Rachel Lindsay - Man of Ice by Rachel Lindsay

Author:Rachel Lindsay [Lindsay, Rachel]
Format: epub
Published: 2010-08-04T18:21:48.225000+00:00

CHAPTER NINE

For the next fortnight Abby ostentatiously avoided Giles Farrow. On the infrequent occasions when he dined at home with his aunt, she would sit at the table like a deaf mute and glide away from it immediately the meal was over. She developed a sixth sense that told her when he was in the house or about to return to it, and almost before his car stopped in the drive, she was halfway up the stairs to her room, where she would remain until Miss Bateman asked to see her or the gong summoned her to a meal.

To begin with, Giles Farrow tried to engage her in conversation, as if still trying to atone for his rudeness at the party, but soon realised what her attitude was and decided to ignore her. Only on the evenings when he was not at home did Abby feel sufficiently at ease to wander around the downstairs rooms and admire the beautiful paintings, furniture and objets d'art, repeatedly returning to study the miniatures that lined the wall of what had obviously been the Maharajah's private sitting-room.

It was not much used these days, for Miss Bateman preferred to sit under the shade of the trees in the garden during the day and in the salon at night, with its screened doors opening on to the arched patio. But Abby loved the little sitting-room with its puffy cushions, rich textured carpet and heavily embossed walls, one of which was completely covered with the miniatures. She longed to reproduce one of them and the urge to do so sent her searching on the main shopping street for watercolour paper and paints. That night, to her great pleasure, Giles Farrow was again dining out, and after she and Miss Bateman had finished their meal she went to the little sitting-room, draped a cloth over one of the small, intricately carved tables, to protect it, and set her paper and paints on it.

She had already chosen the miniature she wanted to copy, and she carefully took it down from the wall and placed it on another table beside her. Ever since she could remember she had possessed the ability to copy fluently, and occasionally wondered whether she might not have achieved success and job satisfaction if she had become a picture restorer.

She lowered her head and began to draw, pink tongue between small white teeth, her whole face and body absorbed in her task. Swiftly the picture began to take shape, the small figures forming themselves in front of her as if they were rolling out of her pencil. In less than an hour the outline was done, and she picked up one of her brushes and loaded it with paint. As she put the first touch of colour on to the smooth surface of the paper, she let out a sigh of pure sensual pleasure and then held her brush motionless in order to savour this moment It was only then, as she raised her head from the table, that she saw Giles Farrow.

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