Restless Nights

‘Tall, dark, and full of the self-confidence you’d expect from the man who has everything.’

‘You don’t like him, obviously. But then, your father’s been singing his praises to you for so many years you’re bound to be prejudiced against him.’

‘Adam was there in the ward when I visited tonight. Took Dad an enormous basket of fruit and a brand-new thriller,’ said Gabriel, depressed.

‘Is he married?’ asked Laura.

‘What’s that got to do with anything? But as it happens he isn’t. He’s just broken off a relationship with someone.’

‘How do you know that?’

‘He told me.’

‘Then you must have had some conversation with him.’

‘He came round last night to ask after Dad. And this morning to bring the picture. And he’ll be back tomorrow, and every other tomorrow until I’ve finished, to check on the work in progress.’

‘In that case, darling, make sure you charge the earth for your services. It sounds as though you’ll earn it!’

CHAPTER THREE

BY LATE afternoon next day Gabriel’s efforts had removed much of the grime from the painting. A check on the back of the canvas in the first stages had confirmed that there was no serious cracking, and she had completed a second round of cleaning by the time Adam Dysart appeared, just as her henchmen were clearing up for the night.

This time Gabriel was so weary she greeted Adam without hostility or emotion of any kind. She took off her baseball cap to thrust a hand through her hair, conscious that she must reek of white spirit as she beckoned Adam across to the painting lying tilted slightly on its stand.

‘I’m sure you know that at this stage our mystery lady looks rather worse than when I started, because the spirit leaves white patches as it dries,’ she began, and he nodded, unconcerned.

‘But she’s waking up,’ he said with relish, his eyes drawn in fascination to the face now more visible in the painting. The girl’s violet eyes shone out from the murky background, something in her expression rousing such a discernible response in the man looking at her that Gabriel eyed him curiously, wondering if Adam Dysart always felt this way during the restoration process. He dragged his eyes away from the painted face with effort, and glanced down at the sea of cotton wool swabs surrounding Gabriel’s bench. ‘There was obviously a lot to clean off.’

She nodded, eyeing the canvas speculatively. ‘But oddly enough not what I’ve come to expect. A painting of this age—and it is old—has usually suffered from the effects of coal fires, candles, soot, tobacco—sometimes even grease from cooking. But not this one. You mentioned attics, and I bet that’s where our lady’s been hiding, accumulating layers of dust and cobwebs in the process ever since she was painted. I’m beginning to think that she’s never seen the light of day—or any other kind of light—until the house clearance.’

Adam’s eyes, bright with speculation, met hers. ‘Do you think the subject hid it in the attic herself?’

‘Or someone else did, maybe out of malice.’ They turned to gaze down at the face in the painting as though expecting an answer from it.

‘I’ve discovered where she came from—a small manor house in Herefordshire,’ said Adam, his shoulder in contact with Gabriel’s as they leaned over the portrait. ‘It was sold recently to start a new life as a retirement home. An elderly lady lived alone in it the last few years.’

‘Poor thing,’ said Gabriel with feeling.

Adam eyed her sharply. ‘Is living alone here getting to you?’

‘A little, yes.’ She shrugged. ‘Thank goodness it’s summer, and the evenings are long.’

‘Does Harry know you feel like this?’

‘Certainly not!’ She speared him with a cold blue look. ‘And please don’t tell him.’

‘Of course I won’t tell him,’ he snapped. ‘Adding to any worry for your father is the last thing I’d do. I’m very fond of him.’

‘He’s fond of you, too,’ she said, resigned.

‘And you take exception to that.’

Gabriel was saved from lying by the reappearance of Wayne and Eddie with the safe keys.

‘Shall we take the portrait now?’ asked Wayne.

Gabriel looked at her watch in remorse. ‘No. I’ll see to it. You two get off. I didn’t realise it was so late.’

‘I’ll help Miss Brett lock up,’ said Adam. ‘I trust that meets with your approval, too?’ he added belatedly as the motorcycle went roaring off down the lane.

‘Of course,’ said Gabriel carelessly. ‘It’s your property we’re stowing away. At least you’ll be sure your lady is safe for the night.’ And as long as someone went down with her to the cellar she didn’t care who it was. Even Adam Dysart.

Adam not only accompanied Gabriel down into the cellar, but helped her clear up and went the rounds of the barn afterwards to check that all was secure for the night before he left.

‘Would you like to come in for some tea—or a drink?’ asked Gabriel afterwards, with an awkwardness that would have surprised the other men in her life.

His lips twitched. ‘Yes, I would. But I’m not going to in case I wear out my never very warm welcome. Besides, I know you want to get off to see Harry.’

Gabriel smiled politely. ‘Thank you for lending a hand.’

Adam shrugged. ‘My pleasure. I’m off to London tomorrow, but I’ll be round the following day, if that’s convenient.’

Gabriel told him he could come whenever he liked. It was of no interest to her if he was off to patch things up with the promiscuous Della, she assured herself, and shut the door behind him and locked it, then went round the house switching on all the lights. Which, she told herself acidly, for an adult female of her age was utterly stupid at just after six on a sunny June evening.

Looking as good as she could in the time allotted for a shower and a lot of effort with a hot brush, Gabriel reported on her progress later to her father, voluble with the details to hide her dismay. Harry Brett looked exhausted, despite his efforts to reassure his daughter that nothing was wrong.

‘I had a word with Sister afterwards,’ Gabriel told her mother during their nightly call. ‘Apparently he’s been on his feet a lot today, and stayed too long in the day room, watching the cricket on television. But she assured me that he was doing well otherwise, and there’s no reason why he can’t come home next week. Though how I’m going to make him behave sensibly when he does, I haven’t a clue.’

‘Actually,’ said Laura casually, ‘I’ve had some thoughts about that. Julia’s holiday cottage on the Gower coast is free for a couple of weeks. I thought I’d skive off and take your father there to recuperate. Unless, of course, you think the mere idea would give him another heart attack.’

By the time she got to bed later, Gabriel was still marvelling at this strange new turn of events. Julia Griffiths had been Laura Brett’s business partner since shortly after the divorce. At the time her doting grandparents had been a great consolation to the young Gabriel while her mother and Julia had been getting their employment agency off the ground. But Gabriel had missed her father sorely, and her schoolfriends in Pennington almost as much, and every school holiday had gone back there like a homing bird. By that time her father had sold the family home in Pennington, moved into Haywards Farm with his aunt, Charlotte Hayward, and converted the long-unused barns into one large workshop for his restoration business. On his aunt’s death he had inherited the property outright. Which surely meant that now his debt for the roof was repaid to Adam there was no need for him to work so hard, thought Gabriel impatiently. But hiring extra help in this line of business was no easy task. Harry Brett was hard to please when it came to the skills of his employees. Alison Taylor, his most experienced assistant, had recently left to produce her first child, leaving Harry, who hated to say no to anyone, with a workload which had increased to the extent that the heart attack had come as no surprise to anyone except the invalid himself.

And now, astonishingly, Laura Brett proposed taking her ex-husband away to convalesce. Gabriel wasn’t looking forward to broaching the subject. Though if her father turned the idea down flat, when he came home she would have her work cut out to make him behave himself and at the same time carry out the restoration work piling up while she worked on Adam Dysart’s mystery lady.

Gabriel’s heart lurched when the phone rang later that night. Terrified it was bad news from the hospital, she snatched up the receiver with a shaking hand.

‘Adam Dysart here, Miss Brett. Sorry to ring you so late. How was Harry tonight?’

‘Not so good,’ said Gabriel breathlessly, slumping down at the table as her heartbeat slowed. ‘An overdose of televised cricket, according to Sister.’

‘Enough to prevent his return home?’

‘Apparently not. I’m keeping my fingers crossed.’

There was a pause.

‘Gabriel,’ he said at last, ‘this probably sounds presumptuous, but I can’t help worrying about you.’