Page 53 of Against Ebony Irish Seas

“Sophie, you know I express my feelings better in my work than I do in my life. Now, tell me more about your time there. Sandrine has been completely unhelpful as usual when it comes to informing me about you and your well-being.”

She traced the smile on her lips. Her mother always poked around about her personal life. “Sandrine has always kept my secrets, Mother.”

“What secrets?” She gave a husky laugh. “You are an open book. The nicest artist to hit the art world since I don’t know when. In fact, I wouldn’t be surprised if some reporter mentioned how incredible it is that I can be such a dragon when you are such a dolphin, or some atrocious art metaphor.”

“I like dolphins,” she said with a laugh. “But I like dragons too.”

“Hmm… I suppose we should talk about when I can come and visit you and Greta in the wilds of the Irish countryside.”

“Oh, it’s not so bad, Mother.” She glanced out the window as a misty rain fell, making her think about Jamie’s description before their first date. “The light truly is incredible. It might even be better than in Provence.”

“Sacrilege! But I suppose I must see for myself. Tell Linc hello for me.”

“He’s with Bets now, Mother.”

“I know,cherie.It doesn’t mean I can’t have a little fun needling him.”

Controversy. Trouble. Her mother thrived on it. “Have a good show, Mother.”

“Always. We’ll talk soon.”

She hung up, her heart aching a little. They never used words of love. Like her mother had said, she painted her feelings. Uttering them was gauche to her mind. And yet, she’d kept the birthday gift beside her.

Hugging herself, she glanced outside as the sun came out, making the raindrops on the trees turn to diamonds. Maybe that was what happened when you looked deeper. One minute life looked like something you thought you knew, and then in the next, it turned into something you’d never seen before, something beautiful.

The sound of tires crunching had her rising from the couch. Sandrine was coming over to do a little laundry for her. Sophie had come home after taking Greta to school to start apot au feuin Jamie’s crockpot before going to the arts center, hoping she could entice him to come over for dinner again tonight. She’d wanted to make dinner herself. They were set for official date number three on Saturday night, but they both were too eager to spend time together to stay apart, as evidenced by the past three days. They’d seen each other in some manner every single evening.

She opened the door to greet Sandrine and stopped short. Two older unsmiling women stood on the sidewalk, a pair of contrasts. One was short and round with short graying curls while the other was tall and rail-thin with silver hair. Dressed somberly, they would have been great dour female models for the old Dutch Masters. “May I help you?”

“Are you Sophie Giombetti, the new artist at the arts center?” asked the shorter of the two.

Maybe she was suspicious by nature. Certainly, she was new to Ireland and had been told people just showed up and often walked into your home without knocking or being invited inside. But these women had tight mouths and hard eyes that radiated dislike. “Who’s asking?”

“Concerned citizens,” the tall one replied before the other woman could say anything. “You’re living in Jamie Fitzgerald’s cottage with your daughter. He’s a member of this community, the village teacher, and a good man. We wanted to make sure you’re not taking advantage of him.”

Her mouth parted in shock. “I beg your pardon. Jamie offered his home to my daughter and me when my own place became unavailable.”

“And yet it’s back on Linc Buchanan’s land again,” the round woman said with an arched brow, “whileyou’restill here.”

What the hell?

The stranger’s accusing tone had Sophie trembling with anger. She gave herself a moment, reaching for a polite response, knowing a crisp retort wouldn’t be useful with women like these. “Indeed. You’ve very observant. Again, how can I help you?”

“You can go back to where you came from with your art and your liberal ideas and leave a good man alone,” the rail-thin woman said with her nose in the air. “We don’t want your kind of woman around here.”

“Ahoor,” the round one spat out.

She vibrated with shock followed by anger. She’d heard those words before—but they’d been directed by protesters at her mother. Never her. “I’d like you to leave.”

“Well, that’s too bad, as we don’t care about what you want.” The thin woman drew herself up and traded a nasty look with the other woman. “If you’re smart, you’ll take yourself and your child away from Caisleán.”

Shaking, she closed the door and leaned against it, listening as the car drove off. Someone had come to where she was living and threatened her. Called her a whore. She realized she wasn’t breathing.

“Oh, God.”

She took a shallow breath. Thank God, Greta hadn’t been home. But she needed to call Linc and Bets and inform them. And Jamie…

Wasshe hurting his reputation by living in his house?

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