Chapter Six
Late Thursday afternoon, Wesley’s East Bay cottage was bustling with the after-tennis party in full swing. The ‘cottage,’ as it was affectionately called by the Grant family, consisted of a large sprawling, Spanish-style estate that seemed to grow in charm as it aged—and it was where Wesley spent his time on weekends when he wasn’t in his flat downtown.
The sky was cloudless and the tips of towering trees shaded the guests, who relaxed in lounge chairs by the heated pool; the water splashed over the edge of the pool as swimmers romped around. Katherine, her figure clad in a white swimsuit that hugged her curves, stood silhouetted against the sky for an instant before she dived into the cool water. The diving board continued to rock as Katherine’s head popped up from the water a moment later and, with a few sharp freestyle strokes, she reached the pool’s edge and hoisted herself out.
She was shaking her hair out of its cap when Johnny commented, “You really should teach me to dive sometime.” She joined him at the other end of the pool where he sat hunched, dangling his feet in the water. His green swimming trunks contrasted with his tanned skin made Katherine catch her breath and she tried to keep herself from staring at his rugged form.
“It’s simple.” She teased. “You just have to get used to keeping your head down. Though it’d probably be easier to practice in a normal pool. This one feels like a bloody hot tub.” Instead of ribbing her in response as she’d expected, Kate was surprised to see her comment upset him.
“What’s with these subtle jibes you’re always making at me?”
Slightly confused, she searched for a placating answer. “I didn’t mean anything. Of course I can teach you how to dive anytime you wish.”
“Anytime? Are you sure you’re not otherwise engaged?”
She glanced up from her cap that she had been twisting in her hands to look at him fully, yet he kept his gaze focused down at the water. “What are you talking about? You know I always make time for you when you want.”
His attitude was still surly as he responded, “I feel like you’re keeping stuff from me. It shouldn’t be that way between a man and a woman about to be married.”
Katherine’s felt her head spin. What was he referring to? “What do you feel like I’m hiding from you?”
“I can sense something,” he answered vaguely. “I just know something’s off . . . something feels different than it used to.”
Her mind went into offensive double action; she tried to think of something to tell him while she wondered if he was hiding anything from her. After all, he had been acting very strangely lately. “Johnny, I’m not hiding anything from you. I think maybe you’re just overly stressed from work, and ever since this incident with Drake, you don’t seem yourself lately.”
He didn’t respond instantly, just sullenly kicked at the water with his left foot. A few drops of water splashed another one of the guests swimming past, and Johnny stopped kicking the water. “Maybe.” She had just time think that it wasn’t like him to drop an argument so easily when he continued. “A change of pace would be nice. We should get married and move to South America. Or Africa. Anywhere—just to get away from this place.”
Katherine stared at him in shock. “Get away? But I thought you loved the bay! You told me you didn’t like South America, that you wanted to get away from there. Now you want to get away from here?” Then a thought struck her and her voice turned indignant. “Are you sure it’s not me you want to get away from?”
“Of course not! You know how I feel about you. It’s this blasted place. You just don’t know what it’s like, the same people over and over again. I’m just fed up with it.”
Relief that he still cared for her coupled with a worry for what was eating him filled Katherine as she patted him on the back. “I think you need a break. Take a vacation. Go somewhere. You seem uptight.”
“He’s always uptight.” A voice behind them interrupted. The couple turned startled eyes to where Wesley stood behind them by the pool waiting for them to dry off and change. His image seeming to glow as it was outlined against the red embers of the outdoor heater. “The party has headed inside . . . everyone but you two.” His eyes held a question when they met Katherine’s. Her heart skipped a beat. How long had he been standing there? Did he know they’d been arguing?
Katherine turned her head to regard the now quiet pool and empty lounge chairs beside it. Wesley was right; there were no other guests left outside. “Oh. I didn’t realize,” she said in a rather flat tone.
“I’ll say you didn’t. Refreshments were announced fifteen minutes ago.”
She and Johnny stood up in unison; Johnny muttered something about having to make a phone call and walked hurriedly ahead of them to the house.
Katherine’s eyes followed his disappearing back in concern while she walked beside Wesley towards the house. “What bit him?” Wesley asked as Johnny entered the house and slammed the door behind him.
“I’m not exactly sure, but I’m worried about him. Something’s eating him alive.”
Stepping forward, Wesley opened the door that Johnny had banged shut and held it for Katherine. “Why? If it was anything serious I’m sure he would’ve told you. Or would he?”
They were coming into the hearing range of the other guests and Katherine lowered her voice. “I think he would, but he’s been acting so strange lately.” And with that they drifted towards the living room where Mike and Pamela were engaged in conversation.
“It was a bit disappointing, to be honest,” Mike was saying. “I feel like the artist was emotionally involved in his work, but something was missing.”
“Don’t spoil it for me,” Pamela protested as she smiled a welcome to Wesley and Katherine. “I’m going to see it next week with some of my girlfriends.”
“Talking about the new display at the SFMOMA?” Wesley asked. “I’ve been wanting to go see that. Kate and I might tag along with you, Pamela.”
Pamela looked towards Katherine for her response. “Sound good to me. I’m surprised at Wesley’s wanting to go though, perhaps it should be a girls only adventure?”
“No way,” Wesley responded quickly. “I’m not missing out on this outing. I’m a demon for good art. Oh and speaking of which, I just remembered—Pamela, I have a new painting I’ve been wanting to show you.”
“Really? I guess I should be flattered that you’d think of me when you obtain a new painting.”
“I must admit, I’m a bit jealous you didn’t think of me,” Katherine quipped, and wondered if she’d caught a glint in Wesley’s eyes or if it was just her imagination.
“Where is this painting?” Mike asked impatiently. “Now that you’ve built it up, I want to see it too.”
“Right this way.” Wesley made a mock bow and led the way up a large curving staircase, leaving the other guests below. “It’s actually still in my closet. I haven’t decided where to put it yet. Perhaps the architect can tell me where it would be at the best vantage point.”
Katherine smiled as they reached his bedroom door. He opened the door and the four went in and crossed the pine floor to the other end of the bedroom where a walk-in closet door, a white bathrobe hanging from it, stood ajar. Several suits in different colors hung on one side, shorts and sports attire were folded on a top shelf, pants were folded or hanging in another section. Wesley stuck his arm through a field of polo shirts and pushed them aside to reveal a dark cloth covering what Katherine assumed to be a canvas painting the same height as him and almost as wide.
He gave the shirts an irritated push to the right and pulled the wrapped painting out, carrying it over to his king-size bed. He leaned it against the mattress and pulled off the cloth. Pamela gasped and stared at the emotionally charged scene of a raging sea and a hint of a distressed ship. “Where did you—it can’t be!”
“No, it’s not yours—I wish, but it’s the closest thing to it. An imitation. Pretty good if you ask me.”
Katherine lo
oked from Pamela to the impressionist painting where strong brush strokes merged the tempestuous blue and black of the shore and water to the yellows and oranges and reds of the sky. “You had one similar to this? A J.M.W. Turner?”
Pamela nodded, her eyes still locked on the painting. “We owned the original. My father bought it from an art dealer when I was little.”
“Owned? What happened to it?”
“It was stolen. Somehow, gosh, about ten years ago now, it just disappeared from our house in Rio. No sign of a break-in, no leads, nothing. The police could never figure out who took it and it never turned up. I believe my father eventually got the insurance money for it, but he was always heartbroken about the painting. Swore for years that an architect that had once worked for him took it. What was his name? Sam, I believe.”
“How terrible for you—is, is this imitation very close?” Katherine asked as she stuck her nose up to the painting and studied the movement of the brushstrokes.
“It looks remarkably similar from what I remember.” Pamela also leaned forward and squinted at it. “Of course it’s been so many years since I’ve seen the original, so my memory could very well be tainted.”
Mike, who had been silent up to this point, joined the conversation. “It’s a decent imitation, but not that impressive by my observation. If you notice the ‘handwriting’ here . . . they try to imitate the brushstrokes of the great masters, but they fall short. They aren’t precise enough. I even believe the composition is a bit off; your eye moves around the painting too much. Turner always portrays a specific idea. I don’t get anything concrete from this.”
Pamela nodded, proud he had found an error. “Now that you point it out, I see what you mean. When I first saw it I was so startled I thought it was ours. But of course you’re right, it’s an amateurish imitation. Wherever did you get it from, Wesley?”
“Actually”—he looked at Katherine as he answered—“from an old acquaintance of ours: Professor Drake.”
Katherine met his eyes in surprise. “Professor Drake! I thought you had a falling out with him?”
“We did. You remember our little disagreement we had a while back? Well, he realized he was in the wrong and brought me this painting as a peace offering. Apparently he’d heard about my dabbling in art and thought I’d like this painting he’d gotten from a flea market. Of course, imitation or not, I accepted it.”
“Of course.” Katherine smiled. Wesley was such a pushover when it came to art; she thought about how he had so many paintings that his servants regularly rotated the collection to display different pieces like a museum.
“Decent, but not good enough to fool me.” Mike repeated as he traced his finger over the raised oil paint.
Wesley rolled his eyes and met Katherine’s, also alight with laughter. “Of course. I never would’ve thought it’d be good enough to fool such a critic as yourself.”
Katherine smothered a smile as Wesley wrapped up the painting once again and returned it to its storage place in his closet. “I think you should put it in the drawing room, beside the fireplace.”
“Spoken like one who read my mind. I’ll have McNab put it there next month when he switches the paintings. If I try to have him put it up now, it’d confuse him. He has some sort of cataloging system. Every time I put something up out of order he chews me out.”
“He’s got good taste in managing your collection,” Mike commented as they returned to the drawing room.
Mike’s comment only reached the ears of Pamela as Wesley and Katherine fell behind the others and Kate asked in a low voice, “How come you never told me before that the Professor had given you a painting?”
“You didn’t ask, and I didn’t think to tell you. It wasn’t as though it was a gift of great value. Fine art imitations are easy to come by. I could hire a student from the university to make me one for a cheap dollar. But still, it was a nice gesture for Drake to give me it.”
Katherine nodded, slightly hurt that Wesley hadn’t told her earlier. She’d assumed it’d be natural for him to show her, not Pamela, a work of art. After all, she was the one in architecture, a field closely aligned with artistic design. Was he trying to hide something from her? Or was it Johnny’s insinuation that she was hiding things making her imagine it? She tried to bury her suspicions as Wesley continued to explain himself. “ . . . especially with the Professor’s connections at the university. It would be interesting to know who painted it. It’s quite a good imitation; I didn’t notice the flaws in the technique that Mike did. Donovan isn’t always the expert he pretends to be.”
Then, as he noted her somber expression, he said, “Care to rejoin the living, sweet?”
Katherine started as he addressed her, before forcing a pathetic chuckle. Inside she wished she could tell him everything, all about her concerns about Johnny, but could she? “I was just wondering where Johnny had vanished to.” It wasn’t a complete lie, she justified to herself, just a small white one. She had been wondering about Johnny, but just about his strange behavior, not about his disappearance. “He said he had a phone call to make when we were coming in from the pool. That was an hour ago.”
Wesley raised his eyebrows, studying her again with a disconcerting gaze. Since when had his eyes become so disturbing to her? It seemed like whenever she looked at him now she had to turn her gaze away. “He left. Didn’t you know?”
Katherine’s musing look turned blank and she shifted her gaze down to her feet, not wanting Wesley to see the ache in her heart, which must’ve shown in her eyes. Why had he left without saying anything to her? “No. I didn’t know.” She confirmed the obvious. “I assumed he would’ve said something to me before he just up and left.”
As she kept her eyes on her flip-flop-clad feet, she felt Wesley studying the top of her head. “Did you want to phone him and see if he’s alright?”
“No.” Katherine shrugged, as though she didn’t care. She didn’t want Wesley to suspect that there was tension between her and Johnny, but felt as though he already knew. He always seemed to know what she was thinking. What she needed was escape—escape from his searching eyes that seemed to know too much. “I better get going.” She followed up the comment with the first excuse her frozen brain supplied. “It’s getting late. I have work to catch up on.”
Retribution Page 11
