Wishes Under The Willow Tree. Phaedra Patrick

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      He couldn’t tell if she said it with concern, or if there was a slight barb to her comment. ‘Oh yes. No problem there,’ he said, thinking about his empty appointment book. ‘Busy, busy.’

      Over his wife’s shoulder, through the large front window, he saw Gemma lollop past on the opposite side of the road. She carried armfuls of coloured shopping bags and she stopped to wave at him.

      Benedict looked away quickly, pretending not to see her. He rubbed the back of his neck, willing her to notice that he was talking to someone and to move on. He didn’t want Estelle and Gemma to meet, until he’d had the chance to talk to Charlie, to find out what the hell was going on. However, Gemma waved again. She edged towards the kerb.

      ‘I have other things to sort out today, with Cecil being in hospital.’ He swallowed.

      ‘How is he?’ Estelle asked. ‘Did his op go okay?’

      ‘Yes, he’s fine.’ The stress of seeing Gemma made his words come out too quickly. ‘I’m going to visit him tomorrow.’

      ‘Good. Send my love.’

      As Gemma crossed over the road, heading towards the shop, Benedict automatically shook his head.

      ‘What is it?’ Estelle asked sharply.

      ‘I’ll tell Cecil that you asked after him.’

      ‘You’re shaking your head.’

      ‘Sorry.’

      Gemma now stood outside the shop, looking at his window display.

      ‘You seem distracted.’ Estelle pulled her coat around her. ‘I should go.’

      ‘No.’ Benedict reached out to touch her arm, but felt as if he’d made contact with an invisible force field. He slowly lowered his hand. ‘Please don’t go.’ He opened his mouth to speak again, but the shop door opened.

      Gemma heaved her shopping bags inside. ‘Hi there,’ she chirped. ‘I’m Gemma.’

      Benedict lost all of the words in his head, at the sight of his niece and wife in the same small space. His eyes flicked between the two of them as if he was watching a game of table tennis.

      Gemma strolled around the shop, peering into each of the cabinets.

      Estelle didn’t look at her. ‘I stopped by to ask if I can come over to pick up my paintings from the spare bedroom? Canvasses are expensive, so I’m going to paint over my old ones.’

      Benedict’s brain started to tick with possibilities. This could be the opportunity he’d hoped for. He could tidy the house, buy some fresh flowers, maybe attempt to make a shepherd’s pie, and then casually invite Estelle to stay for tea. He’d open a bottle of expensive red wine to create a nice ambience for the two of them to discuss things.

      But Gemma was sleeping in Estelle’s studio.

      His eyes darted over towards his niece again. Looking at her russet hair made him feel dizzy. ‘I’ll drop the paintings off at Veronica’s apartment for you,’ he said.

      ‘Actually, Lawrence has offered to help me pick them up. He’s an expert in landscape art, and I don’t want to paint over any paintings that he thinks are worth saving. He’s been so wonderful, helping me to set up the exhibition.’

      Benedict thought of the clumps of bags, and piles of bills, on every conceivable surface in the house. He winced at the mention of Lawrence’s name. ‘It’s not actually a good time…’ he started.

      ‘Oh. What’s the problem?’

      ‘Nothing. I’ll drop the canvasses off for you tonight.’

      When Estelle spoke again, her voice was cooler and low. She took a step back towards the door. ‘There’s really no rush,’ she said. ‘Don’t go to any trouble.’

      This is all going so wrong, Benedict thought. He wanted to stride over and stand in front of the door to stop her from leaving. He couldn’t bear to see her walking away from him, again.

      As he furiously thought what else to say, little by little, Benedict became aware that Gemma had turned away from the cabinets and was clearly listening into their conversation. She stood with her arms folded, gawking at Estelle.

      At that moment, Benedict wished that he was psychic so he could send Gemma a message via his mind to stop her from staring. His own heart reverberated loudly in his ears, like there was a military drummer practising in his skull. He sensed that his niece was waiting for an introduction to his wife, and he wasn’t ready to give it. How could he tell Estelle that Gemma had turned up unannounced? His wife would have more questions than he had answers.

      Estelle noticed too. She gave Gemma a confused glance.

      ‘I’ll deliver your paintings tonight,’ Benedict said.

      Estelle gave a small, tight smile as she reopened the door. ‘I’m leaving,’ she said. ‘I feel there’s something going on here…’

      ‘No, I…’

      She held up a hand to stop his words.

      ‘No, I want to say…’ He didn’t actually know what he was going to say. There were no ordered words in his head.

      ‘Let’s leave things alone, Benedict. If I’m not in when you call, leave the canvasses by the front door of the apartment. It’s a communal hallway, so they’ll be safe there.’

      ‘I… I…’ Benedict started again, but Estelle left the shop. He watched as she bustled past the shop window, her lips pinched together.

      ‘About the text I sent you…’ he shouted after her. But if she heard, she didn’t turn back.

      Gemma dropped her shopping bags onto the floor and gave a slow handclap. ‘That went well. Way to go, Uncle Ben.’

      Benedict couldn’t stop all the frustration of the last few weeks from spilling out in his voice. ‘What the hell did you come in the shop for?’ he demanded. ‘I was trying to talk to my wife.’

      Gemma took a small step back and her ankle buckled in her cowboy boot. ‘Hey. I didn’t know it was Estelle, until I overheard your conversation. Then I figured it out.’

      ‘You listened in,’ he accused.

      ‘Well, sorta.’ She shrugged. ‘Hey, are you worried about this Lawrence guy? Your nostrils flared real big when she mentioned his name.’

      ‘They did not.’

      ‘Yeah, they did.’

      Benedict pictured the handsome gallery owner in his striped T-shirt and he suddenly felt exhausted. He wanted to go home and slump on the sofa, whether his wife was there or not. ‘If you’re going to stay with me then we need some rules,’ he said grumpily.

      ‘You don’t have to worry about me.’ Gemma pointed at her own chest. ‘I think you need to focus on getting СКАЧАТЬ