Restless Nights. CATHERINE GEORGE
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left her alone with her father.
Harry Brett shook his head in disapproval. ‘What is your problem with Adam?’
‘What problem?’ she said innocently.
‘Come on, this is your old dad you’re talking to! For some reason you don’t like Adam. Why?’
‘I don’t have to like your clients to work for them.’ She patted his hand. ‘It’s nothing personal, Dad. I suppose we rather got off on the wrong foot because he expected me to drop everything to work on his precious sleeper. If that’s what it turns out to be,’ she added.
‘Do you think he’s right?’ said Harry.
‘Quite possibly. The canvas is certainly old enough. I’ll report my progress tomorrow night.’ Gabriel looked at him in appeal. ‘Dad, I’m sorry I can’t make it in the afternoons as well—’
‘My dear child, you’re doing far too much as it is. Don’t worry. Mrs Austin’s daughter brings her in every afternoon.’ His eyes twinkled. ‘The ladies see I’m not neglected.’
‘Did they bring you that enormous basket of fruit over there?’
‘No. Adam brought that—plus a new thriller. And now you’ve got that look on your face again,’ he said, shaking his head at her.
‘Sorry, Dad. He lends you money, brings you expensive presents—I suppose I’m just plain jealous.’ She smiled ruefully. ‘Actually, it was very good of Adam. Though his offerings rather put my homemade biscuits in the shade.’
‘Not to me,’ said Harry, so lovingly Gabriel had to swallow a lump in her throat and pretend interest in the new novel to disguise it.
‘How are things?’ asked Laura Brett later, during their nightly phone call.
‘Dad’s looking good, but—’
‘What’s wrong?’
‘I had a word with the ward sister on my way out. If Dad does come home next week it’s vital he has complete rest.’
‘And we both know that the moment he’s back at the ranch he’ll be out in that barn, getting up to all kinds of mischief instead of behaving like a sensible invalid.’
‘Exactly.’
‘Let me think about it for a while. Maybe I can help.’
‘Don’t offer money, Mother!’
‘As if I would,’ said Laura, laughing. ‘Besides, Harry’s not that broke, surely?’
Gabriel hoped not. ‘His restoration work certainly doesn’t come cheap.’
‘So what are you labouring on right now?’
‘I’m restoring a portrait for Adam Dysart.’
Her mother whistled inelegantly. ‘Are we talking about the Adam Dysart?’
‘The one and only. Dad’s blue-eyed boy.’
‘So you’ve met him again at long last. What’s he like?’
‘Tall, dark, and full of the self-confidence you’d expect from the man who has everything.’
‘You don’t like him, obviously. But then, your father’s been singing his praises to you for so many years you’re bound to be prejudiced against him.’
‘Adam was there in the ward when I visited tonight. Took Dad an enormous basket of fruit and a brand-new thriller,’ said Gabriel, depressed.
‘Is he married?’ asked Laura.
‘What’s that got to do with anything? But as it happens he isn’t. He’s just broken off a relationship with someone.’
‘How do you know that?’
‘He told me.’
‘Then you must have had some conversation with him.’
‘He came round last night to ask after Dad. And this morning to bring the picture. And he’ll be back tomorrow, and every other tomorrow until I’ve finished, to check on the work in progress.’
‘In that case, darling, make sure you charge the earth for your services. It sounds as though you’ll earn it!’
CHAPTER THREE
BY LATE afternoon next day Gabriel’s efforts had removed much of the grime from the painting. A check on the back of the canvas in the first stages had confirmed that there was no serious cracking, and she had completed a second round of cleaning by the time Adam Dysart appeared, just as her henchmen were clearing up for the night.
This time Gabriel was so weary she greeted Adam without hostility or emotion of any kind. She took off her baseball cap to thrust a hand through her hair, conscious that she must reek of white spirit as she beckoned Adam across to the painting lying tilted slightly on its stand.
‘I’m sure you know that at this stage our mystery lady looks rather worse than when I started, because the spirit leaves white patches as it dries,’ she began, and he nodded, unconcerned.
‘But she’s waking up,’ he said with relish, his eyes drawn in fascination to the face now more visible in the painting. The girl’s violet eyes shone out from the murky background, something in her expression rousing such a discernible response in the man looking at her that Gabriel eyed him curiously, wondering if Adam Dysart always felt this way during the restoration process. He dragged his eyes away from the painted face with effort, and glanced down at the sea of cotton wool swabs surrounding Gabriel’s bench. ‘There was obviously a lot to clean off.’
She nodded, eyeing the canvas speculatively. ‘But oddly enough not what I’ve come to expect. A painting of this age—and it is old—has usually suffered from the effects of coal fires, candles, soot, tobacco—sometimes even grease from cooking. But not this one. You mentioned attics, and I bet that’s where our lady’s been hiding, accumulating layers of dust and cobwebs in the process ever since she was painted. I’m beginning to think that she’s never seen the light of day—or any other kind of light—until the house clearance.’
Adam’s eyes, bright with speculation, met hers. ‘Do you think the subject hid it in the attic herself?’
‘Or someone else did, maybe out of malice.’ They turned to gaze down at the face in the painting as though expecting an answer from it.
‘I’ve discovered where she came from—a small manor house in Herefordshire,’ said Adam, his shoulder in contact with Gabriel’s as they leaned over the portrait. ‘It was sold recently to start a new life as a retirement home. An elderly lady lived alone in it the last few years.’
‘Poor thing,’ said Gabriel with feeling.
Adam eyed her sharply. ‘Is living alone here getting to you?’
‘A little, yes.’ She shrugged. ‘Thank goodness it’s summer, and the evenings are long.’
‘Does Harry know you feel like this?’
‘Certainly not!’ She speared him with a cold blue look. ‘And please don’t tell him.’
‘Of course I won’t tell him,’ he snapped. ‘Adding to any worry for your father is the last thing I’d do. I’m very fond of him.’
‘He’s fond of you, too,’ she said, resigned.
‘And you take exception to that.’
Gabriel was saved from lying by the reappearance of Wayne and Eddie with the safe keys.
‘Shall we take the portrait now?’ asked Wayne.
Gabriel looked at her watch in remorse. ‘No. I’ll see to it. You two get off. I didn’t realise it was so late.’
‘I’ll