‘I’d like to say it was an honour being here.’
Blaine gave an understanding nod. ‘Before we do anything else, I feel I need to apologise. There was some… unfortunate business with your father, I know that. I merely suggested a meeting with you, and then I heard that he’d gone to visit you in Spain. Believe me, I had no wish to force my way to the front of your queue, but now that you’re here I can’t deny that I’m delighted to have you as a guest. I’d like to assure you that you’ll be fully compensated for your efforts.’
‘So. What exactly do you want from me?’
‘Goodness, you are forthright, aren’t you? Shouldn’t we perhaps talk about the weather first, or your journey?’
‘Blaine, no matter how delightfully I’m being spoiled right now, we both know I need to repay the debt of that feckless bastard I have the misfortune to call my father. And the sooner that debt is paid, the better I’ll feel.’
‘You’re really nothing like your father at all, are you?’ Blaine said, amused.
‘I should fucking well hope not.’
If my language offended her, it didn’t show. ‘Fair enough. To be honest, I simply want a portrait done by you – a ‘Lilith Bresson’ for my private collection. I’m probably the first member of my family not to have my picture hanging somewhere on these walls, and I find your work incredible. I don’t think there’s another artist around today who comes close.’
‘You do know that my method of working means a piece can take months?’
‘I appreciate that this is something of a sacrifice for you, and I’m more than aware that you don’t have the happiest of memories of this country - ’
‘A beautiful use of understatement.’
‘- Which is why I want you to make yourself comfortable here at the Hall. Treat it as your own home. You never know – you might even rediscover a love of your native land.’
‘I very much doubt that.’
‘Well at least give yourself tonight to relax. You’ll find that Henry is an amazing chef, and you must have had a particularly tiring twenty-four hours,’ Blaine coaxed, as from the corner of my eye I saw a third figure descend the sweeping stairs into this vast room. ‘Ah. And as if on cue, here’s our final dinner guest.’ She held out her hand to lead this latest arrival forward. ‘Lilith, I’d like to present Finn Strachan. My companion.’
My profession was to capture beauty, from The Players’ Triptych to my portrait of Rosario and her girlfriend: people who could bring a room to a standstill simply by walking through the door. I had grown used to the easy good looks of Nat and my eye could be caught by Gabriel James’ glamour, but I had never met anyone quite like the willow-thin young man standing before me: Finn had the face of a fallen angel.
Wide, dissolute eyes the colour of moss agate gazed out from behind a long, thick fringe of muddy blond hair, and loose strands fell to frame a snub nose and sensuous cupid’s bow of a mouth that was just saved from being feminine by a square, stubborn jaw.
The very first time I met him, Finn Strachan stole my breath.
Finn
‘I’m delighted to meet you.’ I held out my hand and waited. So far, so fucking normal. We’d had the big introduction, designed to present me like some exotic specimen and set the scene for later that night, that week or whenever, and then we had the reaction from the guest, based on the man they wanted to see.
I was used to being appraised, but like a fool I had hoped that Lilith Bresson might be different, that the hellion I had watched all those weeks ago might climb out of the screen and cut through all this shit in the same way she had cut through that fat twat. Instead, she stood and stared up at me like all the rest and disappointment set hard and cold in my stomach.
‘How rude of me.’ Lilith suddenly reached out and clasped my hand with both of hers. ‘You must get this all the time – not that that’s a valid excuse.’ There was soft pressure on my palm, and she smiled so that her arctic eyes sparked with sudden warmth. ‘Oh. You’re the gardener.’
I gave a mute nod. I must have looked nonplussed, because she added, ‘Calluses. Gardener’s hands. So thank you for the roses – they’re beautiful.’ All said in a confident, surprisingly low voice that gave her command of the room.
I realised then that this was the first time I had heard her speak – Blaine’s largesse with the television had not extended to turning the volume up – and there was no mistaking Lilith Bresson’s upper class heritage, although at least her mouth wasn’t entirely stuffed with marbles like most of the fools we entertained around this table.