‘No.’ With a rueful curl to her mouth she looked down at her glass, wondering what he would have said had he known that if fate hadn’t intervened she would have had a child now. And not just any child. His child.
‘Come on,’ he said, surprisingly gently, perhaps sensing her sudden change of mood, probably thinking it was because of losing her previous position in the company. ‘I’ll take you home.’
The gallery lights below her flat had only just gone out when the huge white car pulled up outside.
‘Beth’s been working late,’ Grace commented, getting out of the car just as the gallery door opened and the curvy little brunette came out.
Exchanging a few words with her friend, Grace couldn’t help noticing the way Beth looked appreciatively at Seth who was moving around the bonnet of the gleaming white Mercedes.
‘How do you do it?’ she whispered to Grace, clearly awestruck.
Reluctantly, because Seth had overheard, Grace introduced Beth to him. What woman was safe from him? she despaired as the two of them shook hands and the gallery manager seemed to visibly melt beneath Seth’s devastating smile.
‘So, you’re the Seth Mason I’ve been hearing all about!’ All smiles herself, Beth sounded slightly breathless as she let Seth know with that unusually tactless remark that Grace had been discussing him with her. ‘Didn’t I see you at the opening night?’ She looked at Grace then back to the tall, rather untamed-looking man beside her for confirmation.
‘It’s…possible,’ Seth answered rather evasively.
‘It’s all right, Beth, I’ll lock up,’ Grace offered, relieved when her friend took the hint and tripped lightly away without causing Grace any further embarrassment, after falling over herself to express her pleasure at having met Seth.
‘Going to ask me in for coffee?’
He was standing there just behind her and, after he had just bought her the meal, Grace didn’t feel she could refuse.
When she complied somewhat uneasily, she saw him nod briefly to his driver.
‘You said coffee—not breakfast,’ she reminded him with her heart racing as the large saloon pulled away.
‘He was parked on double yellows. He’ll amuse himself without breaking any traffic regulations until I give him a call.’
Which told her, she thought, feeling suitably chastened. She was relieved though that the gallery door was still unlocked, which meant that she could take him through to the small sitting room at the back of the shop rather than up to the crowding intimacy of her flat.
Flicking on the lights and securing the doors behind him so that no one would think the gallery was still open, she left him browsing the display of paintings while she went through to the tiny kitchen behind the stock room and made two mugs of instant coffee, pouring milk into her own and remembering that, in the office, Seth always drank his black.
He was studying a simply framed pen-and-ink seascape which was concealed from public view in a small recess behind the counter when she came back. He stooped closer, reading the scrawled signature at the bottom.
‘Matthew Tyler.’
‘My father.’
He took the mug she handed to him. ‘Of course. I understand his paintings sell for thousands—tens of thousands—these days.’
Grace nodded.
‘I believe his sculptures aren’t doing so badly, either.’ When she didn’t respond with so much as a gesture this time, he tagged on, ‘You must be very proud of him.’
Was she?
To avoid answering, she took a hasty sip of her coffee and burnt her tongue in the process.
‘I didn’t really know him,’ she said, trying to sound noncommittal when she had recovered enough to speak.
‘And is this the only thing you have of his?’ He glanced at her briefly.
‘Besides this shop?’
She was reminded from his lack of surprise that he knew about that already. ‘No loft full of unsold masterpieces?’
‘I should be so lucky,’ she said with a grimace. ‘I don’t think he’d done anything for a long time before he died. Anything that wasn’t unfinished or crossed through had been sold, or thrown away. I’ve been told he was an obsessive perfectionist.’
‘So this was all he left you to remember him by?’ He was still studying the sketch, his Adam’s apple working as he took sips of his coffee.
‘Well, no, to be fair, there was one other item.’
He sliced her a glance, obviously expecting her to enlarge, but she didn’t.
With her head tilted to one side, she gave her attention to the drawing. ‘It’s good,’ she appraised a little stiffly. ‘But it isn’t one of his best.’
His best, according to the experts, was the bronze figure she had sold, created from a sketch that Matthew Tyler had made of his daughter during one of his rare and fleeting appearances in her life. He had only come to see her then, during those agonising weeks after her miscarriage, because Lance Culverwell had sent for him, because she had been so unwell, so low…
‘The sculptures were his forte,’ she told him with her gaze still trained on the wall, wondering if those intelligent eyes she could feel suddenly resting on her profile could guess at the tension behind her tightly controlled features.
How could she talk about that bronze to anyone—least of all him? Explain the emotions that had driven her to selling it?
She didn’t even chance looking at Seth, afraid that he would see those emotions now scoring her face.
‘What is it?’ he asked quietly, far, far too aware.
She gave a gasp as the lights in the gallery suddenly went out, leaving them in darkness.
‘Oh, no, not a power cut,’ Grace groaned, though she was grateful for the diversion from his probing question in spite of the inconvenience of having no electricity.
‘I…don’t think so.’ Seth was looking at the festively lit shops on the other side of the road and the street lamp that was glowing brightly immediately outside the gallery. ‘It might be that something’s blown your fuses,’ he stated.
She uttered a nervous little laugh. ‘Just my luck!’
‘Do you know where your trip switch is?’
When she told him he went through without any hesitation to fix the problem. A couple of seconds later, the lights came on, but then instantly went out again.
‘Do you have any other appliances switched on?’ he queried.
‘Only the fridge.’
‘Anything upstairs?’
‘Again, the fridge…’
‘What is it?’ he asked, seeing her frown.
‘I put the dishwasher on before I left this morning. But that would have finished hours ago.’
‘I think you’d better let me check.’
As soon as she opened the door of the flat to let them in, she could feel the heat coming from the kitchen.
Seth shot her an urgent glance. ‘What time did you say you put it on?’
Grace looked at him anxiously. ‘Before I left for work…’
Three strides brought him across her tiny kitchen. He cancelled