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Melina’s whole body shook. Her face burned and her fingers clenched.
An arm snaked around her waist, holding her. Warrington stood beside her. She caught her breath. ‘We did all we could. And you did nothing but throw colours on to canvas a world away. That takes no true talent.’
‘My painting is art. It was what she wanted. She knew the truth of art. She saw the value of it. You do not. You see nothing beyond your selfish spirit.’
‘Selfish spirit? You left us without enough for food, and yet you live like this?’ She waved her hand.
His nose went up and his lids lowered as he looked at her. ‘It is not mine to give.’
‘My sisters need funds,’ she continued. ‘Proika. A dowry. They should not have to rely on scraping the earth and hoping rocks grow food so we can eat.’
‘I do not give you funds because it is time you each learned to stand on your own legs, not toddle about like children looking for a teat. You should all have wed before now.’
‘We have no dowry.’
‘Bah...’ He shook his head. ‘Do not tell me the men of the island cannot overlook that. I am well aware of how they think. You three could each find a husband if you wished. It is only your haughty airs that keep you from it. When you get hungry enough, you will learn what I mean.’
She appraised him. ‘We are better off without you. When you left us, I was angry. I thought we needed you. Now I see. We didn’t. We were fortunate you left.’
‘Melina.’ Her father’s voice sounded the familiar angry bark he used when disrupted. His eyes flashed. ‘You know nothing of life. On the island—it is a different world than England. My marriage to your mother is not legal here and I have no call to support you, now that you are of age. And you have no right to speak so to me. A man has to have a woman. Especially an artist. We must have our senses fulfilled to continue to create. It’s nature. And your mother is dead. My life on the island is gone from me.’
She paused and listened to her own words as she spoke them. Hearing her truth as he heard it. ‘When I was a child, I had hoped I would some day visit England with you. I worked so hard on my speech and my letters. I am here now and it’s not as I expected. You do not have to worry I think of you as my father. One cannot keep what one never had. So I will not miss you.’
Hawkins stepped forward. He stopped only an arm’s length from her and he turned to Warrington. ‘It doesn’t matter who you are.’ His words came out as a snarl. ‘I will not have it. I don’t know what she told you—and how she convinced you to bring her here. Say what you wish—I cannot stop you. But get her out of my home. You will not sully my house.’
‘Melina—’ Warrington said.
‘Don’t talk of this.’ The man spat out the words and then stepped back. ‘Get out. Now.’
Warrington leaned into Hawkins’s face. ‘You don’t deserve her for a daughter and she deserves better.’
Hawkins stepped backwards, to the door. ‘I want her gone.’ The plain words bit into the room. Hawkins couldn’t seem to stand still. He moved a step sideways, huffed a breath and then paced the other direction. ‘Gone. Keep your distance from my family. I don’t want my—’ He turned to Melina. ‘You are most distracting. You always were. I do not know why I ever painted you.’
He’d just given her one of his most severe cuts—she was not worthy to be captured on canvas.
Moving quicker than Melina thought possible, Warrington grasped her father’s clothing at the neck and pulled the man forward.
‘You will support your daughters.’ His words were a command.
‘No.’ She lurched forward, tugging at Warrington’s arm, but it didn’t move. ‘No,’ she shouted again. ‘I will find another way.’ The statue. ‘I want nothing from him. Nothing.’
She wrapped both hands over Warrington’s sleeve, holding him.
Warrington stopped, jerking his head to indicate the painting. ‘How much for that?’
Her father’s eyes moved up and he looked above the fireplace. ‘It’s not one of my favourites. I can hardly stomach it.’
‘Price?’ Warrington demanded, voice slamming into the walls.
The muscles moved in her father’s face. ‘I plan to throw it in a rubbish heap.’
‘Nonsense. It has small value. Even life has small value—sometimes. Such as yours—now.’
