The House Between Tides Read Online Free PDF Page B

was faltering, and tried to see Giles up here, in this remote and windswept place. Giles, in every essential, was an urban animal— And she thought again of the incident which had provoked her sudden flight. Theyhad gone to a party held by an associate of Giles’s at a chic apartment overlooking the Thames, and the proud new owner had led her, a bottle tucked under one arm, the other uninvited around her waist, to look through a vast sheet of glass at the sun setting upriver towards London. “Turner-esque, don’t you think? Or should I say Blake-esque. Giles tells me Theo Blake was your great-grandfather.”
    â€œNo. My great-grandmother, Emily, was his sister. Half-sister, in fact.”
    â€œOh, I’d stick to the direct line if I were you. Great cachet, my dear. Flaunt it!” His protruding eyes shone at her. “Theo Blake, the mysterious recluse. Such extraordinary early talent and then the merely commonplace. Was he crossed in love, or did he drink?” His tone had nettled her and she had felt suddenly protective of the artist. Blake was a vague character in her family’s annals, but a painting of his, a wonderful and cherished seascape, had always hung in the bedrooms of her childhood.
    Her host’s expensive aftershave had wafted over her as he inspected her glass, and she had pulled away. “As I said, the relationship’s fairly distant.”
    â€œBut you’ve got his house, I understand,” he said, leaning close again to refill it. “Lucky girl!” How like Giles to have told everyone. She wished he hadn’t. “And the classy hotel idea is marvellous. We must get you onto the gallery circuit, making the right contacts. I’ll speak to Giles about it. With your looks and pedigree, darling, the punters will flock to you.” Pedigree? Good God! “And I’ll be your very first guest.” His palm slipped from her waist to her hip, and she had looked around for Giles. The big brush-off would no doubt offend the man, but did she have to put up with him? Giles was watching from across the room, clearly entertained, and showed no sign of rescuing her. He just blew her a kiss and turned back to give his attention to a dark-haired girl beside him. Hetty felt a hand slipto her thigh, and as she turned sharply back, her host planted an amorous kiss on her lips, chortling as she pulled away, stiff-necked with affront. “Be nice, now,” he had said, and returned to the party.
    Giles had come over then and flicked her cheek. “Lighten up, darling. It’s just his way.”
    â€œReally.”
    â€œAnd he’s a useful man to have on board. A big noise in art circles, you know, got all the right contacts.” She had turned aside, biting back a tart response, and watched as the party gathered pace and tempo: men in sharp suits moving in on women sleek in tight-fitting couture, working hard at image and impact, at being part of the tribe. But this was not where she wanted to be, and she had said so.
    Giles, exasperated, had refused to take her home and had re-entered the throng. She had stood there a moment, watching him, then slipped from the room and found her coat, leaving the buzz fading behind her. As she descended in the external lift, she had looked along the Thames to the lurid sunset and thought again of Theo Blake’s painting, of white sands and the low sun dazzling across the water, and the idea of just leaving and coming up here, without Giles, had presented itself. Independence was one of the pluses of working freelance, and the only plus of having little work coming in. Copy editing, she was learning, would never make her rich.
    And the idea of flight had grown as the taxi sped through the London streets to her flat. She could simply cut and run.
    The flame in the hearth flickered, and then guttered, leaving a thin trail of smoke. But the grand gesture seemed to have stalled, foundering on bleached bones