‘It’s all been taken care of,’ he said slowly.
They walked along the river in silence, her face raw and tingling from the weight of his kiss, her body a twitching confused mass of desire. Every few steps Tabitha slowed, lifting her hand to her face, the sheer beauty of the jewel a necessary reminder that she wasn’t dreaming.
‘Look at that.’ The wonder in her voice stopped him momentarily and he joined her as she gazed at the chalking on the pavement. His eyes briefly flicked to the self-portrait, a mirror image of the young artist who sat beside his work, torture in his eyes, the pathetically thin body a mocking reminder of the unjust world in which they lived. An abundance of raw talent reduced to begging on the street. She half expected Zavier to deliver some derisive comment, to pull at her arm, discourage her from lingering; instead, to her infinite surprise, he nodded at the artist.#p#分页标题#e#
‘This is quite beautiful.’ There was no patronising undertone, no superiority, just genuine admiration. ‘Can you draw my fiancée?’ No price was discussed, no figures traded. Zavier’s word was his bond and the young man sensed it, gesturing Tabitha to sit down.
Embarrassed, she wanted to refuse, to walk away now, but it was too late for that. Already bony fingers were sharpening charcoal, those tortured eyes were studying her face, and Tabitha knew that leaving now would probably deny him a meal.
More than a meal, actually.
When Zavier took the rolled-up sheet she watched as he shook hands, then, peeling a large amount of notes, handed them to the artist without a word.
‘Can I at least see?’ she asked as Zavier motioned her to go.
Briefly he unrolled the work, deigning to give her the briefest of glances.
‘It’s beautiful.’ Tabitha flushed. ‘I don’t mean I’m beautiful, just the drawing.’
‘That’s talent for you.’
‘Aiden sold a painting.’ His step quickened at the mention of his brother’s name and Tabitha had to half run to keep up with him. ‘He’s talented as well.’
‘Rubbish. Some no-name who probably knows nothing about art happened to buy a picture.’
‘Why are you so scathing of him?’
‘Because I hate waste,’ Zavier spat. ‘I hate to see him throwing his life away, chasing dreams, not facing up to his responsibilities.’
‘Why?’
‘Why?’ He spun around then, his hand gripping her arm. ‘Don’t you think I have dreams, Tabitha? Do you really think that sitting in an office staring at stock markets is where I want to be every day?’
‘But you love your work,’ she interrupted.
‘Says who? Aiden? My mother?’ His eyes flashed and his hands moved in unusual animation. ‘They’re wrong.’
‘Then why do it?’
A small hollow laugh escaped his taut mouth. ‘My father put his life into that business, but even when he retired, lucrative as it was, it wasn’t going to keep my family in jewels and furs and mansions for the rest of their lives. It wasn’t going to keep Aiden in Scotch and designer suits. I’ve turned it into a bloody empire, ensured my family have carried on living the lives they’re used to. If I’d walked away, bummed out like Aiden did, sure we wouldn’t have starved—but there wouldn’t have been the trappings there are now.’
‘So?’ Her words seemed to incense him, but Tabitha carried on talking quickly, determined to have her say. ‘Money’s not everything. I know you think I’m a gold-digger, but I know this much—if you didn’t want to do it you wouldn’t be there.’
‘You mean I should walk away and watch my father’s dream evaporate, along with my parents’ marriage?’
‘Surely there’s more to them than just money?’
‘Maybe, but my mother has never looked at a price tag in her married life, never thought twice about refurbishing the house, putting in a pool or a tennis court, and somehow I can’t quite picture her sticking around if the going gets tough. If Aiden had just met me somewhere in the middle, put in a couple of days a week, maybe we both could have had a life outside the business.’
There were two sides to every story, Tabitha realised. Aiden’s bohemian lifestyle didn’t sound quite so romantic now. Chasing his dream had cost his brother dear, and she could almost see the selfishness in her friend’s actions.
Almost.
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‘He’s got talent, Zavier,’ Tabitha said urgently. ‘It isn’t just a dream.’
‘Said the dancer to the stockbroker.’ His voice was dripping with sarcasm, but Tabitha refused to be deflected.