They were both interested in Emma Hadley’s history of Hadley Chase so she invited them to the open house on Saturday. Maybe she should invite Freddie, the art dealer, too. If she could sell the book, the paintings and the house in one day she would become a legend.
Meanwhile, acceptances to the open house were coming in; even the regional television news magazine were hoping to send a team. No response yet from the Country Chronicle despite personal notes to both the editor and the advertising manager who, in her opinion, owed Darius a two-page feature at the very least.
She checked a missed call from her mother, a response to the text to her Dad. She’d left a voicemail expressing disbelief that her daughter had spent the night alone in a house that was miles from anywhere. If she’d known, if she’d told her, she stressed, she would have come on ahead of her father.
Normally the suggestion that she couldn’t cope would have infuriated her. Instead, she found herself in total agreement. Last night, she would have totally welcomed her mother’s company. She was smiling at that thought when she realised that someone was standing on the far side of the table.
Expecting it to be the girl wanting to clear her coffee, she said, ‘I’m done.’ Then, when she didn’t begin to clear she looked up and her heart stopped.
‘Darius...’ Her vocal cords seemed to be in some disarray, too. ‘I...um... How did you get here?’
‘I took a train to Swindon,’ he said, ‘and then caught the bus. Piece of cake.’
He should have smiled then, but he didn’t.
‘You’ve still got Gary’s car,’ she said as her brain, buffering the emotion dump, the rush of sensations, images of him racing through her memory like a speeded-up film, finally caught up.
‘It needed servicing.’
‘Don’t tell me,’ she said, ‘you’re not just Darius Hadley, sculptor. You moonlight as Mike, the man who repairs cars while you wait.’
Smile now. Smile, pull out a chair, sit down, tell me why you’re here. Please...
‘I spotted the Land Rover as I drove through the village.’ No smile. Still standing.
‘I’ve been organising supplies for the week and stopped to use the Wi-Fi.’ She gestured vaguely at the open laptop. ‘If you’re stopping, will you sit down? I’m getting a crick in my neck.’
He pulled out the chair opposite and one of his knees brushed against hers as he sat down but he moved it before she could catch her breath and shift hers.
‘Would you like some coffee?’ she asked.
He shook his head.
Could this be any more awkward?
‘I’ve...um...got a publisher interested in your grandmother’s history,’ she said, her legs trembling with the strain as she tucked her feet back as far as they would go so that she didn’t accidentally touch him.
‘Then my troubles are over.’
Sarcasm she could do without. This she could do without.
‘Why are you here, Darius?’
‘Why did you send the drawing back?’