"Yes, but equally challenging. The anatomy of both horses and ballerinas requires a lot of skill to paint. This is the one I really want to show you, though.” She walked away from him, to a painting that looked to Gray like the steeple of a church emerging out of an early morning fog.
"It's nice,” he said.
"Come close up to it."
He obeyed, coming so close to the painting that he could see the individual brushstrokes.
"Now you know the cathedral's still there, because you stood in the center of the room and could see it clearly. However, the magic of Impressionism is that up close, you can really tell that it's just impressions. Just short, quick brushstrokes that, when you're standing right on top of them like this, don't look like anything at all."
He saw what she meant, looking over the chaotic haze of paint that had been applied to the canvas.
"The Museum of Fine Arts in Boston has a better version of this painting."
"A better version?” He looked at her in surprise. “You mean this is a copy?"
"No. Just that Monet didn't get it quite right here, and he knew it, and he went on to perfect it in the painting that's now in Boston. However, I wanted to show you this, and this is the best I could do."
"Why show me this?” he asked curiously.
"Because...” She stood right next to him, allowing herself to get lost in the swirls of bluish gray. “Looking at this painting, just like this, is exactly like looking into your eyes."
Chapter Twenty
Every Red Sox team is an interesting team. The religion that is Red Sox Nation is based on the fact that, even at their dullest, they provide precious few dull moments.
—Kevin Paul Dupont, Boston Globe April 1, 1996
"Tonight,” she announced, hand ensconced in his as they walked down the museum's grand staircase together, “there'll be a pop quiz."
"A pop quiz, huh?"
"Just to make sure you were paying attention,” she informed him primly. “Tonight I'm going to test you on—"
"I've got news for you. That's not what you're doing tonight."
"Oh?” She sent him that smile that left him feeling weak and ragged. “Want to tell me what I am doing tonight?"
"Well, I have to come up with some place to take you to dinner.” He flagged a cab. “I must admit I was just going to take you someplace in the hotel, but after you went to all this trouble this afternoon..."
"And do you really think I have no more surprises up my sleeve?"
Gray paused in the process of opening the cab door for her. “More surprises? That's ... impossible."
"Oh, how sorely you underestimate me,” she purred, sliding into the cab.
He followed behind her, in time to hear her give the driver the Bienvenue as their destination. “Really,” he insisted. “You've already done enough."
She gave him an inscrutable look.
"You've been running around doing stuff for me all day, and I haven't—"
"Relax, would you? Didn't you tell me you enjoyed letting me have the upper hand?"
He hesitated. “Yes, but ... This goes beyond that. I'm not pulling my weight."
"Pulling your weight? I don't even know what that's supposed to mean."
"Well, it means—"
"Want to make out in the back of this cab like a couple of teenagers?"
He gave her an exasperated smile. “You make me dizzy."
"I've just discovered it's a particular talent of mine."
"Well, you're exploiting it perfectly."
The cab drew to a stop in front of the Bienvenue and Aubrey scurried out.
"Hey,” he protested. “I was promised a make-out session in the cab.” He peeled off some money to give the driver and followed her out of the cab. She was walking briskly into the hotel lobby, pushing her way through the revolving door.
"—if you're very, very good..."
He caught the tail end of what she was saying as he also emerged on the other side of the revolving door. “What was that?"
"I said you'd get more than a make-out session if you're very, very good. I have a few things to pull together. You should go check on Sophie."
He felt like she was keeping two steps ahead of him and doing it effortlessly. Sophie, he thought. He honestly hadn't thought about Sophie in hours. “And where will you be?"
"I told you. Pulling things together. Meet me,” she said, and leaned up to give him a quick kiss, expertly evading the hand he put out to keep her clasped against him, “on the roof.” Then she dashed away.
"On the roof?” he called after her.
"Go see Sophie,” she shot over her shoulder and faded into the casino crowd.
The roof? he thought. What could she possibly have in store for him on the roof? And how the hell did he even get to the roof?
* * * *
He should really do something with the Bienvenue's roof. She supposed that the liability issues precluded him from making better use of it, but the view off it was breathtaking. It could be a lovely, comfortable place for a restaurant, she thought. Or maybe a bar. Or a pool area. Something like that.
She leaned on the protective railing that kept her from getting any closer than within twenty feet of the perimeter of the building and watched dusk fall over Las Vegas, the sun setting brilliantly, the lights of the Strip and the rest of the city chomping at the bit to take prominence.
Gray's lips nibbled behind her ear, and she smiled and closed her eyes and tipped her head back against his chest.
"You amaze me,” he told her softly, flattening his hand on her abdomen and pulling her back against him. “What is this? A picnic?"
"Mm-hmm.” She turned in his arms, eager to see his reaction. “Isn't it the most divine spot? Look at it, Gray. Look at how beautiful it is.” Her arm swept out to encompass the sunset, the city and the rest of the valley.
"So that's Las Vegas,” he remarked thoughtfully.
"You know, I don't even think that was a joke. When was the last time you looked out your own window?"
"I looked out it today, as a matter of fact. But the roof? What gave you the idea to have a picnic on the roof?"
"I can only attribute it to inspiration. Danny was kind enough to bring me up here to see if it was possible. And it's a bit windy, but I think it's going to do nicely. One of your chefs packed us a meal.” She stepped out of his arms and walked over to the picnic basket.
He followed, bending to pull the wine bottle out of its bucket. “And did you tell the chef to spare no expense?” he said wryly as he examined the label of the bottle.
"I didn't specify the expense.” She uncovered the baby spinach salads. “Actually, Danny talked to the chef for me."
"Well, the chef packed us Dom Perignon. My bill for this is going to be horrendous.” He popped the cork.
"You shouldn't have opened it then,” she told him with a shrug. “Anyhow, it's on my bill."
"Your bill?"
"Don't I have a million dollar paycheck coming?"
"Ah. That's right. I forgot. You're a little bit ruthless."
"Come have some spinach salad and pour me some champagne."
He did as he was told, sitting cross-legged on the thick blanket she'd spread and feeling ridiculous in his formal suit and highly shined dress shoes.
He must have looked ridiculous too, because she asked, openly amused, “When's the last time you had a picnic?"
"Not in recent memory.” He handed her a glass of champagne. “Tell me you picnic all the time."
"No, I don't. But I at least appreciate it. Relax, would you?"
"I'm trying."
"To picnics,” she proclaimed happily, holding up her champagne glass.
"And to art and wild goose chases and red roses and the Red Sox."
"Cheers,” she agreed, clinking her glass against his.
The spinach salad was delicious. That was followed by a delicious cold steak salad that Gray had seen on the menu but never tried before. It was amazing, really
, how many things he'd tried just this one day. By the time Aubrey pulled cannolis out of the picnic basket, he was feeling amazingly comfortable. More comfortable than he would have thought. Munching on the cannoli, he leaned back, lying full out on the blanket and folding his hands behind his head.
"It's a little sad how the lights of Vegas eliminate all the stars,” he commented.
Aubrey, enjoying her own cannoli, looked down at him. He looked at ease, which he usually did, but it was a deeper ease now, and she was relieved. He looked—and this was dangerous—like he was all hers. He looked like he was thinking of nothing else. He did not look like he was playing a part, the role of Gray Delamonte, who liked redheads and knew just what to say.
"How's Sophie?” she asked.
"Fine. She was delighted to see me. Asked if there were any suites that she might be given. Apparently, she thinks she and Dirk ought to set up house. Naturally I think that's an ingenious idea."
"She's a kid. She'll grow out of that."
"Yeah, but before or after he manages to get her down the aisle? Do you know how much money Sophie will come in to when she turns twenty-one? That was stupid of me, to set the date at twenty-one."
"Huh?"
"When my mother divorced Simon, and I forced her to go after him for money for the kids, and I set up the trusts, I put their maturity date at twenty-one. That was a mistake. Who knows what Doug's done with his money already? He won't talk to me about it. And now Sophie's got good-for-nothings hanging onto her. By the terms of Hugh's will, I came into my money a little at a time. Little trickles of income. I was young when my mother divorced Simon and I thought that obviously Hugh's way of doing it was wrong, because I wanted all of it at once. I should have remembered that Hugh was always much smarter than me."
"You should maybe talk to Sophie about Dirk."
"What about him? She knows I don't like him. I've made that pretty clear."
"Maybe you don't need to talk about Dirk specifically. Maybe you just need to tell her that ... she's young, and romantic, and she's probably rushing into things."
Gray looked at her. “Maybe you should tell her."
Aubrey sent him a small smile and absently licked a bit of cannoli filling off her finger. “I was an idiot. I married Paul. I don't know, Gray. I don't know how to describe it. Now that I think back on it ... I mean, I'd like to say I thought he was The One. That I spent a lot of time sighing over him, you know, trying out the name Aubrey Howell on napkins and stuff like that."
"You didn't?” Gray prompted when she fell silent.
"No. I just ... It's strange for me to say, because I'm an intelligent woman with a master's degree and everything, but there was still this ... this vague sort of feeling that by a certain age I should be engaged. And if I was going to stay on that schedule, then I had to, well, agree to marry the guy I was dating at the time. And that happened to be Paul. That sounds stupid, doesn't it? But I thought that we were compatible. I thought that we would love each other. I thought that everything would turn out fine."
"He was such a fool, Aubrey."
"Well, so was I."
"No, I mean to have a girl like you and to just shrug her off like that."
Aubrey looked down at him. His eyes were closed. His face was expressionless. What the hell did he mean by that statement? Probably he meant nothing. Probably he just meant to be charming and easy, the way he usually was. A rote recitation.
And, because she was crazy about him, she wanted it to be a damn marriage proposal.
"Of course,” he continued after a second, “men are stupid. I've proved that several times over the course of our acquaintance, as you keep reminding me."
"I don't think you're stupid."
"You think I make foolish decisions."
"Sometimes. I could maybe help you with whatever decision you're trying to make now,” she suggested lightly.
Gray paused, then opened his eyes. “What decision?"
She shrugged. “Something's bothering you. I thought you might want to talk about it."
Gray regarded her. Vegas lights kept flashing over her, bathing her every so often in hot pink or chartreuse. And he thought about the big problem that was consuming him. The big private problem. And somewhere inside he thought that the more people he told, the more likely the story would get out. And somewhere else inside he thought that, if he was going to tell anybody, it should be Aubrey.
"Somebody's using the casino to launder money."
She took this news in stride, asking easily, “How do you know? Are you sure?"
"Our slot machines are programmed to give a certain return. Someone's getting in and changing the programming.” The anger came then, surprising him. He had been many things since hearing the news, but he was surprised by how furious he suddenly was. “My casino,” he spat out. “Someone is using my casino to launder money. When I find him, I'm going to—” He had no idea what he was going to do, so he settled for exhaling sharply.
"Do you have any idea who it is?"
"No. None. Mark...” Gray sighed heavily. “I asked Mark to look into it for me, but Mark seems to think I should go to the FBI."
"Why don't you?” she asked when Gray didn't seem inclined to explain further.
"Because I'm at the top of the suspect list. And even though I know it's not me, it's going to be an awful lot of hassle. And then there's the fact that the person doing this is ... The problem with this whole situation is it's someone close to me. Someone who knows me. Someone I know in return. Someone I...
"Maybe that's why I don't think we should go to the authorities,” he admitted. “Maybe I'm terrified of finding out who it is. If it's Danny or Lucy or ... These are people I trust. For God's sake, they're people I like. And I cannot believe that someone would ... I cannot imagine who ... I don't know.” He closed his eyes wearily. “I don't know. I keep trying to figure out who it could be, in my head, and no one seems likely, and that means that when I do find out..."
He had just been vowing revenge. Now he felt vaguely ill at the prospect.
Aubrey, looking down at him, didn't really know what to say. She didn't know what she had expected to be bothering him, but she hadn't expected it to be something as enormously weighty as this. And on top of everything else that had happened over the past couple of days, she could not imagine how he was juggling everything.
Because she hadn't the vaguest idea what to say, and because she had no idea what else to do to help, she did nothing but pillow her head on his chest and snuggle close to him and tried to communicate her sympathy wordlessly. He shifted, draped a leg over her, wriggled an arm underneath her, to intertwine them fully.
"I don't know what to do,” he said after a moment.
"You're not supposed to know. You can't possibly know. Not now. You're doing all you can. You can't do everything."
"It's never stopped me before."
"You can't do everything, Gray,” she repeated firmly. “You'll find out who's behind this whole thing, and it'll be awful, but you'll figure out what to do then. You'll drive yourself crazy speculating over it."
Gray smoothed a hand over her hair. “I meant what I said about Paul."
"What did you say about Paul?"
"That he didn't know what he had. You've been ... Thank you for today. Really."
"I enjoyed it,” she replied easily.
"So did I. That's why I'm thanking you.” They lapsed into silence. From somewhere came a steady thrumming series of thuds, like highly muffled gunshots. Gray smiled into the sky. “The Bellagio fountains,” he said.
"What?” asked Aubrey. She'd been enjoying the silence, the rhythm of his breathing, the warmth of him and the pleasant cool of the night, and she thought she might be in danger of falling asleep on top of him.
"That noise. Do you hear it? It's the Bellagio fountains. The view of them must be gorgeous from up here."
"You love it here, don't you?” she realized, hearing the warmth in his voice. She did
n't know why, but it hadn't occurred to her that he was actually fond of Las Vegas.
"I guess I do,” he admitted, and even he sounded surprised. “It's ... Well, it isn't like any other place on earth. You haven't seen much of it. I'll have to take you exploring."
"You're busy. We'll go exploring later,” she assured him.
"What am I busy doing? I'm busy concocting desperate scenarios. It's probably better for me to do something else. We'll go exploring. I'll take you around."
"Are you a good tour guide?"
"Oh, I'm good at everything,” he said around a yawn.
"You're tired."
"Just relaxed. I still have a surprise for you."
"A real surprise?"
"Of course a real surprise,” he retorted. “What does that even mean?"
"I didn't know if you meant that to be some sort of double entendre."
He chuckled. “No. No double entendre. A real surprise. I think you'll enjoy it. Let's pack up."
She moved off him reluctantly but had to admit she was intrigued as they repacked the picnic basket. “When did you have time to put together a surprise for me?” she asked curiously.
"I was supposed to be taking you out tonight, remember? Naturally I had a couple of tricks up my sleeve.” He stood, picking up the picnic basket, and headed down the stairs.
She followed, trying to figure out what the surprise could be.
He took her to his apartment and said, as the elevator opened onto his foyer, “Do you want popcorn?"
"Popcorn? Are you hungry?"
"I could go for some popcorn. I'll make it. You meet me in the media room."
Popcorn, media room ... “Are we watching a movie?"
"It's all set up. You can press play if you want,” he called over his shoulder.
Aubrey frowned, then trotted after him into the kitchen. “But you'll miss the beginning."
"I've already seen it.” His head was in a cupboard. He emerged with microwave popcorn. “So have you, for that matter.” And he winked at her, looking infinitely pleased with himself.
She stood there frowning at him, trying to puzzle out what he was up to.
"You don't like surprises, do you?"
"Why do you say that?"
Twenty Hours in Boston Page 32
