9. Eliza

9

ELIZA

A fter several days of inactivity, with the exception of the party held to celebrate Niven and Harper's marriage on New Year's Eve, I was antsy.

I'd planned to apply for adjunct positions in London, but hadn't yet, given they'd be far more competitive than in Edinburgh. Candidates whose degrees were from a university were always given first crack at openings.

In the past, I fled to Scotland to avoid Nigel and Millicent, but doing so no longer seemed necessary. In fact, I hadn't heard a word from my father since we'd met for lunch. My mum and I spoke on the phone, but she hadn't suggested we get together, and neither had I. That we hadn't been together for Christmas didn't seem to faze her in the least. I was too numb to it after all these years to care. At least on the surface. That I'd spent the day alone was yet another reason I felt sorry for myself.

I did wonder how they were managing to live on the "meager" money he made as foreign secretary, as Niv told me my father had referred to it. With a salary of over one hundred thousand pounds, he earned more than ninety-six percent of those living in the UK, although I doubted the statistic would make him appreciate it.

Easy for me to say when I'd never had to worry about money. At least not as an adult. I had full access to my trust once I turned eighteen. The solicitor still managed it, of course, but I didn't mind. Apart from my foray into ridiculousness when I spent an entire week at Claridge's, I'd lived a modest life, and I had no intention of doing otherwise again.

I'd spent a few hundred pounds decorating my flat but still had one room I had no idea what to do with. At first, I thought to make it an art studio, but it seemed like a terrible waste of space, considering I'd only sold a handful of pieces in Edinburgh and had no representation in London.

Still, I had to do something, or I'd go mad with boredom. And while Harper said I could visit as often as I'd like, I thought it only fair they begin their lives as a married couple without me hanging around all the time.

I could get together with the friends I'd had before I left for university, but I'd lost contact with most of them.

Good God, I was pathetic.

Just as I stepped outside to go for a walk, my mobile rang.

"Penelope? How nice to hear from you." I'd met Pen and her four best friends when I spent one year at a boarding school in America. They were all great fun, but like so many others, I hadn't kept in touch.

"How are you, Eliza? Where are you?"

I chuckled. "I'm fine, although sick of my own company. As for where, I'm living in London."

"I'll admit I'm feeling a little out of sorts myself. I blame it on the time of year. January is so depressing in the city."

"You could come for a visit," I suggested, perhaps a bit too enthusiastically.

She sighed. "It's difficult for me to leave the gallery. I'm managing it full time now."

"Right. I'd forgotten. It's the Catarina…um…"

"Benedetto. The Catarina Benedetto Collection. While we feature Tara's work predominantly, we have many other artists we hang permanently. Others are highlighted on a temporary basis."

"How is Tara doing, by the way?" I asked.

"Fabulous. Can you believe she and Knox have been married three years already?"

Three years? And I didn't even have a boyfriend. "What about you? Seeing anyone special?" I asked.

"Sadly, no. Special or otherwise."

"You and I are certainly two peas."

" Men. Probably overrated anyway."

"Probably." Although, I could really use one in my life right now. I couldn't remember when I'd last had sex and didn't dare try to figure it out lest I end up more depressed than I already was.

"So, what about you? Are you working?" Pen asked.

I told her about my job in Edinburgh and how I'd left due to issues with my family.

"Sorry to hear that, but I meant sculpting."

I bit my lip. "No, I haven't done."

"Painting?"

I shook my head, then remembered she couldn't see me. "Not that, either."

"Why not?"

Why not, indeed? "I have been considering converting the spare room in my flat into a studio."

"You absolutely should. Talent like yours shouldn't go to waste." She sighed again. "I feel like I say that to all the artists I know. I can't draw a stick figure, but if I could, I'd be creating all the time."

"You're shaming me, dear friend."

She laughed. "Sorry. I meant to be motivating."

"You are. It's just…"

"What?"

"Then I'd have to find gallery representation here in London, which is far more competitive than in Edinburgh. Just like adjunct professor jobs," I added under my breath.

"We'd represent you," Pen suggested.

"You're very kind."

"I'm not in the slightest. I'd never offer gallery space to someone whose work I didn't think we could sell."

"I appreciate it very much, and if?—"

"Hang on. I have a couple of numbers for you. People I've met at various auctions. I'll message them to you and reach out to them as well. I think I have four or five in London alone."

"I don't have many pieces to show." Many? I didn't have any. At least none I'd want anyone to see.

"Then, you have good reason to get your studio set up and start creating."

"You know, you're right. Thank you, Pen. I needed a swift kick in the arse today."

"Then, I'm glad I called."

We promised to talk soon before saying goodbye. Seconds later, my message app blew up with the names of galleries and their contacts.

I could ignore them, but why would I? I'd have something to do even if none of them wanted my work. I'd be productive rather than pathetic.

After walking a few more blocks while mentally setting up the empty room in my flat as a workspace, I turned around, so anxious to get started that I nearly ran.

"Hello, cousin," I said, answering Niven's call when I was halfway home.

"What are you doing? You sound out of breath."

"Walking. How sad is that?" I laughed.

"Perhaps you should consider doing it more often."

I rolled my eyes. "Is that why you called? To nag me?"

He laughed too. "Actually, I called to invite you to dinner. I've a late meeting in town, and Harper was unable to come with me, so I find myself both free and lonely."

"You don't know lonely, Niv. Take a peek at my life, and you'll see what it's really like."

"Let's see if we can put our heads together over dinner, then, yes?"

"Sounds lovely."

"Shall we start with drinks at the Fumoir?" he asked.

I cringed. The place would forever remind me of my foolishness. "It's so stodgy. How about the Market instead?"

"Perfect. See you there at?—"

"Seven?" Niven typically used military time, which I always had trouble figuring out, no matter how often he tried explaining it to me.

He chuckled. "Yes, pet. Seven, it is."

Buoyed by both conversations, I was in a far better state of mind and still had several hours to get things moving before meeting Niv.

I hurried the rest of the way to my flat and spent the next few hours mapping out my studio, then looking online for everything I'd need to purchase. The first thing, though, was a bouquet to be delivered to Penelope. Little did she know how she'd turned my life around inside of fifteen minutes. I owed her my thanks.

When I next checked the time, I was shocked to see it was six. I quickly cleaned up and changed clothes—not that it mattered much for where we were going. Unlike the bar at Claridge's, I didn't feel the need to dress up.

I arrived at seven on the dot and sat at the only available table in the bar area, a four-top. I felt mildly guilty and figured we could always move if something smaller opened up. On the other hand, Niven might prefer sitting in the dining room.

"Eliza? Wow. Long time no see."

"Cora? I didn't know you still worked here. How nice to run into you." Her family owned the pub, and she'd worked here off and on when we were at school together.

"I don't usually, but we had a couple servers call off, so my da begged me to come in. Would you mind if I sat for a minute?" She patted her protruding stomach. "I don't remember being this tired with my first two."

"How fabulous. Boys? Girls? One of each?"

"One of each, thankfully. So, Tim and I don't care what we have another of. Either way, this is the last."

"Tim Warren?" Cora and Tim had been together since we were teens.

"Yes, Tim." Her smile was as broad as if they'd just met. "We've been married eight years now. It seems longer at times, and at others, I can't believe how quickly it's gone by."

"You look very happy."

"I am. What about you?" She touched my hand. "No ring?"

I laughed. "Not even a prospect."

She glanced behind me and waved. "I'm needed, luv, but you're my table, so what do you fancy?"

I ordered a pint and told her I was meeting Niven. My mobile vibrated just as she walked away.

Running late. Will you be all right? his message said.

How have I forgotten you're always late? And yes, I'm perfectly fine.

I'll see if I can step out of my meeting. Be there as soon as I can.

I didn't mind, honestly. Being away from my flat and out in public felt good, even if alone. I pulled a pencil from my bag and began doodling on the white butcher paper that covered each of the tables. They also provided crayons, but they looked so well-used that there was little left to them.

While figuring out my studio, I had an idea pop into my head for a piece I thought I'd start out with. It would be abstract, made from bronze, brass, and copper. To create it, I'd use a lost-wax casting, which meant I'd make what was referred to as a sacrificial wax model, then use clay to build a mold around it. When the clay was fired, it would harden, while the wax inside would melt away. Then I'd pour molten bronze into the mold, break away the clay, then finish the piece with brass and copper.

As I sketched out the size I wanted the two intertwined pieces to be, I laughed out loud. I might be able to use the studio in my flat to paint, but the kind of three-dimensional art I preferred would take another space entirely.

"What is it?" I heard a man's voice ask from behind me.

I glanced over my shoulder, then back at my drawing, thinking I had to be seeing things again. He stepped beside me, and I looked up into the gray eyes of my mystery man.

"It's abstract." My voice cracked, and I cleared my throat. "Sculpture."

He cocked his head and took another look. "I see two figures, perhaps dancing. Then again, they might be making love." His gaze traveled from my drawing, up my torso to my eyes. "Have we met?"

"I, uh, don't believe so. I mean, no."

He half smiled, but enough that dimples formed on either side of his mouth. I wanted to lick them.

"May I?" he asked, motioning to the seat on my right. "Or are you waiting for someone?"

"Yes. I mean, no. But yes."

He studied me.

"Yes, you may take the seat. And yes, I am waiting for someone, but just one person. There weren't any tables for two available when I arrived." I glanced around the room. "Or now."

"You also said no."

"I did?" If it wouldn't be more mortifying than my unintelligible stammering, I'd fan my face. In my fantasies, my mystery man was Italian. Or maybe Greek. While he was English, his voice was no less sultry. "I've no idea why I said it."

I picked up my pencil and began shading the image, more out of nervousness than anything else.

"I thought you said you were meeting your cousin," said Cora, approaching the table.

"Yes, um, my cousin. He's not, you know, him."

"I can see that, luv." She looked him up and down in the same way I wished I could. "What can I get you, pet?"

He looked at my nearly empty pint. "May I get you another?"

"Um, sure, but I haven't decided what to have next."

"I'd be happy to order something for both of us."

From the corner of my eye, I could see Cora's mouth hung open, and shut mine.

"Of course. That would be lovely," I responded, finally finding my voice.

"Booker's, neat please."

"Anything to eat?" she asked.

I felt the warmth of his gray eyes on me.

"Not for me. Yet. Thanks, Cora," I said.

She winked and went to fetch our drinks.

"So, you're waiting for your cousin, Miss…"

"Fox. Eliza."

"I'm Leviticus." He held out his hand, and I shook it, but when I tried to pull away, he held on and stroked the back of it with his thumb.

"It's a pleasure to meet you," I said, looking down at our hands. Maybe instead of working on my studio, I'd fallen asleep and this was just another dream I didn't want to wake up from.

"Tell me more," he said as his thumb continued sweeping my skin.

"Um…"

"Which is it?" He motioned to my sketch.

"Which what?"

"Are they dancing, or are they making love?"

My cheeks flushed. "Each person interprets art differently, so it's whatever you want it to be."

"Good. I much prefer sex. I'm curious, though. As the artist, what do you see?"

I looked down at the paper. To me, it looked like two manta rays playing beneath the surface of the sea. They could be dancing. Or even mating. Not that I knew a thing about how manta rays mated. I closed my eyes and shook my head.

The pressure of his thumb increased. "I am more curious now."

"Fish," I blurted. "Well, not fish per se. Manta rays. Although I suppose that's what they are."

"They are, in fact. Have you ever seen them mate?"

I laughed out loud, pulled my hand away, and covered my mouth with it. "No, I have not. You?" The notion of it made me giggly. Like a schoolgirl.

He put his hand on my wrist and pulled my forearm down to the table. "I have."

"You're joking." I covered my mouth with the opposite hand when I couldn't stop giggling.

"They do it much like humans."

I cocked my head. "Now, I know you're not serious."

He took the pencil from my hand and drew what were obviously two rays coupling. "The male bites the tip of the female's pectoral fin." He pointed to it with the pencil's tip. "Once she's distracted, he positions himself against her underside. Then he inserts his clasper into her cloaca." He drew a protrusion resembling a penis from one manta ray, then something else that looked much like a vagina.

Thankfully, I'd stopped giggling. "How do you know so much about manta ray copulation?" I asked, unsure if anything he'd said was even true.

"I love the sea. It fascinates me." His eyes traveled from mine to my lips. "Although you fascinate me more."

Sound asleep and dreaming. I had to be. In fact, I think I'd imagined him saying those exact words. Except with an Italian accent. Or Greek.

"Here you go," said Cora from the other side of the table. She set both glasses down without looking away from where Leviticus' thumb continued stroking.

"Would you like something to eat?" he asked.

The way his gray eyes bored into mine made me dizzy. And mindless. Along with mute.

"I should wait."

"The waiting is torture, is it not?" He inhaled before wrapping his free hand around his glass. "Absolute torture."

Good God, could he smell my arousal? No. He couldn't possibly. Although I was. Very much so.

When he raised his drink, I wriggled my hand from his to raise mine. Trying to do so with my left might have resulted in the very expensive bourbon spilling onto the drawing I knew I'd keep for the rest of my life. Even if it meant asking Cora to remove everything from the table so I could fold it and take it with me.

"Eliza?" he murmured.

My name on his lips sounded like a caress. "Yes?"

He touched his glass to mine. "Here's to not waiting."