An hour later Ford rang the buzzer at Baker House. But Greer wasn’t answering. Maybe she wasn’t at home, but he suspected she was. What a bloody awful afternoon it had been. He knew she’d been hurt. He hadn’t meant to hurt her, too. He believed her—she would never intentionally sabotage the contest. And maybe some expert hacker had placed those texts on her phone and on Kiki’s … but he had to admit to himself, he had felt some doubt at the beach house.
As Toni’s boyfriend had said, the most likely explanation was that Greer did it—maybe in a moment of utter panic. Perhaps she didn’t even remember!
It killed Ford to doubt her even for a second, but after what he’d been through with Teddy, he was unwilling to give all his trust to a single person, except for his sister, Anne. He’d never seen Teddy’s betrayal coming, or that of his good friend, the groomsman. He’d done his best at the beach to be supportive of Greer and at the same time, protect himself.
And he was here now, wasn’t he?
Reaching out.
His phone buzzed, and he looked down. A message from Greer. He held his breath and opened it. Go away, the text said.
His heart hurt to read that. He sighed. Come on, he texted back. I believed you. I still do.
Not a hundred percent, she said. I saw it in your eyes. Please leave. You don’t need me to pose anymore.
Someone walked in with a bag of groceries, and he followed behind. Coming up, he wrote.
I won’t answer the door, she wrote back.
I’ll keep knocking, he texted. I’m not having this conversation via text.
When he got out of the elevator, her door was open. He pushed it and walked in, shutting it behind him.
She was sitting on her sofa, her arms crossed, her legs crossed, too. “Say what you have to say, please,” she said, “and then go.”
He refused to stand and look down at her, so he sat next to her on the sofa. She scooted away from him.
“I know you’re upset,” he said. “You’re right. I held back at the beach. I tried to be supportive, but a small part of me was afraid to back you all the way.”
A tear fell down one of her cheeks. “I already know this.”
“But I needed to explain why,” he said. “You know about Teddy. You know I was recently betrayed. I’m very careful now.”
“I get that,” she said. “But it still hurts.” Her face was pale.
He tried to put his hand on her knee, but she moved even farther into her corner of the sofa. “I want us to be friends,” he said. “We’re amazing friends. I’d be devastated if we weren’t. I messed up today, okay? I should have been more vocal supporting you. But it’s easy to say that now. Then, it was a very tense situation, and we were all in shock.”
“I’m not interested,” she said, and finally looked at him. “I was going to tell you tonight that I love you. I love you, Ford.”
He didn’t know what to say.
“And I don’t care what risks are carried with loving you,” she said. “Remember by the piano you said you had something to tell me, too?”
“Yes.” He felt like a brute. A heartless brute.
“What was it?”
His heart sank. “That we were essentially done with the portrait and we should go celebrate.”
“Whoopee,” she said slowly, sadly.
He looked down at her hand, resting on the cushion. His signet ring was gone.
“I already dropped it off at your house,” she told him, “with Gus.”
He stood. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I got here as fast as I could. I didn’t even stop at my house. It took me a few extra minutes to pack up the portrait and then I got stuck behind an accident on the Isle of Palms connector.”
“That’s what you’re sorry about?” she asked, and looked him right in the eye.
“No,” he said. “You know what I’m sorry about.”
She stood, too, her arms still crossed beneath her breasts. “Tell me what you’re really sorry about then.”
He took a second to remember her face before he said the damning words. “I can’t love you back.”
“You can’t?” she asked. “Or you won’t? There’s a big difference.”
“It doesn’t matter,” he said. “Either way, I have to go.” She didn’t say a word, just looked steadily at him, her expression unreadable now. He felt impelled by her silence to say more. “I can’t stay.” His voice cracked a little. “I’m not even the person you think I am. You wondered when we first met if I required an art patron. No, I don’t. I do quite well financially. My real name is Stanford Elliott Wentworth Smythe, Eighth Baron Wickshire.”
She gave her head the very slightest shake. And still, she said nothing.
His heart—it was breaking in two. He backed toward the door. “Good-bye, Greer. Thanks for everything.”
“Shut the door on your way out,” is all she said, and there was nothing there … nothing he could take away with him. No sense of their connection, of all they’d experienced together. She was a stranger. Even more a stranger than she’d been on the first day they’d met, when she’d been a warm, and funny, and impassioned stranger who hadn’t felt like one.
He shut the door with utmost care, and when he heard the latch settle into place, a great loneliness nested deep inside him, too, like a gaunt hound settling before an empty hearth on a chill winter day.
But he was safe again, and that mattered more.
He walked back to the flat, only blocks away, with his phone buzzing in his pocket, over and over. He ignored it. He knew in his heart it wasn’t Greer. It was someone else, probably Anne. Or maybe even Wesley.
He couldn’t help an audible grunt. So much for that friendship. What a wanker Wesley was, hurting both Serena and Greer with his wishy-washy confession to Greer that he immediately regretted.
Ford didn’t feel up to answering.
But when he opened his flat door and saw Gus practicing “Black Dog” by Led Zeppelin on his electric guitar, he remembered how much he and Anne had loved listening to Zeppelin together as teenagers, and he took out the phone. Sure enough, she’d tried to reach him several times.
He was a selfish bastard. It finally occurred to him that perhaps something could be terribly wrong at home. His gut roiled at the thought one of his parents could be ill—or Rupert, or even Anne’s kids, or her husband Edward—and Anne had been unable to reach him.
He called her immediately.
“Darling,” she said.
He heard the panic in her voice, and his stomach dropped. “I’m sorry. I was away from my phone. What’s wrong?”
“Everything is stable at the moment, but Teddy is in hospital. Complications from the twins. She’s been asking for you.”
“Bloody hell,” he said.
“I know. I’ve been with her the past twelve hours. Didn’t want to call you. But the doctors have said she might be in here for—hold on to your hat—months. Her parents are here at the moment, but she seems a bit inconsolable. Is there any chance—?”
“I’ll look up flights right now. I’ll get out either tonight or tomorrow morning.”
“Oh, thank God.” He heard Anne sigh. “You know I don’t mind being here for her, especially if these are your babies we’re talking about. But I do have so many irons in the fire.”
“Of course. I was already planning my return.”
“Already?”
“I’m done here,” he said, “as of today.”
“Oh.” There was a pause. “That doesn’t sound good.”
“Professionally, I’m all right. Not ecstatic about the painting, but fairly pleased with it. It won’t take me out of the game but it won’t advance me, either.”
“Stop saying things like that.”
“I know what I know,” he said. At least when it came to his art. He knew nothing about love.
“All right,” Anne said. “I’ll grant that you do.”
“I’ll put finishing touches on it at home. But personally, everything is more in shambles than ever.”
“I’ll be here waiting with your favorite supper. Lamb and Yorkshire pud, is it not?”
“Yes, although if I ate thistles right now, I wouldn’t notice.”
“We can talk. But only after the children give you massive hugs. And Edward pours you a whiskey.”
“Sounds lovely,” he said. “Does Teddy want to talk?”
“She’s sleeping. But I’ll be sure to let her know you’re on your way.”
“I should see her by tomorrow night.”
“I must confess I look forward to having you on this side of the Atlantic again,” Anne said.
“Thanks.” Her concern and affection touched him, but when he hung up, all he felt was gloom. He was going back to a frightening situation with Teddy. He hated the idea that her health or the babies’ might be in danger. And he had to acknowledge to himself that the responsibility for being at Teddy’s bedside was not welcome. He’d take it on as his duty. And he’d fulfill it without whining. But to get through it properly, he must admit it was going to be rough going. Perhaps his life wouldn’t be his own for a good while.
Then again, it was no better than what he deserved, and his commitment to Teddy and her needs was what karma had put in his lap. He obviously needed to grapple with situations larger than his own personal miseries to right his ship, which was floundering.
Saying such an abrupt good-bye to Gus and Drake—without any chance of a drunken farewell party—was much more difficult than he’d expected. They’d become like younger brothers. He gave them his British mobile number and said they were welcome any time to visit. He also said he understood they had limited means as students, and he’d like to foot the bill for their plane tickets. All they needed to do was tell him when they were coming.
“Bro,” Gus said, “we can’t ask you to pay for our tickets.”
“Yeah,” said Drake. “Dude, you’re a struggling artist.”
“I’m also a baron,” he told them, “with sixteen hundred acres of prime farmland and a manor house I’ll inherit someday. I’ve currently got three homes in England with loads—pardon, I mean lots—of room. So lads, I’m quite able to purchase your tickets and put you up.”
“What the fuck?” Gus said, his mouth agape. “There’s a video game I like called The Flying Baron. Don’t you have to be a German pilot to be a baron?”
Ford chuckled. “No, I’m English. And I don’t have a pilot’s license. But I’m still a baron.”
“Duuuuude,” Gus said. “That’s so sick.”
“Quite boring, most of the time,” Ford said, “which is why I never brought it up. But as I’m leaving, I’m more inclined to share. So circle some dates on the calendar, and come over. Either together or separately, but I hope it’s together. I’ll miss you two brats taking the mickey out of each other.”
They shared a group hug but quickly dispersed because bros didn’t do that longer than a few seconds. As he made a phone call to his landlord to explain his sudden departure, as he bought his plane ticket online, and then packed his bags, Ford felt genuinely sorry about leaving Charleston. He’d made friends here. He loved the city. It had soothed him, uplifted him. And he was leaving behind the best woman he’d ever known, apart from his mother and Anne.
So why leave Greer? a voice inside chided him, an absolutely silly voice that didn’t take into account reality. His reality was Teddy. At least for now and perhaps for a good while to come. And his priority was also breaking out as an artist, not for the wealth or fame but because he wanted to touch people—before he was old and grizzled. He wanted success now, in his prime, when he could enjoy it. The portrait of Greer, he knew as he carefully prepared it for transport in the cargo space of a jumbo jet, was not going to be the work of art by which he achieved his dream, but he would defend it, always, because of its subject.
By the next evening, he was in London. Teddy’s situation was, indeed, serious. She’d be hospitalized for at least the next two months and not able to leave her bed. She was clingy and emotional, completely understandable in her circumstance. During the first week, Ford did his best to calm her, to support her. Her parents, who remained in London to be with her every day, made hints that a possible reconciliation between the former engaged couple might be in the works, which Teddy did nothing to deny.
His parents were quite somber about the whole situation, as he expected they’d be. They didn’t want him going back to Teddy, whether there were children involved or not. His family stayed away from the hospital, including Anne. Rupert hadn’t even bothered to get in touch when Ford came back and had neglected to return his texts or phone calls.
One busy day he took time out to visit the outskirts of London to see his brother. His flat was a mess. Rupert’s eyes were bloodshot. They sat at the kitchen table, strewn with old newspapers and beer cans.
“Got nothing to tell you,” Rupert had said. “Nothing.” And he’d stared at Ford as if he didn’t know him.
“I’ve just come back from America, Roo. It’s lovely there.”
Rupert lifted one shoulder and dropped it.
“Mum and Dad are well,” said Ford. “Anne, Edward, and the kids, too. Everyone sends their love.”
Still Rupert said nothing.
“Are you hungry?” Ford suspected he was. He was far too thin. “Can I buy you a curry?”
“I can buy my own curries,” Rupert said.
There was a protracted silence.
“So,” Ford said, “have you read any good books lately? I’m on a Dick Francis bender. Third time around, but I never tire of him.”
Rupert sighed. “I told you, I got nothing for you.”
“I don’t need anything,” Ford said, trying to stay calm. Part of him was angry. Another was terrified. “I’m on your side, Roo. We’re brothers. Is there anything I can do for you? Would you like to go back to the center?” The treatment center. The one Rupert had been to twice. “If you don’t like that one, I can find you another.”
Rupert stood then on shaky legs. “Get out,” he said.
Ford complied, but at the door, Rupert asked for money.
“All out,” Ford had said, and walked down the steps with a string of epithets following him.
Things hadn’t changed there.
At any rate, it was understood that he’d handle the Teddy crisis on his own now that he was back. Teddy wasn’t a family member. No one even knew if Ford was the father. Anne had fulfilled any obligation his loved ones had to Teddy, which was exactly none.
He’d finally journeyed home to Surrey after that first trying week at the hospital. He’d unpacked, set up the portrait, and was looking at it—simply looking at it—not able to decide if it was the portrait itself that made him sad because it was not all it could be, or the absence of Greer in his life that made his heart ache. He decided it was both.
Not a word had passed between him and Greer since he’d come home. And he had no one, really, to call in Charleston to check up on her. Wesley and Serena were no longer an option. He supposed he could contact her work colleagues—Macy, Ella, and Miss Thing—but it seemed too early for such an effort. They might hang up on him. He wasn’t sure if they’d ever be willing to speak to him again, and quite frankly, he knew he had no right to ask for any attention from them.
One person that came to mind—and it was a long shot—was Henny, at the La Di Da shop. Surely she’d be able to tell him something of what had happened to Greer after the contest. He picked up the phone. It was only four P.M. Eastern Standard Time. Henny was likely still at the store.
“Well, hello,” she said, when she picked up. “How are you, Mr. Smith?”
They exchanged a few pleasantries. He’d got used to how slowly conversations began in Charleston. Once underway, however, they picked up speed at an alarming rate.
“I’m back in London,” he said. “Just wondering how the contest turned out.”
“You’re not still engaged to Miss Jones,” Henny said. It wasn’t a question.
“No, I’m not. It was a temporary thing. We were clear about that.” He’d offer no excuses. The whole world knew it had been an impetuous decision. He and Greer hadn’t hidden a thing from anyone.
“I know,” Henny said, “but you two were such a cute couple.”
“Um, thank you,” he said. “Henny, let’s get beyond polite chitchat, shall we? Are you alone? Because I want honest answers, please, not platitudes.”
“Well, I…”—she fumbled with the phone—“let me take this outside.” There was some silence, followed by, “Girls? I’m calling my granddaughter. I’ll be outside a few minutes.”
He heard some vague answers and the rattle of a door and perhaps the whiz of a car going by on the street.
“All set?” he asked.
“Sure,” she said. “What would you like to know?”
“What happened to Greer’s phone? And Kiki’s?”
“I honestly have no idea,” Henny said. “I’m troubled by it, too. Greer was so convincing when she said she hadn’t written that text.”
“Yes, she was. Why would Kiki and Pierre have wanted Serena to lose? Greer thinks that was their design.”
“All I can think is that they wanted Greer to win, and so they knocked Serena out.”
“But my impression from Greer is that they wanted her to lose. They came right out and told her so.”
“I hate to sound like a nosy body,” said Henny, “but I heard Kiki talking to Pierre in the back room at the store. He’s returned from Scotland, you know. And they were saying that Greer’s story would bring in the most people to the new bridal department. Pierre said he liked her partnerless bride angle. And then of course everyone loved you. In fact, they put out a press release the day after the contest saying Serena had dropped out for professional reasons and that the new winner is Greer.”
“How did the public react?”
“We’ve had people calling us off the hook asking when the bridal department is opening, and nine out of ten of them ask about Greer, too, and whether or not you two officially got together. They don’t even seem to remember Serena, and she was the original winner. There must have been enthusiasm for her at some point. It’s uncanny how no one asks about her.”
“Props to Serena—she’s lovely—but I wonder if Pierre rigged the contest originally so Serena would win, and then he changed his mind. Maybe she never had the votes, after all.”
“I-I don’t know,” said Henny, “but I’m sick of his shenanigans and Kiki’s. I’m only hanging on so I can retire with full benefits. I’ve got one more year. I feel like I’m between a rock and a hard place.”
“I’m sorry about that,” Ford said. “Truly. Pierre’s not pleasant. Nor is Kiki.”
“No, they’re not. I see my role as buffer between them and the public.”
“You do a fine job,” Ford said. “Did Pierre actually give the gown to Greer? And is she taking on a public role as the winner of the contest?”
“We did deliver the gown to Greer, and she turned it down. She said she wanted no part of the contest and would be happy for another finalist to have it. What she doesn’t know is that Pierre was under no obligation to find a third winner. The rules specified only a first-runner up was eligible to move into the winning position. So he has the dress in his possession. I have no idea why he hasn’t put it back on the floor to sell. Meanwhile, Greer hasn’t totally backed away from her experience. I’ve heard that she and her colleagues at Two Love Lane are doing their best to get Wesley and Serena back together. At least to talk. Wesley’s still here, and he’s working at the medical university, but Serena turned down her job and took a new one in San Francisco.”
“That sounds like a permanent rift to me. So how do they propose to get them back together?”
“I have no idea,” Henny said. “But Two Love Lane has clients across the country. I presume they have some strategy.”
“I wish them luck,” he said. “Speaking of strategy, I’ve got a proposition for you. Entirely ethical, too. It’s about how to make your final year more endurable at La Di Da.”
“Oh?” Henny sounded quite interested.
“Didn’t you say you grew up with Pierre?” he asked her.
“I did.”
“Well, I’ve noticed something about him, something maybe we could work with.…”
When he hung up with her fifteen minutes later, Ford was pleased they were both on the same page. But he couldn’t shake how awful he felt for Greer. No wonder she didn’t want the wedding gown. The whole story was sad.
What was to become of Royal Bliss? He’d never know. But at least he knew that Greer had returned it, and he was proud of her. He was also sorry he’d been such a lackluster fake groom. He hadn’t rushed to support her in her time of need. No, he hadn’t. He’d thought about himself. She might as well have been a partnerless bride for all the aid he never gave her.
He looked again at the portrait. And he felt as if he’d fallen down a tunnel, like Alice. Time seemed to stop, and in a very weird way, he saw the portrait for the first time. At initial glance, the painting was of Greer. But the actual person on the canvas was him. He recognized himself in every paint stroke. He’d been constructing a story about himself. It was fear-based, destructive.
As much as he’d pored over Greer as she’d posed for him, he’d stood in the way of really seeing her.
The painting was all about him. All of his paintings were, and he supposed that was natural. Everything he saw was filtered through his perceptions, but there was a way to transcend that. He’d seen it on canvases painted by great artists. It was what set them apart, he realized.
But his paintings … his were about holding back.
No, his portraits said over and over. No, no, no.
He had to sit down. And so he did, on the edge of an armchair. He swallowed once or twice. He breathed. He even coughed, wondering if he’d come back to the reality that had propped him up for years.
But no, he still saw the real painting. It was glaring to him, in fact, what the problem was. His eyes stung, and even through the blur, he saw the problem: He didn’t believe he deserved the freedom to get outside of himself. He didn’t want it—not when Rupert couldn’t function with freedom. Not when his parents were always bogged down with worry, too.
He rang Anne. “I’m supposed to go see Teddy tomorrow, as always. Could you possibly fill in for me? The doctors all say the babies are doing beautifully. It’s only a matter of Teddy resting now. I think … I know I have to start Greer’s portrait over.”
“But you only have eight days until it must be in Manchester.”
“I’m aware of that.”
“Wretched man.”
“Wiser man. Man who can see. Finally. And I don’t know why. A lot of things, I suppose.”
Anne gave a little cry of delight. “Go,” she said. “Don’t stop. I’ll take care of Teddy the rest of the week. If there’s even a hint of concern about the babies, I’ll call you immediately.”
“Thank you. Her parents will think I’m selfish,” he said. “Teddy might throw a temper tantrum.”
“No, Teddy won’t. This scare has matured her. She understands you’re a real artist, darling. She appreciates your devotion to her in hospital, and I know she’ll say you deserve some time off to work on this project.”
“Thanks, Anne. Truly. I love you.”
“You’re welcome. And I love you, too.”
He stood. He pulled another canvas out of the closet in the corridor, where he kept spares. And as if under a magic spell, he painted Greer as she really was. The truth of her shone like the sun. It was Greer. Fearless Greer.
Painting her, he was the man who loved Rupert in all his imperfections, who would never turn his back on him. He was the man who accepted that he couldn’t fix his brother.
And he was the man who loved Greer and would never turn his back on her, either. He would stop saying no to love. He would embrace who and what he had and not destroy it only because the world had too much sadness in it. He wouldn’t let the sadness win. He would see—truly see—and not just what he wished he could see.
He’d hold the world in his hand and he would find something there of truth and beauty. He would find love shining from it, like flecks of gold in a pan of river silt.