Love in Spring BoxSet

by Jenny Lane

  “What’s a foonral wa- that thing you said, Grandma?” asked Katie waving her straw.

  “Oh, nothing important, dear. Now eat up and then you can have your pudding. You’re keeping us all waiting.”

  “Bet I can guess what you’re going to have,” Lawrence teased his small niece.

  She finished the last mouthful. “Bet you can’t, cos I don’t know yet,” she grinned back.

  Lawrence took her hand and together they went to look at the dessert trolley.

  Mary Lorimer sighed. “The sooner Laurie gets married and has some children of his own - the better.”

  “Well, there’s no one on the horizon, is there?”

  “I’m not sure – time will tell, I suppose. He’s got a craving to go back to Brookhurst and that bothers me.”

  Allison’s eyes rounded. “Really? You’d think he’d have had enough of that place after what happened between him and Tina – you don’t suppose she’s back on the scene again, do you?”

  Mary shrugged. “Who knows, he hasn’t confided in me. I sincerely hope not, but we’ll just have to wait and see… Oh good! Those two have finally decided - let’s go and choose our desserts.”

  Chapter Seven

  Rhianna had a very quiet week-end, catching up on a few necessary chores and then spending time printing and enhancing the photographs she had taken at Brookhurst. She was pleased with the results. She now had a record of some of the places where her father had been as a child. After a lot of deliberation, she selected one of the photographs and began an oil painting.

  She was invited out for a drink with friends on Saturday evening, but they had known Marcus too and kept bringing him into the conversation, so it wasn’t that successful. She didn’t wish to be reminded of her disastrous relationship. She had moved on at last, and Marcus didn’t figure in her life any more.

  *

  Lawrence stood, arms folded, a broad grin on his face as he watched Rhianna handing out the pottery to a surge of children who had come to collect their items after school. Eventually, she was left with two small boys haggling over one mug.

  “Were you both in the same group?” she asked.

  They nodded. “So which of you is JS?”

  To Lawrence’s amusement, both lads pointed at each other.

  “Well, you can’t both be,” she said trying, not to look at Lawrence.

  “We can ‘cos he’s Jason Saunders and I’m Jake Smith,” one of them explained.

  Rhianna bit her lip. “I see – OK, but you don’t both own this mug so where’s the other one?”

  Hearing the exchange, Fiona unexpectedly came to the rescue. She was standing by the gallery door, where a fraught mother was chastising her son for picking up the wrong mug. Fiona extracted it from the child and waved it at Rhianna.

  “Mistaken mug identity – does this solve the problem?”

  “Hopefully, but where’s Tyler’s?”

  Fiona rummaged in one of the trays and held it up triumphantly.

  “Here you go, Tyler. Problem solved - it was mixed up with the wrong group.”

  Highly amused, Lawrence waited to see what would happen next.

  “Well, that’s lucky,” Rhianna said. “I was just about to chop this mug in half.”

  Jason and Jake gulped - eyes like saucers.

  “Now these two look identical,” Rhianna said, turning the mugs this way and that. Did you both sit next to one another?”

  The boys nodded. “That’s mine. It’s got an orange spot on it – see.”

  “So it has. Well, that’s useful, isn’t it? Now, if you two come again, I suggest you make your patterns different from each other’s, OK?”

  They nodded, fidgeted whilst she wrapped the mugs in tissue and, grabbing them, rushed outside to where their mothers, engrossed in conversation, were unaware of the minor drama.

  Lawrence laughed. “I didn’t realise I was going to get some free entertainment.”

  “It’s all right for you,” Rhianna told him. “You didn’t have to sort it out!”

  But his merriment was contagious and she joined in.

  “Now we’d better find Katie’s mugs. Let’s hope they’re safe.”

  Fiona closed the gallery door and came across.

  “Oh it’s OK, I know where they are. I’ve put them out the back - out of harm’s way.”

  When she’d gone to find them Lawrence said, “Right, now it’s time you and I had a little chat, Rhianna.”

  “What about?” she asked - all too aware that it was down to her to put things right.

  “Oh, I think you know that – what on earth did I do to annoy you so much on Friday? You treated me as if I’d got the plague.”

  Before she could reply, Fiona returned with the mugs.

  “Rhia, can I leave you to lock up? I’m going to meet Dave at the leisure centre and I need to get changed. We can finish clearing away tomorrow.”

  “Absolutely, you get off. I’ll see to things here.”

  Fiona stood in the doorway. “Thanks – I owe you one. Bye, you two. Have fun!” she stood in the doorway and blew them a kiss.

  Rhianna busied herself stacking the trays. “I’m just going to take these out to the shed,” she told Lawrence.

  He picked up the rest of them and followed her outside. She stacked them tidily in the shed and locked the door.

  “Is Fiona always like that?” he wanted to know.

  “Like what?”

  “So bubbly and high spirited.”

  “Mostly. She’s a happy-go-lucky sort of person.”

  He followed her back down the path into the gallery. She turned the key and bolted the door. When she turned round he was blocking her path.

  “Rhianna – exactly what have I done? I can’t put it right unless you tell me. I thought we were friends.”

  “We are – it’s all my fault.” Rhianna said miserably. “When I saw you with Katie last Friday – I thought that…”

  He frowned. “You thought what?” Light slowly dawned. “Wait a minute - surely you didn’t think Katie was my little girl?”

  She nodded, colouring slightly. “But now Fiona’s explained she’s your niece and…”

  His eyes darkened. “And would it have been such a problem if she had been my child?”

  “No – of course not. It’s not that.” She hastened to assure him. “It’s just that - I thought you hadn’t been upfront with me - that you’d got an ex-wife or another partner.”

  “Oh, Rhia, what am I going to do with you?” he asked softly and, suddenly, she was in his arms and he was kissing her gently. He stroked her hair, traced the outline of her face. She floated away on a cloud of ecstasy.

  A sudden noise from the gallery sent them hurrying in. A bespectacled, middle-aged man was wandering round.

  “I’m sorry, we’re closed,” Rhianna told him.

  “Door was open. I spoke to your colleague the other day. She told me that a Miss Soames doesn’t work here, but I’ve got reason to believe otherwise.”

  He waved the Brookhurst Weekly News under their faces.

  Rhianna sighed. “My name is Rhianna Delroy. Fiona Field and I own this gallery… And you are?”

  He ignored this. “So you weren’t the lady who was mixed up in that post office raid then?”

  “I was in Brookhurst at the time, yes, but I don’t wish to say anything more.”

  “Right. Well, if you should change your mind- here’s my card.”

  He stretched out his hand. “Les Phelps.”

  He stood in the doorway for a moment. “There is a rumour going round that you were in Brookhurst, visiting your grandmother that you’d never met before. Now, that would make a great human interest story. I suppose you wouldn’t…”

  “No, she wouldn’t,” Lawrence said firmly. “We’ve already had the reporters here doing a feature for the gallery and that’s sufficient. Now, if you wouldn’t mind leaving.”

  He held open the door and locked it behind the repor
ter when he’d gone.

  Rhianna looked ashen-faced. “This is such a nightmare. I keep thinking I’ll wake up and find it was all a dream.”

  “Does that include me?”

  “No, of course not,” she said unsteadily.

  “Then can I take you out for a meal tomorrow evening? I saw a rather nice Italian restaurant on the way here.”

  “Yes, please that would be lovely,” she breathed, her heart thumping wildly.

  He stooped and kissed the tip of her nose and, unlocking the door, again, disappeared into the night.

  Wednesday was always a busy day for the online business. The delivery van usually arrived mid-morning. Rhianna and Fiona sorted out orders, packed them up and did some book-keeping. The business was booming, which was a good thing as, apart from the workshops, the gallery was very quiet.

  “So did you manage to sort things out with Laurie?” Fiona wanted to know, as they took a breather in the middle of the morning.

  Fiona’s eyes rounded when Rhianna told her about her date that evening.

  “He’s taking you to that new Italian place. Wow! He’s got good taste. I wouldn’t mind going there myself. What are you going to wear?”

  Rhianna frowned. “Haven’t got a clue. I had a look through my wardrobe last night, but everything reminds me of an occasion when I went out with Marcus.”

  Fiona rolled her eyes. “Come on Rhia. You’ve got masses of lovely clothes. There must be something? I’d offer to come and help you sort something out, but I’ve got a hot date myself. Actually, I was going to ask you if you could spare me tomorrow. Dave’s got some flexi time to use up and we could go up to town for the day.”

  “Of course. I can’t very well refuse, can I, after all the covering you’ve done for me recently. Look let’s leave the posting until tomorrow. Then we can finish early and I’ll do it first thing.”

  Back home, Rhianna finally decided to wear a kingfisher blue skirt with an embroidered top. She added a matching shrug, swept her hair up into what she hoped was a sophisticated style and carefully applied her make-up.

  She was ready far too early and kept peering anxiously out of the window. What if he’d changed his mind and didn’t turn up? Marcus had been a dreadful time-keeper. But Lawrence was punctual. He looked incredibly handsome in dark blue trousers and jacket, a crisp white open-necked shirt beneath.

  “I like the way you’ve done your hair,” he told her.

  Rhianna smiled. “Thanks, you scrub up well yourself.”

  The Italian restaurant was superb. Over their pasta, they talked about their tastes in music, recent films they’d seen and then, inevitably, the conversation turned to art. There were a couple of things Lawrence wanted to ask her, but he wasn’t sure if the time was right. In the end he decided to play things by ear.

  “Would it be OK if I dropped into the gallery sometime soon? I want to run something past you and Fiona. Is there any chance of a meeting?”

  Rhianna stared at him. “That sounds mysterious. Well, I’m on my own tomorrow - would Friday or Saturday morning do - or is that too soon?”

  “I can’t manage Saturday - promised to do something for my mum - but Friday afternoon would be OK.”

  She couldn’t begin to imagine what it was he wanted to talk to them about and he didn’t give her any clues. The more she got to know Laurence the more she grew to like him. She knew there was an attraction between them and seemed powerless to prevent it.

  Lawrence finished his mouthful of penne primavera. “Great, and - when I come on Friday - d’you think I could take a look at the portrait of Anna Soames?”

  “Yes, you’re welcome. Perhaps you can see what all the fuss is about, because I can’t and it’s beginning to bug me.”

  “I’ll do my best. I’m curious to take a look and see if I can discover who the artist was.” Lawrence picked up the dessert menu. “And your father didn’t mention it?”

  “No, I didn’t even know of the portrait’s existence until he’d died.”

  Over dessert - luscious fruit tartlets and cream - Rhianna found herself telling him about the sketchbook her grandmother had given her.

  “We’re thinking of having another exhibition of my father’s work before long,” she told him. “He was such a talented artist.”

  “It’s obviously in the genes. Your father and grandfather have passed it on to you.”

  “You haven’t seen any of my work yet,” she protested.

  “No, I’m looking forward to that. How are the photographs coming on?”

  “Good – even though I say it myself. I’m hoping to take some to Brookhurst soon to give to Letitia. I was going to post them, but it would be much nicer to give them to her in person.”

  “She’d like that. She’s thrilled that you’ve made contact with her.”

  Rhianna smiled at him. “And I’m pretty made up too. I thought I was all alone in the world and suddenly I discover I’ve got a grandmother. How amazing is that?”

  He reached out and placed his hand over hers on the table. She smiled her heart beating a wild tattoo. His eyes met hers steadily.

  “It’s just a pity you didn’t get to know your grandfather,” he said.

  She pulled her hand away abruptly. “You’re joking! I don’t want to know anything about that hateful man and his rubbish paintings.”

  Lawrence sighed. “Right - I wish I could convince you that he wasn’t all bad, Rhianna. Whatever happened between him and your father must have been very serious, I agree, but I have to judge Reg from the way he treated me. And - just for the record - he was a good artist.”

  “Well, if the stuff at Wisteria Lodge is anything to go by, my father was ten times better than him,” she said pettishly. “I thought the paintings were drab and totally uninspiring.”

  He spread his hands. “Well, I’ll grant you they’re not his best work, but in his day, his work was popular and respected. If it hadn’t been for your grandfather, I would never have got off the ground as an artist.”

  She stared at him. “So how did you get to know him – through Tina?”

  “No, actually it was the other way round. I was working in a large office block in London. Reg had been commissioned to do some murals for the entrance foyer and the boardroom. I think if you could have seen them you’d have change your mind about his work.”

  “If you say so.” She slowly dissected a strawberry.

  “We had a sort of unveiling ceremony. You know the sort of thing – wine and nibbles. Letitia didn’t like going to London so Tina went in her place. That’s how I came to meet her and Reg.”

  He paused to drink some wine and Rhianna asked, “So that was it? Love at first sight?”

  He shook his head. “No – Reg offered to take a look at my work and told me about a summer school he was running in Kent. I managed to get a place on it. He was a good teacher – helpful and constructive. He pointed me in the right direction and I’ll always be grateful for that.”

  He paused choosing his words carefully. “We kept in touch and, when he had an exhibition the next time round, included some of my work. Tina was there and - inevitably - we got chatting and, well, the rest’s history.”

  Rhianna was silent, as she reflected that her grandfather had been prepared to help others, but not his own son. Perhaps he’d been trying to salve a guilty conscience. Her mother had told her that when she and her father were first married it had been difficult to make ends meet.

  Over cappuccinos, Lawrence wished the subject of Reg Delroy had never come up. It was obvious that Rhianna was prejudiced towards her grandfather and blamed him for the family break up.

  Lawrence stared into his coffee. Perhaps if he’d been in her shoes he would have reacted in the same way. He knew he was lucky coming from such a close family. He hoped that one day Letitia would feel able to talk to Rhianna about what had happened all those years ago; even though she obviously didn’t know the exact truth herself.

  It was like treading on
eggshells where Rhianna was concerned. He realised that he would have to go very gently. It was a pity because Reg had been a very approachable, likeable sort of guy.

  Rhianna was very like him – feisty and spirited, but Lawrence could hardly tell her that. He racked his brains for a way of introducing a less controversial topic of conversation.

  “Fiona was telling me you might be running some art classes,” he said, suddenly inspired.

  Relieved, she got on to a safer topic and outlined their ideas.

  It was quite late when they arrived back at her home. She was wondering if she ought to ask him in for another coffee, but he solved the problem for her by saying, “I look forward to seeing you on Friday, Rhia. Thanks for this evening.”

  And, leaning across, he gave her a gentle kiss on the mouth, leaving her aching with longing.

  *

  Thursday was quiet. Rhianna loaded up her car with online orders and set off to the post office. After that, she spent a good part of the day finishing her oil painting of Brookhurst. She was pleased with the result. It showed the duck-pond with a row of cottages in the background and the church spire. A typical rural scene. She intended to give it to Letitia as a present when the exhibition was over.

  She’d just decided to pack away and call it a day when the gallery phone rang.

  ”Am I speaking to Rhianna Soames?” came a woman’s voice.

  She sighed. Not that again! This was getting beyond a joke.

  “No, there’s no-one of that name is here. This is Rhianna Delroy… And you are?”

  The woman at the other end of the line ignored this and said impatiently.

  “Soames, Delroy – whatever you call yourself. I’d like to give you a word of advice. Don’t interfere in matters that don’t concern you. I’d leave well alone, if you know what’s good for you.”

  Rhianna felt cold. She took a grip on herself. “Who are you and what do you want?” she asked, almost in a whisper. But the phone went dead.

  Rhianna’s hand was shaking. She made herself a coffee and taking it upstairs, packed away. The caller had withheld her number. If she phoned back again Rhianna decided she’d inform the police.

  *

  “It must have been some nutter,” Fiona said, when Rhianna told her about the incident the following morning. “Someone who’s got a grudge because we wouldn’t exhibit her work. D’you remember that eccentric woman with orange hair, who got uptight because we didn’t go into raptures over those weird animal pictures she’d painted?”