Page 38 of Modern Romance January 2025 1-4

This was it. No time for regrets.

She bent down and retrieved the booklet. By the time she settled back in her seat, bidding had begun. She saw a woman in green raise her hand. Then the auctioneer looked to someone further back and the price crept higher.

There was no bidding frenzy but there were two buyers, then a third. Portia craned her neck to see them. The white-haired man in the loud jacket was one of them, but the bidder at the back of the room remained elusive.

What does it matter who buys it? You can’t vet them to make sure it goes to a good home. You just want the money.

And yet... Her gaze returned to the painting displayed at the front of the room. She felt a tug of regret, a longing for what she’d once had and what might have been.

The sense of loss was so sudden and profound it overwhelmed her. She blinked down at the catalogue with hot eyes.

Memories whirled through her head. Snippets of the past. And with them, a host of emotions, making her heart ache and her stomach churn.

Portia kept her head bowed, struggling against the maelstrom.

It had been years since she’d felt distress this consuming. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d cried. Yet that prickling at the back of her nose and the thickening in her throat belied her composure.

By the time she had control of herself it was over. Women reached for handbags. Catalogues were tucked under arms and the noise in the room increased as people chatted and rose from their seats.

She jumped up, about to ask the man beside her about the winning bid on the last item, but he turned to talk to someone on his other side.

Portia stepped out of the row. Phil, the porter, caught her eye and smiled. She hurried over, just in time to catch him before he carried the painting away.

‘How much, Phil? I missed it.’

‘Missed it? With Mr Tomaras buying it? That was a bit of excitement. I didn’t think it would be his sort of thing.’

Her eyes widened at the idea of an ubersuccessful Greek tycoon being interested in her painting. But then Phil mentioned the final bid and that wiped everything else from her mind.

There’d be enough to support her through a degree, or most of it, so long as she worked part-time and was careful with her cash.

Relief buoyed her as she exited into the back rooms and made her way to her desk. Her supervisor had told her to leave early to make up for some recent long days. Even so, it took a while before she was ready to go.

This windfall would change her life. Yet nerves vied with elation. Some sixth sense warned her not to take her good fortune for granted.

Portia shook her head, pushing away that premonition of trouble. She didn’t believe in premonitions. She believed in working hard and pursuing opportunities.

She walked through the elegant front rooms with their exquisitely curated displays of jewellery and fine art. Her steps slowed. Not because she cared about the palpable air of luxury, but because of the remarkable pieces on display. One day maybe, she might work here as an art expert. Or in a gallery or museum.

Excitement burst through the strange wariness that had engulfed her.

It’s going to be all right. Better than all right.

Its going to be wonderful.

She lengthened her stride, clutching her shoulder bag close. She smiled at her colleagues on the reception desk and headed out. The auction house sat back from the street, and she entered the long entrance corridor with landscaped courtyards on either side.

Ahead cars passed, their lights on against the fading December afternoon. She’d almost reached the footpath when a figure stepped out, blocking her way.

The man stood with the light behind him, tall, broad-shouldered, with curling hair that brushed the collar of his short leather jacket. Jeans covered his long legs.

Portia’s heart seemed to stop.

Not out of fear. She was still in one of the world’s most prestigious auction houses, and the chances of being mugged in Mayfair at this time of day were low.

What slammed her to a halt was the overwhelming sense of déjà vu.

But she didn’t know him. He was broader across the shoulders, taller too, and those thighs...

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