which would need a bank loan. Unless, of course, Pete’s latest get-rich-quick scheme actually worked, unlike all the others. She wouldn’t be holding her breath. There was certain to be a spell when she couldn’t work, and what were they to live on meantime?
Bugger Andrew! He didn’t need ALCO’s money. There would have been unpleasantness, OK, but all he had to do was stand firm and it would blow over. She’d had half a mind to go in and slag him off for cowardice, but it would be crazy to offend him as long as there was a chance of him refusing to sell. Not that she’d much hope of that now.
Romy took a thin round of Britannia silver from the safe in the workshop at the back. From a file, she fetched a drawing, just to remind herself of the design – a simple, exquisite silver bowl with an elliptical rim – then pinned it to a stand in front of her and started work.
She had just paused for a breather when Ossian Forbes-Graham came running into the cobbled yard. It was unusual to see him hurrying: he affected a languid, Byronic style, and Romy’s attitude to his highly acclaimed oils was that they were emperor’s-new-clothes paintings, involving minimal time, minimal skill and a helluva lot of bullshit.
He was heading for Ellie’s shop – where else? – but Romy was curious enough to walk to her shop window to watch. From its position in the left-hand corner of the square facing the entrance, she could look across to Ellie’s shop, first on the right as you came in.
She couldn’t see Ellie herself. She’d be working in the cosy corner at the back, no doubt, on some woolly creation of the sort that gave kitsch a bad name, or one of her twee paintings of dear little daisies and buttercups. Confident of her own artistic brilliance, Romy was merciless in her judgement of others.
Ossian hadn’t even shut the door. He was imparting information of some kind, something which brought Ellie from the back of the shop towards him. Even at this distance, Romy could see that she was staring at him, her body rigid.
Something was going on. Romy flung open the door and marched across the cobblestones. As she reached the other side, she heard Ossian saying earnestly, ‘But don’t worry, Ellie. Whatever happens now, you’ll be all right. I’ll look after you. There’s a stable yard on our estate – my parents could do a brilliant conversion—’
Ellie’s face was an expressionless mask. ‘Just get out and leave me alone, would you?’
With uncharacteristic forcefulness, she pushed the young man, still protesting, out of the shop, followed him out, locked the door behind her and headed for her upstairs flat.
Unashamedly, Romy stared after her as the door was slammed shut, almost in his face. ‘What was all that about?’ she demanded.
‘Andrew Carmichael’s dead. He’s been shot.’ Ossian was very flushed, his bright blue eyes glittering.
‘ Shot! But why on earth—’ Romy broke off. ‘Oh yes,’ she said grimly, ‘to stop him turning down ALCO’s offer.’
‘Or to stop him agreeing to it. Depends what he was going to do.’ But Ossian seemed almost indifferent to the point he had made. ‘The thing is, Ellie’s upset – really upset! You saw her. But she won’t let me comfort her,’ he said wildly. ‘She needs me to look after her, only she won’t accept it.’
‘You heard what she said – leave her alone,’ Romy advised brutally. ‘She’s made it pretty plain. You won’t get anywhere trying to force yourself on her now – or, if you want my frank opinion, any other time.’
He turned, his eyes narrowed. ‘She was having a thing with him, wasn’t she? It wasn’t her fault – I suppose she needed the money.’
Romy was startled. ‘I never heard that!’
‘You haven’t watched her like I have. But it’ll all be different now. She needs help, and I can help her. Once she’s got over the shock, you’ll see.’
He walked away, leaving Romy feeling shocked herself.
Bugger Andrew! He didn’t need ALCO’s money. There would have been unpleasantness, OK, but all he had to do was stand firm and it would blow over. She’d had half a mind to go in and slag him off for cowardice, but it would be crazy to offend him as long as there was a chance of him refusing to sell. Not that she’d much hope of that now.
Romy took a thin round of Britannia silver from the safe in the workshop at the back. From a file, she fetched a drawing, just to remind herself of the design – a simple, exquisite silver bowl with an elliptical rim – then pinned it to a stand in front of her and started work.
She had just paused for a breather when Ossian Forbes-Graham came running into the cobbled yard. It was unusual to see him hurrying: he affected a languid, Byronic style, and Romy’s attitude to his highly acclaimed oils was that they were emperor’s-new-clothes paintings, involving minimal time, minimal skill and a helluva lot of bullshit.
He was heading for Ellie’s shop – where else? – but Romy was curious enough to walk to her shop window to watch. From its position in the left-hand corner of the square facing the entrance, she could look across to Ellie’s shop, first on the right as you came in.
She couldn’t see Ellie herself. She’d be working in the cosy corner at the back, no doubt, on some woolly creation of the sort that gave kitsch a bad name, or one of her twee paintings of dear little daisies and buttercups. Confident of her own artistic brilliance, Romy was merciless in her judgement of others.
Ossian hadn’t even shut the door. He was imparting information of some kind, something which brought Ellie from the back of the shop towards him. Even at this distance, Romy could see that she was staring at him, her body rigid.
Something was going on. Romy flung open the door and marched across the cobblestones. As she reached the other side, she heard Ossian saying earnestly, ‘But don’t worry, Ellie. Whatever happens now, you’ll be all right. I’ll look after you. There’s a stable yard on our estate – my parents could do a brilliant conversion—’
Ellie’s face was an expressionless mask. ‘Just get out and leave me alone, would you?’
With uncharacteristic forcefulness, she pushed the young man, still protesting, out of the shop, followed him out, locked the door behind her and headed for her upstairs flat.
Unashamedly, Romy stared after her as the door was slammed shut, almost in his face. ‘What was all that about?’ she demanded.
‘Andrew Carmichael’s dead. He’s been shot.’ Ossian was very flushed, his bright blue eyes glittering.
‘ Shot! But why on earth—’ Romy broke off. ‘Oh yes,’ she said grimly, ‘to stop him turning down ALCO’s offer.’
‘Or to stop him agreeing to it. Depends what he was going to do.’ But Ossian seemed almost indifferent to the point he had made. ‘The thing is, Ellie’s upset – really upset! You saw her. But she won’t let me comfort her,’ he said wildly. ‘She needs me to look after her, only she won’t accept it.’
‘You heard what she said – leave her alone,’ Romy advised brutally. ‘She’s made it pretty plain. You won’t get anywhere trying to force yourself on her now – or, if you want my frank opinion, any other time.’
He turned, his eyes narrowed. ‘She was having a thing with him, wasn’t she? It wasn’t her fault – I suppose she needed the money.’
Romy was startled. ‘I never heard that!’
‘You haven’t watched her like I have. But it’ll all be different now. She needs help, and I can help her. Once she’s got over the shock, you’ll see.’
He walked away, leaving Romy feeling shocked herself.
Similar Books
