Pulled by a Dream

by Kathryn Greenway

  Emily sat on the couch and scrolled through her contacts. When the call was answered, Peter sounded delighted. “Hey. This is a nice surprise. I was just thinking about you today.”

  “Something good, I hope.”

  He chuckled. “I ran into Fran in Havers. She said she hadn’t seen you for a while. And I hadn’t seen you since the Fete. We were worried about you.”

  Emily’s throat thickened. She knew Peter had a point. She’d kept to herself during the last few weeks, plus there had been the added distraction of Jake.

  She cleared her throat. “I’m fine, honestly. And I’m calling because I need your help.”

  “What can I do for you?”

  “I’m thinking about putting some of my grandmother’s paintings in the B&B when it’s done, and I wondered if you had any contacts who could deal with cleaning the canvases up a little.”

  “Certainly. I know a few, actually. Do you want their numbers, or would you prefer me to do the legwork?”

  Peter was wonderful. “Could you call them?”

  “No problem. There is one thing, though. Could I call round at some point and take a look at the paintings? Just to give me an idea of how much work we’re talking about.”

  Emily chuckled. “What are you doing tomorrow morning?”

  Peter snickered. “Saturday morning? My rates go up for weekend house calls.” They both laughed. “Seriously though, that’s fine. I can open up the shop an hour late. I don’t usually have tourists hammering on my door first thing on a Saturday morning, demanding to buy antiques.”

  “That would be great. I’ll see you then. And thank you, Peter.”

  “Anything for you.” Peter disconnected.

  Emily put down the phone and settled back against the cushions, her wine glass in hand. Peter’s visit would be a welcome distraction. Anything to keep her mind off a certain sexy carpenter and barn builder…

  Emily sighed. There was no use denying it any longer.

  She’d fallen for Jake Matthews, and the way things were going, it looked like Emily’s heart was about to be broken for the first time.

  Peter pocketed his notepad and sat on the couch to drink his coffee. “Yup. I know just who to call. And you’ll be happy with their work. They’ve restored quite a few paintings for me in the past.”

  “Oh, that’s good.” Emily nodded toward the final pile of paintings. “I was going to ask you to look through these, too. There are a couple that need more than cleaning. They’ve been scratched, or the frames have been damaged.”

  He put down his mug. “Let’s have a look.” Peter gently moved the paintings, gazing at each one. “Oh, I see what you mean. Well, there’s nothing here that can’t be put right. They may take a little longer than the others, but it’s doable.” Then he peered between two canvases. “What’s this?” Peter lifted up the framed sketches.

  Emily snickered. “That has been the cause of much friction between myself and my cousin. The sketch on the right is my grandmother Rachel’s first ever signed masterpiece.” She gave it a fond glance.

  Peter laughed. “Wow. She improved with age, didn’t she? How old was she when she did this?”

  “Seven, I believe.”

  Peter looked closely at the sketches. “What do you know about this?”

  “Quite a lot, actually.” Emily smiled. “There’s a story to it that Jane used to tell me.”

  He brought the framed picture over to the couch and sat down, placing it carefully on the cushion beside him. After picking up his mug, Peter gazed thoughtfully at the sketches. “You’ve intrigued me. Do tell.”

  “It all happened in the early thirties. My great-grandparents were on holiday in the south of France and north-east coast of Spain. This was long before such holidays became popular, but they were a wealthy family—”

  “They still are, aren’t they?” Peter’s eyes sparkled.

  Emily tapped his knee. “Hush. I’m telling this story, remember? So, they were on holiday, and Rachel had accompanied them. Apparently, they were in some little fishing village in Spain, and it was a hot day. A couple invited them in to have a drink and something to eat. Really kind of them. My great-grandparents accepted their hospitality, and while they were all eating and talking, Rachel got out her new sketchpad and drew the couple.” Emily tapped the glass above the male figure. “When he saw the result, he praised her, and told her she had to sign it, because one day she might be a famous artist.” Emily chuckled. “So she did. And then the husband asked if he could draw Rachel. My great-grandmother told Jane she’d never known Rachel to sit still for so long.”

  Peter gazed at the sketch of Rachel. “It’s very good.”

  Emily smiled. “When he’d finished, Rachel demanded that he had to sign it too.”

  Peter picked up the picture and peered closely at Rachel. “This holiday… did your great-grandparents take any photographs?”

  “It wouldn’t surprise me. My great-grandfather was always taking photos. There’s an album around here somewhere.” She chuckled. “What am I saying? There’s a packing case containing nothing but photo albums.” Emily tilted her head to one side. “Why the interest in photos?”

  “Could you look for the album?” Peter’s eyes gleamed. “Indulge me?”

  Shrugging, Emily got up and went to the back of the barn, where several packing cases stood, crammed with things belonging to Jane and Clare. Cases she still had to go through. She leaned in and carefully sifted through layer upon layer of knickknacks, mementos, papers, until at last she found the thick, black leather-bound photo album. “Got it.” She brought it over to the couch and sat beside Peter. Opening it, she leafed through until she saw the carefully handwritten label, France and Spain, 1932. “These are the photos.” She handed the album to him.

  Peter put down his mug and turned the heavy black pages, perusing each photo. After a few minutes, he stopped and picked up the picture again. “Would you mind if I took it out of its frame? For a closer look?”

  “Of course, be my guest.”

  Peter unfastened the back panel and carefully slid the sheet of paper out from behind the glass, holding it at the edges. He peered at a spot of something on Rachel’s drawing of the couple. “What’s that?”

  Emily peered at it. “Could be anything. A drop of water, or maybe whatever she was drinking. She was seven, after all.”

  Peter nodded, tilting the sheet to look at the paper’s surface. He replaced it in the frame and handed it to her. “Can you read the signature on Rachel’s portrait?”

  “I’ve never really examined it.”

  Peter smiled. “It’s not very large, and it’s written sideways, rather than across the bottom. Take a look.”

  Emily gazed at the drawing, squinting. She turned the picture onto its side, and peered closely. “It’s not very clear. I can just make it out. There’s a D - A - L—” Emily froze. “You have got to be kidding.”

  Peter gently took the picture from her, then placed the photo album on her knee, open. He pointed to a black-and-white photograph depicting a tall, slim man with a mustache, his hair pushed back off his forehead, and a slightly shorter woman with black, wavy, shoulder-length hair. “That is Salvador Dalí, and his wife Gala. Not that they were married in 1932. They were living together at that point.”

  Emily stared at the photo in shock. “Seriously? But… that doesn’t look like Dalí. I’ve seen photos of him. He had that amazing mustache, didn’t he?”

  Peter beamed. “Yes, you’re right, he did. But that was much later. In the late twenties and early thirties, he looked pretty ordinary, as you can see. And the timing fits, by the way. In the early thirties, Dalí and Gala lived in Port Lligat, a small village on the Costa Brava. Cadaqués, a town nearby, became quite the haven for artists, Dalí included, not to mention Miró and Picasso.” He smiled. “You have in your possession a sketch by Salvador Dalí, completed when he had already produced some of his finest work. Were your great-grandparents interested in a
rt?”

  “Not that I know of. Rachel was the only artist in the family.”

  “Then there’s no reason why they would have recognized him.” He turned a page. “And then there’s this.” Peter pointed to another photo, this one of Dalí sitting at a table across from a little girl, his attention focused on the sketchpad in front of him.

  “Is that him actually drawing her?”

  Peter nodded. “The drawing on its own is interesting, but with this photo, you establish its provenance.”

  Emily’s gaze flicked between the picture and the photo. “This is absolutely amazing. Good God—what might this be worth?”

  “That, I couldn’t tell you. A collector would pay a small fortune for it, together with the photo.” Peter peered at her. “Would you sell it?”

  Emily shook her head. “I’d give it to a museum. That way, everyone could get to see it. My great-children could see it one day.” And then it hit her. “That loathsome piece of—”

  “Em?” Peter gaped at her.

  Emily clenched her fists. “My cousin, Phillip. Now I know why he was so keen to get his hands on this. He came here a few months back, to ask me for it, then again this past week.”

  Peter frowned. “But… how could he have known of its existence?”

  Emily thought for a minute. “He came here, not long after the funeral, with Oliver Tremmond. He must have seen it then.” She gaped at him. “Maybe that’s why he decided not to contest the will. All he could see was how much money he’d have to spend on restoring the house, compared with getting hold of the picture and making a quick sale to the highest bidder. And that would be quite a feather in his cap, discovering an unknown drawing.”

  Peter picked up the picture. “You need to put this in a safe place. At least until you can get it authenticated, then you can go to a suitable museum. I’ll help you find the right one.” He smiled. “Nice to know my degree came in useful.”

  She laughed, and impulsively leaned in to kiss him on the cheek. “Thank you, Peter. You’ve been wonderful.”

  Peter’s cheeks flushed. “Like I said on the phone. Anything for you. But I meant what I said. Take immediate steps to put this into safe keeping.” He fixed her with an intense gaze. “And now are you going to tell me what’s wrong?”

  Emily stiffened. “Who says there’s anything wrong?”

  Peter sighed. “Fran and I, we know you, and neither of us are blind. And you forget—this is a very small village. Word gets around fast, especially on the gossip grapevine. So when I hear talk about you and a certain… gentleman, who also happens to be a friend of mine…”

  Emily groaned internally. Great. We’re a topic of hot gossip. She imagined the Topping sisters were having a field day with this.

  “The truth is, I don’t know what’s going on,” she told him. “I thought things were working out really well, but… he’s avoiding me, and I don’t know what to do about it. I don’t want to confront him with it, in case I put my foot in it and make things ten times worse.”

  “Do you want me to see if I can find out what’s bothering him?”

  Emily froze. “God, no. Just leave it, please? Look, if we’re not meant to be, we’re… not meant to be.” The fact that she didn’t want to believe that was beside the point. Emily sighed. The first time that she’d let someone in, let him get under her skin, and she ended up regretting it.

  “Have a little faith,” Peter said kindly. “You’re both good people. You deserve each other.” He patted her knee. “So I’ll keep my fingers crossed that whatever is preventing you from being together, gets sorted. You’re lucky if you have someone you feel that deeply about. Look at me. There’s only ever been one woman for me, and she went and married someone else. If someone important walked into my life, I’d pull out all the stops to make sure she stayed there.”

  Emily’s heart ached. “I miss him. I got to see a side to him that I really liked, and all of a sudden it’s as if the man I saw has disappeared.”

  “He’ll come back,” Peter said, his voice full of a confidence that Emily envied.

  She wished she could believe that.

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Jake hated himself right then.

  Two weeks since he’d begun to have doubts about Emily, and he was still no clearer in his own mind. He kept his distance at work, maintaining a professional exterior, but wasn’t really surprised when Emily began to avoid him too. Why would she be interested in someone who behaved so coolly toward her?

  What made it worse was that he couldn’t stop thinking about her. And then of course, she had to go and suggest them becoming business partners…

  Two weeks to the day since he’d overheard that awful, confusing conversation, he was up in the attic where he was replacing the windows. May had come in with a rush of warmth and sunshine, and Jake was grateful for the change. Summer was drawing closer, thank goodness. He stared out toward the rear of the house, gazing at the sunlight glinting on the calm surface of the lake in the distance. Emily’s proposition came to mind.

  It made sense, of course. He just wasn’t sure why she’d want to undertake such a venture with him. Emily didn’t need partners. She’d built up a business from scratch, on her own. Except now he was looking at her business success and wondering about its foundations.

  “I don’t suppose you’ve thought about my proposal.”

  Jake gave a start and jumped up so fast, his head collided with the beam above him. “Ouch! For Christ’s sake, woman!”

  Emily was at his side in an instant. “Are you okay? Is it bleeding?”

  Jake gingerly put his fingertips to the top of his head, relieved when they came away clear. “It’s just gonna be a bump, I think.” He glared at her. “Can you not do your ninja impressions, please? Warn a guy that you’re there before you speak?”

  Emily arched her eyebrows. “I didn’t realize I possessed ninja-type stealth,” she commented dryly. “It’s a superpower I must apparently do my utmost to suppress.”

  Jake sighed. “Sorry for snapping at you, but this hurts.”

  “Can I take a look?”

  It was on the tip of his tongue to tell her he was fine, but one look at the concern in those deep brown eyes, and he was putty in her hands. “Sure.” He bent over.

  Emily shifted closer, so close that he caught the scent of her perfume. The same perfume that had been all over the pillows and sheets that weekend. The perfume that had filled his senses when he’d awoken to find her missing, and he’d wrapped his arms around her pillow, inhaling her…

  Shit. I did not need a reminder of that.

  Emily took a step back. “There’s going to be a lump. Sorry.” Her regret came across as genuine. “I don’t suppose you’re in any mood to discuss plans now, right?” She held up her hands. “I know it sounds like I’m pushing, but I don’t see any point in delaying, if you think it might work.”

  “As a matter of fact, I was just thinking about it—right before you made me jump out of my skin.” He glared at her, but it was half-hearted. “I have to admit, I liked the ideas. And it would bring you a lot of money. I can see why you’re keen for it to go ahead.”

  Emily blinked. “Okay… Yes, the main reason anyone starts a business is to make money. But in this instance? It really isn’t about that.”

  It was Jake’s turn to blink. “Oh? Then what is it about?”

  “It would do a power of good for the village. Think about it. We might be able to provide accommodation for a limited number of guests, but for the rest, there’d be the B&B, Air bnb properties, the guest houses… Not to mention the income it would bring to the village’s cafés and businesses. And then there’s the issue of staff. It’ll need waiters, cleaners, et cetera, plus the caterers…” She smiled. “I think Fairdown could really benefit from such a venture.”

  Something deep in Jake’s belly fluttered. Emily didn’t sound anything like the person Phillip had been describing, which only confused him more.

>   “Actually, I’ve had some more thoughts on the subject lately. That was why I came up here to talk to you, on the off-chance that you had considered it. I know I said we could be partners, but when I thought about it… I’m going to have my hands full with the B&B. I was thinking you could manage the venue.”

  Jake frowned. “And exactly how am I supposed to be a manager and go up and down the country, building barns?”

  She nodded slowly. “That was something else I considered. Answer me this. Do you really want to be traveling here, there and everywhere? Jake, you’re forty. Now isn’t the time for such activity. Now is the time for settling down, taking on staff, and training them to build barns. You said it yourself once—such skills are dying out. Then don’t let them. Pass on your skills to the next generation.”

  Her words struck right to the heart of everything Jake wanted. He loved the idea. There was only one major stumbling block that he could see.

  Emily would be his business partner. And while a month ago he would have leaped at such an opportunity, circumstances had changed. His own doubts rendered him incapable of making such a decision.

  “Anyway, it’s something to consider,” Emily said brightly. “I’m sorry to run, but I’m meeting Fran at the tea shop. We haven’t done that in ages.” She bit her lip. “Am I a terrible boss for skipping work to enjoy coffee and cake with a friend?” Her eyes sparkled.

  In spite of his inner turmoil, Jake chuckled. “You’re not the one doing the work here—we are. So go have coffee and cake with a clear conscience.”

  Emily grinned, and for a moment, the weight of the last two weeks lifted. “Well, if you finish that window in the next thirty minutes, why don’t you come and join us? I can say that—I’m the boss. And it’ll be my treat.”

  Jake was sorely tempted, but his initial burst of pleasure at the invitation was tempered by the knowledge that Fran would be there too, not that he disliked her in the slightest. “I’ll think about it.”

  Emily smiled. “Good. Then think quickly. Otherwise all the best cake will be gone by the time you get there.” There was a wicked glint in her eyes. “You’ve never seen Fran when it comes to cake.” And with that, she left him and went downstairs.