Despite her curiosity, Amber didn’t follow Rob outside. If ever there was a time to leave her friend alone, it was now.
And, she thought, casting around for her handbag, she had her own battles to fight. She checked her phone, which she’d turned to silent. There were unread messages from David and a number of missed calls. Well, he could wait. Battles, she thought, that might prove a whole lot bloodier than Flo’s.
As she was leaving, she heard the landline ring again. She wheeled her bike out of the garden and onto the road, remembering the first time she’d bumped into David there, and glanced toward the house where his sister lived part time. The blinds were down, presumably no one was home. She looked away suddenly. She’d promised her father she’d pick up some groceries.
Half-an-hour later Amber took a shortcut across the back lawn of Belendroit, ringing her bicycle bell madly. She waited for the expected barking and gamboling of the two cocker spaniels who ruled the house, but there was no sound.
She frowned as she leaned her bike against the tree and ran up the steps.
“Stanley! Boo! Pop!”
“I like how I come last in the pecking order,” her father called out from the study.
She laughed and walked down the hallway, dropping the bag of groceries on the kelim-covered chair as she went. “It’s because you don’t usually bark when I ring the bell.”
She stepped into the room and came to a dead standstill. There, at the desk her father only ever used to put things on, sat her father, glasses perched on the tip of his nose as he flicked through some papers. And standing with his back to the sunny French windows was the silhouette of a man, and not just any man. David. She’d recognize those broad shoulders anywhere. And, even more surprising, was that at his feet sat two cocker spaniels who both gazed at David, as if awaiting a command.
“David! I didn’t see your car.”
“I walked here.”
“Walked?”
“Yes, walked.”
“So, what are you doing here?”
“David’s here on business, darling. He’s getting involved in the museum trust.”
“Museum trust?”
Jim Connelly signed his name with a flourish and pushed away the papers and sat back. “Why do you keep repeating yourself, Amber?”
Amber ignored the question and walked straight past David. “Coffee, Pop?”
Jim glanced from her to David and then back to Amber again. “Yes, please. Have you got my things?” He rose and looked into the bag. “Thanks. How much do I owe you?”
Amber waved an airy hand as she went into the kitchen, conscious of two pairs of eyes watching her. “Nothing. You never owe me anything.”
“No wonder you never have any money,” Jim said with a sigh. “I’ll transfer it to your bank account.”
Amber shrugged. “Thanks,” she said vaguely. Money didn’t concern her, something her bank manager was always nagging her about. She flicked on the tap and filled the kettle with cold water. She could hear a murmur of conversation between her dad and David, and she wondered what they could be talking about, and what kind of connection David had with the museum trust. They’d hardly hit it off the first or second times, so how come they were behaving like best mates now?
She flicked off the water and listened for a moment, but their voices fell silent. She began unpacking the shopping and putting it away, knowing that it was rude to ignore David but still feeling aggrieved by the fact he’d treated her like a kid to be humored, rather than an adult who could compete in the real world. He obviously thought she couldn’t compete—not her, and certainly not her artwork. It was quiet in the other room, but still she lingered in the kitchen, waiting for the kettle to boil and then making some coffee. She got out some cups and turned around to place them on the table to find David silently watching her.
“You made me jump,” she said, taking milk out of the fridge. “Do you normally stand watching people in silence?”
“Only when they won’t talk to me. Besides, I was curious.”
“About me?” She turned to face him, crossed her arms and leaned back against the work bench. “I’m surprised. I wouldn’t have thought you’d think there was anything you didn’t know about me.”
He raised an eyebrow. “That sounds quite snarky, coming from you.”
“Well.” She turned away from him again and opened the cookie barrel, checking for non-stale cookies. “Then perhaps you don’t know all there is to know about me.”
“I never thought I did. What things do you think I should know?”
“That I’m not someone who needs help; that I’m an adult who should be treated like one; that, despite what it appears to my family and friends, I don’t need cosseting. David, I know you meant well, but what you did shows me exactly what you think of me and my artwork—precisely nothing. You didn’t think I stood a chance of selling anything in that exhibition, otherwise you wouldn’t have stepped in and bought everything.”
