Page 43 of All I Want for Christmas

‘It’s upstairs,’ he said, as if reading her mind.

‘Oh.’

There was a pause. ‘If you’d like—’

‘No,’ she said quickly, sensing he’d only asked out ofpoliteness, and wasn’t it enough of an intrusion that she was eating breakfast in his kitchen? ‘I know it. I’ve seen it hundreds of times. It’s wonderful.’

‘Yes.’ He didn’t point out she’d never seen the real thing; that seeing it in a book or on a screen couldn’t possibly compare to standing right in front of it hanging on a wall. But to go upstairs with him, into the truly private part of the house, wasn’t an option. They both knew that.

A small silence bloomed.

‘Was that also a gift?’

‘No. I bought it at auction in Madrid.’

‘Ah.’

She ate a little more of her breakfast but her appetite had deserted her as the chasm between his life and hers widened with each passing comment. After a few more bites, she sat back. ‘I should really get on.’

‘But you haven’t had—’

‘I didn’t come over here to hijack your day and have breakfast with you, Max. I need to work.’

He looked up at her as she pushed her chair back and quickly rose. ‘Okay.’

‘Thanks for the sustenance.’

‘Anytime.’

She hesitated as he reached for an iPad on the table. Was he going to stay sitting here while she worked at the other end of the room? ‘...You’re sure there’s not somewhere else I could work? A study? Broom cupboard?’

‘Darcy.’ He pinned her with a steady look. ‘I’ll do my own thing. I’ll ignore you. You ignore me.’

Ignore him.

Right.

‘I’m not here,’ he murmured, sinking onto the opposite side of the U-shaped sofa arrangement and picking up the sports pages.

Darcy listened to the rustle of the pages, aware of his sprawling frame in her peripheral vision. She reached for the next envelope in the box, pretending his proximity was of no consequence to her, even though her eyes had followed him every time his back was turned.

She opened the envelope to find newspaper clippings of reviews of an exhibition in Turin in 1920. It appeared Trier had managed to get three paintings included – a shoemaker’s workshop, a beach scene and a marketplace. She knew nothing in these reviews was likely to contain the information she needed – a woman’s name, something to get going with – but she couldn’t discount them out of hand either. What if the woman in the portrait had been a rich buyer at the exhibition? Or a collector? Of course, most women hadn’t been in control of their own money back then, but if she’d been a wealthy widow or an heiress...

She tried to keep her eyes on the clippings and her mind on the task, but she could hear him breathe. Just like when he’d gone downstairs an hour ago, she’d heard the whirr of a running machine, the clatter of weights on the presses, faint grunts, the beat of a Spotify playlist.

Other sounds, too, announced his presence. Stretching, clearing his throat, clicking his fingers distractedly. The room above this had very creaky floors and she heard him on the phone up there, his voice a low bass through the ceiling. Angelina? Darcy wondered where she was today. Whether she had stayed here last night or left early this morning.

She redoubled her focus on the clippings. The paper was yellowing, the font tiny. No names were mentioned bar those of the artists.

Her phone buzzed and she glanced at it, seeing Aksel’s name.

‘I take it back. A new record for strangest veterinary incident.’

She smiled, picking up the phone.

‘Oh?’

‘Emergency admittance of a dog. Owner tried to castrate it by putting rubber bands around the testicles. Led to urinary infection and two-hour surgery this morning.’

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