And last, after Tammy and Gavin’s funeral, Julia had found a quiet corner in the library at Sommersgate where she thought no one would find her. Douglas, to her stunned amazement, not only found her, she had the impression he’d come looking for her and, without a word, pulled her stiff body loosely into his arms. At this act of compassion, she’d clutched his shirt, buried her face in his chest and burst into tears, the grief shuddering through her body as the gravity of her loss settled on her soul. Through this, he silently absorbed it, the whole time stroking her back in a way that was both absent (for him) and comforting (for her). Then Patricia walked in and Douglas turned her into her mother’s arms, again without a word, and walked away.
Putting these things out of her mind, Julia also tried to shrug off her feelings at Douglas’s arm on her chair. Gavin would and did put his arm on the back of her chair and it was obviously never predatory or possessive (but maybe protective). Perhaps, Julia told herself, it was a brotherly gesture.
Once she had that comforting thought settled in her mind, she relaxed. Until she saw Charlotte, who Julia was realising didn’t miss a trick, had noted the action with raised brows and a feminine glance at Julia that spoke volumes. This was something else Julia decided to put out of her mind.
After their coffees, Charlotte and Oliver took their own car to the gallery while Carter drove Douglas and Julia
“I’m not good company this evening,” she told him and she watched as his head turned to her. “I still think I’m a little jetlagged and it’s been a long day. I’m sorry.”
He nodded but didn’t respond.
“Dinner was lovely and I like Charlotte very much,” she tried again, desperately wanting to dispel her awkward feelings.
No response for a moment, then he asked, his deep voice sounding strangely lower, more throaty, “Your perfume, what is it?”
She blinked in the darkness. “Wah… why?” she asked, thrown by his odd question.
“It’s extraordinary,” he said it in such a tone that she didn’t know if it was good-extraordinary or bad-extraordinary. “What is it?” he repeated.
“It isn’t from a shop. A friend of mine makes it for me. She’s a bit, er… unusual, my friend. She says it’s an aromatic manifestation of my ‘essence’.” He made no response to this so Julia inquired hesitantly, “Is it too strong?”
“No,” Douglas answered and said nothing more.
She sat there, bewildered, and thought it best to let it go. Then curiosity (as often was the case with Julia) overrode common sense.
“Why do you ask about my perfume?”
“It suits you,” was all he said in reply.
At that moment they slid to a halt in front of the gallery and Douglas threw open the door before Julia could form a thought. She was still reeling at the strange conversation. Julia thought he had just called her extraordinary, though she still didn’t know if that was good or bad but she had the feeling it was good.
Then she could think about it no more. The flashbulbs started popping and the shouts were frenzied while he alighted and she saw his hand offered through the door to help her. She put her own in his and exited the car to the blinding lights. She instantly became discombobulated and dropped his hand as the shouts became louder, more frenzied. She heard his name repeated again and again while the blinding flashes came with such swiftness there seemed no pause between.
She felt her hand taken again in a firm grasp as she was pulled forward, Douglas guiding her, or more to the point, dragging her towards the door.
They made it through the door and crush outside was nothing to the crush inside. It was wall-to-wall people.
Someone rushed forward to Douglas the minute they entered the gallery.
“Lord Ashton! You’re here!” It was a young, eager, overly-made-up woman who turned curious eyes to Julia, looked her from head-to-toe, made a judgement and, Julia thought, dismissed her. “Can I get you some drinks?”
“Champagne,” Douglas commanded shortly and then completely ignored her.
He’d dropped Julia’s hand upon entering but now he slid his fingers, starting at the side of her waist, to the small of her back and guided her forward, stopping her by wrapping his arm fully about her waist and pressing his fingers gently and firmly against her side as they arrived at the first wall filled with art.
She barely had a moment to get her breath or process the pleasant warmth of his hand at her waist and his body at her side when she heard a call.
“Douglas!” a man shouted, far louder than needed even in the din of the crowded gallery. Douglas dropped his arm but kept himself positioned close to Julia’s side. The older man was paunchy with a shock of bright white hair and very red cheeks. “You’ve done it again. It’s the next Picasso. I’ve already bought two. How do you find them?” he asked, apropos of nothing.
He too looked over Julia and didn’t bother to hide his curious interest before he again turned his eyes to Douglas.
Douglas didn’t answer as the man babbled on, “Masterpieces, all, the like I’ve never seen before.”
As Julia finally realised what the older man was referring to, she turned her attention to the artwork on the walls.
Each piece was suspended between two sheets of plexiglass with no other adornment. They were drawn on bits of wrinkled scratch paper and each one, she saw, looked like a doodle done in pencil while the artist was taking a telephone call.
Julia couldn’t claim to be an art aficionado but even she could doodle better than this. And without the theme of blood, guts and violence that ran throughout the works she could take in from her vantage point.
“These are hideous!” Charlotte shrieked gaily as she and Oliver joined them, the white-haired man obviously taking the hint of utter silence from Douglas and moving off. “What on earth made you become patron to this person? Dear God.”
Julia was surprised. She didn’t know Douglas was the opening’s patron and she peered more closely at the disturbing doodles. She also looked at the prices discreetly affixed on the walls to the side of each piece and gasped in shock, each piece cost a small fortune.
The girl arrived with their champagne, Douglas handed Julia a glass and his to Charlotte. “Two more,” he told the girl without a thank you and, apparently not expecting one, she immediately melted into the crowd to do his bidding.
“I’ve never seen these,” Douglas belatedly answered Charlotte. “Samantha finds it amusing to use my influence and money to do shocking things that will make people wonder about me.”
“Well, she’s succeeded,” Oliver replied, laughter in his voice. “From the looks of these, you’re a very disturbed individual.”
“Hideous or not, most of them have sold,” Charlotte noted and then she came forward and wrapped her arm around Julia’s waist. “We’re off to the ladies,” she announced and pulled Julia along with her and through the throng of the crowd before Julia could say a word. “We’re not off to the ladies, I’ve got to have a cigarette and Ollie doesn’t know I’ve started up again,” she confided to Julia conspiratorially, still giving Julia no time to respond.
She guided Julia through the gallery, down a hall at the back and outside into an alleyway. Other guests mingled with staff to enjoy their cigarettes in the surprisingly tidy but smoky alley.