Benedict wondered if he detected a touch of surprise in her voice, that he had shown something so personal to his niece. “I told Gemma about her grandparents Joseph and Jenny,” he said. “She wanted to find out more about her family.”
Estelle walked over to the counter. As she leaned over and peered inside it, her black bob swung down and obscured her face. Benedict took the wet tissues from her and put them in the bin. He wanted to reach out and push back her hair, over her ear, as he used to do when it fell onto her cheek. He spread his fingers out against the glass to stop the temptation.
“Has Gemma talked to you any more about Charlie?” she asked.
“What about him?” Benedict felt the hairs on the back of his neck bristle.
“About where he is and what he’s up to?”
“He’s at home on the farm. It must be difficult to get away from work...”
“I suppose it is. I just worry about Gemma...”
“She seems fine. I think she’s enjoying it here.”
“Yes,” she said, as if to convince herself. “I’m sure she is.” She looked around the shop again. “I actually came here to buy a present. Veronica has got a promotion, out in the States.”
“Does this mean that she’ll stay out there awhile longer?” He wondered if it meant that Estelle would also stay away from him.
“I think so,” Estelle said lightly. “She’s not sure yet.”
“If I remember correctly, Veronica wears a lot of black and white...” He held back from saying that he thought that Veronica looked like the type of person to weigh her breakfast cereal before eating it, and would wear stilettos around the swimming pool on holiday. “She’s very...style conscious.”
“Yes, she is, so choosing jewelry for her is tricky.”
Benedict moved his eyes from cabinet to cabinet. He wanted to choose something that would suit Veronica but that would also impress Estelle. A brooch with gemstones could be perfect.
His eyes settled on the cabinet at the far end of the counter. He walked over to it and found his hand instinctively hovering over a piece of tourmaline quartz. He wished Gemma was here to help him to verify that it was a good stone for Veronica, but he picked it out anyway and placed it on a sheet of white paper. The clear stone was shot through with fine streaks of black.
Without looking up at his wife, Benedict picked up a pen and started to sketch a brooch. At first his strokes were short and sketchy, but they soon grew thicker and bolder as his confidence grew and his idea took shape in his head and on the paper. He didn’t have to think too deeply about the design; it’s like it was there fully formed in his head and waiting to escape.
He drew a five-sided star crafted from silver wire. Within the outline of the star, he added a series of abstract scrolls and curls of wire, soldered to each other. These were punctuated with small, round gemstones.
When he was satisfied with the sketch, he turned it around to show it to Estelle. “Tourmaline quartz is supposed to bring you luck,” he said. “It combines the luckiness of both quartz crystal and tourmaline. It can help to give you a positive attitude and attracts inspiration.”
He looked up and expected her eyes to be trained on the drawing, but instead she looked directly at him. Frown lines were etched on her forehead. “When did you learn all this?” she asked.
“From my father’s gemstone journal. Gemma’s enjoying reading through it and has been adding her own notes. I’ve learned about some of the gemstones, too.”
For a second he considered showing Estelle some of Gemma’s notes in the journal, to ask her what he should do about them. But then he’d be admitting that there might be a problem. And he wanted to sort everything out himself first. “I can add additional stones, but I think the tourmaline quartz should be the main one. The star is a lucky shape, and Veronica can wear a brooch with anything.”
Estelle didn’t speak for a while. She studied the drawing and held the clear-and-black gemstone up to the light. “I think it’s a wonderful idea,” she said. “You’ve certainly been keeping busy.”
Benedict would usually make a joke to lighten up the mood, but he fought against it. He didn’t want to make general chitchat, or pretend with her any longer. He met her eyes with his. “It helps to be busy,” he said, “when you’re not here.”
Estelle took a small, sharp intake of breath.
They both reached out to touch the drawing at the same time, to talk about the star. As they did, the tips of their forefingers touched and they both laughed nervously. Their hands remained there, on the paper, with their fingers resting on the star. Benedict felt electricity prickle along his forearms and he wondered if she felt it, too. After so long apart, being this close to his wife again felt delicious.
“I think that...” Estelle started to say, but her words trailed off.
“Yes...?”
“I think that we...”
“Yes?” He placed his index finger on the top of her wedding ring and watched her throat as she swallowed. Her cheeks began to redden.
The moment was interrupted when the shop door beep-bopped open.
“Good afternoon, Benedict,” Reggie bellowed, and strode inside.
Estelle quickly moved her hand away, but Benedict kept his in place, already missing her touch. He looked longingly at her before forcing his gaze toward Reggie instead.
From the neck down, Benedict wouldn’t have recognized the solicitor. He had abandoned his suit and cashmere coat and instead wore a navy Adidas hooded top and indigo jeans. They still had creases, worn fresh from the shop shelves. His white hair was still as domed as ever.
“I’ve come to collect the earrings,” he said. “I only have one minute.”
Benedict passed the box to him and opened the lid.
Reggie peered into it. “They’re fine,” he said and took out his wallet.
“I’m glad you like them.”
Reggie reached out and touched the blue gemstone for a few seconds. “I think Laura will, um, love them,” he said awkwardly. His lips grew tighter as he thought about something else. “I’m taking her out for dinner today and we usually go to a fish restaurant in York. I wondered if Gemma might have more of an idea about where to take a young woman to...”
“She’s at home nursing a headache, I’m afraid.”
“Ah, well. Never mind.” Reggie’s eyebrow twitched.
“The three of us enjoyed Brenda’s, a lovely tearoom in York,” Estelle said. “I think that your daughter might like it there.” She put her bag on her shoulder. “Now I must go. You and Gemma are coming to my art exhibition, Benedict?”
“Yes, we’ll be there.”
“And I love your star brooch idea,” she said.
They gave each other a secret smile.
“And you’re welcome to come along, too, Reggie,” Estelle said as she opened the shop door. “Bring Laura along, if you like.”
Reggie stared after her. “Oh, okay. Art? Yes... Thank you.” After Estelle left, he lowered his voice. “Do young people enjoy that sort of thing?” he asked. “And I thought that your wife had moved out...”
“Yes, but we’re trying to make things work,” Benedict said as he watched Estelle turn and wave to him. “So don’t try to make an appointment for me at Ramsbottom’s just yet.”
* * *
Benedict phoned home and left a message for Gemma, to tell her that there was something he wanted to do.
He took out the anniversary necklace from his drawer, picked up a pencil and sketched it onto a piece of paper. Except this time, he didn’t just draw the necklace; he drew the outline of his wife’s face and her neck. He took extra care when he drew her eyes, shading in the irises until he felt that her true image was looking and smiling back at him.
Her necklace sat just below her collar
bone. What could he do to it to make it more special? He dipped his hand into the glass jar and took out a handful of gemstones. Then he shook out more onto his bench and sifted through them, looking for ones with significance and meaning for Estelle. Just as he’d had the idea for engraving Diane’s kunzite pendant with words, a picture slowly emerged in his head and he saw how the anniversary necklace should be.
He chose twenty-five gemstones, rejected seven, then deselected six more, then another two until he was left with ten—one for each year of his and Estelle’s marriage. Then he set to work.
He only set down his tools when the necklace was finished and when he heard the Noon Sun village clock strike 11:00 p.m. Time had run away with him again. The streetlamp outside lit the jewelry shop with an orange glow, like a Halloween pumpkin.
He thought briefly about Gemma at home; she was surely in bed asleep by now. Then he turned his thoughts back to the necklace and how he’d completed another WEB challenge. He lifted the necklace up and it twinkled in his hands. His eyes might be bleary but it was perfect at last.
20.
BLOODSTONE
courage, guidance, instinct
AS BENEDICT APPROACHED his house, he saw that it was all lit up. Each room seemed to be illuminated. Light streamed through the glass panels in the front door, making the path look like a yellow carpet. The gem tree’s leaves shone as if they were made from gold foil.
Benedict once owned a Christmas lamp. It was a fiberglass house with a light inside. The windows and door lit up and he liked the glow the house gave; it was yellow, warm and homely. When he was a child he switched it on and read by the lamplight.
Charlie used to press his eye against the windows, wanting to see the bulb and the wires inside. He flicked the switch on and off until Benedict told him to stop it. The lamp eventually broke after Charlie manhandled it once too often.
And now, Benedict’s own house reminded him of that lamp.
Speedily, Benedict took his key from his pocket and opened the door. The hall light was so bright it made him squint. He listened but couldn’t hear any sounds. “Gemma?” he shouted up the stairs but there was no reply.
All the doors leading off the hallway were open, and in each room the light was turned on. Benedict thought of the night that Gemma first arrived, when everything was in darkness. Now, everything was too bright.
He looked around the kitchen and switched off the main light. The light over the cooker was on and he turned that off, too. The dining room was empty, as was the front room and the cupboard under the stairs. He switched off the light in each.
He circled around downstairs again and found a small reading lamp and a wall light that he had missed on his first time round.
Striding upstairs, he shouted again. “Gemma?”
He went into the bathroom, then into his bedroom. All the lights were on up here, too—a bedside lamp, a reading lamp, his flashlight, at the top of the stairs, which highlighted a mound of fluff on the carpet. It was as if someone had searched the house, from top to bottom, but not moved anything out of place. Then they left, leaving everything illuminated.
His pulse quickened. This was very strange. There was nothing to indicate that Gemma wasn’t still here. The front door was locked. He didn’t sense anything was amiss. She might be asleep, but why were the lights on?
He came to Charlie’s old bedroom last. “Gemma?” He pushed open the door. As with the others, the pendant light in the middle of the ceiling flooded the room with a golden glow.
Gemma sat, hunched up against the wall. She wore Estelle’s flowered pajamas and her own cowboy boots. Her knees were tucked up to her chin.
“Gemma,” Benedict exclaimed. “Is everything okay?”
“Uh-huh.” She hugged her legs.
“All the lights are on.”
“Huh?”
“I mean every single light in the house.”
She rested her cheek on her knees. “It’s late,” she said. “Where have you been?”
“I stayed late to work on Estelle’s necklace.”
“You didn’t tell me that.”
“I rang the house and left a message.”
“I didn’t hear it.”
“Sorry. I thought you’d probably be in bed, with your headache.”
“I’ve not been in bed all day. I got up.”
He held out his palms. “What has happened here? Why are you sitting on the floor?”
“Someone came to the house.”
“Someone?”
“You didn’t come home, and there was this knock at the door and I thought it was you. But when I answered there was no one there. There was this face at the window and it was horrible, white and black.”
“It was probably kids, out trick-or-treating early for Halloween.”
“It freaked me out. Then I kept thinking I could hear noises in the house. It was all dark and I was on my own. You said there was a ghost in the attic...”
“That was only a joke.” Benedict crouched down beside her. “You know that. Are you okay now?”
She nodded.
When Charlie got scared or worried, Benedict used to wrap a comforting arm around his shoulders. They would cuddle up and talk. But putting his arm around Gemma didn’t feel right.
He usually recalled when Charlie was younger as being a fun and lovely time. Over the years, he chose to forget how damned difficult it was, too. Bringing up a child wasn’t all cozy suppers and putting plasters on grazed knees. Exasperation, exhaustion, stress and loneliness could accompany parenthood. Sometimes you felt lonelier than if you were alone.
Benedict didn’t think of these things when he tried to persuade Estelle to adopt. All he could see were the good parts.
He and Gemma both remained crouched on the floor until he felt his ankles lock up. “Sorry again,” he said. “I should have phoned the house again to speak to you.”
She shrugged and stretched out her legs. “Sorry about the lights. I’m a dumbass. I’ll go and turn them all off.”
“It’s okay. I’ve done it.”
She lifted her chin and pushed her hair away from her eyes. “Can I have a cup of tea please, Uncle Ben?”
“Sure,” he said, studying her face for a moment. “I’ll make us one now.”
21.
TIGER’S-EYE
sociability, vigilance, bravery
BENEDICT WAS SURPRISED to find a steady stream of people heading inside the Purple Heather Gallery. He felt rather ashamed that he’d assumed Estelle’s exhibition might attract only a handful of villagers. However, there were at least eight people queued in front of him, including Reggie.
“I invited Laura, but she’s busy doing something else, a creative-writing class,” he said. “She did love the earrings, though. She showed them to her friends, so you may enjoy an influx of teenage girls to your shop. Hmm,” he said, as though as he’d thought of a good idea. “Perhaps we could discuss commission, for referrals...”
Benedict blinked at him incredulously. “I don’t think so, but I’m glad she liked them.”
He turned away and thought that he glimpsed someone standing outside the community center, and the streetlight glinting off a pair of dark, round sunglasses, but a surge in the queue swept him into the gallery foyer.
Margarita sat at a wooden desk behind a huge bouquet of flowers in a green glass vase. They filled the air with a sweet, heady scent. Her aquamarine ring sparkled on her finger as she took an orange rose, snipped off the stem with a small pair of shears and handed it to Benedict. “For the buttonhole on your jacket, Benedeect. I have arranged these for Lawrence and he will not miss one bloom.”
Benedict smiled and pushed it into his lapel.
She handed him a piece of paper. “Here is some information
about the artist, although you’re probably an expert already,” she said with a laugh. “The exhibition is at the top of the stairs.”
Before he followed the chink of glasses and rumble of conversation upstairs, Benedict read the paper.
The Purple Heather Gallery is delighted to host local artist Estelle Stone’s debut exhibition, Moorland Escape. Full-time artist Estelle is self-taught. She is influenced by the Yorkshire moors, where she enjoys walking alone with her sketchbook and camera. She uses oils, pastels and acrylics to create her abstract canvases.
Benedict’s throat grew dry as he read it again. He wasn’t mentioned in the résumé. A big part of Estelle’s life, her husband, was missing. He wondered if there was some ominous meaning behind this and asked Gemma what she thought.
“They probably ran out of space.” She shrugged. “Why should Estelle mention you when this is about her work?”
He supposed she was right. “You’re kind of wise sometimes,” he said.
“I know I am.”
Estelle’s paintings lined the stairwell and were alive with color. Benedict viewed the moors as bleak with miles of nothingness, but his wife saw flashes of exotic green and turquoise. Her sheep were lilac daubs of oil paint. The old Blue Jack quarry became smears of mustard and terra-cotta.
They seemed to come from a part of her that Benedict didn’t know any longer, or wasn’t privy to. He wondered what else she hid away, and was now being released, and he thought about his own secrets, too.
There were so many times over the years that he could have confided in his wife about his relationship with Charlie. And the thing was, she would probably have listened and tried to understand. She might have persuaded Benedict to contact his brother again, and Benedict could have been part of Gemma’s childhood. He had missed out on watching her grow up. Perhaps that was his punishment for his mistake with Amelia.
In not telling Estelle about what had happened, it was no longer just his secret. It was over a decade of lies.
“What are you thinking of?” Gemma nudged him.
“I’m feeling a little nervous,” he said, trying to banish thoughts of Charlie from his mind. “I hope Estelle likes the white horse that Frank’s going to bring along.”
Rise and Shine, Benedict Stone Page 18