“Were you there that day? I don’t remember.”
Gordon shook his head. “No, I wasn’t. Your mother gave me the painting, after…” He cleared his throat. “After your father passed.”
There wasn’t much to say, so I stood quietly remembering. Wishing. Wondering.
“If I could go back in time and change things…” Gordon whispered, so full of emotion, his voice trembled.
I touched his arm. “It’s like Mom says. We can’t, so all we can do is remember.”
“I remember,” Gordon murmured, as solemnly as a man at a war memorial.
I made a mental note to chide my sister. Gordon might have his faults, but he’d been a steadfast friend to our father and our family. We couldn’t ever lose sight of that.
Silence stretched, and I’d never felt as close to Gordon.
When the clock over the fireplace struck the full hour, I checked my watch.
“I’ll have to catch the train home soon. Would you be up for a walk?”
“Regrettably, no. I have a few things to prepare for tomorrow. It’s been wonderful seeing you, though.”
He saw me to the door, helped me with my jacket, and hugged me goodbye.
“Please come again,” he said. “Any time.”
“I will.” I waved and stepped toward the lift, where Roux waited.
Gordon didn’t ruin the moment by glaring at him, and Roux didn’t ruin the moment by glaring back. The apartment door closed, and that was it.
So, whew. No confrontation. No crimes. Mina had definitely been exaggerating things.
We rode the elevator down in silence, then walked along the canal. I had no idea what Roux thought about, but my mind stuck on one thing — the mystery of the boy in the painting.
Chapter Five
GENEVIÈVE
Neither Roux nor I said much on the train ride back to Burgundy. I was worn out, and the gentle rocking of the train soon lulled me to sleep.
At some point, it lurched, and I opened my eyes, then closed them again. No reason to break off such a nice, comfy nap.
Wait. Nice? Comfy?
My eyes snapped open, and I was mortified to discover I had fallen asleep with my head on Roux’s shoulder. But damn, did the man smell good.
And, oh. He was asleep too, with his head tipped against mine.
When the train lurched again, we broke apart, both awake. I stared out the window as if nothing had happened. And it hadn’t. Had it?
My cheeks heated as I blinked at the landscape.
Luckily, my phone rang, giving me something else to focus on.
“Oui, c’est moi,” I said when the woman on the line asked for Geneviève.
It was Lily, fiancée of Georges Delmont, grandson of electrician Jules Delmont.
“Madame Fontaine said you wanted to speak to me,” Lily said.
