by Jo Victor
“Melissa didn’t love her. Not really.”
“The Prandall, darling. The Prandall—seven hundred thousand pounds! I can’t believe it. Darling, you’ve done it!”
“I suppose I have. It doesn’t seem to matter much. She didn’t love her.”
“You’re not making sense. You must be in shock. Well of course you are, anyone would be. I’ll see if I can find something in the kitchen that will help.”
Alex sat there staring at the letter, not really seeing it. What a betrayal. The pain must have been indescribable.
Rosamund was back almost immediately, carrying—what else?—a bottle of champagne and two glasses. She opened the bottle, laughing as the foam sprayed over the carpet, and poured a glass for each of them.
Alex took hers, staring at it as if she’d never seen anything like it before in her life. Everything seemed a little unreal. Maybe she really was in shock.
Rosamund laughed again. “Now let’s make a toast to all that lovely money. To seven hundred thousand pounds.” She clinked her glass against Alex’s before drinking.
Alex lifted hers mechanically and said, “Artemisia.” Then she took a sip. It was cool and sweet and felt wonderful going down her throat. She hadn’t realized how thirsty she was. She took another sip, and then another one. Before she realized it, her glass was empty.
“Thank you, Rosamund.” She put the glass down and looked at the letter again. Something about it nagged at her, something that didn’t make sense. But whatever it was, it eluded her.
Her glass was full again so she took another sip. Looking up, she focused on the painting over the mantel. The reason she had come to the Hall today in the first place.
She thought about what Ian had written, about everything that was wrong with the painting, and everyone who was missing from it. Had that only been this morning? It felt like a thousand years ago. She was so tired. Her body felt like lead.
She sat staring at the painting, sipping her drink and letting her mind wander. She wondered how Artemisia had ever managed to recover from what Melissa had done to her. But recover she must have, somehow. Otherwise, how could you explain her dying words?
Death may have parted us, O my Heart, but Love will reunite us. It seemed almost unbelievable, but according to Ian’s letter, that was exactly what Artemisia had said, right before the end. At least that much of the legend was apparently absolutely true.
So somehow, Artemisia must have found a way not just to tolerate the pain Melissa had caused, but to forgive her. More than that, Artemisia had been able to reclaim the love that she had felt for her—a love that Melissa herself had denied, repudiated, reviled. Alex had the proof of that right in front of her.
Looking up at Artemisia’s face on the canvas, transfigured in the glow of Smithson’s imaginary candles, she hoped that the end of Artemisia’s life really had been touched by some measure of joy, that at least that much of Smithson’s art was truthful. Turning the mystery over in her mind, she let her eyes drift closed.
At some point she slipped into sleep. When she woke up, she was alone.
Rosamund was gone. And so was the letter.
Chapter Sixteen
Cam walked down the path that led to the back of Dawson House, still trying to figure out exactly what she was going to say to Alex. Somehow she had to get her to listen, to undo the damage Rosamund had done last night. She had been walking the moors for what felt like hours, hoping to get things straight in her mind, but she couldn’t settle on the right words.
She kept going back to the feel of Alex in her arms, the wonder of that kiss, the remembered heat of it burning all the thoughts from her head. And then she would flash on the moment when everything had turned to ashes. The look on Alex’s face, the tone in her voice when she had sent her away. She could feel the chill of it all the way through her.
And so it had gone, back and forth and back again, with her in no better state now than she had been when she first set off that morning. So much for taking a good long walk to sort things out.
She went up to the kitchen door. She’d delayed long enough. She’d just have to fumble through as best she could. She knocked, and when there was no answer, she pushed at the door. As expected, it swung right open.
The kitchen was dark, which was a little surprising. She switched on the light, giving a quick glance up at the overhead shelf to check for lurking cats as she stepped inside. She shut the door and looked around, calling out to Alex as she did so.
She heard a strange sort of noise from over by the fireplace, but the high back of the bench blocked her view. She came round the side of it only to stop dead.
Alex lay on the floor, curled up in a ball, sobbing.
For a moment, she froze. But only a moment. Then she was kneeling on the floor, pulling Alex into her arms. “Alex, love, what is it? What’s wrong?”
Alex clutched at Cam’s shirt and burrowed against her. At first all Cam could think to do was hold her tighter, stroking her back and arms. She was so cold. She was trying to talk, but all that came out was incoherent sobbing.
Cam’s stomach was churning and she felt herself starting to breathe too fast. No, none of that, not while Alex needed her. Ruthlessly she clamped down on her own reactions, forcing herself to think. Whatever had happened, all that mattered now was getting Alex better. And that clearly wasn’t going to happen if she stayed there on the bare floor.
Shifting gently, Cam got her feet under her, slid her arms under Alex’s shoulders and knees, and picked her up. Alex stopped sobbing and put her arms around Cam’s neck, resting her head on Cam’s chest. Where to set her down? Not the bench—too narrow. Going all the way upstairs would take too long. But there was a bed in Aunty Elspeth’s room—that would do.
Cam carried her in there and sat her on the side of the bed, keeping one arm around her while she got Alex’s shoes off. Then she eased her under the covers, pulling them up around her neck. When she turned to go, Alex whimpered.
“I’ll be right back, love.”
She hurried out into the kitchen and put the kettle on, then started opening cabinets, looking for something stronger than tea. She found a bottle of brandy and poured a generous tot into a glass, then took it in to Alex. Cam lifted her head, supporting her neck, and held the glass for her to drink. But at the first sip, Alex twisted her head away, making an angry sound. All right, no brandy. Cam eased Alex’s head back down.
After considering a moment, Cam drank it off herself and took the glass out to the kitchen. The instant the tea was ready, she stirred in plenty of sugar and grabbed a few biscuits from the table for good measure before going back to Alex.
Alex accepted the tea without protest. When she had drunk a bit and seemed a little better, Cam helped her to sit up. Alex took the cup but needed both hands to keep it steady. Cam sat on the edge of the bed and put her arm around Alex’s shoulders, holding her gently as she sipped.
When Alex finished the tea, Cam took the cup and set it aside, then handed her one of the biscuits. As if on cue, the cat appeared, leaping up onto the bed and mewing pitifully.
“Sorry, she needs it more than you do. I’ll open a tin for you later.”
The cat looked at her dubiously—apparently she was wary of empty promises. Smart, that one.
“I don’t think she believes you.” Alex’s voice shook a little but she sounded calm.
Cam closed her eyes, relief flooding her, before opening them again to glare at the cat. “Doesn’t matter what she believes. I keep my promises.”
The cat picked her way delicately up the bed until she reached an acceptable spot, turning this way and that until she had positioned herself with her body curled up to one side of Alex and her head on Alex’s leg, within easy petting distance. Alex obliged and the motorboat purr started up.
After a while, Alex sighed. “Oh, Cam…”
“Don’t try to talk yet. Have another biscuit.”
Once all the biscuits were gone, Alex wiped
a hand over her face, obviously trying to pull herself together. “Where do I start? I went up to the Hall, I guess around lunchtime, only I never did eat lunch, did I? That’s probably why…Oh, Cam, she stole it!” Alex buried her face in her hands and started to cry.
“Rosamund.” The word was like a curse in her mouth. Of course. Cam had known, instinctively, who was responsible the moment she saw Alex lying there. Alex cried out, and Cam realized that she had tightened her hold on Alex’s shoulder to the point of hurting her. Silently swearing at herself, she eased her grip, making soothing circles to rub away the pain.
As Cam tried to comfort her, Alex leaned back and settled her head into the curve between Cam’s neck and shoulder. Cam held her close, stroking her hair and her back. After a while Alex stopped crying. Eventually she fell asleep. At some point, Cam did, too.
Alex awoke to the unfamiliar sensation of Cam’s arms around her. Unfamiliar, yet absolutely right. She felt warm and safe encircled by her strength, listening to her soft breathing. Dimly she knew something awful was lurking just at the edge of awareness, waiting to claim her, but not yet. In this moment, everything was right.
She burrowed against Cam, trying to get closer. Slight as the movement was, Cam stirred. She kissed Alex on the forehead, soft and lingering, and seemed about to kiss her lips, but something made her stop and pull back. Alex felt a twinge of disappointment.
Cam let go of her and eased away. She got to her feet slowly and stiffly, taking a moment to stretch before turning on the bedside lamp.
Even that little bit of light made Alex cringe. Things were starting to come back to her—a few fragments, none of them good, and an underlying sense of desolation.
Meanwhile, Cam hunted through Mrs. Tate’s chest of drawers and located a cardigan and a thick pair of socks, both of which she insisted Alex put on before helping her to her feet. She wouldn’t let Alex walk into the kitchen on her own, either, and at first Alex was inclined to protest, but she decided she liked having Cam’s arm around her waist. And maybe she did still feel just a little shaky.
Alex sat at the table, feeling completely drained, while Cam busied herself making tea, heating soup, and toasting bread. Alex’s mind was clear and her memories by now were all too distinct. And yet having Cam there, just doing ordinary things, not even saying a word, made her feel better.
Once they started eating, she found it possible to talk about what had happened, in bits and pieces at first. Cam didn’t say anything, but her face looked grimmer and grimmer. Finally Alex was all talked out.
“So, what do you want to do?”
“You mean you believe me?”
“Believe you? There’s nothing to believe. I know what happened because you told me. That’s good enough for me.”
“Thank you. That means a lot.” She reached out and took Cam’s hand. Cam gave it a gentle squeeze, then released it. Alex pulled her hand back.
“But I can’t prove any of it. I can’t even prove I was at the Hall today, let alone what I did there. The whole place was completely empty. It’s my word against hers. And she has the letter.”
“There’s that. But you have the truth. That’s got to count for something.”
“Not without evidence.”
“Where do you reckon she is now? Never mind, I know the answer: London. Where else would she be?”
“She probably floored it all the way down the M-1. I hope nobody got in her way.”
“Too right. For seven hundred thousand pounds that one would run down her mother—and her grandmother as well. For a good deal less than that, in fact.”
The bitter tone surprised Alex. Cam didn’t sound much like a woman in love, although given the things Rosamund had said to her—had it only been last night?—it made sense.
Alex said, “I’m sure she went straight to the Foundation—she’s probably been with them for hours by now. God only knows what lies she’s told them.”
“Is there anyone on staff there you could ring? Maybe Nicola knows someone.”
“I can call Ian. He’s on the Board. Maybe he can help me. And even if he can’t do anything, he’s my friend. I want him to know the truth.”
Alex called Ian, and with her hand safely cradled in both of Cam’s, poured out the whole story in what she hoped was a coherent fashion, then waited apprehensively for Ian’s reaction.
“I’m very glad that you called me, Alexandra. Pity it couldn’t have been a bit sooner, but that can’t be helped. Sadly, I can’t say I’m entirely surprised by what you’ve told me.”
“Really? Why not?”
“Something about the whole thing just didn’t smell right, especially considering the source. Ms. Camberwell has always been inclined to burnish her own image at others’ expense. Not a case of beauty is truth, truth beauty, I’m afraid.”
Alex silently concurred.
“Besides, quite a few things made me wonder. Too many details, for one, and too much talking in general. Always a bad sign, in my experience. And such insistence that we needed to ring the media right away, despite the document not having been properly authenticated. Which, of course, now makes perfect sense. And then there’s what she said when I mentioned you.”
Alex felt the bottom drop out of her stomach. “What did she say?”
“It was very peculiar. I started to ask, quite naturally, whether she had spoken to you about the letter, but I only got as far as saying your name when she interrupted me and said, ‘She’s lying.’ Really quite extraordinary. If I hadn’t been suspicious before, that alone would have done it.”
“What happened then?”
“I think she realized she’d made a mistake, because at that point she stopped talking.”
“What do the others on the Board think?”
“From what I could tell, most of them had reactions similar to mine, though not all. Ms. Camberwell does have her admirers. In any case, based on what you’ve told me, Alexandra, I shall go back to my colleagues and insist that we adjourn until you can join us.”
“Oh.” She sighed. “Yes, I guess I do need to go down there.”
“I know this hasn’t been easy for you, my dear. How soon do you think you’ll be up to traveling?”
“I’ll be on the first train tomorrow, Ian.”
“Bravo, Alexandra. Never fear, we’ll get this sorted out.”
Chapter Seventeen
Cam spent most of the next day trying not to worry about Alex, who of course had been set on going to London by herself. She supposed that was a good sign. After all, Alex hadn’t uttered a word of protest the night before when Cam had informed her she was staying over in one of the spare rooms, within easy calling distance, as she tucked Alex into her own bed, the cat eyeing her the entire time from her post at the foot of the bed like a suspicious chaperone.
As if she’d try anything when Alex was in such a state. Of course, when they’d woken up together from that nap earlier in the evening, she hadn’t been able to stop herself from kissing her. But she’d been pretty groggy then, and for a long, wonderful moment she hadn’t been aware of anything but Alex, the warmth and softness of her, the scent of her hair and her skin. She’d come back to herself right quick, though, before she’d done more than kiss her forehead just the one time.
Which had been a good thing. Of course it had.
Letting go of Alex and moving away from her in that moment had been like tearing off a limb, but she had managed it. Perhaps one of these days she’d surprise herself and not actually do the thing that was right and proper and best for all concerned. And probably give herself heart failure from the shock.
Of course, it wasn’t always so easy to know what the right thing was. Last night it had been obvious Alex wasn’t fit to be left on her own, the fact that she hadn’t argued the point being all the more proof, as if Cam had needed any. She had found Alex’s meekness worrisome enough that she ought to have been delighted when it became clear Alex’s willingness to cooperate hadn’t survived t
he night.
Cam hadn’t known what to think. On the one hand, it was good to see Alex back to her old stubborn self, insisting that she was fine as she rushed about preparing for her trip. But Cam hadn’t been the least convinced that she was truly up to the journey, physically or emotionally. Not that her concerns had mattered in the end. For while Alex had accepted a ride to the station as well as Cam’s offer to explain things to Mrs. Tate and Nicola, she had refused to let Cam go with her to London.
Despite all attempts to make Alex see reason, she had remained obstinate, saying that she needed to face the Board on her own. Not much of a surprise, that, and though Cam would never admit it aloud, in spite of her worries she was proud of Alex for standing firm. What had surprised her was the other reason Alex gave for wanting Cam to stay behind.
“When you don’t work, you don’t get paid. Besides, you must have a huge backlog of jobs from your trip to Scarborough, and losing another day or two will only make it that much worse. You’ll end up working so much extra time you’ll half kill yourself, just so you don’t disappoint people.”
Most folk had no idea what it was like to be self-employed. They reckoned she had loads of free time or expected her to just drop everything to do them favors because she didn’t have a real job. And very few of them seemed to understand the pride she took in her work. But somehow Alex did. She really did.
So now Cam was waiting and wondering and trying to concentrate on what she was doing. Just as well she hadn’t had anything especially hazardous on her schedule today, since she’d already managed to bash one finger, plus she’d acquired a good few scrapes, scratches, and bumps—more than an ordinary week’s worth in just a few hours. Not that she would have done much better just sitting about, going slowly mad waiting for her mobile to ring.
As the hours went by with no word, Cam finally gave up and went home. Once she got there, she wasn’t able to do anything much besides drink endless cups of tea and pace, but at least she wasn’t injuring herself. Close to nine, she finally heard from Alex.