Mitchell said you were bringing more of your work for us to look at?”
“Yes, that’s right. I can go get it now if you’d like.”
“Wonderful.” Daphne beamed. “I’ll meet you and Mitchell downstairs in a few, after I’ve finished assessing the painting he and I were discussing.”
“Don’t mind her,” Mitchell said as soon as they were out of earshot. “Daphne means well but has a tendency to take charge without realizing it. She’s a good person, though, and she has connections. If she likes your carvings, and I’m certain she will, she’ll make sure they get out there to an audience who will appreciate them.”
“It’s fine,” Donovan said. He’d dealt with people like her before, and it didn’t bother him. “I really appreciate you taking a chance on my stuff like this.”