“Any time after five p.m. I guarantee it’ll be worth your while.”
“Safe trip to Seattle,” Gus said, determined not to commit.
“Merry Christmas, friend,” Will called back.
Mrs. Coats saw Will out and returned to the library. “Do you need anything, Mr. Wolff?”
“You’ve got the presents wrapped and packed up?”
“Yes, sir. The items for your nieces and nephews and the perfume for your sister-in-law are ready for your trip.”
“And the other?”
“St. Michael’s will receive the boxes for the third-grade girls on Christmas Eve, as you requested.”
“Thank you, Mrs. Coats. That’ll be it for now.”
“Yes, sir.”
It was quiet now except for the crackling of the log in the fire. Gus continued to sip his drink as he watched the play of light. What was the girl Ruthie doing right now? Was she going to spend the holidays with her family? Was she going to spend it with the man she’d latched onto? Something about her tugged at him. He didn’t know what it was, just that he wanted more of it.
Hell and damnation indeed.
“You are going to be inundated with commissions after they see this, darling.” Sandy held up one side of the massive canvas while Lia walked around and around the painting, wrapping it in muslin like a mummy.
“My main concern is that the Firestones like it,” she said. “They’re paying for it, after all.”
“I admit that the very worst side of me hopes they demand a refund, in which case you won’t have the funds to rent your own place and you’ll be forced to stay here with me.”
“I don’t believe that for a moment. And I don’t think Roger would believe you either.” She winked at Sandy as she passed him for the fifth time.
Sandy had the decency to blush. “He is a lovely fellow, isn’t he?”
“Yes he is, and you two deserve some privacy to see if you can make a go of it.” Lia finished wrapping the artwork and tied it with several lengths of string. “The delivery wagon is due here at noon,” she said. “Let’s eat lunch now so I can go out with them and supervise the hanging.” She tapped Sandy on the shoulder. “By the way, have I told you lately how brilliant you were to rent a house with double doors leading to the garden?”
“Only every other day since you got this commission,” Sandy said.
They leaned the painting against the wall and headed into the kitchen, where Lia made a salad of greens, cut up vegetables, and small shrimp nestled in two hollowed boules of sourdough bread. Of all the things she’d come to love about the city, sourdough bread was at the top of her list.
“I’m hopeful Roger and I can make something happen,” Sandy mused in the middle of their meal. “But what about you? You haven’t found anybody and now you’re going to be living alone. Painting isn’t exactly a team sport.”
Unbidden, the Wolff, as she called him, came to mind. Why couldn’t she find a nice young man who made her feel the way he’d made her feel—even if just for a moment—the other night? Was that too much to ask for? “Oh, I’ll be all right, Sandy. Truly. I’ll be so busy that I won’t even notice—”
“—that your life is passing you by? There is more to existence than indigo and turpentine, you know.”
Lia reached for Sandy’s hand across the small table. “I’ll tell you what I know. I know that you are a wonderful, loving man, and Roger or whomever you choose will be very lucky to snag your heart.” Her voice started to hitch. “Honestly, I don’t know what I would have done without you these past three years. You’ve been my family. I’m going to miss you terribly—including your mushy stew—but it’s time. You know it’s time.”
Sandy nodded. “I’m going to miss you too, darling. Ah, speaking of family, I picked up the mail today. There’s a letter from Emma, I believe.” He went to the hall table and brought an envelope back to Lia. She opened it quickly and scanned it, covering her mouth as tears formed in her eyes. “I knew it!” she cried.
“What?!” Sandy reached over to steady her.
“My sister’s pregnant—with twins! I knew that old reprobate Hiram was the cause of the problem and not her. She says she’s five months along and doing fine.” Lia clasped the letter to her chest and looked heavenward. “Oh, God, thank you, thank you, thank you!” She looked back at Sandy, who wore a sad expression. “What?” she asked, frowning.
“I’m happy for Emma and your ex-husband, but why in blazes can’t that be you?” He spoke gently to soften the words.
Tears in her eyes, Lia smiled back and shook her head. “I don’t know, Sandy. But you can’t just force love like theirs to happen. I tried, remember? What will be, will be.”
Sandy got up to clear the table. “I know, but still…”
“Still, there are things to feel good about. My little boy gets to be a big brother, and I’m going to be an auntie. That’s something to celebrate, no matter what.”
Later that night Lia penned a letter to her sister, telling her how happy she was to hear about the pregnancy and wishing her well. She asked how Little Georgie was reacting to the news and asked that Emma give him some extra hugs and kisses to let him know how special he would always be, no matter how many siblings he had.
Lia rubbed the phantom ache in her chest where thoughts of her son resided. She took comfort in the fact that Little Georgie was surrounded by love, with even more on the way. Rather than dwell on what she’d lost, she shared with Emma the positive changes in her own life, including the big commission for the Firestones, which she had just completed and which the world would see on New Year’s Day. She had high hopes, she said, that more work would follow. She talked about her upcoming invitation to have dinner with Will Firestone and other guests on Christmas Eve, and her eminent move to a new home of her own. She even mentioned Sandy’s latest love. She passed over her lackluster feelings for Charles Keith, and she most definitely left out the incident at the art exhibit. She knew that of all her news, Emma would relate to that one the most; her passion for George had always been that electric. But the idea of feeling it once and never feeling it again just seemed beyond sad, and this was no time to be sad. Not if she could help it.
CHAPTER TWENTY
New Year’s Day dawned bright, clear, and cold. Gus rose early and dressed in casual clothes to take a long run around his estate. Having given Mrs. Coats the day off, he made himself coffee and toast, and helped himself to some leftover roast beef. He worked in his garden until his hands went numb from the cold, then retired to his study to review the papers Will had left him before Christmas, and to go over his accounts for the past year.
He spent a leisurely, if lonely day, and decided in the end to make an appearance at the Firestones’ gala event. It would be interesting to meet the lady who had painted the scene that now graced the coveted spot above his desk. Would she be the typical uptight young miss who used paint to fuel an overactive imagination? No, maybe a female lumberjack-type who thought nothing of tromping around the forest. Hell, more than likely she was a bona fide bohemian with long flowing robes and the scent of cannabis clinging to her hair. He smiled at the thought.
He dressed in formal attire and arrived an hour after the party had begun. No sense in milling around too long and having people think he actually wanted to be there. He talked to a few people he recognized and lingered at the back of the ballroom, watching the hoopla unfold. Turns out he’d made it to the Firestones’ Pacific Heights mansion just in time.
“And now, may we present The Family, a painting by Amelia Starling.” Edward and Josephine, Will’s parents, jointly pulled a silk cord and the curtain rose, so to speak, on a huge canvas.
The guests erupted in a collective “Oh!” The painting was incredible, unlike any family portrait Gus had ever seen. Instead of everyone in the picture looking straight ahead, they were in the middle of playing croquet on the front lawn of their estate. Will’s brother, sister, and Will himself were in it, along wi
th his parents, and Gus got the sense from their particular actions that they loved each other but there was tension too. He started to move through the crowd to see it better, but froze at what, or rather who, he saw next.
“And we are happy to introduce the creator of this brilliant work, Miss Amelia Starling.”
The woman who stepped forward, smiling at the crowd, was none other than Ruthie…but not the sweet young girl Gus had met several weeks before. No. This woman was beyond beautiful, her eyes with some kind of color on them that made them seem even larger and more exotic than before, her gorgeous dark hair swept up with some kind of shiny netting woven through it, and glittery diamonds hanging from her delicate ears. And her body. Lord have mercy. Her body was encased in a long, deep-colored dress, a kind of red, he thought, that displayed her breasts and every other curve with elegance and grace. She was magnificent.
Gus was furious.
He strode through the crowd but stopped so that she could see him as she talked to one admirer after another. At one point she saw him and her eyes grew wide. He continued to stare at her and she didn’t look away. The man she was talking to—a geezer with money, no doubt—finally had to touch her arm to get her attention. Good.
He waited, patiently, until the crowed had thinned and the Firestones had announced the buffet was open. Then he made his move.
“I take it this is what you meant by ‘a little of this and a little of that’,” he said.
She smiled awkwardly, looking around the room, probably for someone to come and bail her out.
“No one’s going to rescue you this time…Ruthie.” He stepped closer and noticed she was breathing rapidly; it was doing wonderful things to her cleavage. “Who is Ruthie, by the way? Did you just make her up on the spot?”
“No. It’s my middle name,” she explained in a quiet voice. “Look, Mr. Wolff…”
“Oh, so you know my name.”
“I knew who you were the instant I saw you.” Her chin rose. “Your…reputation precedes you.”
“Ah. Well, I’ll tell you what I tell everybody else: don’t believe everything you read.” He cocked his head. “Why did you lie about who you were?”
She shrugged her beautiful shoulders. “I don’t know. I guess I wanted to hear an honest opinion of my work. You would hardly have been straight with me had you known I painted it.”
Gus leaned in to whisper in her ear. She smelled like lavender. “I assure you, Miss Starling, I would be nothing but straight with you.”
The young woman stepped back and glared at him. “I’m sure you would be, Mr. Wolff, until the next distraction turned your head.” She made a point of looking around the room. “Speaking of which, where is the melodious Miss Lindemann? I don’t see her anywhere.”
This woman was a pip. Gus wanted more of her. He captured her gaze and answered calmly. “Miss Lindemann and I aren’t seeing each other anymore. I haven’t been with a woman since before you and I met.” He mimicked her perusal of the ballroom, even though most of the guests had migrated to the dining area. “Come to think of it, where is your swain—or swains, as the case may be? Let’s see, there’s Charles, from the other night, and then there’s your live-in. What’s his name? Sander? My my, how do you keep them all straight?” He smiled wickedly. “Oh dear, there’s that word ‘straight’ again.”
Miss Starling’s delectable face, which had shown wariness before, now exploded into a storm of outrage. Apparently so mad she didn’t care who saw her, she pulled her arm back to slap Gus’s face. He caught her arm easily and wrapped it around his waist. Once again he pulled her close and nuzzled her. “I don’t give a damn who you’re with today, as long as you’re with me tomorrow.”
“That is never going to happen,” she hissed.
“Never say never,” he said, letting his breath caress her ear. He let go of her and stepped back, his voice rising to a normal level and his tone serious and heartfelt. “I am giving it to you straight, Miss Starling. I don’t know a lot about art, but I do know how something makes me feel. Your work is astonishing. You know how to capture the…what shall I call it? The truth of a given moment. That is rare and something to be very, very proud of.”
The siren opened her mouth but no words came out. As they stared at each other, Will walked up. “Ah, I see you’ve finally met Lia,” he said. “Isn’t she spectacular?”
Keeping his eyes on her, Gus concurred with a murmured, “Yes indeed. Spectacular.” That’s not the half of it careened through his head. He had to have this woman. Had to. He smiled and added, “If you would be a good sport and escort Miss Starling to the dining room, I’m afraid I have to leave. Business, you know.”
Will rolled his eyes. “Come on, Gus. It’s New Year’s. You can take a least one day off.”
“No rest for the weary,” Gus said, heading over to the cloakroom. He stopped halfway and turned around. “Miss Starling. Amelia Ruth. It was a pleasure to make your acquaintance. I love your work and want to talk to you more about it. I’ll be in touch. You can count on it.” He smiled at the frown he put on her face, turned around again, and left before she threw something at him.
“That is one of the finest men I’ve ever known,” Will commented as he took Lia’s arm on the way to the buffet. “Came from nothing. Nothing. Made his money in the Klondike but has multiplied it so many times since then, I can’t tell you. Smart. Savvy. And works harder than a crew of lumberjacks.”
Lia, whose heartbeat had finally returned to normal, quirked her lips. “You sound like an advertisement.”
Will chuckled. “Do I? I don’t mean to. I just have great respect for Gus and frankly, since we’ve gone into partnership, my fortunes have risen to heights I’d never dreamed of either. And I came from something, at least as it relates to money.”
Will offered to fill a plate for her. “Trust me,” he said. “I’ve had this spread many times and I know what’s good.” Lia agreed and followed him while he went down the line. She couldn’t help wanting to know more about the outrageous man who had practically accosted her just minutes before.
“Your friend…Gus…he does seem to get around.”
Will glanced at her before selecting more hors d’oeuvres for their plates. Rolled ham, an olive spread, an iced petit four. “You mean his women? He does have an eye for beauty, no question. And the women, well, just look at him. You can see why he doesn’t lack for female companionship. Here you go.” He handed her one of the plates. “Let’s take them over there by that silly palm tree.” They sat at a small table and dug into the repast. Lia hadn’t realized how hungry she was. Will was right about knowing which delicacies to pick. She enthusiastically ate her way through smoked oysters and fresh shrimp and tiny beef rounds topped with soft Havarti cheese.
Will picked up the conversation where he’d left off. “But despite what the press says, there’s no way I’d describe Gus as a ladies’ man. He likes women, and when he’s with them, he’s with them. Until he’s not. But he’s quite a homebody, actually. Just before the holidays, for instance, I found him working in his garden. He’s got a monster of a place on Nob Hill, and he’s upgraded a lot of the inside as well as the grounds. What do women call it? Nesting?” He smirked. “God, he’d mop up the floor with me if he heard me say that.”
“If he’s so domesticated, then why isn’t he married?”
“Good question. He’s never talked much about his life before he got here. Maybe there’s a story there. All I know is, I can always trust him to do both the smart thing and the right thing. That’s rare in my line of work. Even my father invests with him, and that’s saying a lot.”
The conversation shifted to other topics: the strong appeal of her work and the certainty that this would take her career to the next level. It brought to mind something that had been bothering Lia for a while.
“May I ask you something, Will?”
“Of course. Anything.”
“You and I both came from families with money. So d
id my dear friend Sander.” She stopped and put her hand on Will’s arm. “I want you to know, by the way, that Sandy and I aren’t actually cousins. We have only ever been friends. He…he marches to a different drummer, shall we say.” She looked into Will’s eyes for some sign of understanding, and found it. May as well get the rest of it out. “Also, I was married for a short time, but it didn’t work out.”
Will put his own hand on top of hers and smiled with kind eyes. “You don’t have to explain anything like that to me. It’s completely your business…although it does explain a lot.”
Lia nodded, relieved somehow to have those details off her chest. “So Sandy and I had the resources to support ourselves while we pursued our dreams. But what do you think happens to those people, those artists, who come, like your friend Gus, from nothing? How do they realize their dream?”
“Sad to say, I don’t think a lot of them do. It has to be hard to focus on art when you don’t have enough to eat or a place to live.”
“It haunts me sometimes,” she said. “I wish there was another way.”
It was nine o’clock by the time the party wound down. Lia was tired but happy as Will helped her into his carriage for the ride home.
“What? No automobile?” she asked. “You seem so avant-garde.”
“Oh, I have one,” Will assured her. “Sometimes I just like the rhythm of the horses. It’s relaxing.” He glanced at her as they headed down the street. “So, I’d deem the evening a success, wouldn’t you?”
Lia nodded. She shared the names of half a dozen guests who said they’d be in touch with her soon about commissioning a painting from her.
“All worthwhile clients,” he said. “Looks like you’re on your way. Good for you.”
The night was chilly but crystal clear; the city’s customary fog had dissipated, revealing a sky filled to infinity with glittering stars. She remembered Little Georgie’s favorite bedtime story about how the stars got their twinkle, but this time tears didn’t follow the memory. Instead, joy bubbled inside of her, for her son, for Emma and George, and yes, even for her. She patted the blanket Will had given her for the ride. Fancifully she imagined it was the only thing keeping her happiness from escaping into the universe. The evening had turned out to be all that she’d hoped for and more. The more, she had to admit, was a reprise of that most incredible surge of energy she’d felt during her encounter with Mr. Wolff. She didn’t know what to think about it; she would ponder it later before she slept.
The Art of Love: Origins of Sinner's Grove Page 12