They walked hand in hand through the wide thoroughfare in the historic center of Edinburgh, still crowded with tourists even in the cold.
A short way past the cathedral, Faith led him up a side street into a wynd, one of the narrow old streets full of shops selling traditional Scottish goods and clothing that appealed to tourists.
Snakeswood Gallery had an unremarkable door, but once they stepped inside, Hew paused and gazed up at the high ceiling, impressed. The walls were white, the subtle lighting angled to show the artwork to its best advantage.
“Like it?” Faith asked.
Hew nodded as he continued on, not greatly impressed with most of the pictures on the walls. The current exhibition was mainly abstract art, and he wasn’t a fan. Small metal sculptures of native wild animals topped podiums dotted around the room. He spotted a hare, a fox, and a squirrel, and he did like those.
Although the shop front had appeared modest as they wandered around, he realized the gallery space went back quite a way, extending into four different rooms. At the moment, each room housed work by a different artist.
An older woman with short dark hair, obviously dyed, wearing sensible low-heeled shoes and a plaid skirt of blue-and-green Campbell tartan topped by a navy cardigan, approached them with a polite smile.
Hew tensed, sensing this was the gallery owner. He couldn’t understand why she was even considering his work for an exhibition when she must be approached by many artists more talented than he.
“Captain Wallace,” she said, extending a hand to Faith. “Lovely to see you again.” She turned her attention to Hew, her smile warm. “And this must be the artist.”
“Hew Mackenzie, please meet Isabella Franklin who owns Snakeswood Gallery.”
Hew shook her hand. “Franklin? You do know your skirt is Campbell plaid.”
She laughed. “Yes. I’m a Campbell by birth. Franklin is my married name. I’m afraid I fell for an Englishman, but I did persuade him to move here.”
Her friendly manner eased Hew’s apprehension, and it helped that she didn’t launch into lots of questions about his work.
To start with, she led them around the gallery, explaining the way she used the different spaces. One room she kept to display local artists’ work, another she used for international artists looking to show their work in Edinburgh, and the largest room, where they had entered, was her main space for exhibitions by artists she personally took an interest in.
She spun around, her hands spread to indicate the room. “This is where I would like to display your work, Mr. Mackenzie.”
“I thought you’d want to see some of the pictures first.” Hew felt like they had jumped from the initial introduction to the conclusion with nothing in between.
“Captain Wallace showed me one of your paintings and photographs of many others. I like your style and compositions. Your pictures will sell, Mr. Mackenzie. Ultimately, that is what matters.”
“Uh, right.” Hew suspected he sounded like an idiot, but things were moving so fast, he was nonplussed.
They discussed commission rates, what promotional spending the gallery was willing to offer, and before Hew could overcome his sense of unreality, they were in the small office at the back of the gallery discussing dates.
“I suggest we hang your work for at least two weeks, and I like the artist to be present for the press preview to give interviews and on the opening night. Please feel free to invite family and friends to the opening night; it helps draw people in if the gallery is busy, obviously hosting a popular artist.”
Press interviews…a popular artist. Hew swallowed. The remote bothy on Kindrogan estate sounded very tempting right now. It was one thing to put his paintings on display in a gallery miles away from Kindrogan where he wasn’t known, so if they didn’t sell, nobody would find out. It was quite another to invite friends and family to witness his potential failure.
What if the promised crowds didn’t turn up, or worse still, what if they did?
He had never been good with busy social events. He had half a mind to ask for time to think about this, yet one glance at Faith’s excited expression stalled the words in his mouth. This was his chance to show her he could be a success, probably his only chance.
Forcing a smile, he nodded. “Two weeks, then.”
“I’m normally booking at least six months in advance, but I’ve had an artist pull out who was scheduled for the last two weeks of May.”
“May?” His voice came out strangled, and he swallowed.
“That’s wonderful.” Faith squeezed Hew’s hand.
Mrs. Franklin discussed timings for shipping the paintings and recommended a carrier, handing Faith a card with the details.
“I can’t wait to see more of your work, Mr. Mackenzie.” She shook his hand again and walked with them towards the door.
“Such a pleasure to meet you. I look forward to talking again soon.”
Hew blinked as the cold air touched his face. He realized he was hot, sweating, an uncomfortable prickle above his collar where his wool pullover touched his skin.
Faith threw her arms around his neck and kissed him. “I’m so excited for you. Your work will be a big hit. I know it will.”
Hew held her close for a moment, breathed in her floral fragrance, and felt the tension drain away from his neck and shoulders.
“Yes,” he said. “I hope so.”
He would do this even though the thought terrified him. He would do it for Faith.
Chapter Twelve
Faith pushed her arm through Hew’s and leaned against him as they walked, sensing his inner turmoil. He was usually talkative with her, but as they headed away from the gallery towards the Royal Mile, he fell silent, his expression closed. To someone who didn’t know him, he might even appear angry.
This was the way he’d looked the first time she met him in the shopping center when she took Fergus back after the enterprising young boy had tracked her down. At the time, she’d thought Hew aloof and rude, yet she understood him now. He was fine with his family and people he knew, but when he was surrounded by strangers, he seemed unsure how to interact appropriately and became quiet and distant.
She hadn’t worked out if he was simply shy or if there was something more going on. It crossed her mind he might have mild Asperger’s syndrome, but she didn’t know enough about that condition to judge, and she certainly wasn’t going to mention it to him and make him feel even more awkward.
“Where do you fancy going for dinner?” she asked.
“I’d like to go straight to the hotel, if that’s okay with you.”
“That’s fine with me.”
Faith leaned her head on his shoulder as they paused for traffic before crossing a road. Her feelings for Hew had grown over the six weeks she’d known him. The first rush of attraction that weekend at Kindrogan had deepened until just the thought of him being stressed or upset made her chest tight with concern.
Part of her wondered if she should have pushed him to hold an exhibition of his artwork, but she had given this a lot of thought and really believed it would be good for him to experience success that was his alone and not connected to his family.
They arrived at Knot Court, the exclusive boutique hotel down a side street in the old town. The place had the air of a masculine establishment, all dark wood and leather, frequented by the professional elite.
Faith released Hew’s arm as he went to the reception desk.
“Good evening, Mr. Mackenzie, how pleasant to see you again, sir. I trust Colonel Mackenzie and Lady Mackenzie are well.”
Hew nodded. Apparently, all his family stayed here when they visited Edinburgh, and she supposed the staff took the trouble to remember their titled guests.
It amazed Faith at the disconnect between Hew’s perception of his life and who he really was. He seemed to be oblivious to the world of privilege he inhabited. He believed he had nothing, and had, in fact, told her just that the first weekend she visited Kind
rogan.
Yet his navy coat with its small, tasteful logo on the collar, his leather boots, and everything he wore were brands that cost a fortune, and it was obvious no expense had been spared in converting his cottage from the old boathouse.
The credit card he slipped out of his wallet and handed across to the politely obsequious man at reception was from a bank she hadn’t even heard of before she met Hew. Out of curiosity, she’d googled the bank name a few weeks ago and discovered it was so exclusive, only the seriously wealthy were even allowed through the door.
“Would you like a table for dinner, sir?”
“No, I’ll order from room service, I think.” Hew glanced at Faith and said softly, “I think I’d rather eat alone in my room.”
A fist of pain clenched in Faith’s chest. Had she pushed him too hard over the exhibition and made him pull away? She wanted to reach out to him, apologize, tell him her intentions had been good, but now was not the time. Instead, she forced a smile.
“I understand. I know the gallery visit was a bit stressful. I’ll meet you in the foyer here tomorrow morning?”
He stared at her blankly. “You won’t stay with me for dinner?”
Faith frowned, totally confused. “You wanted to be alone.”
“When I said alone, I meant just the two of us.”
“Oh. Right.” Relief shot through Faith like a gulp of whiskey, leaving her warm and fuzzy inside.
She slipped her arm through Hew’s, still lightheaded with relief. A porter picked up his bag, and they followed the man to the elevator and then to Hew’s room on the second floor.
Faith stopped just inside the door to take in the room while Hew tossed his bag on the bed in the far corner. The room was larger than Faith expected with a separate lounge area furnished with a sofa, a dining table for two complete with chairs, a writing desk, and a television. The other two times Hew visited her in Edinburgh, she hadn’t ventured farther than the reception area of Knot Court.
While Hew examined the room-service menu, Faith wandered to the window to stare down on the small enclosed courtyard that gave the hotel its name. Potted evergreens gave the space some color, but in this weather, nobody was taking advantage of the outside tables and chairs.
A tingling sensation of awareness ran over Faith’s skin. She turned to find Hew had stepped close, remorse clear in his eyes.
“Sorry to ruin the evening. I know—”
Faith rose on her toes and placed a quick kiss on his lips to forestall his apology. “I’ve been looking for an excuse to get you alone.”
He tossed the menu on the windowsill and slipped his arms around her, drawing her in for another kiss. After a few minutes, he rested his forehead against hers.
She traced her fingers in possessive circles on his back, almost overwhelmed with emotion. She’d held off admitting how she felt for fear it might spook him, yet she couldn’t bottle up her feelings any more.
“I love you,” she whispered, her voice thick with sentiment.
His hand slipped into her hair, cradling the back of her head, and he pressed his lips to her temple. “I love you too. I’m sorry I’m so…” He squeezed his eyes closed and sucked in a frustrated breath.
“Gorgeous,” she filled in for him, knowing that was not what he’d been planning to say.
It had the desired effect and made him laugh.
“Sorry I seem to need my hand held when it comes to the exhibition. You will be able to get leave to come with me on both the press preview and the opening night, won’t you? I’m not sure I’ll get through them without you.”
“I’ll move heaven and earth.”
She wished she could promise, but she didn’t. However far ahead she planned her leave, there was always a chance the army might cancel it without notice if something cropped up. That was the nature of the job.
“If I can’t make it, I’m sure your family will be there.”
He nodded and hugged her close again, holding her as if drawing strength from the contact. They stayed like that for long minutes before Faith’s stomach rumbled loudly.
Hew released her with a grin. “I think we’d better order something to eat before you expire on me.”
• • •
Faith had always known there was a risk the army would send her away from Edinburgh before her contract ended in June. She’d hoped it wouldn’t happen, and so far, her luck had held out. Then four days before Hew’s exhibition was due to open, she got an urgent radio message to return to base.
Her explosive-detection dog team had been on a training patrol in a residential area on the outskirts of Edinburgh. The support vehicle picked up the three-dog team and drove them the two miles to their temporary base at a country hotel. A scene of organized chaos greeted them, people hurrying about, a sergeant shouting instructions. The dogs from the other two teams were being crated up and loaded onto the back of army troop-transport vehicles.
Faith jumped out of the front seat of the Land Rover and hurried towards the area of activity. “What’s happened?”
“A terrorist bomb detonated on the London Underground, ma’am,” one of the veterinary nurses said.
Faith cursed under her breath. “How many casualties?”
The man shrugged. “Early reports say ten dead and many injured. That number is bound to increase as the rescue op proceeds, though. The explosion only happened fifteen minutes ago.”
Faith hurried into the base commander’s temporary office building and found him on the phone.
“Ah, good, Wallace,” he said. “Get your team assets crated up. We’re moving out in fifteen minutes. The RAF is sending a Hercules up from Brize Norton to pick us up at Edinburgh airport.”
“Okay, sir. I’ll have my team ready.”
As she jogged back out, she spared a thought for Hew. The timing couldn’t be worse, so close to his exhibition, it was unlikely she’d make it back in time.
She found her team already stuffing kit into bags and securing their dogs. She grabbed the handle on one side of a dog crate and helped lift it into the back of a troop truck and strap it down to rings in the floor. The other two dogs were loaded, and her two nurses and five dog handlers tossed in their packs and sat on the bench seats. A lance corporal from the logistics corps closed the back and signaled to the driver they were secure and ready to leave.
The truck shook and lurched a bit as it pulled out of the compound. In the semi-darkness inside the canvas-covered back of the vehicle, Faith dug her phone from her pocket one-handed, her other hand clamped to the bench to keep herself from sliding around as they cornered, and sent Hew a brief text.
Faith: Off to London re bombing. Call later. XX
Deflated, she pushed the phone back in her pocket and told herself to put Hew’s problems out of her mind for now. She would soon have enough of her own.
They boarded the Hercules at Edinburgh airport, carrying the dog crates and kit up the ramp into the cavernous belly of the plane. After they secured the dogs, they sat on the fold-down seats at the side of the plane, strapping themselves in before takeoff.
“Try to get some shut-eye,” she told her team. “We might be flat out for many hours when we get there.”
She knew the protocol. This was exactly what they had been training for. They would be seconded to the police under a joint-forces directive, the explosive-detection dog teams being deployed to sites where intel suggested other devices might be planted. That would likely be a big job as London was full of high-profile sites almost permanently on terrorist alert.
Just after 13:30 hours, they touched down at the military airfield at Brize Norton in Oxfordshire and immediately transferred to a smaller plane that flew them into London City Airport.
Thirty minutes later they were on the ground, the dogs uncrated and fully harnessed up for work. They boarded a military vehicle on the tarmac at the side of the runway, and it left via a service entry gate in the perimeter fence. As the vehicle speeded along the streets an
d slowed to pass through a police roadblock, Faith’s phone vibrated in the thigh pocket on her trousers. She pulled it out to glance at the screen.
Hew: Stay safe. Don’t worry about my exhibition. I’ll be fine. Love, Hew
He would be fine. His family would be there for him. But she had so wanted to stand at his side, lend her moral support, and witness his success. She hadn’t promised him she would be there, but she had said she would move heaven and earth to try to make it.
And she would.
Chapter Thirteen
The opening night of Hew’s exhibition at Snakeswood Gallery was scheduled to start at four p.m.; the gallery owner, Mrs. Franklin, said she hoped to catch the passing commuters.
To his way of thinking, when people finished work on Friday, they wanted to get home to start their weekend and were unlikely to stop to buy a painting. But he bowed to the gallery owner’s experience. With Fergus, Megan, and Duncan along to keep him from bolting, he stepped through the door into the brightly lit space a little before the appointed hour.
Trepidation knotted in his solar plexus while he waited for the first visitors to come in. He paced up and down the black granite tiles, ultra-aware of his paintings hanging on the white walls, each illuminated by a dedicated light. His work looked too ordinary and unremarkable to be spotlighted, and he felt like a fraud. Even worse was the panel near the door featuring a huge photograph of him with a biography underneath.
By the time the gallery door opened and an elderly couple came in, he was nearly hyperventilating. If they wanted to talk to him, he doubted he was capable right now. Mrs. Franklin greeted the prospective customers with flutes of champagne.
“Good luck.” Duncan gripped Hew’s shoulder in a show of brotherly support. “Whatever happens tonight, you’ve done well even getting to this point.”
“What do you mean, whatever happens?” Megan shook a finger at Duncan. “Positive thinking from the troops, please. Hew’s going to sell lots of paintings and be a huge success.”
“People will love your paintings, Dad,” Fergus said through a mouthful of potato chips he’d taken from the bowls of nibbles laid out on a table by the door.
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