Considering Alfred’s office the best choice, being neutral territory, Alex led Paul there and settled him into one of the comfortably padded leather chairs. “I’ll be back in a moment,” he said, before hastily retreating to the kitchen. He returned moments later with a loaded tray, thankful Paul hadn’t disappeared.
After pouring them both a cup of tea, Alex leaned against the desk, waiting for Paul to speak. When minutes ticked by silently, he lost patience. “Want to talk about whatever’s bothering you?”
“There’s nothing to tell.” Paul stared at his hands, picking imaginary lint from his jacket.
Paul lying? That’s a first.He wished the man felt comfortable enough to confide in him, although he admitted he’d never done anything to earn the man’s confidence.
Then Alex remembered a surefire way to get Paul talking: mention one of his many passions, like books, music… or art. Eyes straying to the blank wall, he effectively changed the subject. “The new painting is going to look good there.” It struck him how both paintings, the new and the old, shared a similar style, not only in subject matter, simple enough to copy, but in technique. “Did Edmond paint the original?”
Paul peered over the top of his glasses, eyes red-rimmed. “Yes, back in college. He swore he’d flawed the piece somehow and sold it for a fraction of its worth. In return, Alfred gave him backing and connections. They’ve been friends ever since, which is why we were invited tonight.”
Recalling Paul’s earlier comments, Alex urged, “Tell me about the storm scene.”
Paul sighed, running his fingers through his hair, resignation in his eyes. “You know about the Jeep, right?”
“Not the whole story.” Alex dropped into the adjacent chair, careful not to crowd Paul. As far as he knew, the Jeep was the only gift of any financial value Paul had ever accepted, so there must be an interesting reason why he’d made an exception to his “no gifts” policy.
“It happened during a visit last September,” Paul began with a sad, barely discernible smile. “Uncle Byron always loved the ocean, and, since he’d had a few pretty good days, he begged us to take him to the beach.
“Eddie arrived shortly before we left, and he and Uncle Byron talked privately for a while. Once they emerged from the study, the four of us took the Jeep down the coast.” Paul appeared small and lost, and Alex regretted asking such a pain-inspiring question, but he needed to hear what he’d missed out on, knowing in his heart he should have been in the café Edmond described with the rest of his family, sharing the memory. Now he’d have to make do with the remembrances of others.
“When we got there, the weather turned bad and Alfred got worried, wanting to come home. Uncle Byron insisted, ‘We came all this way and I’m not tucking tail and running from a few rain clouds.’” A bittersweet smile flitted across Paul’s face. “Who were we to tell him no? In the end we watched the storm from the safety of a café. Edmond went out to the beach and took tons of pictures. The result now hangs in his gallery.” Paul lowered his voice to a scant whisper, the tremulous smile fleeing. “That’s the last time Uncle Byron left the house for anything other than doctor visits.”
Alex desperately wanted to give Paul the painting but couldn’t if the giving caused more grief. Still, how shameful for something with priceless emotional value to wind up with someone who wouldn’t appreciate the sentiment that went into the creation. Though he’d wanted to surprise Paul, possibly on his next birthday, Alex now envisioned his plan backfiring. Settling for a direct approach, he threw caution to the wind. “Would it bother you if I bought that painting?”
Paul frowned, furrowing his brow. “Bother me? Why would it bother me?”
Alex shrugged. “It may bring back bad memories.”
“It’s a happy memory, Alex. We had a great time, and….” Paul looked young and vulnerable when he confessed, “I wanted the darned thing the moment I laid eyes on it, although I knew I couldn’t afford the price. I was afraid it might wind up with someone who’d only consider it an investment, never understanding how precious it is. I’ll never forget that day—ever.”
Remorse slammed into Alex, reminded of his earlier words to Edmond, even though he’d lied. Of course then he hadn’t known the painting’s true value. He’d loved the work on its own merits; however, buying the painting for Paul far surpassed any pride of personal ownership. “Where do you think we should hang it?”
Paul stared at the wall, apparently lost in thought. After a moment he said, “The front hallway, where visitors will see it.”
“Good idea. You still didn’t explain about the Jeep. Not that you have to, mind you. That’s between you and your uncle.” Curiosity nibbled at Alex.
“No, that’s all right. Uncle Byron left it to me knowing I’d argue, goading me with a reason he knew I’d agree to.”
“What was that?” Apparently, it wasn’t often Paul accepted gifts. Byron must have made an extremely clever argument.
“He mentioned the day at the beach when I’d driven the Jeep.” Paul grinned sheepishly. “He also pointed out that my poor car isn’t going to last much longer and how he’d rather see me in the Jeep than standing on the side of the road.”
“Both extremely good points. But he always was an excellent attorney.”
“I know.” Paul’s smile dimmed somewhat. “That’s the first time I let him win, or the second time, rather.”
Alex remained silent, knowing Paul would clarify only if he wanted to. This time, his patience paid off.
“Did you happen to notice an attractive man with curly blond hair at the opening tonight?” Paul asked.
Alex knew full well who Paul meant, but wasn’t about to admit to eavesdropping, especially now, with Paul hovering on the edge of confiding. “I may have bumped into him,” was all Alex cared to confess.
“That was Jordan, my ex. I didn’t expect to see him tonight.”
“Is he the reason you wanted to leave?” Although Alex knew the answer, he needed to hear the story from Paul’s own lips.
“Yes.”
