he’d been convinced the damn thing was whispering. Taunting him, repeating the words of the critics: ‘uninspired’, ‘derivative’, ‘weak’. But she couldn’t know about that, could she?
‘You need a fresh start.’ She stepped forward and laid a hand on his arm, forcing him to meet her eye. ‘Why not give it to your students to use? And, in the meantime, please put it in storage.’
Now scarcely a foot away, he had a clear view of her forget-me-not-blue eyes, which brimmed with concern. Holding her gaze and taking a deep breath, he noticed a fresh, clean scent. Rose? Lavender?
As her cool hand slid from his arm, leaving a patch of gooseflesh behind, he almost wavered in his resolve to consign the last half hour to memory as quickly as possible.
‘I’ve taken up quite enough of your time,’ she said, making for the door. ‘I’ll leave you to get on with your day.’
He strode forward to open the door for her and they stepped out into the sunshine together. Charlie smiled as he shook her hand, trying to hide his relief. At last she was leaving, although she dawdled for another minute to say something about putting together a proposal and having another meeting next week.
He watched Becky stroll across the lawn. When she disappeared into the kitchen, he backed into the studio, threw himself onto the sofa, and let out a sound somewhere between a growl and a groan. The ordeal was over. He just had to pray he’d done enough to get Lauren off his back and to never have to see Rebecca Watson again.
Chapter 3
Walking back towards the house, Becky once again felt as if she had stumbled into the glossy pages of Homes & Gardens. It was easy to imagine the station in use: an engine and its carriages sitting next to the house, puffing steam into the blue sky. She smiled: Dylan would love that. Trains were a new obsession and modern electric-powered locomotives were little fun compared to the roaring dragons of the steam age.
The smile faded from her lips as she neared the kitchen doors. Meeting with Charlie has gone about as well as she had expected. Lauren had warned her about her brother’s reticence, if not his appearance. But at least if this all came to nothing, she would have had a glimpse inside a couple of buildings many others had failed to access.
Becky sighed and willed herself not to give up hope. Charlie was far from becoming her new best friend but, if Lauren was right, the person she really needed to convince was waiting for her inside. She pressed a hand to her stomach to settle her butterflies and opened the door.
Phoebe was standing by the sink. Hearing the door, the teenager looked up from her phone, smiled and came forward to shake Becky’s hand.
Becky glanced at the flaking black varnish on the girl’s chewed fingernails. Some were barely more than stumps. ‘Sorry I’m late,’ she said.
‘Don’t worry, I just got in,’ said Phoebe. ‘Anyway, it’s great. Dad actually spoke to you. And he let you in the studio. No one gets in there. Aunt Lauren and I were betting on whether he’d slam the front door in your face.’
‘He may have let me in, but I don’t think he was delighted about it.’
‘Oh. Then we should probably go up to my room,’ said Phoebe, ushering Becky out of the kitchen, ‘in case Dad comes back in.’ She paused at the entrance to the living room. ‘And I guess that means he didn’t offer you the guided tour?’
‘I don’t mind,’ said Becky. ‘I bet you’ve had a few who’d like one though.’
Phoebe smiled and the same dimple Becky had seen in the portrait out in the studio appeared to the left of the girl’s mouth. ‘Too many. When Compton Hall reopened all the tour buses used to stop outside. Then Dad found some tourists in the back garden, trampling the flowers and taking photos …’
‘And he was less than impressed?’
‘He went mental.’ Phoebe led Becky to the foot of the stairs. ‘That’s when we got the gates installed.’
The thick wool carpet failed to muffle Phoebe’s heavy tread as she bounded up the stairs two at a time. A more cautious climber, Becky trailed behind, wondering how someone barefoot and so slender could make such a racket. The girl was wearing a white oversized T-shirt and black leggings which, instead of disguising her waiflike frame, only made her seem more fragile. Becky had