The Trussalt Gallery was in a gracefully refurbished old building. Flowers, neatly trimmed and still wet from the recent rain, were grouped near the main entrance. Laura could smell roses and damp leaves as she pulled the door open.
Inside, skylights offered an open view of the still-cloudy sky, but the gallery itself was brilliant with recessed and track lighting. It was as quiet as a church. Indeed, as Laura paused to look, she could see that this was a place designed for the worship of art. Sculptures in marble and wood, in iron and bronze, were placed lovingly. Rather than competing with each other, they harmonized. As did the paintings aligned stylishly on the walls.
She recognized one of Gabe’s, a particularly solemn view of a garden going to seed. It wasn’t pretty; it certainly wasn’t joyful. Looking at it, she thought of the mural he’d painted for his mother. The same man who believed enough in fantasies to bring them to life also saw reality, perhaps a bit too clearly. They had that in common, as well.
There were only a few patrons here on this rainy weekday afternoon. They had time to browse, Laura reminded herself. She didn’t. Spotting a guard, she moved toward him.
“Excuse me, I’m looking for Gabriel Bradley.”
“I’m sorry, miss. He wouldn’t be available. If you have a question about one of his paintings, you may want to see Ms. Trussalt.”
“No. You see, I’m—”
“Laura.” Marion breezed out of an alcove. She was wearing pastels today, a long, slim skirt in baby blue that reached to her ankles, with a hip-skimming sweater in soft pink. The quiet colors only accentuated her exotic looks. “So you decided to pay us a visit after all.”
“I’d like to see Gabe.”
“What a pity.” Without so much as a glance, Marion motioned the guard aside. “He’s not here at the moment.”
Laura curled her fingers tighter around the clasp of her purse. Intimidation from this quarter meant less than nothing now. “Do you expect him back?”
“As a matter of fact, he should be back before too long. We’re booked for drinks in, oh—” she glanced at her watch “—half an hour.”
Both the glance and the tone were designed to dismiss her, but Laura was far beyond worrying about games. “Then I’ll wait.”
“You’re welcome to, of course, but I’m afraid Gabe and I have business to discuss. So boring for you.”
Weariness was a dull throb at the base of her skull. She had no desire to cross swords now. Her energy had to remain focused for a much more vital fight. “I appreciate your concern, but nothing about Gabe’s art is boring for me.”
“Spoken like a little Trojan.” Marion tilted her head. There was a smile that had nothing to do with friendship in her eyes. “You’re looking a bit pale. Trouble in paradise?”
And she knew. As clearly as if Marion had said it out loud, she knew how Lorraine had found her. “Nothing that can’t be dealt with. Why did you call her, Marion?”
The smile remained in place, cool and confident. “I beg your pardon?”
“She was already paying good money for detectives. I only had a week or two longer at most.”
Marion considered a moment, then turned to fuss with the alignment of a painting. “I’ve always thought time was better saved than wasted. The sooner Lorraine deals with you, the sooner I can get Gabe back on track. Let me show you something.”
Marion moved across the gallery in a separate room, where the walls and floors were white. A sweeping spiral staircase, again in white, rose up in one corner. Above, balconies ran in a circle. A trio of ornamental trees grew under the staircase, fronted by a towering ebony sculpture of a man and a woman in a passionate, yet somehow despairing, embrace.
But it was the portrait that caught her attention, that drew it and demanded it. It was her own face that looked serenely back at Laura, from the portrait Gabe had painted during those long, quiet days in Colorado.
“Yes, it’s stunning.” Marion rubbed a finger over her lip as she studied it. She’d been tempted to take a knife to the canvas when Gabe had first unpacked it, but the temptation had faded quickly. She was too much a patron of the arts to let personal feelings interfere. “It’s one of his best and most romantic pieces. It’s been hanging only three weeks and I’ve already had six serious offers for it.”
“I’ve already seen the painting, Marion.”
“Yes, but I doubt you understand it. He calls it Gabriel’s Angel. That should tell you something.”
“Gabriel’s Angel,” Laura repeated in a murmur. The warmth spread through her as she took a step closer. “What should that tell me?”
“That he, like Pygmalion, fell a bit in love with his subject. That’s expected now and again, even encouraged, as it often inspires great work such as this.” She tapped a finger against the frame. “But Gabe’s much too practical a man to string out the fantasy for long. The portrait’s finished, Laura. He doesn’t need you any longer.”
Laura turned her head so that she could look directly at Marion. What was being said had run through her mind countless times. She told Marion what she had already told herself. “Then he’ll have to tell me that.”
“He’s an honorable man. That’s part of his charm. But once things come to a head, once he realizes his mistake, he’ll cut his losses. A man only believes in an image,” she said, with a gesture toward the portrait, “as long as the image is unsmeared. From what Lorraine tells me, you don’t have much time.”
Laura fought back the urge to turn and run. Oddly, she discovered it didn’t take as much effort this time. “If you believe that, why are you taking so much trouble to move me along?”
“No trouble.” She smiled again and let her hand fall away from the painting. “I consider it part of my job to encourage Gabe to concentrate on his career and avoid the kind of controversies that can only detract from it. As I’ve already explained, his involvement with you isn’t acceptable. He’ll realize that soon enough himself.”
No wonder she had called Lorraine, Laura thought. They were two of a kind. “You’re forgetting something, Marion. Michael. No matter what Gabe feels or doesn’t feel for me, he loves Michael.”
“It takes a particularly pitiful woman to use a child.”
“You’re right.” Laura met her eyes levelly. “You couldn’t be more right.” When Laura saw that retort had hit home, she continued calmly, “I’ll wait here for Gabe. I’d appreciate it if you’d tell him when he gets back.”
“So you can run and hide behind him?”
“I can’t see that Laura’s reasons for coming to see me are your concern.”
Gabe spoke from the entranceway. Both women turned toward him. He could read fury on Marion’s face and distress on Laura’s. Even as he watched, both women composed themselves in their own way. Marion lifted her brow and smiled. Laura folded her hands and raised her chin.
“Darling. You know it’s part of my job to protect my artists from panicky spouses and lovers.” Crossing to him, Marion laid a hand on his arm. “We’re going to be meeting with the Bridgetons in a few minutes about the three paintings. I don’t want you distracted and out of sorts.”
He spared her only the briefest of glances, but in it Marion saw that he had heard too much. “I’ll worry about my moods. If you’ll excuse us now?”
“The Bridgetons—”
“Can buy the paintings or go to hell. Leave us alone, Marion.”
She aimed a vicious glare at Laura, then stormed out of the room. Her heels echoed on the tile. “I’m sorry,” Laura said after a long breath. “I didn’t come here to make waves.”
“Why, then? From the look of you, you didn’t come to spend an afternoon in art appreciation.” Before she could answer, he was striding to her. “Damn it, Laura, I don’t like having the two of you standing here discussing me as though I were some prize to be awarded to the highest bidder. Marion’s a business associate, you’re my wife. The two of you are going to have to resolve that.”
“I understan
d that completely.” Her voice had changed, hardened to match his. “And you should understand that if I believed you were involved with her in any way I would already have left you.”
Whatever he’d been about to say slipped completely away from him. Because he recognized the unshakable resolve in the statement, he could only stare at her. “Just like that?”
“Just like that. I’ve already lived through one marriage where fidelity meant nothing. I won’t live through another.”
“I see.” Comparisons again, he thought. He wanted to shout at her. Instead, he spoke softly, too softly. “Then I’ve been warned.”
She turned away so that she could close her eyes for a moment. Her head was pounding ruthlessly. If she didn’t take the time to draw herself in, she would throw herself into his arms and beg for help. “I didn’t come here to discuss the terms of our marriage.”
“Maybe you should have. It might be time for us to go back to square one and spell it out.”
She shook her head and made herself turn to face him again. “I wanted to tell you that I’m going to see a lawyer in the morning.”
He felt the life drain out of him in one swift flood. She wanted a divorce. Then, as quickly as he’d been left limp, the fury came. Unlike Laura, he had never had to prime himself for a fight. “What the hell are you talking about?”
“It can’t be put off any longer. I can’t keep pretending it’s not necessary.” Again she wanted to step into his arms, to feel them close around her, make her safe. She kept an arm’s length away and stood on her own. “I didn’t want to start what will be a difficult and ugly period without letting you know.”
“That’s big of you.” Spinning away, he dragged a hand through his hair. Above him, her portrait smiled gently down. As he stood between them, he felt as though he were caught between two women, between two needs. “What in the hell brought this on? Do you think you can kiss me goodbye at the door, then talk about lawyers a few hours later? If you haven’t been happy, why haven’t you said so?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about, Gabe. We knew this would probably happen eventually. You were the one who told me there’d come a time when I’d have to face it. Now I’m ready to. I just want to give you the option of backing off before it’s too late to turn back.”
He started to snap at her, then stopped himself. It occurred to him that what he had thought they were talking about, and what was actually being discussed were two different things. “Why do you need to see a lawyer in the morning?”
“Lorraine Eagleton came to the house this afternoon. She wants Michael.”
No relief came at the realization that they weren’t speaking of divorce. There was no room for it. He recognized a flash of panic before fury replaced it. “She may as well want the moon, because she won’t have that, either.” He reached out to touch a hand to her cheek. “Are you all right?”
She nodded. “I wasn’t, but I am now. She’s threatening a custody suit.”
“On what grounds?”
She pressed her lips together, but her gaze didn’t waver. “On the grounds that I’m not fit to care for him. She told me she’ll prove that I was … that there were other men before and during my marriage to Tony.”
“How can she prove what isn’t true?”
So he believed in her. It was just that easy. Laura reached for his hand. “You can get people to do or say a great many things if you pay them enough. I’ve seen the Eagletons do that kind of thing before.”
“Did she tell you where she was staying?”
“Yes.”
“Then it’s time I talked with her.”
“No.” She had his hand before he could stride from the room. “Please, I don’t want you to see her yet. I need to talk with a lawyer first, make certain what can and can’t be done. We can’t afford the luxury of making a mistake in anger.”
“I don’t need a lawyer to tell me she can’t walk into my house and threaten to take Michael.”
“Gabe, please.” Again she had to stop him. When her fingers curled around his arms, she felt the fury vibrating in him. “Listen to me. You’re angry. So was I, and frightened, too. My first impulse was to run again. I’d even started to pack.”
He thought of what it would have done to him to have come home to find the house empty. The score he had to settle with the Eagletons was getting bigger. “Why didn’t you?”
“Because it wouldn’t have been right, not for Michael, not for you or for me. Because I love both of you too much.”
He stopped and cupped her face in his hands, trying to read what was behind her eyes. “You wouldn’t have gotten very far.”
The smile came slowly as she wrapped her fingers around his wrists. “I hope not. Gabe, I know what I have to do, and I also know that I can do it.”
He paused, taking it in. She spoke of love one moment, then of what she would do, not of what they would do. “Alone?”
“If necessary. I know you’ve taken Michael as your own, but I want you to understand that if she pursues the suit it’s going to get ugly, and what’s said about me will affect you and your family.” There was a moment’s hesitation as she worked up the courage to give him a choice. “If you’d rather not be involved in what’s going to happen now, I understand.”
His choices had narrowed from the moment he’d seen her. They’d disappeared completely when she’d first put Michael in his arms. Because he didn’t know how to explain, he cut through to the bottom line.
“Where’s Michael?”
Relief made her giddy. “He’s with your mother.”
“Then let’s pick him up and take him home.”
Chapter Eleven
She couldn’t sleep. Both memory and imagination worked against Laura as her mind insisted on racing over what had happened, and what might happen the next day. It was almost a year since she had fled Boston. Now, thousands of miles away, she had chosen to take her stand. But she was no longer alone.
Gabe hadn’t waited to make an appointment with his lawyer during regular business hours. He had made a phone call and requested—demanded—a meeting that evening.
Her life, her child, her marriage and her future had been discussed over coffee and crumb cake in the parlor while a low, wispy fog had rolled in from the bay. Her initial embarrassment about speaking with a stranger about her life, her first marriage and her mistakes had sharpened painfully, then vanished. It had seemed as though they were talking about someone else’s experiences. The more openly it was discussed, with details meticulously examined and noted, the less shame she’d felt.
Matthew Quartermain had been the Bradleys’ attorney for forty years. He was crusty and shrewd and, despite his stuffy exterior, not easily shocked. He’d nodded and made notes and asked questions until Laura’s mouth had dried up from answering.
Because he hadn’t sympathized or condemned, it had become easier to talk plainly. The truth, spoken in simple, unemotional terms, had been easier to face than it had to keep hidden. In the end she hadn’t spared herself or Tony. And in the end she’d felt a powerful sense of having been cleansed.
At last she’d said it all, put all the misery and pain into words. She’d purged her heart and her mind in a way that her lingering sense of shame had never permitted before. Now that it was done, she understood what it was to wipe the slate clean and begin again.
Quartermain hadn’t been happy with her final decision, but she’d been firm. Before papers of any kind were served or answered, she would see Lorraine again, face-to-face.
Beside Laura, Gabe lay sleepless. Like her, he was thinking back over the scene in the parlor. With every word that played back in his head his fury inched higher. She had spoken of things there that she had never told him, going into detail she had glossed over before. He’d thought he understood what she’d been through, and he’d thought his feelings about it had already peaked. He’d been wrong.
She hadn’t told him about the black eye that had prevent
ed her from leaving the house for nearly a week, or about Lorraine explaining away Laura’s split lip by speaking of her daughter-in-law’s clumsiness. She hadn’t told him about the drunken attacks in the middle of the night, the jealous rages if she’d spoken with another man at a social function, the threats of revenge and violence when she’d finally found the courage to leave.
They’d come out tonight, in excruciating detail.
He hadn’t touched her when they’d prepared for bed. He wondered how she could bear to be touched at all.
What she had been through was all too clear now. How could he expect her to put it aside, when he was no longer certain he could? No matter how gentle he was, how much care he took with her, the shadow of another man and another time was between them.
She’d said she loved him. As much as he wanted to believe it, he couldn’t understand how anyone who had lived through that kind of hell could ever trust a man again, much less love him.
Gratitude, devotion, with Michael as the common ground. That he could understand. And that, Gabe thought as he lay in the dark, was more than many people were ever given.
He’d wanted more for them, had been on the verge of believing they could have more. That had been before all those words had been spoken downstairs while the quiet spring breeze had ruffled the curtains.
Then she turned toward him, her body brushing his. He stiffened.
“I’m sorry. Did I wake you?”
“No.” He started to shift so that they were no longer touching, but she moved again until her head rested on his shoulder.
The gesture, the easy, uncomplicated movement toward him, tore him in two. The one who needed, and the one who was afraid to ask.
“I can’t sleep, either. I feel as though I’ve run an obstacle course, and my body’s exhausted from it. But my mind keeps circling.”
“You should stop thinking about tomorrow.”
“I know.” Laura brushed her hair aside, then settled more comfortably. She felt the slight drawing away, the pulling back. With her eyes shut tight, she wondered if he thought less of her now that he knew everything.
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