Chapter Six

Lilith

I had been standing in the oak-panelled drawing room for fifteen minutes.  I had arrived five minutes early, which meant that the enigmatic Blaine Albermarle was ten minutes late.

Just as I glanced at my watch again, Henry reappeared with a bottle of wine.  ‘Lady Albermarle apologises for the delay.  Some last-minute business to attend to.  Perhaps a glass of wine might help?’  He proffered a green bottle wrapped in a white linen serviette.  ‘Pouilly Fuissé.  I believe it’s your favourite?’

‘Thank you.’  I held out a heavy, intricately carved glass to be filled.  The wine was perfect, and as I stood there in the candle-lit silence, the first glass disappeared before I knew it.  Just as Henry sidled up to refill, I heard the approach of clipped footsteps.

‘Lilith, darling.  I’m so sorry to keep you waiting.’  A rich, warm voice broke through the hush, and I finally turned to greet my host.  Blaine Albermarle in the flesh was every bit as stunning as her photograph, and at nearly six feet tall in a pair of vertiginous heels, she towered over me.  She wore a dramatic chocolate-coloured sleeveless gown that emphasised her hour-glass waist and impressive cleavage, and I was glad that I had made the effort to put on a favourite blue satin dress in a hue so dark that it matched my hair.  ‘It’s an honour to have you at Albermarle.’  She leant down to kiss me gently on both cheeks. 

‘I’d like to say it was an honour being here.’ 

Blaine gave an understanding nod.  ‘Before we do anything else, I feel I need to apologise.  There was some… unfortunate business with your father, I know that.  I merely suggested a meeting with you, and then I heard that he’d gone to visit you in Spain.  Believe me, I had no wish to force my way to the front of your queue, but now that you’re here I can’t deny that I’m delighted to have you as a guest.   I’d like to assure you that you’ll be fully compensated for your efforts.’

‘So.  What exactly do you want from me?’

‘Goodness, you are forthright, aren’t you?  Shouldn’t we perhaps talk about the weather first, or your journey?’

‘Blaine, no matter how delightfully I’m being spoiled right now, we both know I need to repay the debt of that feckless bastard I have the misfortune to call my father.  And the sooner that debt is paid, the better I’ll feel.’

‘You’re really nothing like your father at all, are you?’ Blaine said, amused.

‘I should fucking well hope not.’

If my language offended her, it didn’t show.  ‘Fair enough.  To be honest, I simply want a portrait done by you – a ‘Lilith Bresson’ for my private collection.  I’m probably the first member of my family not to have my picture hanging somewhere on these walls, and I find your work incredible.  I don’t think there’s another artist around today who comes close.’

‘You do know that my method of working means a piece can take months?’

‘I appreciate that this is something of a sacrifice for you, and I’m more than aware that you don’t have the happiest of memories of this country - ’

‘A beautiful use of understatement.’

‘- Which is why I want you to make yourself comfortable here at the Hall.  Treat it as your own home.  You never know – you might even rediscover a love of your native land.’

‘I very much doubt that.’

‘Well at least give yourself tonight to relax.  You’ll find that Henry is an amazing chef, and you must have had a particularly tiring twenty-four hours,’ Blaine coaxed, as from the corner of my eye I saw a third figure descend the sweeping stairs into this vast room.  ‘Ah.  And as if on cue, here’s our final dinner guest.’  She held out her hand to lead this latest arrival forward.  ‘Lilith, I’d like to present Finn Strachan.  My companion.’ 

My profession was to capture beauty, from The Players’ Triptych to my portrait of Rosario and her girlfriend:  people who could bring a room to a standstill simply by walking through the door.  I had grown used to the easy good looks of Nat and my eye could be caught by Gabriel James’ glamour, but I had never met anyone quite like the willow-thin young man standing before me:  Finn had the face of a fallen angel. 

Wide, dissolute eyes the colour of moss agate gazed out from behind a long, thick fringe of muddy blond hair, and loose strands fell to frame a snub nose and sensuous cupid’s bow of a mouth that was just saved from being feminine by a square, stubborn jaw.

The very first time I met him, Finn Strachan stole my breath.