The ceiling was breathtaking. The decorative plasterwork had been restored, not stripped away as she had feared. The mouldings flowed seamlessly into one another, intricate and elegant, framing the spaces where the old chandeliers now hung, cleaned and rehung, catching the light.
Bridie turned slowly on the spot, afraid to blink in case it vanished.
Jack watched her carefully. ‘You like it?’
‘Like it?’ she breathed. ‘Jack, this is … this is everything I wanted.’
He exhaled, relief evident. ‘Good. Because you were right. Ripping everything out would’ve been a crime.’
She stared at him. ‘Did you really just say that?’
‘Don’t get used to it. I still prefer newbuilds.’
She laughed, then caught sight of the plasterwork again. ‘Who did this?’
‘I employed an artisan plasterer.’
Bridie had never heard of such a thing. ‘I didn’t even know artisan plasterers existed.’
‘They do,’ Jack said lightly. ‘And this one specialises in decorative mouldings. Bespoke designs.’
‘But this matches exactly.’
‘It does. And then he added his own touches, where it made sense.’
She turned to him, frowning. ‘Where on earth did you find him? And at such short notice?’
Jack shrugged. ‘You’d be surprised who you can get hold of at short notice if they are offered the right inducement.’
‘You mean money.’
He didn’t deny it.
Her joy dimmed slightly, worry creeping in beneath the awe. She loved what he’d done, but would the theatre ticket sales recoup the investment in the theatre, and if not, how could she possibly repay him?
‘Jack … how much is all this costing?’
He waved the question away. ‘Let me show you the rest.’
The painters were mid-job, ladders propped against walls, paint pots and rollers scattered about. The smell of fresh paint hung in the air.
Jack stopped beside a row of seats that were still covered in dust sheets. ‘There’s one more thing.’ He reached down and slowly pulled the dust sheet back.
Bridie’s breath caught. The seats –herseats – were magnificent. The red velvet gleamed rich and deep, the wood was polished, every tear and broken hinge were gone. They looked brand new, yet unmistakably original.
Jack grinned. ‘And under all the other dust sheets … the same.’
She sank into the nearest seat, stunned. ‘How did you even…?’ Then she laughed softly, shaking her head. ‘No, don’t tell me. I know. I’d be surprised who you could get hold of at short notice if given the right inducement.’
He nodded. ‘Specialist furniture restorers. They worked miracles.’
She stood abruptly and crossed the aisle, throwing her arms around him before she could think better of it. ‘Thank you,’ she whispered, emotion thick in her throat. ‘This is … it’s you, isn’t it?’
Jack stiffened. He gently took her wrists and lowered her arms, stepping back. The moment was lost, leaving an awkward silence in its wake. ‘I think,’ he said carefully, ‘I’d better go.’
‘Yes. Me too,’ she said quickly, disappointment blooming despite herself. ‘It’s getting late.’
They walked through to the foyer in silence. Bridie’s thoughts churned.Why did I say that?Had he thought she meant … had she ruined everything?
