Page 95 of In the Frame

Which is how I find myself with Florian on the step outside of Gabriel’s impressive-looking flat in a Georgian building not far from Florian’s home. Florian called Gabriel to let him know he was coming with someone he wanted Gabriel to meet.

Florian rings the doorbell. “I think he’s on an upswing,” he murmurs.

I have no idea what Gabriel’s like, because overall, Florian’s said very little to me about him other than his health struggles. But it means so much to me that he’s taken me to meet Gabriel, which suggests to me that Florian’s talked to him about us.

There’s a long pause while we wait for the door to be answered. I give Florian a sidelong glance. His coat’s buttoned to his chin, and his breath makes tiny clouds in the cold but sunny day. He smiles and gives me a quick kiss.

And there’s a click as the door unlatches, and it opens, and there’s Gabriel in the full light of day. Despite them not being identical twins, I can tell they’re brothers. Gabriel’s tall and has dark hair too, except his is wavy and mid-length, falling over his brow, and artfully styled. He has a slight shadow of stubble and blue eyes and a great big grin as he sees us on the front step. He’s definitely handsome, like Florian. It’s hard to imagine this was the distraught man we picked up one night months ago.

“Well, well,” says Gabriel, looking very pleased to see us. “Good morning, Flo. And you must be the Matty I keep hearing so much about. I’m Gabriel. I’m very glad to meet you properly.”

I lift my eyebrows and smile, surprised. Florian flushes pink, and it’s absolutely adorable. “Great to meet you too.”

We shake hands, and then Gabriel hugs Florian, and we all head inside.

“Make yourself at home,” Gabriel says easily. “Feel free to hang up your coat on the hooks there, Matty. Reception room’s this way.”

There are high corniced ceilings, and when we enter the reception room, there are more gorgeous ceilings and a chandelier and a stunning marble fireplace. The best feature of all is the tall Georgian windows letting in a flood of winter light. It would be brilliant for painting. I notice a series of large, framed photographs of glamorous men and women looking like an editorial magazine spread with fashion and fantastical settings.

“Please, sit. Would you like tea or coffee? I can make espresso drinks too. Valuable life skill,” he says cheerfully, looking at us with such hope that making coffees for us would be an absolute delight.

“Cappuccino, please,” says Florian.

“I’d love a latte.” It’s hard not to get caught up in Gabriel’s infectious energy and charm. I grin back. “Thanks.”

“Great. Also, I ran out this morning to the patisserie, so I have some pastries I’ll bring out too. Do you want any sugar in your coffee?” Gabriel asks.

“No, that’s alright, thanks.”

Gabriel chuckles. “You’re sweet enough already, don’t worry. Especially to put up with Flo.”

“You make me sound like a monster,” Florian complains, but I can tell he’s in a good mood by the way his eyes sparkle.

“I call it as I see it.” Then Gabriel winks and heads out of the room.

I laugh, and Florian smiles warmly at me.

Soon, in the distance, we hear the grinding of coffee beans and the screech of a steamer. I look around the room, taking in the decor. We sit on a pale gray linen sectional sofa, with Florian at one end and me on the chaise portion. There’s a large square coffee table piled with photography books and a couple of novels. On the other side of the table are two comfortable-looking armchairs and a pouf footrest.

When Gabriel returns, he brings out a tray with our coffees and a selection of pastries, small plates, and napkins. He sets it down on a corner of the coffee table and distributes the coffee.

“Please attack the pastries, boys,” Gabriel encourages. “It doesn’t eat itself.”

“Sounds apocalyptic,” remarks Florian, sipping his cappuccino.

I smile and help myself to a strudel.

Gabriel sits down on one of the armchairs. “I’m so glad to meet you at last.” He beams at me like he’s been reunited with a long-lost friend. “Flo says you’re an artist.”

“Well, I’m trying to be a painter,” I offer.

“Nonsense. You’re obviously a painter and a fine one at that. I saw your beautiful paintings at my brother’s. You’re very talented.”

I feel my face warming. “I’m trying to get back into it after a break,” I confess, because Gabriel doesn’t seem like the judgmental sort. “I found some studio space in London.”

“That’s brilliant news.” Gabriel looks very pleased to hear that, then leans a little. “I’m a fashion photographer, if you can’t tell.”

“Oh!” I’m impressed. “Are those your photos on the wall? They’re stunning.”