Page 26 of Tears of Ink

I still need to find out exactly what this is, so with that in mind I let her lead me through the next door and see what awaits me there.

My head swims so fast, I struggle to take everything in. So many colours, textures. I’m sweating too. So many steps.

And they think this house is dilapidated.

It’s anything but. It shines with fading glory like it’s whispering its secrets though crumbled plasterwork and worn wallpaper.

I want to do every room again by myself. Taking my time. Working out what could go where and have the greatest impact.

But my stomach, unrepressed by my lack of nicotine, is growling with hunger, so when Jennings find us and murmurs in a low, discreet voice that lunch is served, I almost faint with relief.

“Come, let’s go to the conservatory,” Jennifer Fairclough says. We’ve been talking a lot about the project as we walk, her telling me some of the long history of the building, but I have a feeling lunch will be when the real interview begins.

The conservatory is a large glass affair. Exotic plants cram the space, the air rich with earthy scents. It’s heaven—I’m sure. It’s not a conservatory. Well, nothing like I’ve ever seen before.

I thought the ballroom with the star-gilded ceiling would be my favourite. But now I see this barrage of green, living foliage, I think the conservatory wins.

A table is set with pristine white linen and gleaming silverware. Crystal glasses catch the natural light, and I think it should be hot and that I will sweat more in my chiffon, but the air is cool. I glance up and find the domed ceiling is open wide, as windows wrought in old-fashioned metal frames open to the elements. Bird chatter and the hum of insects provides gentle background sound that mixes with the fall of water. I can’t see any water, so it must be hidden in the maze of flowers and dark green leaves.

There are two people already sat at the circular table, but only the one with the blue eyes and a dark suit rises when he sees me and pulls out a chair. “Very gentlemanly,” I tease, and the eyes crease as he grins.

“Always.”

A shorter, more rounded version of Elijah reaches forward with his hand. “Peter Fairclough.” He confirms. “It’s good of you to come to discuss our project.”

I can’t help but wonder why he didn’t meet me at The Ritz the other day. If he’s the one who knows Gerard, surely that would have made sense?

I don’t turn but I sense a heavy watchful gaze on my face. “Thanks for having me,” I reply, but I’m nervous and uncomfortable. I was happier walking around the house, dreaming big ideas. A formal lunch is not a situation I’m used to. They tend not to be a regular occurrence when growing up in a tattoo shop.

“You know Gerard?” I meet Peter’s muted gaze. His eyes are a paler version of his brother’s, more Wedgewood than delphinium. Poor Peter.

“Oh, Steers. He’s a laugh that one, totally incorrigible.”

“Incorrigible? He’s a lecturer; my lecturer? He seems quite staid to me.” I smile a little. I know Gerard, he’s my friend and supporter. Hell, he’s the reason I’m here.

“I wouldn’t want to be his wife.” Peter smirks, and I offer him a tight smile.

“Good thing he’s not married then.”

“Of course he’s married. We went to his wedding, didn’t we, Elijah?”

I can’t look at the delphinium blues. My heart beats too fast. Thankfully, Jennings brings a bottle of champagne and fills the flute in front of me. I glug it down quickly, not waiting for decorum to dictate when I should drink. Married? But how? He’s always at my place… and we… and we…

I want to close my eyes and hide in an overwhelming tide of bitterness. I trusted him. I trusted him, and he abused it.

I can’t believe it.

One dark eyebrow quirks, but the wide lips on the handsome face stay quiet. I shake it off. I can deal with Gerard, the cheating, two-timing scumbag later.

“So, what do you think of the house?” Elijah asks. If he can sense my internal revelations he is kind enough to help steer the conversation. Thank you. I silently get myself together.

“It’s beautiful.” I brush a strand of hair that’s stuck across my face. “I still don’t understand what you want me to do here. The house is full of so many beautiful things anyway.”

Jennifer sips her own champagne and then smiles warmly at Elijah. “It was Elijah’s idea really. The house has never been open before, apart the odd open day for charity, but the family have resisted the urge to give The National Trust access, no matter how financially viable it may make the building.”

“And now?” I take another sip of my drink and try not to screw my face up in disgust as the sharp bubbles hit the back of my throat. I can’t drink too quickly as I haven’t eaten, and that’s always a recipe for disaster.

Elijah leans forward slightly as if he’s closing the space between us across the table and gives me an intent stare. “I thought maybe instead of just opening it up and making money, we could try to give something back to the local area.”