“Yes. I’d love that.”
“You can come by my office when you’re done. I’m just next door,” he pointed to the right.
“Are we going to start sometime this century?” Dot interrupted again.
“Yes. Sure. Sorry.”
“He’s always going on about his collections to someone or another.”
Michael leaned back in his office chair, feet on his desk, staring at the intricate ceiling, his hands clutched over his forehead. Why had he just done that? Why had he offered her the tour? Why hadn’t he just stayed away as he told himself he would? He just wanted to see her, say a quick hello, he justified to himself. No harm could come of that right? But the instant he saw her in her sheer red blouse, his pulse quickened and he lost his senses. She certainly had an effect on him – that, he couldn’t deny. He had this inexplicable need to be near her.
The phone rang. He didn’t answer – his mind wasn’t in the right place. No, it wasn’t in the right place; it most certainly was in the wrong place. Not only did she appear to be engaged, he definitely was in no mood to get involved with someone and get his heart stepped on and his life turned upside down again. He was completely content with his life as it was; serene and simple. He considered taking off; maybe a last minute business meeting would call him out of the house.
Angela read the first few chapters to Dot. On her way out of the study, she mentally calculated that at thirty-four chapters, she would be committed for at least nine or ten weeks. She debated whether or not to take the art tour. She didn’t quite feel right about it. If Michael had been any other man, there would be no reason to hesitate. But he wasn’t any other man. He was the one who had consumed her thoughts night and day for the last week. She had promised Robert she would be away for no longer than three hours and would be home in time to make him a nice dinner. Although she didn’t hate cooking, she didn’t love it. Dothad already kept her a little longer than anticipated. But on the other hand, how long could it take; this wasn’t the Louvre.
She walked to the end of the hall; a collection of watercolors enticed her. These appeared to be all by the same artist; renderings of old commercial buildings like one might see walking in old Montréal.
Michael was at his desk, his head buried in papers. He looked up when she came in and closed his folder like a train stopping dead in its tracks.
“I’m sorry. I don’t mean to disturb. Please continue what you were doing,” she urged him.
“Nah... it’s fine.” He got up. “Boring stuff,” he said. “This will be much more fun.”
His office was furnished with solid oak missionary pieces and leather chairs; straight lines, very masculine. More books lined the walls, sitting next to pictures she didn’t really have the chance to observe.
They walked back to the entrance hall where she had admired the doors.
“I collect renderings of doors created in various mediums.”
“And what better way to display them than by the entrance,” she observed.
The collection was interesting; an eclectic mix of oil paintings, watercolors, photography and etchings. They walked by the study again, and she could see Dot speaking on the telephone.
“I wonder if she’s talking to the crochet man,” Michael said and they both laughed quietly.
In the hall, outside the study, were black and white photographs of modern buildings; architectural masterpiecesset in mahogany wood frames. She recognized the Empire State building but the others left her clueless.
They moved to the dining room. A large mahogany wooden table with seating for twelve sat in the center under a black wrought iron chandelier surrounded by cream wall paneling. On each and every panel, hung a beautiful painting of a church. Churches from all over the world, Michael explained. There were large extravagant churches and small unassuming churches.
As they made their way to the kitchen, she joked, “The only artwork I have at home is crayon on the walls.”
He smiled. He seemed surprised. “Oh...you have kids.”
“Oh no... the little artist is my Goddaughter Madison. She’s at my place all the time. She’s absolutely adorable.”
He smiled.
“How old is she?”
“Two.”
“They are adorable at that age, aren’t they?”
He seemed to know what he was talking about.
“Do you have any nieces or nephews?”
“Actually I do. They’re all teenagers now, though.” He had something else to say, but he just didn’t want to go there.
