Page 122 of Meet Me Under the Mistletoe
“It’s finished. My investigation. It would benefit Isaac greatly if he would let me interview him for the piece, but I understand he may have strong feelings about that.” He had the decency to look shamefaced. “If he’s happy to go ahead, I could get someone else to do the interview with my questions.”
“Why are you telling me?”
“I promised you I wouldn’t go to print without your go-ahead.”
“It’s not like you to keep a promise.”
Guy looked down at his shoes. “I found an expert willing to look at the pictures I took of Heba’s paintings. He was happy to go on record and go up against the De-Veers. He’s worked on similar cases, repatriating artworks stolen during the Second World War. He would need to see them in the flesh, as it were,to properly authenticate Heba’s work, but he thinks the case has legs. I think we’ve got something here, Nory. It’s a huge story. If it goes the way I think it will, I believe I can help Isaac prove the authenticity of his great-great-grandmother’s work without a costly legal case. My guy says he’ll work pro bono, and I’ve found a solicitor who will do the same; the publicity is worth more to them than the cash.”
He finished speaking and took a deep breath, like he’d been building himself up for it and was relieved it was over.
“May I come in?” he asked when she didn’t speak.
“You’re already in.”
He nodded to himself and stepped gingerly off the mat as though the floor might be made of lava. He undid the straps on his satchel as he crossed the shop floor, pulling out a thick manila folder, which he laid on the book-strewn desk.
“It’s all here. The expert’s initial report, my investigation into Serena De-Veer. According to the archives, she had never shown any aptitude for art before she took those first paintings to the publisher. Her old governess was pretty scathing about her disappointing efforts in the feminine arts. I’ve tracked down the family of an officer who was serving in India at the time the De-Veers lived there. He had paid Heba for some of her botanical paintings and brought them back for his wife. They’ve stayed in the family, I’ve seen them. They want to help in any way they can. There were others too; Heba gifted one soldier a painting for his new daughter and another to an army chef.”
Guy flicked through page after page of handwritten and typed notes, photographs, and various photocopied forms. He closed the folder and rested his hand on it as though it was hard for him to part with it.
“And now it’s up to you,” he said, looking her in the eyes with none of his usual bravado. Instead, his expression was pleading, as though if Nory didn’t give him this lifeline, he would fall into an abyss.
“You’ve done all this in ten days? You’ve been busy,” she said.
“I checked myself into the Priory clinic. As an outpatient. I go every day for counseling and then I work; it’s like double therapy. I’d probably go completely mad without Camille if I didn’t have my work. I’m sorting myself out, Nory.”
A tear escaped and ran down his cheek, and he let it. No joke about being a crybaby. He didn’t even try to wipe it away, he just let it fall and be chased immediately by another.
“I love Camille and I want her back. I’ll do whatever it takes. I’ll be a better man; I’ll be the man she deserves.”
“Words are easy,” said Nory.
Guy nodded. “That’s why I’m putting them into action.”
Nory looked at him properly. There was an earnestness about him that she hadn’t seen in a really long time, maybe never. She could cut him out of her life forever; it would be no more than he deserved. But despite it all, she believed he was trying.
“Wouldn’t it be better for you to send it to Isaac directly?” Nory asked, looking back down at the folder.
“No, I don’t think so. I’ve taken enough liberties with your life. This one’s all yours—you get to make an informed choice about what happens next. If you don’t send it on, that’s your decision. I won’t publish without consent. If you send it on and Isaac agrees, we’ll take it from there.”
Nory’s stomach was writhing. “Do you really think Isaac has a chance to get Heba recognized as the artist?” She searched Guy’s face.
“I do. I wouldn’t put my name on the line if I wasn’t confident. You of all people know that I don’t like to lose.”
A laugh escaped her, in spite of herself. Anger was such a draining emotion and it had certainly been taking its toll on Nory’s well-being. She wasn’t ready to forgive Guy. But as much as she wanted to shoot fire out of her fingertips and banish him to the underworld for all eternity, she knew she couldn’t hate him forever.
“Okay.” She sighed. “Leave it here. I’ll have a think.” She rubbed her temples, the urge to lie down and sleep overwhelming her once more.
“You’ll make the right decision,” said Guy. “You always do.”
She nodded but didn’t answer, and Guy began to walk away.
He stopped on the mat and turned. “I know it doesn’t mean much now, but I am sorry. Not my usual bullshit sorry. This one’s real. I’ll prove it to you.”
“Camille needs it more than I do.”
Guy nodded. “She’s top of my list.”
