Nothing. Not a single painting anywhere near the size of the van Warner. Apparently, Jesse had preferred the smaller canvases for his paintings, and Mark had faithfully copied the preference. Of course, there were a few large pictures, but Phillip could tell at a glance they had nothing to hide. Unless Jesse had stored the original van Warner somewhere else, either by design or mistake, this was another dead end. Phillip didn’t know any way to find out except to ask.
“Do you know van Warner’s work?” He brought his gaze to Jesse and kept it there. “His style is similar to your own.”
“He used too much color,” Jesse stated without even a fleeting change of expression, “But I suppose his later works showed some talent.”
“A talent worth ... imitating?”
“Not in my opinion.”
Phillip held back a sigh of frustration. Whatever Jesse’s opinion of the artist, he had no knowledge of Mark’s forgery of the van Warner. If he’d known, he would have betrayed the secret with a look or a gesture. Phillip was dead certain of that.
With a last glance around the room Phillip took a step toward the door. “Thank you for letting me see your paintings, sir. I wish....” The words wouldn’t come. What did he wish for this old man who was a self-made martyr, this artist who had sacrificed his talent and self-respect to protect a son unworthy of the name?
“I wish things had turned out differently.” Phillip offered a nebulous wish instead of the handshake he would have liked to extend. “And I wish you would paint again.”
Jesse’s expression hardened to a schooled indifference. “Wishes are for fools and old men. You’ll learn that soon enough if you haven’t already.”
The emotion that filled Phillip then was not sympathy but pity.
As he walked to the door, Jesse called after him. “Tell Elleny to bring my breakfast. I’m not going down those stairs again today.”
“Elleny is at the bookstore, but I’ll tell Mrs. Sanders when she gets back from the store.”
“Just forget it.”
Phillip decided he had little choice and left the room without a backward glance. All in all, his talk with Jesse had been frustrating and unpleasant, he decided as he reached the soothing brightness of the sunlit kitchen. His thoughts automatically turned to Elleny. But memories of holding her, of being held by her, were dimmed by the knowledge of what he had to do.
It wasn’t fair. Nothing in this whole mess was fair.
****
It seemed like hours before Sylvie condescended to answer her phone. “Do you realize, Kessler…,” she said. “…how impossible it is to get anything done with you calling the office every other minute?”
Phillip laughed as he ran his thumb along the edge of his cell phone case. “If I called every other minute, Syl, you’d just turn your phone off. You know you love talking to me.”
“Occasionally, sure. Once in a while, I even like talking to you face to face. But you’ve been gone so long, I might not even recognize you anymore.”
“Of course, you will. I’m the only partner you’ve got.”
“True, but don’t expect me to testify for you when the IRS audits your tax returns.”
“Of course not, Sylvie, but I think you should know I’ll spill my guts on the witness stand. Your indiscretion with the company treasurer will be splattered across newspaper headlines around the world.”
She laughed. “No one will believe you. I have a sterling reputation.”
“So do I. And since yesterday I have a sketch of the van Warner forgery.” His levity disappeared with the sobering words, and Sylvie became all business.
“A sketch? Where did you find it?”
“In one of Mark Damon’s sketchpads.”
“You’re sure it’s real?”
He smiled at her caution. “I’m sure.”
“So where’s the original?”
He frowned at her strict attention to detail. “I have no idea just yet.”
“What about the house? Have you checked everywhere?”
“Yes, Sylvie. And I’ll find it, don’t worry.”
Her silence was long and contemplative. “Have you asked Elleny?”
Phillip knew the instant Sylvie voiced the question why he’d phoned her. “Elleny doesn’t know anything about Mark’s infamous career as a forger.” It was a weak defense, and he waited for Sylvie to point that out to him.
“I didn’t know anything about it either, but that hasn’t stopped you from asking me to help. And that’s all you’ll be doing, Phillip. Asking Elleny to help.”
If only it were that simple. “I suppose.”
“You can always come back to the office, you know. We do have other claims to investigate.”
“But then how would I explain my expense account to the IRS?” His humor felt as flat as it sounded, and he pressed his fingers against his forehead in resignation. “You’re right, Sylvie. I’ll talk to Elleny tonight. Go back to work and ... thanks.”
“For what?”
“For confirming what I already knew.”
“Anytime,” Sylvie said. “What are partners for?”
Chapter Eight
Elleny whistled a few bars of a melody she’d heard somewhere. She didn’t know when, didn’t really care. It was just a tune that blended with her mood, and she let it dance on her lips as she prepared to close the shop.
Pausing a moment, she stared out the window, changed the whistle to a low, pleasant hum and absently touched the painted shamrocks on the glass. Then, snapping her thoughts from dreamy meanderings, she flipped the sign on the door to Closed.
She walked to the counter, straightening a book here and there as she passed, wondering how a store like this would prosper in Boston, wondering what the school system was like in that part of the country. With the effortless movements of long habit, she tallied the day’s receipts and placed them, along with the cash, in a zippered bank bag.
When the bell over the sill tinkled a merry welcome, Elleny looked up with the wish that she’d remembered to lock the door. But at the sight of Phillip standing just inside the entrance, she was glad she’d forgotten.
A reminiscent warmth suffused her body as she watched him close the door and come toward her. He looked wonderful. She simply couldn’t think of a better description and saw no reason to try. He was wearing blue jeans and a crew-neck sweater that was visible only in a strip of dark red wool beneath the unbuttoned edges of his coat. Elleny paid scant attention to detail, concentrating instead on the hesitant smile tucked in at the corner of his mouth.
“Phillip.” A breathy whisper parted her lips in helpless invitation. Until that moment she hadn’t realized how much she’d longed to see him, to touch him again and relive the magic. And now he was here. A shy pleasure wrapped around her heart.
“Are you through for the day?” He stopped beside the cash register and leaned forward, letting the counter act as chaperon as he brushed a gentle hello against her cheek.
It wasn’t exactly the greeting she would have liked, but she sensed a curious uncertainty in him and decided to allay whatever doubts he might be entertaining. “Not yet,” she said softly. “Do you want to help?”
“That all depends. What do I have to do?”
“Not much. Lock the door. Carry the receipts to the back room. Seduce me and then walk me home.” The look he gave her stained her cheeks with warmth, but she met his gaze steadily and as provocatively as she could. “Think you can handle all that?”
His dark eyes acquired a sudden wicked gleam. “I don’t know,” he said in a voice that defined provocative. “I may not be up to the task just yet.”
Her face became a slow flame of surprise. “Phillip!”
“Elleny!” He grinned his enjoyment of her discomfiture and cupped her chin in his hands. “You amaze me. One minute you’re teasing me with suggestive remarks and the next you’re blushing because I tease you back. And to think that at first I thought you were just quiet, shy and enchantingly
innocent.”
“But now you know better.” She placed her hands over his and smiled, willing her heated face to cool.
He shook his head. “Not better, just differently. Now I think you’re quiet, shy, enchantingly innocent and sexy as hell.”
“I think you’re all talk and no action.”
“Is that so? Well, let’s see what you say after I’ve locked the door.”
Her mouth formed a soft, loving curve. “I’ll say yes.”
He leaned across the counter to take the playful surrender from her lips, and with the initial touch, the first sensation of melting warmth against her mouth, the magic returned. Elleny responded, giving her thoughts over to emotion and letting love guide her hands to his shoulders and then into the thickness of his hair.
She wanted him, wanted to know again the wondrous feelings he could evoke. Her tongue offered a caressing proposal along the inner curve of his lips, and Phillip accepted with titillating strokes of his tongue. He held her and rubbed slow, mesmerizing circles on her shoulders, his thumbs straying to investigate the throbbing pulse on either side of her throat.
The counter pushed against her rib cage with annoying intrusion, and she drew back, just a little, to ease the pressure. A low groan of protest rippled from him, and he eliminated the barrier by moving around the counter, although Elleny wasn’t fully cognizant of how he did so. She was only aware that now his arms were around her, pulling her to him, aligning the symmetry of their bodies, one to the other. She was aware of the deepening intensity of his kiss, and she was blissfully aware of how much she loved him. And it was good.
Good to be close to Phillip. Good to respond. To touch. To kiss. To share her feelings and the sweet promise of intimacy. Her heart trembled with the recurring pleasure. There was so much to learn about this man, it was difficult to restrain her impatience. The need to know him – physically, emotionally, intellectually – was urging her to hurry the embrace, to discover the secrets of pleasing him.
But how could she hurry such a tenderly captivating kiss? She couldn’t. She could only savor the moment, the taste of desire that clung to his lips, the scent of March winds that lingered in his hair.
He traced a sensitive path up her spine, and delicate shivers splayed across her nerve endings. When he strayed from her lips to cover her cheek in soft, barely-there kisses, Elleny tilted her chin to encourage more of the same. Phillip took full advantage of this new opportunity to explore the pulse point just below her ear. A sentient anticipation awakened within her and rippled to every part of her body like the tide at full flow.
“I love you.” Her whisper was husky and warm with feeling, but Phillip felt the beginning of a chill. He ignored it, unable to make himself release her by even a fraction. No woman had ever fit so comfortably in his arms.Or responded to his touch with such seductive desire. Perhaps it was simply that no one had ever before loved him with such beautiful innocence.
Tightening his hold, he returned to claim her lips with renewed passion, but though she was responsive, his heart protested the embrace. Elleny trusted him, and to make love to her now – no matter how badly he wanted to do so – would only compound his deception. It was time to be honest with her, although he had no idea where to begin. With tremendous reluctance, he drew the kiss to a gentle end.
Phillip drank in the sight of her face flushed with his caresses, her lashes shading a dusky crescent on her cheeks. Tenderness welled in his throat, and he would rather do almost anything else than say words that he knew would hurt her. His fingertips touched her lips in a fleeting wish. She smiled. Her lashes drifted up to reveal the pure emotion in her brown eyes, and for a second his resolve weakened. “I love you, Elleny.”
“But you didn’t lock the door.”
“No.” He continued to hold her gaze as he sought to say what had to be said. “We need to talk, Elleny. And much as I like the idea of being locked in with you, I’m afraid your bookstore is not the right setting for this discussion.”
Her palms slid from his shoulders to burrow inside the warmth of his coat. “Do you remember last night?” She broke off to laugh with quiescent amusement. “And I sincerely hope you won’t deny it because I know you haven’t forgotten. But last night I said that one of us had lousy timing. Well, I’ve decided it’s you, Phillip. You don’t really want to talk now, do you?”
She was flirting with him in the special way of new lovers, and impulsively he started to pull her close in response. But he halted the movement and forced his hands to cup her shoulders in a careful, firm grip. “Elleny, I’m sorry, but I.... We need to talk.”
The laughter in her eyes gave way to concern, but her fingertips curved against his chest reassuringly. “All right. Just let me finish closing up for the night.”
She stepped away from him and took the bank bag from the counter before lifting her gaze to his again. This time the hint of apprehension was clearly discernible. Phillip wished with all his heart that he could banish it, but of course he couldn’t. Not without another lie.
“I have to drop this deposit by the bank,” she said hesitantly. “We can talk on the walk over, if you want.”
“I have my car. We can drive.” He smiled in an effort to erase the tension, whether his own or hers, he wasn’t sure. Whichever, it seemed to work because Elleny returned his effort and then walked through the curtained doorway to the room beyond.
Jamming his hands into his coat pockets, Phillip wandered to the windows and stared out at the street. He drew a deep breath and tried to focus words into a coherent pattern that would explain to Elleny how and why he had deceived her.
“I’m ready.”
He turned as she entered the room. She was tugging awkwardly at her jacket with one hand and holding her purse and bank bag in the other. He moved to assist her and allowed his fingers to rest against her nape for a long, connective moment. Then, with a soundless sigh, he opened the front door, and she preceded him outside.
The drive to the bank was short and silent, but as Phillip turned the car toward home, he broached the discussion that was spinning endless circles in his head. “Elleny, I have to talk to you about Mark.”
Her eyes flew to his in unabashed surprise, as if she had been expecting something else. For the distance of at least half a block, he felt her appraisal, and then she dropped her gaze pensively to the clasped hands in her lap.
“I thought you understood. Mark has been a part of my past for a long time now. My marriage, the way I felt about him, has nothing to do with the way I feel about you. Except to remind me of my good fortune in falling in love not once, but twice in my lifetime, with two very different, but equally wonderful men.”
Phillip clenched his jaw as her comparison shot his calm facade square in the heart. The last thing he wanted or needed at this moment was to be placed on a clay pedestal with wonderful Mark Damon.
“No,” he stated without compunction or thought for the best choice of words, “This has nothing to do with the way we feel about each other. It’s about the way you felt, the way you still feel, about Mark. Believe me, he was not the man you believe he was.”
Her confusion spanned the distance of the car seat to get a stranglehold on his throat. He hadn’t meant to blurt it out that way, had intended to work his way into an explanation.
“I don’t understand.” She faltered, not even knowing what to ask.
A burning sensation churned in his stomach, and his hands formed hard fists on the steering wheel. “I’m sorry, Elleny. I shouldn’t have said it so bluntly.”
“You shouldn’t have said it at all.” Brown eyes accused him with unjustified guilt, and the irritation stirred within him again.
“It’s true, Elleny, whether you want to believe it or not. Jesse and probably half the town knows, but no one admits it. No one seems to want to face facts.”
“What facts?”
His gaze turned to her then, neglecting the task of driving, offering a comfort she didn’t yet
require. “Mark was an artist, Elleny, but not in the way you think. His talent was in forging paintings, not in creating them.”
Her shock was an audible intake of breath and a cool lifting of her chin. “You’re mistaken. I’ve seen his work. I’ve heard the comments and read the reviews of critics. I don’t know where you got such a ridiculous idea, but – ”
“You’ve seen what you thought was his work,” Phillip interrupted. “He fooled a lot of people, Elleny. Many of them professionals, so you have no reason to feel badly.”
“Feel badly?” Her voice rose in distress. “How am I supposed to feel when you accuse my husband of….”
“Your late husband.”
“My late husband,” she grated. “…of committing a crime. Mark was proud of his work. He would never, never have done anything to threaten his career.” She shook her head defiantly. “You’re wrong. It doesn’t make sense.”
“Doesn’t it, Elleny?” Phillip turned the car onto the driveway and guided it to a stop beside the house. He turned to her, placing his arm along the back of the seat in a confident gesture. Inwardly he was a tangled knot of apprehension. “Doesn’t it coincide with all the unanswered questions you have about him? You said yourself that he was unpredictable and moody, wild at times.”
“Those are your words, Phillip, not mine. Even if I said anything like that, it was in a totally different context.” She braced her shoulder against the car door and made a valiant effort to decipher just one thought from the jumble in her mind.
“All right. I won’t quibble over descriptive terms.” He held up his hand, palm out, obviously unconvinced, but unwilling to argue the point. “It doesn’t matter anyway. I know this is a shock, Elleny.”
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