The Austen Playbook (London Celebrities #4)(61)

Freddy flinched. “With some justification, I expect.” She ran her gaze blindly across the portraits in front of them. “I’ve been a total pushover where Dad’s concerned. I do know that. And I’ve made some bad decisions.”

“Cut yourself some slack. It’s been the two of you working on your career since you were eleven. It’s a hard cycle to break.” Akiko’s voice gentled. “I know you’ve carried some guilt over what happened to him. Quite unnecessarily, but the mind isn’t always rational. Neither is the heart.”

Freddy swallowed. “If what I think is true, it’s going to be a massive blow to him.” Understatement. “And coming right after the news that I ditched the audition... I can’t honestly see what things are going to be like between us from now on.”

“If it’s true, things are going to be difficult for a while. But regardless, you can’t live your life trying to fulfil whatever dream Rupert has. I think you have to do what you have to do.” Akiko nudged Freddy’s arm. “And it sounds like you’ll have a hand to hold if you need it.”

Freddy looked down at where she was holding her own hands, her fingers knotted together. “I don’t know what Griff will want. He’s not exactly an open book. And he’s very self-sufficient.”

“If he doesn’t want you, he’s an idiot. And based on his TV shows and columns, he’s clearly not a fool. And as far as self-sufficiency goes, just because you do a good job of being by yourself, it doesn’t mean you wouldn’t also make a good partner. If you’re a complete person in yourself, that usually makes for the best kind of partnership. Still you, but a partner-in-crime, a buddy to have your back.”

Freddy smiled a little. “I’ve been super jealous, you know, of you and Elise this past year or so. I thought it would be so great, to have that. To know what it’s like.”

Akiko lifted a brow. “And what is it like?”

A tiny little glow of warmth amidst the tension that had sunk deep into every muscle and bone in her body. “Right now, a whole bunch of confusion, but—I think it could be the best thing ever. I—”

Her voice cut off abruptly as one of the portraits on the wall suddenly came into focus. She stared, wondering if she’d finally caved into the stress and gone crackers.

She darted forward and crouched in front of one of the lowest mounted frames. It was a moody, atmospheric depiction of a woman, her skin painted with such a luminescent light against the greyness of the background that she seemed to glow.

“Portrait of My Love,” Freddy read out from the sparse plaque below the picture.

“Romantic, isn’t it?” Akiko knelt at her side. “Although I always think there’s something sad about it. The tones. There’s a darkness. I suspect it was painted in tribute, to a love that was no longer with him in body.”

Freddy touched a fingertip to the plaque. “William Gotham.”

“Achieved some success as a landscape artist in the seventies,” Akiko recalled from memory. “But really came into vogue as a portraitist in the eighties. He was the ‘it’ painter for the highest of high society. Made a mint. This piece is very different from his commission work, though. I think it’s his finest portrait. I wish I knew more about the subject, but he was very private. I couldn’t find much information about his life outside of his work.”

“I can probably fill in some of the gaps for you,” Freddy said. “That’s Violet Ford.”

Griff’s great-aunt had been painted in profile, but Freddy had seen her hovering in the background of enough photos of Henrietta in the past week that she knew that asymmetric bob-cut, the shape of that enigmatic smile, and the unmistakable nose, the latter identical to Griff’s. She tapped the etched name again.

“And this, I imagine, is her Billy.”

Freddy wasn’t sure exactly how she’d ended up at Tower Bridge. After she’d left Akiko and the beautiful portrait of Violet at the Grantham Collections, she’d intended to head straight back to Highbrook. She wasn’t quite ready to face her father yet, and anyway, Maf had only given her leave until three o’clock.

But somehow she’d ended up asking the taxi driver to change directions. This one was more patient with her flip-flopping decisions than the last, and just whistled cheerfully as he delivered her as close to the bridge as they could get in the traffic.

The sky was still grey and heavy, and a few more raindrops fell on Freddy’s already ruffled head when she slowed her footsteps and stood at the railing, close to where Violet Ford had fatally crashed her car decades ago.

The back of her neck prickled. With a strange surge of adrenaline, Freddy spun around, and her breath caught as her eyes met Griff’s.



Chapter Thirteen


Standing on Tower Bridge with his blond head darkened by rain, Griff was staring at her, equally taken aback. He recovered faster than she did. Crossing the distance between them with his long stride, he somehow managed to move them so his body was blocking most of the wind.

“Of course I’d randomly find you on Tower Bridge,” he said. “I don’t know why I was surprised. What are you doing here?”

“What are you doing here?” Freddy could do nothing but parrot his enquiry. She was at a loss for words. For God’s sake—she’d been having a weird feeling all day about events slipping into motion, but it was just getting spooky now. “I didn’t know you were coming up to London today.”