Rowan stood just inside, watching as Georgina walked slowly to where Elizabeth was kneeling.
“For someone who doesn’t know dogs, you certainly have fine instincts. Most people coddle scared pups, but you’re jollying her through her fears.”
“It was the mantra of my youth. My father didn’t suffer weakness.” Georgina crept to her cartoon-style, extending each paw out tentatively and placing it on the ground as if it were made of molten lava.
Rowan considered this brief character sketch of his brother and then beckoned them in. “Please, sit,” he said pointing to a stool next to his easel. Georgina followed Major around the studio as he ran from one end to the other, poking his nose in every corner.
“Field mice,” Rowan explained. “They’ve got bolt-holes all over this barn. Major’s going to teach your wee one to be a hunter like he is.”
Elizabeth perched on the stool and looked at Rowan’s work in progress. The landscape was typical of his exacting style but felt different in a way that she couldn’t describe. The sky was a moody mix of purples and blues except for the moon, which punctuated the horizon like a streetlamp. She couldn’t tell if the painting was depicting nightfall or dawn. The trees on the left side of the image looked skeletal, and the water mirroring the scene was ringed with algae. She could appreciate his precision and the way he invoked the rule of thirds both horizontally and vertically, but she couldn’t say that she liked the painting. It looked haunted.
“What do you think?” Rowan asked as he tucked a thin paintbrush behind his ear.
“It’s very good,” she replied, ever the politician. “It’s not like the rest, though. It’s . . . I don’t know how to put it in words.”
“Sad?”
“Yes, I guess it is.”
Rowan didn’t say anything and leaned in close to his painting, so that his nose was just inches from the canvas. He pulled the paintbrush from behind his ear, slipped his glasses down from the top of his head, and contorted his arm so that his elbow pointed to the ceiling. He added something so minuscule that Elizabeth couldn’t even see it.
“I never had the patience for realistic work,” she said quietly as she watched him.
Rowan pushed his glasses back up on his head and looked at her in shock. “You paint?”
“Not in years. Not since high school. But I used to love it.”
“Oh, Bess, that makes the reason you’re here even more perfect! I knew that you were one of us. You come from a long line of makers. Painting, poetry, weaving—it’s in our blood.”
Our blood. It was unsettling and comforting at the same time. She wasn’t alone.
“Would you consider painting with me?” Rowan continued, the words coming in a rush. “I have another easel, and I could set you up over there, where the light is best. I have everything you need. If you paint with oils, that is. What is your medium?”
“I used oils as well, but I don’t think I can anymore. I barely remember how to hold a brush. And I don’t want you to go through any trouble. I’m leaving, remember?”
“Yes, about that,” Rowan said. “That’s why I’ve invited you here this morning. I’d like to make you an offer.”
“An offer?”
“Look around this studio. You noticed it the first time you came in, it’s a floor-to-ceiling jumble. The time has come for me to organize, consolidate, and take stock. The retrospective has me feeling like I’ve got one foot in the grave, and I need to figure all of this out before it’s too late.” He gestured around the room helplessly.
Elizabeth wasn’t sure how to answer. “‘Too late’? That’s really depressing, Rowan.”
“Well, it might be depressing but it’s a fact. And Trudy’s fall made it all the more obvious. The reality is I simply can’t do the inventorying and condition reports on my own. My gallery would happily send someone to help, but that would turn my Operculum into a factory and make me a slave to deadlines. I don’t want to tell them about my plans until I’m finished, so they can’t boss me around. I need to work slowly, at my own pace. With someone like you.” He paused. “Bess, would you help me catalog my life’s work?”
Elizabeth couldn’t understand what he was asking, or why. “But . . . I’m leaving, Rowan,” she reminded him again. “I have to get back to the real world. To my job.” She’d barely been in Fargrove for a week but the way she was losing ground at home made it feel like ages.
He cleared his throat and seemed to consider his words before speaking. “Do you have to get back, though? Pardon my saying this, but you’re between jobs right now, yes? And what I’m offering, being my registrar, is a job. Temporary, certainly, but well-paying. And it’s interesting work, I assure you. We might find a few nudes hidden in these stacks.” He winked at her.
It was impossible. Impossible. Fargrove was sucking the life from her socials, and she couldn’t commit to finding a job while she was halfway around the world in the land of spotty Wi-Fi. It felt like if she stayed in Fargrove much longer she’d disappear completely.
“I can’t, Rowan.”
“May I ask why not?” he probed gently.
“I have a life in San Francisco. And . . . and, projects.” She thought of the photo of Cecelia waiting in the cloud like a sleeping dragon.
“Yes, you’ve told me. You were working on them at HiveMind, correct?”
“I worked for three hours,” she answered.
“Indeed. And you were able to make progress?”
“Tons. Reid’s is well under way. And I’ve been working on a, uh, personal project as well.”
“So you accomplished work while in Fargrove?”
“I did, and—” She stopped herself. Rowan’s Socratic method had backed her into a corner that she couldn’t maneuver out of. The senior citizen had just schooled the tech whiz about working remotely.
“You see, my dear, it’s all quite simple. You help me in the mornings, from eight till lunch, then you’re free to do your computer work for as long as you like. And as for pay, we’re not in London, but you’ll be doing London-level archiving, so your compensation will reflect that. It will be well worth your time.”
“Rowan, I know nothing about inventorying art,” she replied, still hoping to convince him that it was a ridiculous idea. “I don’t even know what a registrar does. I’m sorry, it’s just not a fit for me.”
He paused and then answered quietly. “I know you’re capable, and I know that no one else can help me with this but you.”
There was a weight to his words that she didn’t understand. She couldn’t say no without finding a more concrete reason.
Georgina stood up and pawed at Elizabeth, once again aware of the change in the atmosphere. She leaned down and touched the top of Georgina’s head, and the little puppy’s eyes darted between Rowan and Elizabeth like a spectator at a tennis match, keen to the crackling electricity between them.
“How long do you think it would take?” Anything he said would be too long, which would be her perfect reason to decline.
“That’s entirely up to us. If we commit to a daily slog, then I think we could finish within a month or so. But if we detour occasionally, perhaps to pick up a paintbrush and throw some color on a canvas, well, then it might take a tad longer.” He pulled the paintbrush from behind his ear again and pretended to flick it across his painting Jackson Pollock style. He grinned at her as if he could tell he was winning.
A month.
Her options played out in her mind in quick cuts. Home, to an empty apartment and the daily battle to appear busier than she was, or Fargrove, where she could curate a life online that looked far more glamorous and important than it actually was. She envisioned photos of her sitting on the ground surrounded by Rowan’s paintings, staring off into the distance. Maybe she could do something special with Sunset over Blenheim? It was a chance to cultivate an entirely new
audience and amp her growth back up, especially when she started posting shots of Rowan’s unseen works with #BarnesUnreleased in the description.
And maybe she could find a way to get through to James Holworthy while she was there.
“All right, one month. I’ll do it. As long as you promise that I’ll have time to focus on my real work.”
“Splendid!” Rowan clapped his hands together, startling Georgina and Major. “Trudy will be thrilled, and I imagine this little lady will as well.”
Elizabeth looked down at Georgina, who was playing tug-of-war with a rag trapped beneath the leg of the stool. “You win, monster, you get to bite me for a little bit longer.”
chapter twenty
I’m chuffed to bits you’re staying on, Bess,” Harriet said. She took her eyes completely off the narrow road and stared at Elizabeth, waiting for her to answer while the car swerved to the other lane. The dancing hula figurine on her dashboard looked like she was twerking.
“It’s going to be interesting, that’s for sure,” she replied, gripping tighter to the armrest as Harriet rounded a corner on two tires. It didn’t matter that her belly nearly touched the steering wheel, Harriet drove like a teenage boy. “I had to do some major juggling back home to make it happen.”
“I’m sure. And now you’re going high class with your temporary wardrobe. Sainsbury’s to the rescue. But you’ll be crawling around an old barn so it won’t matter what you’re wearing. Might as well save a few quid.”
After a few days of prep work with Rowan, Elizabeth quickly realized that the casual outfits she’d packed were still far too dressy for the barn. When she’d mentioned it to Rowan he’d picked up the phone and called Harriet before even asking Elizabeth if she wanted to go. Rowan and Harriet negotiated pick-up and drop-off times as if Elizabeth were a child needing a ride to daycare, while Trudy quietly explained to Elizabeth that the hybrid grocery chain was a fine spot to pick up additional knickers and knockabout clothes for the dirty job ahead.
“So what happened with James at the Tups? You two looked like you were having a great time drinking the bar dry.”
“We were, but I blacked out a little at the end of the night. Reid and Nicky joined us and we kept drinking, and then I don’t remember much after that. Was I dancing on tables or anything?”
“Not that I saw. You looked like a well-mannered if slightly wobbly American. What’s next with him now that you’re staying on for a bit?”
“Probably nothing. I don’t think he’s interested.” Elizabeth had a vague memory of James pushing her away but couldn’t recall the details.
“Oh, come on. He couldn’t stop staring at you the whole night. Let’s have some fun with it. How about I host a little do at our place and invite the two of you and the Tolberts. Are you up for that?”
“Really?”
“We have parties all the time, it’ll be the perfect cover, and then you can work your magic. You do have magic, don’t you?” Harriet looked at Elizabeth over the top of her sunglasses.
“What do you mean?”
“Magic, woman! Are your feminine wiles in order? Is your flirt game strong? You don’t have all the time in the world to make this happen.”
“I don’t have a flirt game. Maybe that’s why I drank so much the other night.”
“You’re too cute to need liquid courage. I’ll keep an eye on you. Just don’t let James get going on his beers or you’ll end up under a table again.”
They arrived at the store and Harriet pulled a giant bag from the back seat. “Exchanges,” she said, patting it. “Did you know that ultrasounds can be wrong? Turns out our little Imogen-to-be is actually an Ian-to-be. Can you even imagine our shock?”
“Unbelievable,” Elizabeth answered. She realized that any other normal woman would’ve already asked the sex of the baby. She struggled to find the right thing to say. “Are you disappointed?”
“My official answer is no, of course not, so long as he’s healthy, and all that. My real answer? Fuck yes. I know girls. Poppy is a dream child and I want another just like her. I have no clue how to handle a boy! I’m having a really hard time coming to terms with it, honestly.” Harriet’s voice quavered.
“I’m sure you’ll do fine. You’ll be great, I mean,” Elizabeth answered. It seemed like Harriet could successfully raise a pack of wolverines and look adorable while doing it.
“I’ve got no choice,” Harriet answered as they entered the store. “He’ll be here before we know it.” She sighed. “I’m sure you have no desire to accompany me to the baby department, so let’s take a half hour or so, gather our goods, then meet back here? Ring me if you need more time.”
Elizabeth pulled her phone out of her back pocket and looked at it skeptically. “Amazing, I actually have service!”
“Enjoy it while you can, then. Good luck finding fashion in all of that teacher gear. I’m off.”
Elizabeth immediately posted a close-up of an innocent-looking Georgina with her head resting on top of her front paws. Only she had to know that a second later Georgina launched at the phone and knocked it out of Elizabeth’s hands like an angry starlet assaulting a paparazzo. A few likes trickled in, and she spent fifteen minutes giving reciprocal likes in the hopes that the algorithm would take note.
She peeked at Cecelia’s Twitter feed. The last post was a close-up of Winston, who looked so unbelievably wrinkled and stained and drooly that it was hard to believe that pretty little Georgina was from the same species. But for the first time, Elizabeth could understand some of his appeal. Why had she never noticed how cute he looked with the tip of his tongue poking out of his mouth?
She smiled involuntarily when she saw the email from TechGeek waiting in her inbox. Elizabeth had ultimately settled on the site for the photo release because they promised her anonymity no matter how hard the Duchess lawyers threatened. Their long, carefully worded emails felt like a courtship, and after a half-dozen back-and-forths she finally revealed herself to them and sent the photo, making them promise not to unleash it until they had a solid strategy in place. This latest message was asking for even more details about Entomon. Elizabeth wanted to tell them to pump the brakes, but the site had assigned their best investigative journalist to the piece, and the woman seemed to want to know every detail as she assembled the story. Elizabeth couldn’t decide what made her happier, taking Cecelia down or clearing her name and clawing her way back into her old life.
Elizabeth turned her attention back to shopping, settling on a few pairs of unbelievably cheap skinny jeans, simple tanks, and T-shirts, and added some sensible underwear and sports bras to the stack. Elizabeth mentally calculated the total purchase, something she hadn’t done since college. She didn’t want to spend more on her wardrobe than what she’d be paid working with Rowan and Reid.
A flash of yellow caught her eye as she headed to the checkout. It was a vintage-style dress covered in a ridiculous lemon print, with ruching across the bodice, thick straps, and a wide swirly skirt. It was happy and sunny and worlds apart from the black-is-the-new-black outfits she normally went for. She found her size and stuck it at the bottom of the stack before she could question why she was buying clothing in a store that also sold kitty litter.
She passed the pets section on her way to the checkout, then made an abrupt turn back. The extra time in Fargrove meant that she would remain Georgina’s keeper. Trudy had given Elizabeth some of Major’s ancient hand-me-downs—the dog didn’t suffer leashes—but the leather was stiff and crackled from age. The Sainsbury’s options were cartoonishly cute, all pink and baby blue. She spotted a lone blackwatch plaid collar that seemed small enough and found a thin red leather leash to match it. She snagged a small bag of treats before heading to the checkout and wondered if she’d just taken the gateway drug that would lead her to becoming a crazy dog lady.
She checked her phone as she waited in line a
nd noticed that she had a voice mail pending even though it hadn’t rung. No one left messages unless something was really truly wrong. She dug her finger in her ear and listened as the cashier rang up her purchases.
“Elizabeth, dude, this is Carson Keller from VR Solutions. We talked at Mobile Expo for like a second and a half. Yo, sorry about how everything went down. Anyway, I wanna connect with you. Fantastic stuff on the horizon. Hit me back ASAP.”
Elizabeth stared into space with her mouth hanging open.
VR Solutions had started out as a standard mobile gaming company, then had jumped on virtual reality technology long before anyone else. During their early years they were fierce competitors with Duchess, but once they moved to VR they were untouchable. Cecelia often made noises about getting into VR gaming and had a small department playing with the technology but didn’t have anything to show for it outside of the occasional press release.
The phone call was an incredible sign. People would find out that he was interested, which meant that her shunning was about to end. Elizabeth didn’t care if they planned to stick her in the farthest corner of their cube farm, it didn’t matter if he was going to offer her a secretarial position, all she needed was an in. She told herself that Carson’s rule-breaker reputation didn’t matter. He was a tech-bro genius who had birthed enough innovation that most people looked past his frat-boy persona. Everyone at Duchess hated him.
Perfect.
She checked the date and was horrified to discover that the message had come in three days prior but had somehow gotten trapped in the Fargrove vortex before showing up in her phone. He probably thought she wasn’t interested! It was just after three p.m., which meant that it was after seven in San Francisco. Elizabeth called him back before she could think twice. She got his voice mail.
“Hey, Carson, it’s Elizabeth Barnes. I’m in the UK at the moment and I just got your message; the reception is really spotty where I’m staying. I’m so sorry for the delay. I’d love to chat, just name a time and I’ll make it work.”
Who Rescued Who Page 14