The Art of Love: Origins of Sinner's Grove (21 page)

“Your friend…Gus…he does seem to get around.”

Will glanced at her before selecting more hors d’oeuvres for their plates. Rolled ham, an olive spread, an iced
petit four
. “You mean his women? He does have an eye for beauty, no question. And the women, well, just look at him. You can see why he doesn’t lack for female companionship. Here you go.” He handed her one of the plates. “Let’s take them over there by that silly palm tree.” They sat at a small table and dug into the repast. Lia hadn’t realized how hungry she was. Will was right about knowing which delicacies to pick. She enthusiastically ate her way through smoked oysters and fresh shrimp and tiny beef rounds topped with soft Havarti cheese.

Will picked up the conversation where he’d left off. “But despite what the press says, there’s no way I’d describe Gus as a ladies’ man. He likes women, and when he’s with them, he’s with them. Until he’s not. But he’s quite a homebody, actually. Just before the holidays, for instance, I found him working in his garden. He’s got a monster of a place on Nob Hill, and he’s upgraded a lot of the inside as well as the grounds. What do women call it? Nesting?” He smirked. “God, he’d mop up the floor with me if he heard me say that.”

“If he’s so domesticated, then why isn’t he married?”

“Good question. He’s never talked much about his life before he got here. Maybe there’s a story there. All I know is, I can always trust him to do both the smart thing and the right thing. That’s rare in my line of work. Even my father invests with him, and that’s saying a lot.”

The conversation shifted to other topics: the strong appeal of her work and the certainty that this would take her career to the next level. It brought to mind something that had been bothering Lia for a while.

“May I ask you something, Will?”

“Of course. Anything.”

“You and I both came from families with money. So did my dear friend Sander.” She stopped and put her hand on Will’s arm. “I want you to know, by the way, that Sandy and I aren’t actually cousins. We have only ever been friends. He…he marches to a different drummer, shall we say.” She looked into Will’s eyes for some sign of understanding, and found it. May as well get the rest of it out. “Also, I was married for a short time, but it didn’t work out.”

Will put his own hand on top of hers and smiled with kind eyes. “You don’t have to explain anything like that to me. It’s completely your business…although it does explain a lot.”

Lia nodded, relieved somehow to have those details off her chest. “So Sandy and I had the resources to support ourselves while we pursued our dreams. But what do you think happens to those people, those artists, who come, like your friend Gus, from nothing? How do they realize
their
dream?”

“Sad to say, I don’t think a lot of them do. It has to be hard to focus on art when you don’t have enough to eat or a place to live.”

“It haunts me sometimes,” she said. “I wish there was another way.”

It was nine o’clock by the time the party wound down. Lia was tired but happy as Will helped her into his carriage for the ride home.

“What? No automobile?” she asked. “You seem so
avant-garde
.”

“Oh, I have one,” Will assured her. “Sometimes I just like the rhythm of the horses. It’s relaxing.” He glanced at her as they headed down the street. “So, I’d deem the evening a success, wouldn’t you?”

Lia nodded. She shared the names of half a dozen guests who said they’d be in touch with her soon about commissioning a painting from her.

“All worthwhile clients,” he said. “Looks like you’re on your way. Good for you.”

The night was chilly but crystal clear; the city’s customary fog had dissipated, revealing a sky filled to infinity with glittering stars. She remembered Little Georgie’s favorite bedtime story about how the stars got their twinkle, but this time tears didn’t follow the memory. Instead, joy bubbled inside of her, for her son, for Emma and George, and yes, even for her. She patted the blanket Will had given her for the ride. Fancifully she imagined it was the only thing keeping her happiness from escaping into the universe. The evening had turned out to be all that she’d hoped for and more. The more, she had to admit, was a reprise of that most incredible surge of energy she’d felt during her encounter with Mr. Wolff. She didn’t know what to think about it; she would ponder it later before she slept.

“I can’t thank your family enough for taking a chance on me,” she told Will. “It really all stems from that.”

“Hardly. If you didn’t have the talent, Lia, you wouldn’t be where you are. Trust me.”

“You are very kind.” Will was about to turn down Gough Street when she stayed his hand. “No, wait. I live on Chestnut now.” She grinned at her escort. “Thanks to your mater and pater I was able to sign a lease on a house of my own.”

“Well, aren’t you the independent one.” Will continued on and turned at the appropriate corner. He dropped her off at her bungalow and walked her to her door. When she opened it, she turned and gave him a kiss on the cheek. “I’m glad I know you, Will Firestone.”

“Likewise,” he said with a tip of his hat. He walked back to his carriage and before leaving called out, “Happy New Year, Lia.”

“It is, isn’t it?” she called back, giddiness suffusing her voice.

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

W
here the hell was he?
Gus tapped his fingers on his desk, shuffling papers back and forth, waiting for the sounds signaling Will’s arrival. At last he heard his partner come in, wishing their assistant Hansen, whose office was just inside the door, a Happy New Year. The two exchanged words that Gus couldn’t hear before Will erupted in laughter. What did he have to be so jovial about? As soon as Will entered his own office, Gus stormed it.

“About time you got here,” he barked. “Tell me everything you know about Amelia Starling. I want details.”

Will grinned as he poured himself a cup of coffee from the pot Hansen had brewed first thing in the morning. “Oh, you’ve got it bad, I see.”

Gus paced the room, waving off Will’s offer of a cup. “She is simply…magnificent.”

“She’s all right, I suppose.” He paused and then burst out laughing. “All right, my friend, what would you like to know?”

“Anything. Everything. What about this Sander fellow? You say she lives with him?”

Will shook his head. “No. Not anymore. She just moved into a bungalow on Chestnut. And you’ll be pleased to know that her roommate for the past few years has been just that. Mr. de Kalb is…of a different persuasion, if you will.”

Damn. Only nine in the morning and already he’d heard the best news of the day.

“So she’s…”

“Single? Yes. There’s been talk that William Keith’s son Charles is interested, but apparently his pursuit hasn’t gone anywhere.”

All right, make that the
two
best pieces of news. “So, why hasn’t she been snatched up before now?”

Will leaned back in his chair and sipped the hot brew. “I can’t help you on that one. I suppose you’ll have to ask the lady yourself.”

Gus rubbed his chin. “I intend to…I’m just not clear yet on how I’m going to do it. I might have come on a little strong last night.”

“Did you now? Maybe that’s why she was so interested in learning about you after you left. No doubt she wanted insight as to how to thwart your unwanted advances.”

Gus glanced at Will and matched his partner’s smile with a big grin of his own. “‘Unwanted advances’? Never heard the words before in my life.”

Will leaned forward in his chair, all traces of humor gone. “This one’s special, Gus. She’s not just another notch on the bedpost. She’s an incredibly talented artist who’s worked hard and deserves only the best.”

Gus frowned. “Are you trying to tell me you’re interested?”

“No. I’m saying I don’t want her to be hurt. She’s a fine woman.”

That was putting it mildly.
“I know. Message delivered.”

Will lightened up again. “So how are you going to woo the fair lady?”

“I thought I’d see about having a mural painted.” Gus shrugged. “You said yourself my place could use some sprucing up.”

“Well, you’d better get in line. She’s got half a dozen potential clients chomping at the bit.”

“Really? Who?” He picked up a piece of paper and pencil from Will’s desk.

Will rattled off the names Lia had shared with him and Gus wrote them down.

“You’re right, I’d better get on it,” he said, tapping the paper and heading down to his office. An idea was forming and he’d need Hansen’s help to pull it off.

1903 was starting off just fine.

A week went by, then two, then three, and still Lia hadn’t heard from any of the potential patrons. Why hadn’t they contacted her? Sandy had insisted she install a telephone and said it was good for business. Should she somehow find their numbers and call them? She didn’t want to seem pushy, but for heaven’s sake, it was getting ridiculous!

She spent the days fixing up her little house, turning it into a warm and inviting place to live and work. She stripped the wallpaper (who on earth could stand so many cabbage roses?) and painted the interior in rich, serene colors. A deep russet on one wall; pistachio green on another. It was a modest bungalow with only two bedrooms, a rustic bath, a simple living room, and a tiny kitchen. But it also had exactly what she’d been looking for: a sunroom in the back that would serve as a perfect light-filled studio.

As a housewarming present, Sandy had given her one of his paintings which she hung in a place of honor over the front parlor’s small fireplace. It was of a young boy and his mother walking along a country road. The viewer’s perspective was behind them and they were heading out to meet a cart in the distance. Maybe it was the father, home at last from a long journey; maybe it was just a tinker’s wagon and the boy longed to buy some tin soldiers. It told a story, but left the story for the viewer to decide. That is what art should do, she felt.

As the days ticked by, she couldn’t help thinking about Mr. Wolff. She hadn’t heard from him either. She snorted, remembering his big talk about how he wanted her to be with him. She tried to convince herself she was relieved that he’d just been spouting words, but the truth was, she felt deflated from the high spirits she’d felt on New Year’s Day. Yet, there was a lot to be thankful for. After three years and careful spending habits, she still had half of the financial nest egg her former husband had given her. She’d just received a large sum for her work, and had to believe that someone, sometime, would hire her to paint other works. She was still shy of thirty (albeit barely), lived in her very own house, and had all her teeth…and that was nothing to sneeze at!

With that attitude she was sitting in her studio refining some sketches she’d done previously with Sandy when she heard a knock at her front door. She opened it to find a short, middle-aged gentleman in a checkered suit and bowler hat standing quietly on her porch.

“Miss Starling?” he inquired.

“Yes, may I help you?”

“I hope so. My name is Thaddeus Hansen. I am an emissary from the firm of Wolfstone Enterprises, and have been charged with delivering this letter to you. I shall be happy to wait for your reply.”

Lia beckoned the man into her cottage and offered him a chair. “May I get you something to drink?” she asked.