London Tides: A Novel (The MacDonald Family Trilogy Book 2) (17 page)

Chapter Nineteen

The next day passed more slowly than any other day of Grace’s life. She’d always prided herself on her good sense and her independence, but now she checked her phone every three minutes to see if she’d missed a call or text from Ian. It made her feel pathetic and clingy. Melvin had asked her to come by the gallery in the late afternoon, but that still gave her hours in which to mark every single minute until the clock turned over to three thirty.

Melvin greeted her with a smile. “Grace—I’m glad you came. I wanted your opinion on this particular photo.”

Curious, Grace followed Melvin back to the workroom, where a single print was pinned out. Grace smiled when she saw it. It was one of her favorites, an African woman standing before a burned-out building, cradling a tiny baby. Despite the background’s gloomy subject matter, the photo had captured the woman’s total adoration for her infant. To Grace, it perfectly summarized the theme of the collection.

But she could also see why Melvin had singled it out as problematic. The balance between the woman’s dark skin and the brightly lit background would be difficult to get right. She moved closer to the photograph, inspecting it, noting the areas where the contrast was too low or the print too light.

Melvin came up beside her. “I can dodge the woman in the foreground and expose the rest a bit more. You have some time to join me in the darkroom?”

“Sure.” Grace gathered her gear, then followed him through the connected doorway.

The small ventilated room was barely large enough for both of them, so Grace pressed her back against the wall while Melvin refilled emulsion trays and checked supplies. He turned off the lights, and a red overhead came on in its place.

“I’m surprised you didn’t want to do these yourself,” he said. “This used to be an interest of yours.”

“I’m out of practice. A darkroom necessitates a permanent address. Besides, why would I go to the trouble when I have you?”

Melvin chuckled. “When you have time, I’ll show you some large-format platinum prints I’m working on. The platinum gives the images a depth you just can’t get with silver.”

“I’d love to.” She smiled as she watched him expose the negative through the enlarger, wishing she had been able to shoot some of these portraits medium format. But the larger camera didn’t lend itself to trekking into the villages and up the mountainsides where she’d taken most of these. Besides, part of the appeal had been using Aidan’s Leica on a project he’d always talked about but wasn’t able to attempt before he died. The practicality of printing 35 mm for gallery exhibition had never occurred to her.

Melvin was putting the paper into the developer tray when Grace’s phone trilled in her pocket. She pushed an earphone into her ear, then clicked the microphone button. “Grace Brennan.”

“Am I interrupting something?”

Ian’s voice sent a pleasant hum of energy through her. She turned away and lowered her voice, though the room’s size hardly allowed for privacy. “I’m in the darkroom with Melvin, fine-tuning a print. I was just thinking about calling you.”

“Oh really?”

Something about the way he uttered those two words made her flush to her toes. She cleared her throat. “I missed you.”

“Then we’re even. How about dinner? A pint and a light supper at the Plucked Goose, maybe?”

“Are we dining alone?”

“With Chris and some of the other lads, probably.”

First dinner with Chris and Sarah, now a pint with his mates. That was some sort of girlfriend initiation, even if she knew most of them from the old days. “What time?”

“Half eight?”

“I’ll be there.”

“See you then, love.”

Grace clicked off and tried to wipe the smile from her face before she turned. She didn’t need Melvin to know she’d become a complete fool over a man.

Too late. Melvin was grinning at her over the developer tray. “That him?”

“You heard everything, didn’t you?”

“Of course I did. Who is he? Anyone I know?”

“Do you remember Ian MacDonald?”

“Your ex?” His eyebrows arched into where his hairline should have been. “I liked him.”

“You never met him!”

“True, but I liked how you were when you were with him. Happy. You used to laugh, Grace.”

“I laugh!”

The dubious look he sent her said it all. Then he shrugged. “I suppose I don’t blame you. I’d be more worried if you weren’t affected by everything you’ve seen and experienced. You should have someone who gives you as much as you give everyone else. You deserve some happiness.”

When she didn’t immediately answer, Melvin transferred the print carefully into the fixative, then said, “Stop worrying, Grace. Stop waiting for the other shoe to drop and just live for a while, will you?”

He knew her too well. “I’ll do my best.”

“Good. A couple more minutes, and we can take a look at this.”

His words trailed her through the rest of the afternoon, through talk of exposures and burning and dodging. It was after six o’clock before they had gotten a print that pleased them both. Fourteen more to go, but she knew the process would be a pleasure. Melvin shared her vision, and he was always careful to guide without imposing his own expectations.

But their discussion stayed with her through the trek home and her preparations for supper with Ian. If she stayed in London, she would have the freedom to explore whatever creative endeavors she wished. She could have a darkroom. She could experiment with other kinds of photography besides conflict.

Maybe if she could stop focusing on the misery of the world around her, she could embrace the happiness that was in front of her.

Chapter Twenty

The next four weeks took on their own rhythm. Grace photographed London while Ian rowed and worked, and they met for dinner almost every night. She and Melvin made their way through the remaining prints, some of which they got on the first try, others requiring multiple days of fine-tuning and numerous reprints. All the while, James’s wedding in Scotland came nearer. And surprisingly, the idea of seeing Ian’s family again held more anticipation than fear.

When Ian called and said he would pick Grace up at Asha’s flat at 6:00 a.m., she expected him to arrive in a cab. Instead the sleek, shiny roadster pulled up to the curb, the hood already tucked back.

Grace straightened from her perch on the front steps. “I thought we were taking the train.”

He climbed out and circled around to the pavement. “Change of plans. Are you disappointed?”

“Not at all. Driving to Scotland in what might be the coolest car ever built? That’s the good kind of spontaneity.”

“And so is this.” He grabbed her hand and pulled her into a long, lingering kiss. When he let her go, she was fairly certain she had a dumb, dreamy look on her face. He eyed her suitcase on the steps. “That’s all you’re bringing? Could you have fit enough shoes and clothes for the weekend in that?”

She gave him a withering look.

“I’ll take that as a yes.” He lifted the suitcase and grimaced. “What’s in this? Every pair of steel-toed boots you own?”

“That’s my camera equipment, so be careful. It’s worth as much as your car. Almost.” A wild exaggeration, but it was worth it for how gingerly he placed it in the boot.

“Where are your clothes then?”

“Rucksack.” She turned so he could see the sizable pack on her back.

“You’re something else, Grace. Come on. We’ve got six hundred miles to cover in one day.”

Grace climbed into the passenger side and placed her rucksack behind her seat. “You could have been slightly less spontaneous and decided to leave yesterday. When exactly did this idea hit you?”

“About two hours ago.” He twisted the key in the ignition, then pulled a pair of sunglasses from his jacket pocket.

“I changed my mind. You look like James Bond, not Superman.”

“
That
I can live with.”

Grace settled back as he pulled into light morning traffic and enjoyed the coolness of the air, even if it came with London’s signature fragrance of damp concrete and diesel fumes. Twelve hours straight in a car would have been a horror with anyone else, but she selfishly loved the idea of having Ian all to herself.

“What are you thinking?” he asked after several minutes of silence.

About you.
Out loud she said, “I was wondering if you’d finally let me drive her.”

He threw her an unreadable look—he really did look like James Bond in those shades—and then said, “Maybe.”

“That’s an improvement. I’ve graduated from
not a chance
to
maybe.
” She grinned and went back to her observation of the London cityscape. By the time they were out of London proper, though, the nerves were already encroaching.

“What do you think they’ll say when you show up with me?”

“Jamie will probably pat me on the back and tell me it’s about time. Serena will ask me if I’m happy. And if she’s smart, Mum will keep quiet.”

“I told you before, I don’t want to cause any problems.”

He lifted her hand to his lips without taking his eyes off the road. “They’ll have to get used to it. But let’s not borrow trouble. If there’s one thing of which I’m absolutely certain, it’s that Andrea will adore you.”

“The American?”

“Yes, the American. And if Mum reconciled herself to the fact Jamie is marrying an American …”

Grace accepted the statement, even though she knew it wasn’t the same thing. Marjorie might dislike the idea that James was marrying an American on principle, but she hated Grace in particular. Besides, from what Ian had said, Andrea was a successful, educated businesswoman who had moved to Inverness and started her own company. Grace was practically a drifter, making her living by her camera, owning only what was small enough to pack in a duffel bag and a few hard cases. In fact, the exact phrase Marjorie had used was
Irish gypsy trash.
Grace almost didn’t blame her for thinking she wasn’t good enough for her son. But the son thought she was good enough for him, and that was the only thing that mattered. Wasn’t it?

As they continued west and then north, Ian sensed Grace settle in beside him, even though she shot him searching looks. Did she think he’d gone completely mad, binning their train tickets in favor of the slower and more tedious drive to Scotland? It was something he might have done in younger, rasher days, which was probably where the urge came from in the first place. Being back with Grace felt as though it had erased those years they’d spent apart, loosened the rules and the practicality that had governed his life for a decade.

It seemed that Grace was thinking along the same lines, because she said, “Did you ever think we’d be here together, doing something like this?”

“Going to Jamie’s wedding in Scotland? No, I was pretty sure he’d be a permanent bachelor.” He chuckled when he remembered the lecture he’d given his brother, about how Andrea was too good for him if he were just trying to get her into bed. He’d underestimated both the change in Jamie’s values and the effect that their consultant had had on him. The fact that Jamie had found her at her sister's home in Ohio and flown halfway across the world to get her back had proved that he was serious about her. And for the first time, Ian thought he and Jamie might have something in common.

“You know very well that’s not what I’m talking about. I mean me, giving up my life on the road. You giving up rowing to be a big-time lawyer.”

“I’m hardly a big-time lawyer. More like a small-time solicitor who keeps up his Practising Certificate out of habit rather than any real need. Frankly, I do little other than babysit my brother’s money and shuffle paperwork. And now that I have Ms. Grey, I do very little paperwork shuffling.”

She cocked her head, picking up what he’d left unsaid. “You told me all this is just something to do. What would you do? If you didn’t have any responsibilities to family or the business?”

“If I could walk out of Jamie’s company and never come back?” He thought for a minute. “I don’t know. Once, I might have said I’d go back to rowing competitively, assuming I still had the ability, but I recently realized it doesn’t hold the same appeal for me.”

“Technically you don’t have to do anything.” Grace raised an eyebrow significantly at him. “You could … I don’t know … travel. That’s the advantage of a wealthy family and a trust fund.”

“Unfortunately I’d have a guilty conscience. Not sure I could look at myself in the mirror if I weren’t doing something. I never wanted to be one of the idle rich. None of us have.”

“Most men don’t choose contract law for fun.”

“I didn’t actually study contract law. My degree is in public international law. That’s part of the reason I came on with CAF when the board position opened. I already had some expertise in the area.” He glanced at her, frowning. “I never told you that?”

“You never told me that. I assumed you were drawing up wills and trusts and the like before James stole you away. Why that speciality?”

Ian remained silent, trying not to take the simple question as an indictment. He’d ignored that part of his life for so long, he’d almost forgotten it existed. “Maybe I had the notion that I could change the world too. You were the one who actually did.”

Grace flinched, and he realized his blunder too late. “Grace, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean—”

“No, I know you didn’t. I knew it would be hard to leave that behind. Some days are harder than others.”

Not for the first time, a little kernel of doubt sprouted in Ian’s heart. “Are you sure this is what you want to do? I don’t want you to have any regrets. I don’t want you to resent me.”

Honest surprise surfaced on her face. “I could never resent you. You have to understand, this is who I’ve been for so many years, I’m not sure who I am without the camera in my hand.” She hesitated, then added softly, “I’m not sure who I am without their pain.”

Ian stayed quiet for a moment, letting the statement rest, afraid to breathe lest it would pull apart like tissue paper. “I wish you would let me help you with … all of this you’re carrying.”

“You already have.” She laced her fingers with his and squeezed hard. “After I left you, I felt like I was looking for something. Some place to call home, maybe. And nothing has ever felt right. Until now. I have to believe you’re the reason for that. Is that … a lot of pressure?”

“No. Not pressure.” He took off the sunglasses and looked away from the road long enough to let her see he meant it. “It’s a gift.”