“I hope so.”
“Goodbye, sweetheart.”
“Bye, Battle.”
We disconnected.
I tapped my phone on my smiling lips.
Then I got up and went back to the windows.
Chastity had moved further into the garden in the direction Christian went. However, now I could only see her frizzy hair.
It was like she was following him.
“Seems the tables have turned,” I said to the cats (Gingerface had claimed a precarious perch on the top of a crate). “Or maybe Christian’s playing a clever game. Hmm.”
Since I had a book to write, I had no choice but to let that go and get down to it.
That evening after dinner, Prue and I were in the smoking room, which had been turned into the television room.
It wasn’t until then that I noted The Downs had an underabundance of TVs. I didn’t have one in my room. Battle didn’t have one in his either. The only rooms I’d seen them in was this one, the games room (where the TV was ginormous, like lowkey home theater ginormous), and the study.
It was the first time I’d watched TV since I came to England.
There was something freeing about that. Something even triumphant, living a life so full you didn’t turn to mindless things like the telly to fill it.
But it was still nice to laze on a comfy couch with a friend, sharing a bowl of after-dinner popcorn that Fitzy brought us and watching old episodes of Rosemary and Thyme.
I’d never seen it.
It had broad hints of goofy, but it was also very charming, and Laura was a scream.
We were at the end of one episode, waiting for the next one to come up, when I broached it.
“I saw the portrait of Battle you painted in his bedroom.”
I did it casually, not even looking at her, but I felt the tenseness in the air after I said it.
“Girl, that portrait is unbelievable,” I enthused “I, like, instantly started weeping when I saw it. Battle had to comfort me. It’s so beautiful, and it captures him so perfectly. It’s the epitome of why abstract art is so powerful. If you understand the meaning, it will blow you away.”
“You started weeping?”
I turned to her. “Totally. Battle told me he was moved by it, and it hangs in his room, he sees it all the time. But I could tell, he wasn’t moved by it. He’s moved by it. Still. And sister,”—I smiled at her—“that room is as minimalist as it comes, and the man displays it there. Pride of place. The focal point of the whole room. I would say not only does it move him, he treasures it. I had no idea you painted. But you’ve immense talent.”
I was hoping this didn’t come off as a why-didn’t-you-tell-me whine.
I was also hoping it would open the door to her sharing more.
“I love it that you reacted so strongly to it, Vivi,” she said timidly.
“I hope you have more,” I said leadingly.
“I…fiddle.”
“Well, if you ever want to show me, I want to see it.”
She curled her shoulders in.
