‘Don’t offer money, Mother!’
‘As if I would,’ said Laura, laughing. ‘Besides, Harry’s not that broke, surely?’
Gabriel hoped not. ‘His restoration work certainly doesn’t come cheap.’
‘So what are you labouring on right now?’
‘I’m restoring a portrait for Adam Dysart.’
Her mother whistled inelegantly. ‘Are we talking about the Adam Dysart?’
‘The one and only. Dad’s blue-eyed boy.’
‘So you’ve met him again at long last. What’s he like?’
‘Tall, dark, and full of the self-confidence you’d expect from the man who has everything.’
‘You don’t like him, obviously. But then, your father’s been singing his praises to you for so many years you’re bound to be prejudiced against him.’
‘Adam was there in the ward when I visited tonight. Took Dad an enormous basket of fruit and a brand-new thriller,’ said Gabriel, depressed.
‘Is he married?’ asked Laura.
‘What’s that got to do with anything? But as it happens he isn’t. He’s just broken off a relationship with someone.’
‘How do you know that?’
‘He told me.’
‘Then you must have had some conversation with him.’
‘He came round last night to ask after Dad. And this morning to bring the picture. And he’ll be back tomorrow, and every other tomorrow until I’ve finished, to check on the work in progress.’
‘In that case, darling, make sure you charge the earth for your services. It sounds as though you’ll earn it!’
CHAPTER THREE
BY LATE afternoon next day Gabriel’s efforts had removed much of the grime from the painting. A check on the back of the canvas in the first stages had confirmed that there was no serious cracking, and she had completed a second round of cleaning by the time Adam Dysart appeared, just as her henchmen were clearing up for the night.
This time Gabriel was so weary she greeted Adam without hostility or emotion of any kind. She took off her baseball cap to thrust a hand through her hair, conscious that she must reek of white spirit as she beckoned Adam across to the painting lying tilted slightly on its stand.
‘I’m sure you know that at this stage our mystery lady looks rather worse than when I started, because the spirit leaves white patches as it dries,’ she began, and he nodded, unconcerned.
‘But she’s waking up,’ he said with relish, his eyes drawn in fascination to the face now more visible in the painting. The girl’s violet eyes shone out from the murky background, something in her expression rousing such a discernible response in the man looking at her that Gabriel eyed him curiously, wondering if Adam Dysart always felt this way during the restoration process. He dragged his eyes away from the painted face with effort, and glanced down at the sea of cotton wool swabs surrounding Gabriel’s bench. ‘There was obviously a lot to clean off.’
She nodded, eyeing the canvas speculatively. ‘But oddly enough not what I’ve come to expect. A painting of this age—and it is old—has usually suffered from the effects of coal fires, candles, soot, tobacco—sometimes even grease from cooking. But not this one. You mentioned attics, and I bet that’s where our lady’s been hiding, accumulating layers of dust and cobwebs in the process ever since she was painted. I’m beginning to think that she’s never seen the light of day—or any other kind of light—until the house clearance.’
Adam’s eyes, bright with speculation, met hers. ‘Do you think the subject hid it in the attic herself?’
‘Or someone else did, maybe out of malice.’ They turned to gaze down at the face in the painting as though expecting an answer from it.
‘I’ve discovered where she came from—a small manor house in Herefordshire,’ said Adam, his shoulder in contact with Gabriel’s as they leaned over the portrait. ‘It was sold recently to start a new life as a retirement home. An elderly lady lived alone in it the last few years.’
‘Poor thing,’ said Gabriel with feeling.
Adam eyed her sharply. ‘Is living alone here getting to you?’
‘A little, yes.’ She shrugged. ‘Thank goodness it’s summer, and the evenings are long.’
‘Does Harry know you feel like this?’
‘Certainly not!’ She speared him with a cold blue look. ‘And please don’t tell him.’
‘Of course I won’t tell him,’ he snapped. ‘Adding to any worry for your father is the last thing I’d do. I’m very fond of him.’
‘He’s fond of you, too,’ she said, resigned.
‘And you take exception to that.’
Gabriel was saved from lying by the reappearance of Wayne and Eddie with the safe keys.
‘Shall we take the portrait now?’ asked Wayne.
Gabriel looked at her watch in remorse. ‘No. I’ll see to it. You two get off. I didn’t realise it was so late.’
‘I’ll help Miss Brett lock up,’ said Adam. ‘I trust that meets with your approval, too?’ he added belatedly as the motorcycle went roaring off down the lane.
‘Of course,’ said Gabriel carelessly. ‘It’s your property we’re stowing away. At least you’ll be sure your lady is safe for the night.’ And as long as someone went down with her to the cellar she didn’t care who it was. Even Adam Dysart.
Adam not only accompanied Gabriel down into the cellar, but helped her clear up and went the rounds of the barn afterwards to check that all was secure for the night before he left.
‘Would you like to come in for some tea—or a drink?’ asked Gabriel afterwards, with an awkwardness that would have surprised the other men in her life.
His lips twitched. ‘Yes, I would. But I’m not going to in case I wear out my never very warm welcome. Besides, I know you want to get off to see Harry.’
Gabriel smiled politely. ‘Thank you for lending a hand.’
Adam shrugged. ‘My pleasure. I’m off to London tomorrow, but I’ll be round the following day, if that’s convenient.’
Gabriel told him he could come whenever he liked. It was of no interest to her if he was off to patch things up with the promiscuous Della, she assured herself, and shut the door behind him and locked it, then went round the house switching on all the lights. Which, she told herself acidly, for an adult female of her age was utterly stupid at just after six on a sunny June evening.
Looking as good
