Tears of Ink (Tears of ... Book 1)

by Anna Bloom

  “I think it’s perfect.” He comes over, his chest still bare and kisses me, pulling me into his arms. I’m careful not to touch his back despite the longing I have to hug him tight.

  “Come, let’s go get ice cream.” I grin at him widely.

  “Ice cream?” His eyes widen in shock. “But what about my figure?”

  I’m giggling and launching myself around him, my hands in his hair, when the door opens and we both turn to find Dan watching us. “What are you guys doing here?”

  “Getting ice-cream.” I laugh, and I never want to stop.

  I never want this to end. Because when it does it will all be gone.

  We’ve had ice cream, kissed with our toes in the sea, and I’ve done the hardest thing I’ve ever faced. I’ve said goodbye to Al.

  “Create something, Faith, always create.” He squeezed my fingers and tears stole down my face, but then I looked at Eli and he captured them all. Al watched us, smiling. I’m glad I left him knowing I was happy at last. Even if it’s short lived.

  I didn’t see Dad again, and that I can live with for all eternity.

  My tears keep coming and going. Eli squeezes my leg every time he hears me give a gentle sob. The car ride has been largely silent.

  When we pull up through the gates at Bowsley, he turns to me, his fingers sliding through my hair. “You okay? Can you do this?”

  “I want to. Al wanted me to.”

  “You know Steers will be here?”

  I nod. It’s okay, the last couple of days have weakened my anger. I know now my anger is at myself, my body, my disgust. He’s just a man who didn’t tell me the whole truth. We won’t be friends again, but I’m not going to throw anything at him—that I know of.

  He goes to open the door. “Eli, I…” I trail off. There isn’t a word that can adequately describe how I feel. How grateful I am, how inexplicably shaken to the foundations of my existence I am by his presence and the way he makes me feel.

  He nods, and it’s all we need.

  We stand by the car and stare at the doors of the house. “I don’t know if I’m more worried about your mother, or the mess of clay they’ve probably all made.”

  His hand slips into mine and takes me by surprise. “Let’s take one at a time.”

  He holds my hand right up to the front door and into the beautifully decorated hallway with the glass flowers. I try to pull away, but he won’t let me; sending me a wide smile instead that tells me we are in this together, whatever that means.

  “Oh my god, the prodigal son returns.” Why does Peter the Arse have to be here now? We step through into the sitting room. I’ve barely been in this pale-coloured room, all the furniture a brocade stripe of pale green. It seems the sort of place I would dirty just by being there.

  “Shut up, Peter.” Elijah growls. He’s still holding my hand and I’m visibly sweating. I wish I had his quiet confidence, but I don’t.

  Gerard is there, and he jumps up when he sees me, placing down his glass of something short and dark on the table. “Faith, are you okay? How was it at home?”

  I nod. “Fine, thank you. How did you get on with the groups?”

  He looks a little crestfallen at my stiff answer—but really, what else was he expecting? I’ve been to Brighton for a couple of days, not to Mars for a brain lobotomy. He’s still a lying bastard.

  “Good. You’ve got them so excited. I wish half my students on my degree course were that enthusiastic.”

  I send him a tight smile. “Do we have any ceramics to show for it?”

  “Yeah, Tabitha was a little loose on the description, but she said it was for use with the ball.” Gerard pushes his glasses back up his nose.

  It’s good to be talking art again and I slowly relax. Eli leans over and kisses me on the cheek and Peter almost chokes on his drink. “I’m going to go find Mother. Are you okay here?”

  I raise an eyebrow. “I’d rather be here with these losers than facing down your mother.”

  He chuckles, his eyes drifting affectionately across my face. “That’s what I thought.” He steps away and our time away is officially over.

  “How’s Lewis?” I ask Gerard—ignoring Peter, mainly because he’s a twat.

  “Fine, fine, he’s been okay. He had an outburst yesterday after his dad called but he seems settled again now.”

  Reluctantly, I give Gerard a smile. “Thanks.”

  I go to grab my bags to head back to my rooms and Gerard drops into step at my side. “So, you and Elijah, right?”

  “Are you gossiping, Gerard?”

  He grabs my arm, holding me still. “No, but hell, Faith, I don’t want to see you get hurt.”

  “But you hurt me, so how does that work?”

  “I hurt you because I was an idiot and didn’t tell you the whole truth. This family will tear you apart. You can’t trust them.”

  “I can’t trust anyone, can I?” I glare at him.

  “Me?” He shrugs and smiles optimistically.

  “Yeah, right.”

  I try to ignore him and head to the outhouses. It’s strangely comforting returning to them after the couple of days in Brighton.

  I fling bags inside the pink room and then head straight for the room I’d set out for pottery.

  Laughter seeps through the door, and I send Gerard a quizzical look. He just holds his hands up. I turn the door knob and the laughter stops. With a push, I open the door.

  Tabitha is one side of a brown clay-dust clouded table, Lewis is the other. Lewis has a streak of red dust through his hair. Tabitha looks like she’s been rolling in the stuff. “Everything okay in here?” I ask.

  Tabs flushes a little and nods, stepping towards me. “It’s good to see you. How was your friend?”

  “Ill.” I brush at some of the clay debris in her hair. “Really ill, but we said goodbye.” I give her a small smile, suddenly aware of the atmosphere in the tiny studio. “It was as good as it could be, I guess.”

  She turns her back on Lewis and I don’t miss the flicker of annoyance crossing his face.

  I’ll have to talk to him. If there’s something going on here, it needs to be stopped immediately. Tabitha is the baby of the Faircloughs. I can only imagine what major shit would brew into a storm if she had a fling with a wild teenager Eli brought home.

  “So, we need to get ready for this ball. I’ve had some ideas while I’ve been away.” I realise Gerard is still in the room and look at him expectantly. “Off you go, Steers. Thanks for helping, but we are all good now.”

  He grins, and I don’t like it. “Actually, Jennifer has asked me to stay to help, just in case you get called away again.”

  “Are you fricking kidding me?” I spin for the door just as Eli walks in. He’s still in his casual clothes, but his body is rigid and hard. He doesn’t meet my eye.

  “He’s staying, Faith,” he says, and the distance in his voice kills me, just downright slices me in half.

  I glare at him. “Not a chance.”

  He steps closer, his body close but not close enough. “Faith, let it go.”

  I stare into his face, searching for some familiarity there from our weekend, or the car, or all the many moments I’ve etched into my brain but it’s not there. “Like bloody hell, I will.” With a shove of my elbow, I push past him and march for the house looking for Jennifer, finding her in a room I haven’t seen before. Containing a Regency desk and decorated in pale pastels and paler wood, it’s the most feminine study I’ve ever seen. Jennifer sits behind the desk reading some papers, a cup of tea steaming in front of her.

  “Why have you asked Steers to stay?” I ask and plant myself directly in front of her.

  She sighs and glances up at me. “What are you talking about?”

  “Gerard told me you’d asked him to stay and work the project, and Eli—Elijah’s just confirmed it, but why?”

  “There’s a lot to do, can you really do it by yourself?”

  “A lot to do for what?”
<
br />   “For my ball, of course.”

  I glare at her in bewilderment. “When I took this job, no one told me anything about a ball or the fact this was all leading to one. Is this what Elijah wanted when he arranged this? I don’t think so. Why are you making it all about some social event now?”

  She stands, her slender hip perching against the desk. “I don’t expect you to understand, but everything we do is for some ulterior purpose. Elijah knew when he arranged his art outreach project that it would be to bring attention to Bowsley; to open it to the public eye, to get interest so we can earn an income from the property.”

  “No, it wasn’t.” I shake my head. “He did it because he loves art and he wants to help others less fortunate.”

  She chuckles and shakes her head like I’m some naughty, but cheeky young child.

  “Work with Gerard, make it beneficial. Who knows what press and gallery acquisitions buyers will be here for the ball; maybe it will be worth your while as much as ours.”

  I’m simmering, every cuss I know stinging the tip of my tongue.

  With a turn, I flounce for the door.

  “Oh, Faith,” she calls me back.

  “Yes.” My hands are clenched into fists.

  “I’ve told Elijah that whatever this is you think you have going on between you, it’s over. As of now.” She eyes me coolly while I seethe inside. “Have your weekend, take from that what you may. But Elijah is returning to London and you will leave him alone if you value your future here on this project.”

  “And you think the project is more important because?”

  “I’ve had confirmation the acquisitions director of the Tate Modern is coming to our little summer ball. She’s even seen some of your work already.”

  My stomach drops away. “How?”

  “I sent her one of your flowers.”

  She did what? “Why?”

  Jennifer settles back into her chair. “Because contrary to popular belief I’m not a complete bitch. You are talented.”

  I don’t know what to say.

  Is she bribing me to say away from Elijah by dangling the biggest carrot in the art world under my nose?

  Well, fuck that. I straighten myself up tall. “Elijah wants me. Maybe that’s something you are just going to have to deal with, but I know he won’t let me down.”

  I walk out without a backward glance and head back to my room.

  Is Elijah really going to London and staying away? Staying away from me and his project, his dream? I can’t believe what she said. She’s wrong. I just know it.

  He’s sat on my bed, his head in his hands. I snort when I see him and slam the door shut. “What happened to taking one at a time together?”

  When his eyes meet my own, my heart cracks a little. “I told you, Faith, this family is fucked-up”

  She was right. He is going to leave, and the last couple of days have been for nothing. “So you are giving up. Running back to London with your tail between your legs?”

  “It’s not running away, it’s called going to work.”

  “What did she say? Did she threaten Tabitha?”

  He shakes his head. When he steps from the bed, his tall powerful body dwarfs mine. His hands hold my skin, his lips a brush away from mine. “I’m sorry, Faith, but it’s over.” It’s nothing more than a whisper and then he’s gone.

  And inside I want to die. I told him everything. Gave him everything, broke every rule.

  This was never meant to be anything, so why the hell does this hurt so much?

  Chapter Thirty-One

  “I’m just putting this out there.” Abi gives me one of her I know all the shit stares down the camera. Even fuzzy and held with a shaking hand her glare is powerful.

  “What?” I groan and roll back onto the grass. It’s been a long day. It’s been a long few days. The afternoon session is finished and after a quick clean up with Steers, Lewis, and Tabs, I’ve headed out for some alone time. This house is an unhealthy place to be.

  “I think he’s protecting you. If his dragon of a mother is teasing your future prospects, saying that someone’s coming to see your work from the fucking Tate. I mean come on, Faith, it’s the Tate Modern—you drool in that place for hours—then I’m gonna put money on the fact he’s trying not to ruin that for you.”

  I shake my head. “He’s saving himself from being cut off. That’s all.”

  “I don’t believe it. That guy was so hot on you, he was almost melting the room. That stare, those eyes. Jeez, he was melting my panties just being in the same room.”

  “Abs!”

  She pokes her tongue out but grins. “It’s true. Hey, Adam, Elijah was melting your jocks too wasn’t he with those swoon intense eyes.”

  The camera spins until I’m facing Adam who’s sprawled on the sofa clutching a bottle of beer. “Totally. Faith, us dudes don’t talk about this stuff, but that guy had it bad.”

  “You two are really bloody annoying.” I scowl and drag on my cigarette. It seems that while my uncle and father-figure dying of cancer is enough to put me off smoking, Elijah Fairclough leaving me without a backwards glance is beyond the limits of my willpower.

  I blow smoke and stare at the clouds. “So now I’m stuck here, in this hellish prison.”

  Abi laughs, the phone shaking even more until my stomach rolls like I’m on a ship at sea. “A prison? It’s a fucking castle, Faith, get a grip.”

  “You wait. Which reminds me, would you two be able to get a babysitter for the 18th of August?”

  “Why?” She sits up a little straighter. “Don’t get me all excited here, Faith.”

  A wide grin spreads across my face, despite the gaping hole that seems to be residing on a permanent basis in my chest. “I thought you might like to come to the ball? I could do with some friendly back up.”

  Abi squeals but then squints at me. “You don’t need back up, although of course we are coming. You’re Faith Hitchin, you survive everything, even being in that place.”

  I nod. She’s kind, too kind to me really, considering I’m such a stroppy bitch. “That I do.” Flicking the screen of my phone, I check the time. “Speaking of which, I’m going to ring that gallery who had some of my stuff, see if they’ve made any sales.”

  Abi nods and waves her fingers at the camera. “See you. I’m going to look for a ball dress. What sort of thing are you wearing?”

  I hesitate. Jennifer had said that Saskia woman would take care of it. Whether that was still happening after I slept with her son I didn’t know.

  Oh well. I can dress myself.

  I hang up and then double check the time before calling another number. It’s answered on the fifth ring. “Whitlocks.”

  “Oh, hello, is Damien there?”

  There’s a muffle down the phone and then the sound of someone passing it over. “Damien speaking.”

  “Hi Damien, it’s Faith Hitchin. I was calling to see if you’d managed to move any of my pieces?”

  “Oh Faith, so thrilled you called.” Damien’s voice is high and rings like he’s singing.

  “Really, why?”

  “We need more sculptures from you.”

  “More? But I gave you five.”

  He squeals a little and his hands reverberate in a clap in the background. “I know. We sold all of them about two months ago. I did put a call in to Gerard Steers, but he obviously didn’t pass the message on.”

  “No, he didn’t.” Why the hell hadn’t he told me? Two months ago? Then I would never have taken this job. I could have escaped the painful drama that’s unfolded around me.

  But then I wouldn’t have met Eli… My chest squeezes again, and it hurts more than I can bear.

  “Okay.” I scrabble around in my head to try to think clearly. I can’t believe they’ve sold them. Not to undermine my own work, it’s totally kick ass, but Whitlocks are well known—they have a huge clientele, all who know what they want.

  Would someone want my work over the o
thers? Wow.

  “I’m doing an installation at Bowsley Hall. I won’t be able to get anything to you by the end of the summer. Hopefully, they might be able to let me sell some of this on after it’s finished.”

  “That’s a great idea. It would be fantastic publicity for us and them.”

  His response causes me to pause for thought. “You know Bowsley Hall?”

  “Yes, of course, the Faircloughs.”

  Was there anywhere the influence of this family didn’t reach?

  Then I remember back at The Ritz, the first day I met Elijah when he looked like he’d fallen off the cover of GQ Magazine in his navy suit, but had a major stick stuck up his arse. ‘Yes, I’ve bought a few bits from there’.

  “Would you like to come to the summer ball? You could see the exhibitions and hopefully if you like them make first bid for them?”

  “What a wonderful idea. I’ll get Elena and Frances to ring Bowsley and express our interest.”

  I pause and take a deep breath. “So, you want more then?”

  “Darling, yes, of course. Frances wants to talk to you about an exhibition here at the gallery, maybe when you’ve finished swanning around with one of the richest families in the country you will come by, so we can talk?”

  One of the what?

  My hands shake holding the phone and I mutter a distracted goodbye, telling Damien I’ll hopefully see him at the ball.

  No one told me they were the richest family in the country? What, richer than the bloody Queen? Seriously, that can’t be right?

  Does it matter?

  One thing is making more and more sense by the minute. I can totally understand why Jennifer forced Eli and I apart. Him and I, things like that just aren’t meant to be outside the pages of a fairy tale.

  And I know why he said it could never be anything, and why he was able to walk away like it was nothing.

  But then what about what Abi said?

  What about the fact I can’t stop thinking about him, and it hurts so bad I don’t know what to do with myself?

  What about the fact I’ve broken my one true rule and now it cuts so deep I no longer want to breathe, because I know what Elijah did in that hotel room in Brighton. He made me love him.