Page 60 of Modern Romance January 2025 1-4

But Lex didn’t do regrets. Especially when that purchase had led him directly back to Portia.

‘As for the figurine, I can see that in my home.’ It was easier to talk about it as a furnishing than a piece of art that resonated with him at a primal level. His emotional response to the ancient artefact was something he preferred not to admit. ‘I might loan it out for a while to a museum in Athens. If I buy it.’

From the corner of his eye he saw Portia turn and tilt her head, as if to view him better. ‘So you’re a philanthropist as well as a collector?’

He shrugged. ‘I think those with the money to own significant art should share their good fortune.’

‘Unlike my father.’

‘Heisvery possessive.’

Once his wife died, Portia’s father had refused to open his home for any charitable functions or for the village fair that had been held in the grounds for as long as Lex could recall. The man had broken with centuries of tradition, jealously guarding his property for himself.

‘Hewaspossessive. He’s dead.’ Her voice was toneless.

Lex swung around to face her, shocked. Her father wouldn’t have been that old.

He tried to read her expression. But she didn’t meet his eyes, staring instead at the sculpture behind the toughened glass. Her blank expression deliberately concealed her emotions.

‘I’m sorry.’ Lex had hated the man but he’d been the last of her family. He remembered how devastated she’d been when her mother died. ‘That’s why the painting was auctioned? The estate’s being sold?’

She shook her head and turned away from the display. ‘No. Most of the estate is entailed. It’s gone to my father’s second cousin. That painting was my inheritance and I sold it.’

Lex scrutinised her taut features, knowing there was more here that he wanted to understand. Her words made it sound as if she’d inherited only the painting, which made no sense.

Surely not all the contents of her home had been entailed? And why sell the picture? He knew how much it meant to her. She’d spoken of it when she was young, calling it the perfect view of her home, the first thing she’d save if Cropley Hall went up in flames.

Maybe she needs money.

Lex frowned, testing the idea. He’d assumed she was a wealthy woman, inheriting money from her mother. Then, surely there’d have been something from her father, something more than a painting.

He realised there was so much about Portia that he didn’t know. Things he wanted to understand.

‘I’ll leave you to your art,’ she said, turning away.

‘You’re leaving? But you came to me.’

He glanced at his watch, realising it was after the gallery’s official closing time though no one had come to hurry him on his way. One of the perks of being wealthy.

‘It’s late, Lex.’ Her tone, or maybe it was the serious expression she wore, imbued the words with extra weight. ‘I assume I won’t see you again. I wanted to wish you...well.’

She was saying goodbye. A permanent goodbye.

Lex’s stomach knotted and he was surprised to feel pain catch under his ribs. Surprised at the abrupt feeling of loss.

‘Wait!’

His hand shot out, snagging hers. Instantly he felt that jolt of physical connection, like an electrical charge. He pulled his hand back, flexing his fingers and saw her do the same, eyes widening.

He breathed deep, centring himself.

‘It’s still there, Portia.’ Slowly she shook her head, whether in disagreement or in disbelief, he didn’t know. ‘You feel it too, don’t try to pretend you don’t.’

Her head jerked up, eyes flashing, but when she spoke her voice was low, reminding him they weren’t totally alone. One of her colleagues might appear at any moment. ‘I’m not pretending anything. I’m just being sensible.’

In her neat jacket and trousers of dark forest green and her hair up in some neat bun arrangement, she did look sensible. Except for the flush climbing her throat and the light in her eyes.

‘Sensible because you see no future for us.’

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