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“Yeah. It’s on the dining room table. Biggish. From New York by the looks of it.”
She gave him a puzzled frown. Was it from the gallery? But why would they send her something? “Thanks, Tom. I’ll have a look after I put away the groceries.”
“I can do it for you.”
“Aren’t you supposed to be at the furniture store?” she asked, suddenly remembering.
He shook his head. “Fred’s there today. He’s still part time. Usually I take that opportunity to work in the back in my workshop, but I thought I would come and see Dad instead.”
She nodded. “He’s still doing well. A little tired maybe. The stairs can be a bit much, but of course he’d never tell you that.”
Tom snorted. “Yeah. He just told me he’s fine. No problems.”
She rolled her eyes. “You know him.”
Tom squeezed her shoulder. “I’m glad you’re home, Kate. And that you’re here, keeping an eye on him.”
Tears gathered in her eyes at his comment. “Me, too,” she said softly.
He squeezed her shoulder again. “All right. I’m off now, if you don’t mind. I’m going to try and get a few hours in at the workshop so Tamzin won’t kill me the next time she sees me.”
Kate raised her brows. “Really?”
Tom laughed. “Well, she’s a real taskmaster. She wants me to have more pieces done. Not furniture commissions, but real art, as she calls it.”
“Tom, all your work is art. There’s nothing wrong if it’s functional.” She tried to keep her voice light, because she knew he could get prickly if he wanted.
He shrugged. “Yeah, whatever. Tamzin may disagree, and I don’t want to renege on the commitment I made for the show.”
She thought of her own promises she’d made to Giancarlo. “I know. It can be tough.”
He smiled. “I suppose you do.” He leaned over and kissed the top of her head. “See you.” He walked out of the kitchen and after a brief farewell to her dad, he left, leaving her to mull over the unusual departing gesture.
“What’s in the package?” shouted her dad from the living room.
She could hear him rustling around, rising from his armchair that had started to become his daily spot. From there he could look out the window, read his book, or play his guitar.
Half of the groceries were still sitting on the kitchen counter, but the cold items were now safely stored in the fridge. She wiped her hands on her jeans, and still wearing the corduroy jacket that Bunny had disapproved of, moved into the dining room. She thought of them again, still disbelieving the possibility of Bunny and Mark married. A short sharp pain seared her chest and she rubbed it unconsciously. She swallowed, took a deep breath and shoved the image of those two aside.
She glanced over at the dining room table. There, lying on Tom’s beautiful table, was a large box. Her father joined her there a moment later and offered his pocket knife, a tool that had been by his side for as long as she could remember. She took it gratefully and used it to slit the tapes. The only label on the package was too blurred for her to really guess the contents of the box, but as she pulled back the packaging, she knew. Art supplies. Art supplies that she used back in Italy. The inks, calligraphy pens, the rag paper and all the other bits that she needed for her art. And a message stating that a printer enlarger was on its way in a separate delivery and a short note that indicated Giancarlo had placed the order.
Kate paused and stared down at it, not knowing whether to be overjoyed or deeply annoyed. There was an unsubtle message there from Giancarlo, without a doubt, but at the same time, she had more than enough time on her hands that refusing to use the supplies seemed ridiculous. Petty. And perhaps she might have the time to explore some of the new images she’d taken recently. Joy. She would decide on feeling joy at his thoughtfulness.
* * *
Max nudged her hand with his nose, signaling his need for her to pet him. She understood that sentiment all too well, because now, as she sat on her bed, she felt the same. The thought of Giancarlo taking her in his arms seemed all too desirable, a need that was so strong, she had to take a deep breath before she pressed the icon on her phone to initiate the video call. She hoped he’d pick up. She wanted to see his face, to feel reassured by his presence, even if it was virtual.
A rapid stream of Italian issued from the phone as soon as the call connected. She struggled to hear, trying to make sense of the words.
“Speak English, Giancarlo,” she said, suddenly tired. “I-I can’t understand you, I’m sorry.”
“I am sorry, my darling. I was just about to phone you with some wonderful news, and I got carried away. You are well? How is your father?”
She smiled at the excitement in his voice. “I’m okay. It’s good to hear your voice, Giancarlo. I’ve missed you.” She took a deep breath. “My father is doing well enough, considering everything, but I can see he’s getting weaker.”
It was the first time she’d given voice to what she’d been observing, and it brought tears to her eyes. She swallowed and tried to clear her mind of all the implications of her words. “What’s your wonderful news, then? I could do with some of that.”
“This will bring joy to your heart,” he said. “I have just spoken with your gallery owner in New York, and she has confirmed she will have an exhibition of your work. The dates she offered were the first week of February. I agreed immediately. We don’t want this opportunity to slip through our fingers. She’ll meet with you the day after tomorrow at her gallery to discuss specifics.”
