Twenties Girl - Kinsella Sophie (читать книги бесплатно полностью без регистрации сокращений TXT) 📗

“You want the truth? I think you’re my guardian angel.”

“What?” I try to laugh, but it doesn’t quite come out right.

“Do you know what it’s like to have someone crash into your life with no warning?” Ed shakes his head reminiscently. “When you landed in my office, I was, like, Who the fuck is this? But you shook me up. You brought me back to life at a time when I was in limbo. You were just what I needed.” He hesitates, then adds, “You’re just what I need.” His voice is lower and darker; there’s something in his look which is making me tingle all over.

“Well, I need you too.” My voice is constricted. “So we’re even.”

“No, you don’t need me.” He smiles ruefully. “You’re doing just fine.”

“OK.” I hesitate. “Maybe I don’t need you. But… I want you.”

For a moment neither of us speaks. His eyes are locked on mine. My heart is thumping so hard, I’m sure he can hear it.

“Go away, Ed!” Sadie suddenly screeches in Ed’s ear. “Do this later!”

I can see Ed flinch at the sound of her, and I feel a familiar foreboding. If Sadie messes this up for me, I will, I will…

“Leave!” Sadie is shrieking incessantly at him. “Tell her you’ll call later! Go away! Go home!”

I’m aching with anger at her. Stop! I want to yell. Leave him alone! But I’m powerless. I just have to watch the light come on in Ed’s eyes as he hears her and registers what she’s saying. It’s like Josh all over again. She’s ruined everything again.

“You know, sometimes you hear a voice in your head,” Ed says, as though the thought has just occurred to him. “Like… an instinct.”

“I know you do,” I say miserably. “You hear a voice and it has a message and it’s telling you to go away. I understand.”

“It’s telling me the opposite.” Ed moves forward and firmly takes hold of my shoulders. “It’s telling me not to let you go. It’s telling me you’re the best thing that’s happened to me and I better not fuck this one up.”

And before I can even take a breath, he leans down and kisses me. His arms wrap around me, strong and secure and resolute.

I’m in a state of total disbelief. He’s not walking away. He’s not listening to Sadie. Whatever voice is in his head… it’s not hers.

At last he draws away and smiles down at me, pushing a strand of hair gently off my face. I smile back, breathless, resisting the temptation to pull him down straightaway for another snog.

“Would you like to dance, twenties girl?” he says.

I want to dance. I want to do more than dance. I want to spend all evening and all night with him.

I shoot a surreptitious glance at Sadie. She’s moved away a few feet and is studying her shoes, her shoulders hunched over, her hands twisted together in a complicated knot. She looks up and shrugs, with a tiny sad smile of defeat.

“Dance with him,” she says. “It’s all right. I’ll wait.”

She’s waited years and years and years to find out the truth about Stephen. And now she’s willing to wait even longer, just so I can dance with Ed.

There’s a tugging in my heart. If I could, I’d throw my arms around her.

“No.” I shake my head firmly. “It’s your turn. Ed…” I turn to him with a deep breath. “I have to tell you about my great-aunt. She died recently.”

“Oh. OK. Sure. I didn’t know.” He looks puzzled. “You want to talk over dinner?”

“No. I need to talk about it right now.” I drag him to the edge of the dance floor, away from the band. “It’s really important. Her name was Sadie, and she was in love with this guy Stephen in the 1920s. And she thought he was a bastard who used her and forgot about her. But he loved her. I know he did. Even after he went to France, he loved her.”

My words are spilling out in an urgent stream. I’m looking directly at Sadie. I have to get my message across. She has to believe me.

“How do you know?” Her chin is as haughty as ever, but her voice has a giveaway tremble. “What are you talking about?”

“I know because he wrote letters to her from France.” I speak across Ed to Sadie. “And because he put himself in the necklace. And because he never painted another portrait, his whole life. People begged him to, but he would always say, ‘J’ai peint celui que j’ai voulu peinare.’ ‘I have painted the one I wanted to paint.’ And when you see the painting, you realize why. Because why would he ever want to paint anyone else after Sadie?” My throat is suddenly thick. “She was the most beautiful thing you ever saw. She was radiant. And she was wearing this necklace… When you see the necklace in the painting, it all makes sense. He loved her. Even if she lived her whole life without knowing it. Even if she lived to one hundred and five without ever getting an answer.” I brush away a tear from my cheek.

Ed looks lost for words. Which is hardly a surprise. One minute we’re snogging. The next I’m downloading some random torrent of family history on him.

“Where did you see the painting? Where is it?” Sadie takes a step toward me, quivering all over, her face pale. “It was lost. It was burned.”

“So, did you know your great-aunt well?” Ed is saying simultaneously.

“I didn’t know her when she was alive. But after she died I went down to Archbury, where she used to live. He’s famous.” I turn again to Sadie. “Stephen’s famous.”

“Famous?” Sadie looks bewildered.

“There’s a whole museum dedicated to him. He’s called Cecil Malory. He was discovered long after his death. And the portrait is famous too. And it was saved and it’s in a gallery and everyone loves it… and you have to see it. You have to see it.”

“Now.” Sadie’s voice is so quiet, I can barely hear her. “Please. Now.”

“Sounds awesome,” says Ed politely. “We’ll have to go see it someday. We could take in some galleries, do lunch-”

“No. Now.” I take his hand. “Right now.” I glance at Sadie. “Come on.”

We sit on the leather bench, the three of us, in a silent row. Sadie next to me. Me next to Ed. Sadie hasn’t spoken since she came into the gallery. When she first saw the portrait, I thought she might faint. She flickered silently and just stared, and then at last exhaled as though she’d been holding her breath for an hour.

“Amazing eyes,” says Ed at length. He keeps shooting me wary looks, as though he’s not sure how to deal with this situation.

“Amazing.” I nod, but I can’t concentrate on him. “Are you OK?” I give Sadie a worried glance. “I know this has been a real shock for you.”

“I’m good.” Ed sounds puzzled. “Thanks for asking.”

“I’m all right.” Sadie gives me a wan smile. Then she resumes gazing at the painting. She’s already been up close to it, to see the portrait of Stephen hidden in her necklace, and her face was briefly so contorted with love and sorrow that I had to turn away and give her a moment of privacy.

“They’ve done some research at the gallery,” I say to Ed. “She’s the most popular painting here. They’re going to launch a range of products with her picture on them. Like posters and coffee mugs. She’s going to be famous!”

“Coffee mugs.” Sadie tosses her head. “How terribly vulgar.” But I can see a sudden glimmer of pride in her eyes. “What else will I be on?”

“And tea towels, jigsaw puzzles…” I say as though informing Ed. “You name it. If she was ever worried about not making any mark on this world…” I leave my words trailing in the air.

“Quite the famous relative you have.” Ed raises his eyebrows. “Your family must be very proud.”

“Not really,” I say after a pause. “But they will be.”

“Mabel.” Ed is consulting the guidebook which he insisted on buying at the entrance. “It says here: The sitter is thought to be called Mabel.

“That’s what they thought.” I nod. “Because the painting says My Mabel on the back.”

“Mabel?” Sadie swivels around, looking so horrified I can’t help snorting with laughter.