Ravenfall. Narrelle M Harris
her purse. ‘Though I can give it to you in cash tomorrow, if you prefer.’ At James’s puzzled frown, she expanded: ‘Gabe’s rent for the next month.’
James took the cheque but the puzzlement didn’t vanish.
‘It’s my advance,’ explained Gabriel, ‘She’ll take it out of my sales. Assuming there are any.’
‘Of course there’ll be sales,’ Helene admonished him, ‘your work is gaining its audience at last.’
‘It’s not why I do it.’
‘I know, Gabe, but be a dear, shut up and enjoy the money while it’s coming in.’ Helene opened the side of the van. Gabriel picked up one of the canvases by the fence and placed it onto a shelf inside.
The van was set up to carry a number of canvases securely, each on an individual shelf with a length of Velcro to hold the canvas in its slot. James examined the next painting Gabriel lifted into the van.
At first glance, the painting was nothing but smudged shadows, sombrely coloured, moody and almost threatening. Even so, the patterns and colours were arresting – and then James saw the figure emerging from an oppressive atmosphere. The figure was indistinct. Her eyes – definitely her eyes – were old and full of pain; yet dignity, too. Here was a wisdom that came of knowing too much, too soon, and the defiance from having survived the experiences that had given her such knowledge. She had strength in her. Courage. The darkness hadn’t beaten her yet.
‘That’s extraordinary,’ James said when he found his voice, ‘There’s so much hope in it.’
Gabriel paused in the act of picking up the third canvas. ‘Not depressing? Or brutal?’
‘No,’ said James, ‘Why would you say that?’
Helene grinned at Gabriel. ‘You’re right. He’s smart as well as funny.’
Gabriel looked pained again. James tried not to preen too obviously. He thinks I’m smart and funny.
‘Don’t you have somewhere to be, Helene? Somewhere far away from here?’
‘Oh, no doubt,’ she said breezily, ‘But I can’t imagine it would be as fun as this.’
Gabriel finished loading the last canvases into her van. ‘I’m sure it is. Much more fun. Unless you’d rather witness the unparalleled entertainment of me unpacking my worldly goods.’
‘Pfft,’ Helene plucked her keys out of her handbag, ‘As if that will take you more than three minutes.’
Gabriel lifted his rucksack onto his shoulders and reached for his suitcase, encountering James’s fingers as he, too, went to pick it up. They both pulled away as though an electric current had zapped through them.
Helene spared them further observations, though not a delightedly smug smile. ‘You’re right,’ she said, ‘I have places to be, and you have worldly goods to unpack and the charming Dr Sharpe–’
‘James,’ said James.
‘And the charming James no doubt has a list of house rules to give you, beyond “Rule one, flatmates will not attempt reciprocal homicide”.’
‘Rule two is about not drinking milk straight from the carton,’ said James, ‘So the list isn’t all that interesting.’
‘Oh, I don’t know,’ said Gabriel, grinning slyly at him, ‘I’m looking forward to negotiating Rule Three about helping each other hide the bodies.’
‘As long as you pay the rent on time,’ said James faux-sternly, ‘I’m open to negotiation.’
‘I’ll leave you two to flirt,’ said Helene, getting into the van.
‘I’m not!’ James began to protest. The van pulled away.
He turned to Gabriel. ‘I don’t flirt. I don’t do that. Relationships. I don’t. And anyway, I’m straight.’ Which was a lie, lie, lie. When he’d been alive, James had dated both men and women. Now he was… whatever he was.
Alone.
Gabriel, he finally noticed, was just as mortified. ‘No. Of course not. I’m not… I mean. No. It’s fine. Helene has a ridiculous sense of humour, pretty intrusive at times, and she…’ He swallowed hard. ‘Helene has known me since I was very young. She was my au pair, and she likes to tease,’ he ended awkwardly.
Until now, Gabriel had mainly spoken with a wry humour. James found this new flustered version quite appealing too.
‘Ah,’ said James, smiling mock-ruefully. ‘Perhaps hers is the first body we’ll dispose of together, eh?’
‘The second,’ replied Gabriel in a like tone. ‘I have a relative who tops my list.’
James had someone else entirely on the top of his, but since his was a real list, and if he ever got his hands on the bastard who’d turned him there’d be nothing but dust and no corpse to dispose of, he chose not to mention it. Instead, he reached for Gabriel’s suitcase – once more, just as Gabriel did – and their hands met. This time, James left his fingers on the handle.
‘I’ll take it,’ he said.
Gabriel resettled his rucksack over his shoulders and hefted the easel. ‘All right,’ he agreed. Then he followed James into the flat.
It had been a mistake, Gabriel thought, to walk behind James Sharpe upstairs into the flat, because the doctor did indeed have a lovely arse, and it was shown off very nicely in those formfitting dark jeans he wore. With James a few stairs ahead of him, too, the loveliness was at eye height. Also mouth height. Biteable height. Fortunately, Gabriel had excellent impulse control.
Stop, he told himself firmly. He’s not interested. He’s made that perfectly clear, even if he was lying about being straight. No straight man ever looks at another man’s mouth like that. It’s clear he doesn’t want an entanglement, and I’m not getting into another doomed relationship. It’s irrelevant that he’s smart and funny and has a killer smile and the voice of an angel and a biteable arse and beautiful arms and, god, those hands of his. I want to warm them up for him.
James smiled at him when they reached the door, and Gabriel, with that superb impulse control, simply offered him a bland smile in return.
James pushed the door open, took the suitcase through and turned again, amusement glimmering in his blue eyes. ‘Consider this a formal invitation to enter.’ James’s expression was fleetingly sad and then sardonic once more.
Gabriel stepped past James and walked to his new room. He flung the rucksack on the bed and propped the easel against the wall. He’d shop for bedding tomorrow. The sheets Baxter had left weren’t too clean, but Gabriel had slept on worse, and less. Then he’d get his art supplies from Helene’s place, and work out what else he needed.
James dropped Gabriel’s suitcase by the wall and withdrew again. ‘Tea?’
‘Ta, yeah.’
‘Right then. No milk, sorry.’
‘I’ll live.’
A melancholy smile greeted the comment. Soon after, they sat down to strong black tea. James sipped his slowly, as though every mouthful was elixir.
‘You Scottish, then?’ Gabriel asked.
‘Technically. I lived in Edinburgh with my mother and Granda until I was 15. We came to London after Granda died. Mum got a job at the London office of her insurance company. I lost most of the accent at school. How about yours?’
‘My what?’
‘Your accent. Though it’s not an accent as such, but the way you talk shifts about. Ah. Sore point?’
Gabriel poked moodily at his black tea with a spoon, even though the sugar was well dissolved. He put the spoon on the saucer