Rory raised an eyebrow, and made a soft puking noise. Everly let out another giggle. She liked Rory, he could make her laugh, and that was what she needed right now.
“What are you two giggling about?”
Alison had sidled over and was busily sketching ideas on her tablet.
“Old prim-knickers over there,” Rory said, nodding at Jennifer.
“Oh, yeah. Her.” Alison rolled her own eyes and carried on her way.
“Don’t,” Everly said in a hushed voice. “I don’t want to be accused of bullying. Besides, she’s probably not all that bad when you get to know her. I haven’t really tried yet, maybe I’ll do that now.”
“On your head be it,” Rory warned as Everly plucked up the courage to speak to Jennifer.
Taking a deep breath, Everly walked over to Jennifer and James. They were studying a really rather brilliant piece by a local born artist who was now in his 90s: a landscape of sea and beach, with sailors working the shores. It was so vivid that she could almost taste the saltwater on her tongue, and feel the sea breeze in her hair.
“Robbie was my great grandfather’s best friend,” Jennifer was boasting, broadcasting her voice across the room. “I met him a few times at parties. He always loved me, and my work.”
James nodded, trying to use his spare arm to jot down some ideas, with difficulty.
“Is he still alive?” Everly blurted, not sure what else to say. The caption next to the picture had been written a while back, by the look of it, and she wanted to join in the conversation.
Why couldn’t you have asked something about the picture, or the family relationship? Everly chided herself. Jennifer looked at Everly as though she was something her pedigree dog had spat up.
“Yes, very much so,” she said in a tone of voice better suited to scolding a child. “And still working. In fact, we have a rather nice piece of his in our own drawing room. Daddy thinks it’s going to be worth a fortune when Robbie finally does pop his clogs. Until then, we’re making the most of being able to look at it.”
Everly swallowed down the disgust that was creeping up from her stomach and nodded a smile.
“What’re you doing?” Jennifer asked her.
“I’m doing an oil on canvas of a…”
“No, what are you doing now? Why are you over here, what do you want?”
Everly looked at Jennifer as though she hadn’t quite heard what she had said. Of course, she had heard her, but she had no idea that people could be that rude. She shut her mouth and walked away, hearing James coughing an apology behind her. Jennifer soon shut him up too.
“You were right,” Everly said to Rory, who was now taking photographs with his phone— despite the sign in front of him forbidding it. “She’s scary. Maybe I need to try a different tactic.”
“Or maybe you need to leave her well alone,” he said. “Why do you want her to like you? What’s she going to do for you?”
“I don’t want her to like me, I don’t think. It’s not about what I can get from her, I just like to get to know people. It’s how we do things in the States.”
But Rory’s question was making her think. Maybe he was right, she couldn’t make everyone like her. She couldn’t even make Edward like her, and he had most definitely given her signs. Everly sighed all the way down to her soft leather boots.
“Chin up,” Rory said, taking his eyes from his screen. “Look where we are.”
Everly smiled at him. He really was good at taking her mind off things.
“And look who’s coming over,” he nodded toward Edward, who was strolling their way.
Everly blew out a breath. Maybe Rory wasn’t that good at taking her mind off things after all.
12
Edward hated the way her mouth turned down when she saw him.
He hadn’t meant to hurt her. He had wanted to tell her exactly how he felt back in the studio, but she had been the one to put a stop to that. She had been quite clear she didn’t want to talk about the other night. So why did she look so sad? Surely it wasn’t him? He shook his head, as if trying to scatter his thoughts, and turned his attention to Rory.
“Can I borrow you for a moment please, Rory. Madame Baudelaire is asking for a quick chat with all the entrants. Bit out of the norm, I’m afraid. It’s the first year she’s asked.”
Rory’s face drained of all color, but he nodded his head all the same.
“Good luck,” Everly said as Edward marched Rory away.
Soon enough, Rory, James, Jennifer, and Alison had all had a quick chat with Madame Baudelaire. Everly was the only one left, and Edward steeled himself as he went to get her.
“Everly?” he said quietly, not wanting to distract her from her work. He looked down discretely at the sketch she was working on. It was impeccable. Her talent was to Edward like a flame to a moth. He felt inextricably drawn to it, to her.
She didn’t answer or look up from her paper. Edward placed a hand gently on her shoulder. He felt her flinch under his touch and withdrew his hand as though her shoulder was an actual flame that had burned his skin.
“I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you,” he said as her head twisted around and her huge, blue eyes shone up at him.
“Oh, you didn’t,” she said. “Not really, sometimes I get so absorbed in my work I don’t hear what’s going on around me.”
“All the same,” he said. “I apologize. I need to borrow you for a moment, if that’s okay? Madame Baudelaire…”
Everly’s mouth dropped, her eyes widening.
“It’s okay, she’s lovely really. She’s just a little prickly if she feels you’re wasting her time. Quite rightly, really, I mean she’s in her 80s, she doesn’t want people wasting the time she has left.”
He noticed her eyebrows draw together, worry etched on her face as though she’d sketched it there herself.
“Argh, sorry. I’m not helping, am I?”
She shook her head.
“Valeria is a sweetheart. If she wasn’t, none of you would be here right now. She loves finding new talent. And you have that in abundance. Plus, you’re a wonderful person, and you are easy to like, you’ll be fine.”
Edward stopped speaking as Everly’s cheeks had flamed. Perhaps he’d gone a little far, but he wanted her to know she really had nothing to worry about.
“Come on,” he nodded in the direction of the door.
He led her down a small, private corridor and knocked at the ornate wooden door which stood at the end.
“Entre,” Valeria’s soft French accent floated through the door.
“On you go, good luck,” Edward whispered, trying not to get too close to her. It was hard, though, as her glossy brown hair smelt like coconut and vanilla. It was intoxicating.
He opened the door and let Everly through. Shutting it behind her, he took a deep breath and felt the pressure leave his chest. He hadn’t realized how much he’d been holding it in. Her nerves had transposed into Edward and he could feel his palms getting damp at the thought of what was happening in Valeria’s office.
“You’re a wonderful person,” he said again, quietly. Then he walked away.
“Sit down, my darling.”
Madame Baudelaire rolled her r’s and elongated the last word so much that Everly wondered if she was choking on something.
There was a heady scent of joss sticks, and the room was dark and airless. But Madame Baudelaire shone like the North Star. Her almost translucent white hair flowed around her shoulders down to her waist, and candlelight glowed behind her, giving off an ethereal glow. Her walls were lined with shelves upon shelves of books. Everly couldn’t help herself, she walked over and ran her fingers along the spines, savoring their touch as she examined the titles.
“I can tell I’m going to like you already,” Madame Baudelaire sang out.
Everly grimaced, remembering that she’d just been asked to sit down.
“Sorry,” she gushed, pulling out the chair in front of the des
k and sitting opposite the formidable woman. Madame Baudelaire waved her hand dismissively, and Everly took a deep breath.
“So, my petite amie, tell me, why do you think Edward has fallen in love with you?”
Everly’s mouth dropped open like a cartoon character. She couldn’t have heard correctly, her ears must be filled with cotton, and her head with wishes.
“I’m sorry, what?”
Madame Baudelaire laughed, the noise like crystal glasses clinking. Everly didn’t know where to look. She had given up trying to cool down her cheeks when Edward had startled her earlier, but now they matched the drawn drapes hanging at the huge window behind the desk.
“I’m ninety-four,” Madame Baudelaire continued, and Everly couldn’t help but think how Edward had been wrong about her age. Unsurprisingly really, given how ageless she seemed. “I can spot a natural talent when I see one. I can also spot a person who respects others. You, my dear, are both. I don’t need to quiz you on why you want to be here, and why you feel you’re right for the exhibition. So, I’m using my time wisely.”
Madame Baudelaire placed her arms on the desk in front of her, her finger tips forming a delicate arch.
“Let me ask again. Why do you think Edward is in love with you?”
Everly opened her mouth to speak, but really, what would she say? She had no inkling at all that Edward was in love with her. It was a crazy idea. She’d just met him. She’d been rude to him, they’d almost kissed, and he’d practically ignored her ever since. There was no way he was in love with her. Whatever this old woman thought, she was quite clearly losing her marbles.
But then, what if she wasn’t? What if Edward had said something to her? Everly couldn’t help but feel a little excited at the idea that Edward and Madame Baudelaire might have been talking about her, that he may have mentioned her. A giggle formed in her stomach but she held it prisoner there, not wanting it to escape from between her lips.
“I’m quite sure you’re wrong,” she said eventually. “No offence.”
Madame Baudelaire tapped her forefingers together against her lips.
“None taken, because I do not think that I am.”
Everly felt a warm shiver run down her body and tickle her toes. The laughter inside her was growing harder to contain.
Madame Baudelaire set her cool grey eyes on Everly.
“How exciting,” the old woman said, a small smile on her lips. “Of course, his family will never allow it.”
Everly suddenly felt stifled by the surroundings, the laughter well and truly crushed. The bookshelves were closing in on her, the incense burning all the oxygen away. She shuffled in her seat, pulling at her sweater to try to free her throat. She felt a trickle of sweat run down her back and pool at the top of her pants.
Madame Baudelaire’s eyes had not wavered from Everly’s. She was trying to hold the stare back, but it was too awkward, she felt as if she had shrunk like Alice when she drank from the bottle.
“Is there anything you wish to know about him?” she asked Everly.
Everly shook her head, even though her mind was buzzing with questions. She kept her eyes on the floor and waited to be release from this awful situation. It had started off so well, Everly had been keen to meet Madame Baudelaire, though very nervous. Now it was almost as though her artwork and talent had been kicked aside and her very soul had been picked at instead. At least if it was her work that Madame Baudelaire didn’t like, she could chalk that up to a difference in creative tastes. But to have her personal life discussed and dissected, it felt too intimate.
“Well then, we’re done,” the old woman said, her cool eyes still affixed to Everly.
Everly stood. She felt so small, so incomplete, that even walking to the door was a huge task. That one throwaway comment from Madame Baudelaire had floored Everly like a freight train. Trying to remember how to place one foot in front of the other took all her focus, so when she passed the edge of the large desk, she almost didn’t see what lay on top of it. When her brain registered what it was seeing, Everly stopped dead in her tracks, her hand reaching down to reclaim the paper from the desk.
“What…? How… ?”
Madame Baudelaire stood up and relieved Everly of the piece of paper in her hand. A wrinkled smile spread across her face as she studied what had been sketched there in intricate, loving detail.
“Yes, quite a talent this one,” she said, brushing the paper as though Everly’s fingers had somehow tainted it. “Annoying as anything, but I can spot real raw talent when I see it.”
Everly stood there, unable to move from the spot, confusion etched all over her face.
“Really?”
“Yes of course, only an amateur wouldn’t see it. I’ll have to keep an eye on Jennifer, I’m excited to see what she produces next.”
Madame Baudelaire put the drawing back on the desk, walked to the door, and held it open for Everly. In a haze of cloudy confusion, Everly left the room and somehow made it back to the gallery. She didn’t stop to say goodbye to her fellow artists, or even look at Edward as she ran across the large room and straight out the exit.
Clouding her vision was the portrait of Edward’s face, his eyes shimmering on the page like they had been earlier in the day when Everly had drawn them there. It wasn’t Jennifer’s picture, it was hers. Jennifer must have picked it out of the trash and lied to Madame Baudelaire, claiming it as her own.
Everly didn’t hear Edward calling after her as she ran down the street. She didn’t know where she was going, she didn’t care.
All she knew was that she was never coming back.
13
Edward flinched as Everly flew past him.
“Everly?” he called out. She ignored him, moving so fast she almost thumped into a sculpture of a mother and child—one that even Edward would struggle to compensate for if it was broken.
The door slammed shut behind her, the sound of it echoing around the gallery. Everybody stopped what they were doing, shocked into a stunned silence. Edward ran over to the door, aware that all eyes were now on him. He flung it open and shouted Everly’s name, but she was out of sight already. Seeing red, and hearing nothing but the thumping of blood in his ears, he stormed back to Valeria’s office and wrenched open the door.
“What on earth did you say to the poor girl?” he demanded as he crossed the room.
Valeria simply shrugged.
“Nothing. I was just curious about your feelings for each other. That’s all.”
“Valeria!” Edward said exasperatedly. He gripped the back of the chair, his knuckles turning white. “That wasn’t fair.”
“I think it’s sweet, your little relationship.”
“What?” he said, pained. “There’s no relationship, I don’t even think she likes me the way I like her. Now you’ve ended up embarrassing a sweet young woman who never did anyone any harm.”
Valeria looked at Edward with an enigmatic smile.
“Give an old woman a break, I have to live vicariously through my young friends. I need the excitement of blossoming love.”
“Oh, Valeria,” Edward sighed, the color in his knuckles returning. His eyes flicked to the portrait of himself on the edge of the desk. He picked it up, instinctively drawn to it. Whoever had sketched it had captured him perfectly—so perfectly, in fact, it took his breath away.
“Yes,” Valeria continued. “How about that? Jennifer’s. Look at that talent, that skill, that’s a rare, innate quality she has there.”
Edward looked quizzically at her.
“Jennifer?”
Valeria nodded.
Something didn’t sit quite right with Edward, an uneasy feeling at the pit of his stomach like he’d eaten a prawn that was a little past its best. He put the picture back on the desk and blew Valeria a kiss before leaving her office.
He paused in the corridor to collect his thoughts and stabilize his breathing. He hoped Everly hadn’t been too embarrassed or hurt by Valeria’s questioni
ng. But then why had she left in such a hurry? Valeria had been a second mother to Edward since the day of his birth, and he’d always known she had his best interests at heart. Her behavior today had been utterly unlike her. But why?
Edward slumped against the cool wall, the corridor was so dark it was almost medieval.
I need the excitement of blossoming love, Valeria had said. And she was right, it was love. Maddening, impossible, undeniable. He’d fallen head over heels in love with Everly Simpson. With her smile, her charm, her sweet nature, her beautiful eyes, and kissable lips. He’d fallen in love with her talent, too, her eye. She had a way of seeing the world that was magical. She had a way of seeing him that was magical. Which is why it was so weird that the portrait in Valeria’s office—a portrait that seemed to encapsulate all these things—had been done by Jennifer.
A small scuffle at the far end of the corridor drew him from his thoughts. He squinted into the dark, seeing nothing but shadows.
“Hello?” he said softly.
A beat passed, and nobody replied.
Edward shook his head and headed back into the gallery. The remaining winners were all huddled together, talking in hushed voices.
“Time to head back,” he said loudly, startling them upright.
“Edward, we were just wondering if Everly is okay?” Rory said, extracting himself from the group and walking over to him.
Edward swallowed down a feeling of jealousy at the easy friendship Rory had built up with Everly. However much he didn’t want to think about Everly finding companionship, and even a relationship, with someone else while she was here, it eased his worry a little knowing she had someone to look out for her.
“She took ill and had to go back to the house,” he said to Rory. He spoke to the group. “Our ride will be outside shortly, if you’d like to gather up your belongings and head to the main entrance. I hope you’ve all found this enjoyable, and useful, and that you feel you have a good idea of what your vision for the brief will be. I’m excited to hear about your ideas.”
My Dashing Billionaire: A Clean Billionaire Romance (My Billionaire A-Z Book 4) Page 7
