Page 9 of Tears of Gold

I almost choke on the pastry I’ve shoved in my mouth. It’s my third slice of quiche but I don’t think anyone other than me is counting.

Eli’s face pales and our eyes meet across the table. “Mother, this isn’t the time.”

“Oh, of course it is. Peter loved a celebration; it will cheer us all up.”

The look on Lewis' face is a picture and I have to force my gaze away, trapping the snort of laughter I have building deep inside.

“Mother, no.” Eli’s voice is flat and firm. It cuts off my building giggle.

She gets up from her chair, smoothing down her black skirt and steps around to me. “Let me see then, Faith.”

Eli is almost carved from stone, his eyes burning, as I, trapped like a quarry down the end of a rifle, lift my left hand to show her the ring Eli had made.

“Ah, how pretty, it matches the one you made for him.” Pretty… Is she mad? It’s beautiful, perfect, and delicate. What she means by pretty is that it isn’t big enough to sink the Titanic.

“Yes.” I laugh although it’s pitched all wrong. You could hear a pin drop in this room.

“Although this is slightly more professional; really get your name out there in social circles.”

She perches a hip on the table next to me. Oh God, she’s going to actually talk to me. “Now don’t undersell yourself, Faith. I hear you are going to be a TV star and your work is in the Tate. What we all need is an Engagement Ball.”

“No,” Eli and I both say at the same time. Our eyes meet across the table and the ice within the depths of the blues defrosts just a little.

“No Balls, thank you,” I add. Unwillingly.

“Well anyway,” Connie calls the attention back to her end of the table where she is sitting like the frigging queen. “I’ve instructed Blanchards to pack and move you into Chesham Place.”

“Excuse me.” Eli adopts that calm manner which normally means he’s boiling on the inside. “You did what?”

“Elijah. You are the heir now.” Connie’s look is pointed. “You shall move into Chesham Place as is the right thing to do.”

Eli erupts from his seat and it crashes to the ground, splintering and cracking. “Can we wait for my brother’s body to be in the ground before you start to throw his belongings out with the trash?”

“Elijah,” Connie snaps. “Please refrain from raising your voice in the dining room.”

He stares at her wildly and my own heart thumps in my chest. Splinters are appearing in his countenance, his skin deadly pale. “I will not move into that place. It’s my brother's home.”

He glares at us all, his fingers curled into tight balls, and then he turns on his heel and storms out of the dining room.

The silence he leaves behind is as awkward as fuck. Tabitha’s sniffs fill the air and Connie’s sharp gaze lands on me. “It’s funny, I don’t remember him being so dramatic before he met you.”

I meet her appraisal with a steady calm. What she means is that he never used to say no before he met me.

I ignore her, although it’s not easy with the death glare she’s sending me. I think she believes her eyes are lasers and she’s going to burn me into the ground; well she’s not. Instead I turn to Jennifer who is still next to me, frozen almost, like one of the many statues that inhabit Bowsley. “What the hell is Chesham Place?”

* * *

I find him eventually, although honestly, I’m knackered. This place is a ridiculous size. It’s as I walk the stairs to the attic, I remember that Eli is heir now. We will one day have to live here.

It seems too far off in the future though to worry about. Jennifer is still alive and kicking, and who knows what could happen in the meantime. A great big gaping hole could appear and swallow the damn place up whole; a girl can dream.

“Hey.” I think I kind of knew he’d be up here, but at least my search gave him time to cool down and got me some much-needed exercise.

He’s staring out of the window. I don’t know why I thought he’d be painting, or sketching, but he’s just staring at the glass pane, his eyes not focused on the outside but rather watching droplets of rain splatter against the glass and then race themselves to the bottom.

“Sorry I left you.” He doesn’t turn to look at me. “It was suffocating.”

“It’s Bowsley,” I say. “If it wasn’t suffocating, I’d be worried we were in the wrong place.” I step forward and wrap my arms around him from behind, resting my chin on his shoulder and joining in with the game of watching the raindrops.