his daughter that nothing was wrong.
‘I had a word with Sister afterwards,’ Gabriel told her mother during their nightly call. ‘Apparently he’s been on his feet a lot today, and stayed too long in the day room, watching the cricket on television. But she assured me that he was doing well otherwise, and there’s no reason why he can’t come home next week. Though how I’m going to make him behave sensibly when he does, I haven’t a clue.’
‘Actually,’ said Laura casually, ‘I’ve had some thoughts about that. Julia’s holiday cottage on the Gower coast is free for a couple of weeks. I thought I’d skive off and take your father there to recuperate. Unless, of course, you think the mere idea would give him another heart attack.’
By the time she got to bed later, Gabriel was still marvelling at this strange new turn of events. Julia Griffiths had been Laura Brett’s business partner since shortly after the divorce. At the time her doting grandparents had been a great consolation to the young Gabriel while her mother and Julia had been getting their employment agency off the ground. But Gabriel had missed her father sorely, and her schoolfriends in Pennington almost as much, and every school holiday had gone back there like a homing bird. By that time her father had sold the family home in Pennington, moved into Haywards Farm with his aunt, Charlotte Hayward, and converted the long-unused barns into one large workshop for his restoration business. On his aunt’s death he had inherited the property outright. Which surely meant that now his debt for the roof was repaid to Adam there was no need for him to work so hard, thought Gabriel impatiently. But hiring extra help in this line of business was no easy task. Harry Brett was hard to please when it came to the skills of his employees. Alison Taylor, his most experienced assistant, had recently left to produce her first child, leaving Harry, who hated to say no to anyone, with a workload which had increased to the extent that the heart attack had come as no surprise to anyone except the invalid himself.
And now, astonishingly, Laura Brett proposed taking her ex-husband away to convalesce. Gabriel wasn’t looking forward to broaching the subject. Though if her father turned the idea down flat, when he came home she would have her work cut out to make him behave himself and at the same time carry out the restoration work piling up while she worked on Adam Dysart’s mystery lady.
Gabriel’s heart lurched when the phone rang later that night. Terrified it was bad news from the hospital, she snatched up the receiver with a shaking hand.
‘Adam Dysart here, Miss Brett. Sorry to ring you so late. How was Harry tonight?’
‘Not so good,’ said Gabriel breathlessly, slumping down at the table as her heartbeat slowed. ‘An overdose of televised cricket, according to Sister.’
‘Enough to prevent his return home?’
‘Apparently not. I’m keeping my fingers crossed.’
There was a pause.
‘Gabriel,’ he said at last, ‘this probably sounds presumptuous, but I can’t help worrying about you.’
Her eyebrows rose. ‘Why on earth should you?’
‘Because you’re alone out there at night, with a fair amount of valuables in the cellar. Would you let me help out with that?’
‘How?’ she said blankly.
‘Dysart’s have a safety depository in Pennington. I could transfer your stuff there every night, if you like. I can guarantee security.’
‘That’s very kind of you, but I’m not worried about the pictures.’ It was the creaks and groans, like the soundtrack of a horror film, that kept her awake, not responsibility for the artwork.
‘Couldn’t Wayne or Eddie sleep in the house while Harry’s away?’
‘I don’t need them,’ said Gabriel firmly. ‘It’s very good of you to be so concerned, but I’m fine. Truly.’
‘If you say so. But you’ve got my phone number. Ring me if you need me. Any time—day or night.’
‘That’s very kind of you,’ she said, taken off guard. ‘Thank you.’
‘No thanks necessary. I meant what I said. Goodnight, Gabriel. Sleep well.’
Whether it was Adam’s phone call, or the simple fact that she’d slept badly ever since her father had been rushed into hospital, Gabriel enjoyed a good night’s sleep for once, and woke only when her alarm went off, instead of hours beforehand. Consequently she felt rested and full of enthusiasm for the task in hand, and by the time Wayne and Eddie arrived she was already at work, making tests in different small areas at the edges of the painting to determine which type of solvent to use to tackle the overpaint. Eventually she opted for her favourite acetone diluted with white spirit, with a stopping pad of spirit-soaked cotton wool to halt the solvent if it acted too quickly.
She set to work in earnest, but, as usual, her progress was painfully slow. After several hours only a small area of canvas had been cleared, but this was enough to cause great excitement in Gabriel’s acolytes when they came to look on during their coffee break.
‘There’s someone under there, all right,’ said Eddie in triumph. ‘That pink bit—is it skin?’
Gabriel shook her head, accepting her coffee gratefully. ‘Part of a dress—satin, by the look of it.’ She sighed. ‘I just wish Dad was here. He’d love this.’
‘Wouldn’t he just?’ said Wayne with sympathy. ‘Is Adam coming round today?’
‘Not until tomorrow. By which time we may have another face to show him.’
Now that she was actually removing the dark, brownish overpaint Gabriel became so absorbed she had to be reminded to eat something at lunchtime. She took grudging time off for a sandwich, then got straight back to work, only breaking off from time to time for the various drinks that one or other of her assistants brought her. And it was they, at five-thirty, who reminded her that if she was going to the hospital that night it was time to knock off.
Later in the hospital, much reassured by her father’s look of wellbeing, Gabriel described her day’s work with such enthusiasm he smiled at her slyly.
‘No more objections because you’re working for Adam, then!’
Gabriel raised a limpid blue gaze to his. ‘I’m doing it for you, Dad, not for Adam Dysart.’
‘Not to mention the kick it’s giving you to reveal the secrets hiding under the overpaint.’ He patted her hand. ‘What solvents are you using?’
They were immediately plunged into a technical discussion, with Harry giving his daughter very valuable advice on how to proceed once the subject was fully revealed and she was down to the actual varnish. It was only when other visitors were beginning to leave the ward that Gabriel remembered she had a proposition to make on her mother’s behalf.
‘Dad,’ she began, ‘have you given any thought about what happens when they discharge you?’
He looked surprised. ‘I come home, of course.’
‘Sister says you must have complete rest,’ Gabriel warned.
‘I’ll be as good as gold,’ he promised, then gave her a worried frown. ‘Or am I asking too much of you?
