Page 79 of Things We Do for Love and Science
He took his phone from his pocket and unlocked the screen. Unthinking, he navigated to his messenger app, and Delia’s words ambushed him anew.
I got your letter. Thank you. Please hold on to the portrait until...
Here the first bubble ended, the second one read:
until it’s a little easier for me to see you.
He stared at his phone; his knuckles white from holding onto it with such force.
until it’s a little easier for me to see you.
It took every ounce of his will to unclench his fingers and delete her message. He absolutely forbade himself to read all his wishes into it—that it meant she missed him too, that she hurt like he hurt, that she had changed her mind, that she loved him.
He reread her second message, the one she’d sent him a couple of hours later, asking whether her brother could collect the portrait for her. He couldn’t delete that one since it contained Tom’s mobile number, and he still needed it to make arrangements for the collection.
Gut-wrenching, how she went out of her way to avoid him. But probably for the best. It would be insane to hang around for Delia while she went hot and cold on him. Vanessa wanted to be with him now, and she wasn’t afraid of loving him.
Since Gabriel had been a patient with Dr. Ashford before, albeit a decade ago, he was put straight through. After a warm greeting from the therapist, who had helped him deal with his grief after the death of his mother, he took a deep breath and told her about his current predicament.
“Sorry to interrupt,” Evelyn cut in, “a geneticist, you say?”
“Yes, at Renwood University.”
“Oh dear, Gabriel, I’m afraid there’s a problem. I won’t be able to treat you, and I’m not at liberty to disclose why. However, I can recommend my colleague Christopher Miller. Are you going private?”
Disappointment landed like a wet cloth in his face. He’d counted on Evelyn’s help. “Well, no, I won’t be able to afford that. I’d need a referral.”
“No problem at all,” she said. “I don’t have Christopher’s phone number handy, but you’ll be able to find his address on the internet. He also has his practice here in Renwood. Your GP should know him.”
“Oh, yes, thank you.” Gabriel did his best to sound upbeat.
Evelyn’s support had been invaluable ten years ago, and he hated the idea of having to establish trust with a new psychotherapist. He rang off and swallowed hard to get rid of a bitter taste in his mouth. There was no way around it, he would have to spill the beans to Evelyn’s colleague. He opened a browser on his phone and typed in ‘Miller, psychotherapist, Renwood.’
~ * ~
Tom indicated rightand took the turn to Renwood Hall. He had no idea what awaited him once he got there. Other than that he’d have to get a large painting into the back of the van he’d borrowed from a friend.
The last time he’d seen Gabriel, the man had been in bits and clearly crazy about Delia. Tom had taken the opportunity to more or less warn him off his sister. A warning that had gone unheeded and now...
What a mess. Delia pregnant and heart-broken, and the earl moving on with the ex-fiancée soon-to-become a regular fiancée again, by the looks of it.
Tom tightened his hold on the steering wheel. If that man had only held out a little longer for Delia to come around. He shook his head; not for him to judge. His main concern was how his sister would cope with heartbreak while also preparing to become a mother. Anjali and he would do all they could to support her. Thank God, Delia had taken him up on his suggestion to see a therapist.
He relaxed his hands and halted in front of the large cast-iron gate to the Renwood Estate. It was wide open, and he supposed it was all right to drive through to the big house. He restarted the van and crept down the road lined on either side with imposing lime trees.
The Hall loomed on the crest of a hill clearly visible through the bare branches. Tom marveled at the view; he’d never been past the entrance gate. A singular atmosphere took hold of him, as if he’d stumbled into the middle of a period drama. To think that Delia, his practical scientist sister, was carrying a little Renwood. A little Wright, he corrected himself, since she was no longer involved with Gabriel.
When Tom approached the mansion, impressive in the rose-golden light of the late afternoon, Gabriel was standing at the bottom of the sweeping staircase that led to the main entrance. Tom came to a stop on the curved gravel driveway and gave an awkward wave.
Man, that guy can’t wait to get rid of Delia’s portrait.
Tom got out of the car, and Gabriel approached him, his face grave, his greeting stiff and formal.
“The portrait is in the vestibule if you could help me carry it down the stairs?”
“No problem.” Tom followed him up the stone steps.
The silence between them hovered somewhere between awkward and just-about bearable. What was he supposed to say?Sorry it didn’t work out with you and my sister. Such a pity, you would have been good for her.Not likely to go down well.
