by Amy M. Reade
“Will you put this one on canvas?”
“I don’t think so. The detail is too intricate for canvas. I’ll make prints of this one. Maybe I’ll dry-mount the prints and sell them here in the studio.”
“Great idea.”
Eilidh raised her finger to slide the screen to the next photo when something caught my eye.
“Wait a second. Can I see that?”
“Sure.” Eilidh slid off the stool and waved her hand toward it. “Sit down there.”
I sat and peered closely at the screen. Was that who I thought it was?
Alice’s face stared back at me from the entrance of the Abbey. So she had been inside the building while I was in there. How had I missed her?
“What d’ye see?” Eilidh asked.
I pointed to Alice. “That’s Florian’s wife. I recognize her because she’s got that distinctive long hair and a very thin face. She also wears those huge sunglasses. And those boots—I recognize those boots from when we met for lunch one day. I thought they were hideous. Why do you suppose she was at Westminster Abbey?”
Eilidh shrugged. “Maybe she was sightseeing, like you.”
I shook my head slowly. “When I asked her about places I should visit before leaving London, I distinctly remember her saying that Westminster Abbey was overrated. Why would she visit after advising me not to?”
“Was it overrated?”
“Are you kidding? Absolutely not! It was one of the most stunning places I’ve ever seen.”
“Maybe she was following you,” Eilidh suggested.
“Why would she follow me?”
“Maybe you should ask her.”
“I’m not sure I want to.” I hesitated, wondering if I should tell Eilidh about my encounters with Alice, but finally I spoke. “Alice isn’t exactly the person I thought she was. I met up with her a couple times in London and each time she said or did something that was unsettling.”
“Like what?”
“When she first visited us here at Gorse Brae, she seemed meek and timid. I got the same impression of her when we met for lunch the first time in Highgate, where she lives. But the next time we met, she seemed stronger and more assertive. Strong and assertive are good qualities, don’t get me wrong, but it was unnerving because she hadn’t seemed that way when I first met her. And she dressed differently, too. Normally that wouldn’t be a big deal, but I felt like she was trying to confuse me, to tilt my perception of her.”
“I’m sure she was still in shock over Florian’s death when she came here. She must not have cared how she was dressed or how she talked or anything like that.”
“I’m sure she was in shock, too. There was just something about her that seemed off when I met her that second time. I can’t really put my finger on it. And she told me that Florian had cheated on her. She found out about it shortly before he was killed.”
“That must have been awful for her,” Eilidh murmured.
“I’m sure it was. But I got the sense that their marriage was more a matter of economics than love.”
Eilidh shook her head. “That’s sad. What made you think that?”
I repeated what Alice had told me about her family’s investment portfolio increasing in value after her marriage to Florian, and his recent financial losses. Eilidh looked at me with wide eyes.
“I can’t believe people really marry for money. I mean, I’ve seen it on television, but I never knew it happened in real life. Thank goodness Callum and I don’t feel that way.” Her mention of Callum brought on another bout of sadness. “What do you think I should do about getting a job?” she asked after a long silence.
“I wish I had an answer for you,” I said with a sigh. “We’d love it if you could work here, but we have to make sure we can afford it before we bring you on. It would be terrible if we hired you and then had to let you go because we couldn’t pay you. Maybe you should look for something temporary whilst we’re waiting for Felix to give us some definite numbers from the gallery show and whilst we’re waiting to see if there’s an influx of work for Seamus.”
“Maybe there’s a shop around here that could use some temporary help for the rest of the summer,” she said.
“That’s a good idea. Why don’t you start looking today?”
“Are you trying to get rid of me?” Eilidh asked with a grin.
I rolled my eyes. “Of course not. But I know you, Eilidh. You’re happier when you’re busy. The sooner you find something, the sooner you’ll cheer up and Callum won’t have to worry about you.”
“You’re right, as usual,” she said, standing up and giving me a hug.
“Now, shoo. I need to get to work and so do you,” I said with a grin. She left just as Seamus was coming into the gallery from the kitchen. He stood behind me and put his big hands on my shoulders, massaging them. I tilted my head back to look at him.
“Good morning, sleepyhead. What’s your plan for today?”
“I want to paint today. Do you mind looking after the store?”
“No, but I’m going to work on some photo projects, too.”
“That’s fine. If we get lots of people, come get me and I’ll give you a hand.”
“Are we expecting lots of people?”
He shrugged. “I dinnae know. I hope so. The more word gets out about my work, the more visitors we should have.”
“Do you want to talk to people who come in to look at your paintings, or do you want me to deal with them?”
“You can deal with them first; if they seem serious about buying, you can call me.”
“Okay.” I swatted his backside with a magazine from the worktable. “Now be off wi’ ye. I’ve got stuff to do.”
He chucked me on the chin and returned to the house.
It wasn’t long before customers started to arrive. Between talking to some of them about Seamus’s paintings and talking to others about the antique artwork for sale, I began to ask customers how they had heard of the shop and the gallery. If people were hearing about Seamus through word-of-mouth, or through one of the many articles written about him during his stay in London, then his name was traveling far and wide from the exposure he enjoyed at the Lundenburg.
Just as we had hoped, several customers stopped in because they had read about Seamus online, or in newspapers, blogs, or magazines. Most of those customers were visiting from London, keeping in touch with the London art scene even while on holiday. Whenever someone mentioned reading about him, I called him in to introduce himself. Customers seemed thrilled to meet him, and his personable conversation made them all feel welcome. We sold more paintings, antique art, and photographs that day than we had since leaving for London. Some of the articles had noted when he would be returning to the Highlands, and several customers told us they had waited to visit the gallery until they knew he would be there.
Seamus was exhausted but beaming by the time we closed the shop. “Can you believe it?” he asked me during dinner. “All those people. If this keeps up we’ll be able to hire Eilidh sooner than we thought.”
“Any word from Felix about the Lundenburg profits?”
“As a matter of fact, I did hear from him.” He grinned.
“And? What did he say?” I asked impatiently.
“We made fifteen thousand pounds!”
I cocked my head, thinking I heard him wrong. “Really? Fifteen thousand? That’s how much you made after the Lundenburg took its share off the top?”
“Aye. What’s the matter?”
“I—I don’t know. Somehow I thought it would be more than that.”
“Fifteen thousand pounds is a lot of money, love.”
“I know. I’m sorry. I just—I just figured the profit would be higher. I mean, after all the things Felix said...”
“He never actually told us how much we made.”
“I know. I’m being silly. I’m sorry. Fifteen thousand is great. It’s incredible, really.”
“You don’t sound convinced,” he said, l
ooking at me through narrowed eyes. “You wanted more?”
I was mortified. Even to my own ears my greed sounded insatiable.
“It’s not that,” I said, struggling to explain myself. “I just had visions of the amount being much higher.” My attempt to explain was failing miserably.
“Sylvie, I’m not Salvador Dalí. I’m not Claude Monet. What do you want from me?”
“Forget I said anything.”
“I think I will,” he said, his eyebrows raised in reproach. “I work hard. I can’t work any harder.”
I walked around the table and put my arms around his shoulders. He didn’t return my hug and I knew I had hurt him. “I’ll do the dishes,” I said in a low voice.
“Thank you.” He pushed his chair back and went back into the studio. Was he going back to work to avoid me? Because he couldn’t believe my selfishness? I hated myself for saying anything.
And yet—there had been something in Felix’s words, in his tone, in his smiles whenever he spoke about the profits from Seamus’s exhibition that prompted me to think Seamus had made money beyond our grandest imaginings. We hadn’t dreamed of making anywhere near fifteen thousand pounds, and that amount was a true blessing, but somehow I thought Felix had a higher number in mind.
I carried a heavy weight of embarrassment and selfishness that night. I went to bed alone and though I was still awake hours later when Seamus crawled into bed, he didn’t touch me or even face me and I knew he was still angry. I didn’t sleep at all.
I was cranky and weepy in the morning. I made tea and drank it alone in the kitchen while I waited for Seamus to wake up, but I didn’t feel like eating anything. I was wiping a stray tear from my eye when he came in the room.
“Morning, love,” he said, pecking my cheek as he poured himself a cup of tea. “Have you been awake long?”
“Aye,” I replied. “Seamus, I—”
He held up his hand to stop me. “You don’t have to explain, Sylvie. I’m sorry I was angry last night. I got thinking about what you said and I realized you were right. Felix did give the impression that we had witnessed a miracle. But the fifteen thousand is more than I dared to hope for, so I’m happy with that amount.”
“I am, too. I swear. I know how selfish I seemed last night and I never meant for my words to sound that way.”
“So you won’t leave me because I’m a pauper?” He grinned, and I knew my foolishness was forgiven.
“You know I would never do that,” I said, returning his bear hug.
“Let’s get to work,” he said, holding me at arm’s length. “I got two emails last night, each commissioning a painting of the Cairngorms. From people who live and work in London. They heard about me in one of the art magazines.” He was wearing the widest smile I’d ever seen.
“Why didn’t you tell me sooner?” I cried. “That’s wonderful news!”
“We had to clear the air first. And last night I didn’t want to wake you up just to tell you that.”
“I wasn’t sleeping. And even if I was, you should have gotten me up for that.” I gave him a mock grimace. “Wake me up next time.”
“I will. Promise.”
We each went to work in the studio that morning, taking turns helping customers. Seamus was studying physical and virtual maps of the Cairngorms, making plans to camp up in the mountains for several days to work on his paintings. I worked on my photo projects, wondering all the while whether I should show Seamus the photo of Alice in front of Westminster Abbey.
I decided against it. Seamus was over the moon about his commissions and busy making plans for a camping trip—I didn’t want to spoil his anticipation.
“Are you going to come with me?” he asked that night at dinner.
“Come where?”
“To the Cairngorms. When I go camping. I don’t want to go by myself.”
“Who’s going to stay behind and watch the shop?”
“We can ask Eilidh to do it.”
“I don’t know, Seamus. Maybe you should go solo this time and I’ll go next time.”
“Please?” he whined.
“Oh, all right. I’ll call her after dinner. When are you leaving?”
“Friday morning. Early.”
“Okay.”
But when I talked to Eilidh later that evening, she surprised me by telling me she had already found a job in the village pottery shop. “It’s just for the summer, mind you, but I can’t wait to start,” she said.
“That’s great!” I was so happy for my cousin. “When’s your first day?”
“Tomorrow.” That answered the question of whether or not she could mind the shop.
“I’m so happy for you, Eilidh. By the time your job at the potter’s ends, maybe we’ll be able to take you on here.”
I was thrilled for her. I could hear excitement and happiness in her voice. And I wasn’t disappointed about being left behind while Seamus went camping. I loved to camp, but I felt the shop needed my attention and I needed to get more of my photographs framed, hung, and placed online for sale.
Seamus was disappointed, though. “Let’s just close up for a couple days. I want you to go with me.”
“We can’t close now, Seamus. Not with all the customers we’ve been getting. If this is the only time some of them are going to be up in the Highlands, we need to be open so they can come in and take a look around.”
He sighed. “I suppose you’re right. I’ll miss you, though.”
“I’ll miss you, too. But maybe I can go next time.”
“I’m considering that a promise.”
“That’s fine with me,” I said with a grin.
The rest of the week sped by. Seamus was busy answering customers’ queries, trying to paint, and packing for his camping trip. I helped him when I could, but I was busy, too. We checked inventory, rearranged items in the shop to make room for extra stock, and hired a webmaster to update our website and keep track of online traffic.
Two hours before dawn on Friday, Seamus bounded out of bed, ready to get on his way. I staggered behind him, made tea, and wrapped up a few buttered scones while he finished packing last-minute items in the car. It was chilly and dark outside, but a million stars lit up the darkness just enough to see the smile on his face. He was ready for this trip. A couple days in the wilderness of the Cairngorms would do him good.
He kissed me goodbye and promised to be home in time for dinner on Sunday. I watched him drive away until the darkness swallowed his car, then I went back to bed and fell asleep almost instantly.
The customers in the shop that day kept me from thinking too much about how much I missed Seamus. But when evening fell I couldn’t dispel the loneliness that settled around me. I called Eilidh and Callum and they invited me to join them at the pub for dinner.
They knew I missed Seamus, so they tried to entertain me throughout dinner. I heard stories about Callum’s family, about Eilidh’s new job, about a camping trip that had gone awry before they were married, and countless other stories calculated to make me smile. I laughed dutifully, but I didn’t feel the happiness. I wished I had gone camping with Seamus. I couldn’t even talk to him—he wouldn’t get a mobile phone signal on his trek in the Cairngorms.
I left Eilidh and Callum at their cottage after dinner, then continued walking home by myself. It was quite dark, quiet, and peaceful. The little houses I passed were snug behind closed curtains, dim lamplight shining out of upstairs bedrooms.
Gorse Brae was completely dark. I thought I remembered leaving a small lamp burning in the shop. I’ll have to check that bulb in the morning. I unlocked the kitchen door and flipped on the light switch as I entered the room.
It was the laptop on the kitchen table that caught my attention first. I had been using it before I left for dinner, but something wasn’t right. I had closed it, as I always did to protect the screen. It was open. I took a tentative step toward the table, pausing for a moment to listen to the silence, which was complete. I felt a rush
of dread, wishing more than anything that Seamus was home, in the kitchen with me. Nothing happened in the silence, so I reached for the laptop cover and closed it. As I did so I noticed that the machine was warm. I had been at the pub long enough for the computer to cool.
“Seamus?” I called. No answer.
I was afraid. I wheeled around to run out the kitchen door when the room was plunged into darkness with the soft click of the light switch.
I froze, not knowing which way to turn. I couldn’t see anything. The light switch was next to the kitchen door, so the person who had turned the light off was between me and safety outdoors.
“Who’s there?” I asked in a strangled whisper, my voice stuck in my throat.
No answer.
I spun back around to face the living room and took off running, moving from side to side where I knew furniture stood in the darkness. I didn’t even stop to turn on the lights. In my terror, my brain was somehow working logically enough to remind me that I knew the inside of the house better than whoever was running after me. If I turned on the light I would lose my advantage.
But the person was close on my heels. Twice a hand reached out from the blackness to grab my sleeve, but I shook it off and raced for the front door. I had to get outside—somehow I knew safety lay outside the walls of my cottage. But my hands were trembling too much to turn the lock on the front door—and I couldn’t open it. I knew I had lost.
A rough shove, and I was on my back inside the front door. I hit my head on the door handle as I fell. And though I was listening for the other person’s voice, I heard nothing but my own grunt as I fell to the floor, dazed and hurt. In contrast to the distant, twinkly stars I had seen from the driveway just nineteen hours before, when I’d kissed Seamus goodbye, the stars I saw lying on the floor were exploding from pain and terror.
It had all happened so quickly—it probably took less than a minute.
