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‘Because that’s not what the Derwents do,’ Kaitlin said as she leant forward in her chair, tucked a strand of red-gold hair behind her ear. ‘But right now you need to tell us what we can do to help.’
‘I don’t think you can do anything, but I appreciate it that you want to.’
Kaitlin looked thoughtful. ‘Was it Etta who found this Matteas Coleridge?’
‘Yes.’
‘Does she know the truth?’
‘Yes.’
His sisters exchanged a glance.
‘Do you love her?’ Cora asked.
Yes, I do.
It explained so much. In the past two weeks there hadn’t been a minute when Etta hadn’t been in his thoughts. Everything brought back a memory of her—the smell of vanilla, the taste of venison, the sight of a woman with chestnut hair. Each thing made his heart ache because he missed her—missed her touch, the tilt of her chin, her smile, her chuckle, her courage. He missed Etta. Full-stop. Wanted her beside him, wanted to hold her, to protect her and...
And enough. How did this make sense?
Love made you vulnerable, opened up the route to pain and hurt.
But it also made you a better person.
Gabe knew he would do anything for Etta, and that if it cost him pain and hurt then that would be an acceptable price.
Only it didn’t have to be like that. Being with Etta made him...happy. Her courage, her strength, her decision to take a leap of faith and have a fling with him, her vulnerability, her zest for life, her amazing ability to parent...
‘Yes. I love her.’
Cora and Kaitlin looked at him.
‘So what are you going to do about it?’ Cora asked.
Two days later...
Gabe approached Etta’s London address, crunched over the white layer of snow, smelt the tang of more snow in the imminent future. His nerves were stretched tauter than the proverbial tightrope as he mounted the stairs outside Etta’s apartment block.
Easy does it.
Could be Etta wasn’t even there. His conversation with Ruby Caversham had simply unearthed the fact that Etta was still in London.
He buzzed the intercom of her flat and waited.
‘Hello?’
Relief at the sound of Etta’s voice dropped his shoulders. ‘Hi. It’s me. Gabe. Derwent,’ he added. ‘Can I come in?’
There was a pause and he wondered if she would refuse. Then, ‘Of course.’
The formality of her tone was not what he wanted to hear, but at least she was letting him in.
The intercom buzzed again and Gabe pushed the slightly dilapidated front door open and bounded up the stairs before Etta could change her mind.
Etta pulled the door open and led the way into a hallway separated from the rest of the flat by a closed door, painted a cheerful yellow. The hallway itself was an off-white colour that combined with the large mirror on one wall to give the tiny area an effect of space—a space well utilised with a coat and shoe rack.
She pushed the interconnecting door open to step into a small but welcoming lounge and headed to a spot behind a red sofa, her arms folded with more than a touch of wariness.
