The Lavender Garden (50 page)

“Really? I wonder why he didn’t call to warn me. I wasn’t expecting anyone.”

“No, I said I’d come immediately . . . because I am leaving to go back to France tomorrow and I wanted to see your work before I did. Please, you can contact him if you wish. He would tell you it is the truth.”

In the pause that followed, Emilie only hoped what she’d said was enough to gain her entry.

“You’d better come up, then.”

The buzzer sounded and the door opened. Emilie took the large, gated lift up to the third floor, walked out into a corridor, and saw that the door to number nine was already ajar. Garnering her courage, Emilie knocked on it.

“Come in, I’m just trying to clean the paint off me,” called a voice.

Emilie stepped inside the vast loft, the huge windows giving a panoramic vista of the Thames. One end of the room was obviously where Bella painted, the rest of it divided into an area with sofas and a kitchen.

“Hello.” A strikingly beautiful girl with jet-black hair emerged from a door. The paint splatters on her skintight, faded jeans and T-shirt did nothing to detract from her sylph-like figure. “Sorry, your name is?”

“My name is Emilie. Are you alone or am I interrupting you?” She needed to know immediately if Sebastian was actually there.

“No, I’m alone,” Bella confirmed. “Well, Emilie, it’s very good of you to come out all this way to see my work. I’d offer you some tea, but I’m pretty sure I’ve run out of milk. And to be frank, I haven’t got much to show you, either. I’ve been getting quite a lot of private commissions recently.” She smiled, showing a perfect set of white teeth.

“Who is your agent?” Emilie inquired politely.

“Sebastian Carruthers, but I’m sure you won’t have heard of him. Anyway, come and have a look at what I’ve got.”

“Before I do, may I use your bathroom?”

“Of course, it’s just along the corridor on the right.”

“Thank you.”

Emilie walked out of the room and along the corridor as instructed. The three doors were all ajar. The first one housed a large, unmade double bed. Emilie gasped in horror as she saw Sebastian’s suitcase sitting on a chair, his favorite pink shirt in a heap on the floor, entangled with discarded feminine underwear.

Moving along the corridor, she saw the next room was used for storage, with books, paintings, a vacuum cleaner, and a rail of clothes taking up its limited space. There was certainly no room for a bed in this “boxroom,” Emilie thought grimly. Staggering slightly, she entered the bathroom, closed the door behind her, and locked it. On the shelf over the sink sat Sebastian’s toilet bag, containing his shaving kit and aftershave. His blue toothbrush was abandoned on the basin.

Emilie sat down on the toilet seat, brutally trying to push away emotion and think logically what she should do from here. Even though her instinct was to leave the apartment instantly and run, she knew she must use this moment to glean as much information from the horse’s
mouth as she possibly could. Confronting Sebastian later would only result in the usual veil of lies and deceit. Standing up and flushing the unused toilet, she turned and walked back out of the bathroom and into the sitting room.

“Look,” Bella called, “the sun’s past the yardarm, I’m out of milk for tea and gagging for a glass of wine. Will you join me?”

“Okay, thank you.”

“Feel free to wander down to the studio and take a look at the paintings,” Bella said as she walked toward the kitchen.

Emilie did so and, despite herself, saw that Bella was an extremely accomplished artist. The paintings had a life and vibrancy that couldn’t be taught.

“Come and sit down for a bit.” Bella patted the comfortable leather sofa. “I’ve been painting all day, so it’s nice to take the weight off my feet for a while. What do you think?” She indicated the current painting on her easel, a lively splash of huge purple irises. “Obviously, as the artist, I’m massively critical and full of self-doubt, but I think it’s going rather well.”

“I love it,” said Emilie genuinely, sitting down.

“I’m afraid you can’t have it as it’s a commission for some city guy Sebastian met. But I could certainly paint you one similar if you wished. Not for the next three months, mind you, I’m fully booked.”

“I would definitely be interested. What do you charge?”

“Oh, Sebastian deals with all that, you’d have to speak to him.” Bella waved the question away airily. “I think it’s normally between five and twenty thousand, depending on the size of the canvas.”

“It’s a shame you must pay someone to do that for you when I’m sitting here right now and we could agree a price.”

“I know.” Bella nodded. “Agents are all vultures, feeding off the talent of us artists, but at least it’s sort of ‘in the family’ in my case. Which helps.”

“Sorry, it is my bad English.” Emilie forced a smile. “You mean Sebastian is a relative of yours?”

“Not a relative, exactly. More—how would you say it in French?—
mon amour
.”

“Ah yes.” Emilie faked remembrance. “I believe Monsieur Jonathan said he was your boyfriend.”

“Well, I wouldn’t go that far.” Bella chuckled. “But Seb and I have had one of those ‘things’ for years. We met ages ago when he came to view my final show at St. Martins. He stays with me when he’s in town. It’s very relaxed. More wine?”

“Why not?” Emilie watched as Bella poured a trickle into her glass and filled up her own.

“Between you and me,” Bella confided, “he’s recently married and I’d presumed our comfortable arrangement would be at an end. But it seems it isn’t. Anyway, I’m digressing.” Bella took another gulp of her wine.

“Do you not mind that he is married?” Emilie asked, feigning interest.

“To be honest, my motto is that life’s too short to chain one person to another. Seb and I have a relationship that works very well. It suits us both. He knows I have other lovers too.” Bella shrugged. “And I’m not really the jealous type. Mind you, I am surprised he married. I haven’t really asked him the details. I mean, I don’t even know his wife’s name because that’s not our style, but I gather she’s quite wealthy. He turned up here a couple of weeks after he’d tied the knot with her and gave me a beautiful Cartier diamond necklace.” Bella’s hand went instinctively to touch the exquisite solitaire placed around her swanlike neck. “He also found a Matisse in his wife’s house, for which he earned a serious commission when he sold it. He bought himself a new Porsche out of the proceeds, which he loves cruising around London in. Bless him.” Bella sighed. “He’s been in debt ever since I knew him. He’s absolutely useless with money—whatever he has, he spends—but he’s always got by somehow.”

“So you’re not dependent on him financially?”

“God, no”—Bella rolled her eyes—“now that
would
be a disaster! If anything, it’s the other way round, actually. I’m lucky enough to have parents who are wealthy enough to support me and my ambition of becoming a successful artist. Which, as I’m sure you know, is bloody hard. However, just in the last few months I’ve been able to tell them that I’m making enough through my painting not to need their monthly check. That was a real moment of triumph, as you can imagine.” Bella smiled.

“I see.” Emilie knew she had reached her limit and could take no more. She needed to bring this cozy tête-à-tête to a conclusion. “Then perhaps I can help your journey toward independence. I would very much like to commission you, Bella. So you must put me in touch with Sebastian and we can arrange the price. Will you be seeing him soon?”

“He’s got some meeting with a possible client early this evening, but he’ll be home later tonight. If you write down your number, I’ll tell him to give you a call. I know he’s leaving tomorrow evening to go back to the ghastly pile he inherited in Yorkshire. And the wife.” Bella rolled her eyes conspiratorially. “Anyway, it suits me—I get my weekends all to myself. I’ll find you some paper so you can write down your number.”

“Okay.”

“Would you mind if we kept Jonathan Maxwell and the gallery out of it? Technically, as he introduced us, he may well expect some commission. I won’t mention you turned up here if you don’t, and it means we can offer you a better price.”

“Of course.” Emilie nodded as Bella went to the kitchen and rummaged for a piece of scrap paper in a drawer.

“Here.” Bella handed it to her.

Emilie paused, then carefully wrote down her full name, number, and address in France. She placed it on the table. Then she rose. “It’s been . . . interesting to meet you, Bella. I wish you good luck with your future. I’m sure you will be very successful. You are a talented woman.”

“Thank you.” Bella accompanied Emilie to the door. “It’s been a pleasure to meet you too. I really hope we’ll meet again soon.”

“Yes.” On a whim, Emilie put her hand on Bella’s forearm. “I think you are a good person, Bella. Take care.”

With that, Emilie turned and walked out of the apartment.

I
t was almost midnight when Emilie arrived at Blackmoor Hall. She’d taken a taxi from York station—the Land Rover was still at the airport and Sebastian could go and retrieve it if he wished. It was no longer her concern.

She was glad Alex’s light was still shining from his corner of the building—she’d be leaving early the next morning and she wanted to say good-bye to him.

Walking through the house, she knocked on the door of his apartment.

“Come in, Em,” he called. “You’re late home. Did you miss your flight?”

Alex was sitting on the sofa, reading a book.

“No. I’ve been to London.”

Alex took in Emilie’s wide eyes and drawn features. “What’s happened?” he asked in concern.

“I came to tell you that I’m leaving for France tomorrow. Sebastian and I will be getting a divorce as soon as I can arrange it.”

“Right,” Alex said with a sigh. “Any particular reason?”

“I visited his long-term lover in London today. And saw my husband’s current sleeping arrangements for myself.”

“I see. Shall I get the brandy?”

“No, I will.”

Emilie marched into the kitchen and returned with the bottle and two glasses. “Did you know of her?” she asked as she poured the brandy and handed him a glass.

“Yes.”

“And were you aware Sebastian was still carrying on his affair with her after he married me?”

“I suspected it when he started to disappear off to London so frequently and didn’t take you with him, but I wasn’t sure.”

“And you didn’t think to tell me, Alex? I thought we were friends!” she cried.

“Emilie, please, that’s unfair!” He was shaken at her vehemence. “Sebastian was painting me as a total liability, who lied and cheated and would do anything to sully his name. Do you really think you’d have believed me if I had?”

“No.” Emilie took a large sip of the brandy. “You’re right, I wouldn’t have done. Sorry.” She put her fingers to her forehead. “It’s been a stressful day.”

“The mistress of understatement.” Alex smiled wryly. “Does Sebastian know that you’ve paid a call to his girlfriend?”

“I haven’t switched on my mobile since I left London, so I have no idea.” She shrugged.

“Did you tell Bella who you are?”

Emilie stared at Alex. The fact that he knew Bella’s name, that she’d obviously been such a big part of Sebastian’s life, threatened to break her hard-won calm. “No. I said I wanted to commission her, so she asked me to write down my full name, address, and telephone number. So I did. She promised to give it to Sebastian when he arrived . . . ‘home.’ ”

Whatever reaction she had been expecting from Alex, it was not his throwing back his head and roaring with laughter.

“Oh! Brilliant, Em! Just brilliant! Sorry”—he wiped the tears from his eyes—“Inappropriate reaction. My God, that was a masterstroke. And so typically you: low-key, subtle, elegant . . . beautiful. Just beautiful,” he added admiringly. “Can you imagine Seb’s face when Bella hands him that piece of paper with your name and number on it?”

“Alex”—Emilie sighed—“I don’t care what he thinks. I simply want to leave this house as soon as I can and go home.”

Alex’s expression changed. “Yes, of course you do,” he said soberly. “Look, can you understand that I’ve been between a rock and a hard place from the moment you arrived? I was obviously hoping that Seb really had found someone he loved.”

“Well, if he can love anybody other than himself, it’s Bella. She’s beautiful and very talented. If it wasn’t for the fact that she was my husband’s lover, I would seriously consider commissioning her.” Emilie managed her first, albeit grim, smile of the day. “Have you met her?”

“Yes. Before you married him, she’d sometimes come here at weekends.” Alex studied her. “My God, Em, you’re amazing. How are you able to deal with this?”

“It’s very simple.” She shrugged. “Sebastian is not the person I fell in love with any longer. The feelings I originally had for him in France have died.”

“Then I salute you, even if I can’t totally believe you. You are . . . incredible. And I could happily strangle Seb with my own bare hands that he’s let you go.”

“Thank you,” she said, not looking at him. “I have one question to ask you before I leave.”

“And that is?”

“Why did your brother
marry
me? What is it, Alex, he wanted from me that he couldn’t already get from Bella, who told me she is also from a wealthy family?” Emilie shook her head. “I just can’t understand.”

“Well, Em . . .” Alex sighed. “The answer, as always in these dilemmas, is right under your nose. And you’ve already seen it.”

“Have I?”

“Yes, but you almost certainly wouldn’t have noticed.”

“Just now”—Emilie squinted—“I can see my nose, but there’s nothing beneath it except my knees.”

“Quite. The question is, do you really want me to tell you?”

“Of course! Tomorrow I leave for France. My marriage is over.”

“All right.” Alex nodded slowly. “But it’s ‘gloves off’ from now on.”

“That’s fine with me.” Emilie nodded in agreement.

“Okay. Come with me and I’ll show you.”

•  •  •

“Right.” Alex switched on the light to the small study where Sebastian worked when he was at home. Alex went to a bookcase, felt under a certain book, and produced a key. He turned his wheelchair around and unlocked the drawer of the desk on which Sebastian’s computer sat. He pulled out a file and handed it to Emilie.