The Art of Love: Origins of Sinner's Grove (29 page)

“Hate to say it, but this bubonic plague scare in Chinatown is working to our advantage,” Will said.

Gus dipped a hunk of bread into the fish stew’s pungent broth. “How so?”

“Existing lines are contracting their fleets on the Honolulu, Yokohama, and Hong Kong routes. They’re afraid of the quarantine threat. So I’ve been able to pick up four ships practically at cost. Mark my words, when they figure out the problem, the demand for those routes is going to shoot through the roof.”

“I put my money on the rats,” Gus said, taking a swallow of his beer.

“The rats?”

“Yep. Stands to reason. They say the plague came here from China on board ships. The crew members don’t seem to be gettin’ it from each other, so they’re gettin’ it from something else. If it’s not the food or the water, then what? What else lives on ships? Rats.”

“What—you’re saying the rats are biting the crew members?”

“Could be. But rats have fleas and you’re more likely to get bit by a flea than a rat. They say the fleas can pass on the disease, so it makes sense. At any rate, until they figure out exactly what’s causing it, I say we make sure every ship is rat-free.”

Will nodded. “Maybe we can use that pitch to get passengers to book our line.” He spread his hands wide as if to show a banner. “Reserve Your Stateroom on Pacific Global: the Disease-Free Way to Travel.”

Gus snorted. “Plague or not, this anti-Chinese hysteria has got to die down before white passenger travel to Asia picks up.”

“It’s ridiculous,” Will agreed. “They come over here and break their backs building our railroads, then we treat them like garbage. Not exactly ‘America the Beautiful’ for them.”

While Will ate his stew, Gus contemplated what his partner had said. Mr. Chou the gardener came to mind. Chou was a good man who worked damn hard, not only for Gus, but for a number of Gus’s neighbors. A while back he’d told Gus in halting English that he hadn’t visited his home country in ten years. The shipping lines didn’t want them, so they charged a fortune for Chinese passengers both coming and going. That wasn’t right. “Here’s an idea,” Gus finally said. “Why not get ahead of the pack and pitch the Chinese instead? Make Pacific Global Shipping the favored line for Asian passengers. Charge ’em fairly, treat ’em kindly.”

Will looked at Gus. They both knew such a policy would be a loss leader for a few years, but in the long run it could serve their company well. “I’d have to sell the idea to the board of directors.”

Gus finished the rest of his beer. “If anyone can sweet talk ’em, you can.” He caught Will’s eyes and held them. “And you know it’s the right thing to do.”

Will rose from the table and shrugged on his coat. “I’ll work up some numbers, see how we go about promoting the line.” He grinned. “And since you’re such a bleedin’ heart, I’ll let you take pity on me and pick up the tab.”

“Might’ve known,” Gus grumbled as he pulled out his wallet.

A short time later Gus pulled up to the front entrance of his mansion. He noticed Sandy’s automobile parked nearby and sighed, knowing Sandy’s car meant Sandy would be inside working with Lia. Fortunately he liked the guy, even if Sandy was a bit swishy for Gus’s taste. Still, anyone who would do what that man had done for Lia was all right in his book.

“Lia?” Knowing Lia wanted to keep the mural private until she was ready to show it, he always called out her name when he entered the house to give her time to cover it up. This time, however, it was Sandy who called out in return.

“Where’s Lia?” Gus asked, pulling off his driving gloves as he walked into the dining room. Sandy was wiping off brushes, apparently finished for the day.

“Ah, she’s working on the portrait for Mrs. Mason and asked me if I’d do some background work here. She said to tell you it’ll be finished soon but you’re not to look at it until she can unveil it for you.”

Gus smiled. “She’s a trusting little thing, isn’t she? I could have looked at it a hundred times by now.”

Sandy wiped his hands and looked at Gus intently. “But you haven’t, have you?”

“No,” Gus said. “I told her I wouldn’t.”

Sandy nodded. “I figured…and so did she. She trusts you, you know.”

The way he said it and the look he gave Gus sent a shiver down Gus’s spine. Lia trusted him, and so far he hadn’t given her reason not to. But if she felt even a tenth of what he felt for her, then something would have to give, and give soon. He just didn’t know what he would do when that time came. He tried to make light of it and wagged his finger at Sandy. “If I didn’t know better, I’d say you’re the protective papa putting the nervous suitor through his paces. Maybe I oughta butter you up with a drink.”

“I’d like one, thanks,” Sandy said. “Sherry if you have it.”

Gus walked over to the sideboard that held his liquor supply. “I have it, but are you sure you want it? Not really a man’s drink, is it?”

Sandy said nothing, only shrugged his shoulders and smiled.

Gus grinned back. Damned if he didn’t like the man. He poured Sandy the sherry and handed it to him, gesturing to the draped mural. “So, is Lia happy with her creation?”

“Yes, I think so,” Sandy said. “As much as any artist is with their own work. I think she believes you’ll like it, which is what’s most important to her.”

Gus took a drink of the whiskey he’d poured himself. “I know I’ll like it,” he replied, “simply because she made it.”

Sandy took a sip and looked at Gus over the edge of the glass. “I’m glad, because she’s heading into a rough patch and she’ll need a bit of support, something to feel good about.”

Gus froze, his protective instincts kicking into gear. “What do you mean, ‘a rough patch’? What’s happened?”

“Nothing,” Sandy reassured him. “It’s just…well, she turns twenty-nine in a couple of weeks. That wouldn’t be so bad except it happens to fall right on the heels of her son’s birthday.”

“That’s right. She told me he’ll be six.”

Sandy nodded. “To add insult to injury, she just found out that her sister Emma—the one who married her ex-husband—has given birth to twin daughters. Lia says she’s happy for them, and I believe she truly is. But still, it’s got to be painful.”

“Hell, yes,” Gus agreed. “Like a jab to the heart.” He paused before adding, “I wanted to tell you what a gutsy thing you did for Lia back in New York.”

Sandy looked a bit apprehensive. “She told you about that, did she?”

“Yeah, she did. She pretty much thinks you walk on water, my friend, and while I wouldn’t go that far, I’ve gotta say, what you did took balls of steel.” He looked straight at Sandy and held out his hand. “I’m proud to know you, Mr. de Kalb.”

Sandy returned Gus’s handshake and smiled. “Too bad you’re taken,” he kidded.

Gus smiled back. “I’m taken, all right. Hook, line, and sinker. Maybe some other time.”

They both laughed and finished their drinks. Sandy collected his supplies and on his way out, he turned to Gus and said, “Lia is a very special woman, and I know you know it. If I were more…conventional…I’d never let her out of my sight. She deserves a good man. I hope he turns out to be you.”

Later that night Gus pondered the dilemma that was Lia Starling. He wanted her more than he’d ever wanted anything or anyone in his life. He wanted to commit to her, make a home with her, create a child with her. But it went beyond mere wanting. He
needed
her.

But how could he take all that without giving her what
she
needed? Could she accept him as he was? Would she? He feared asking the question because he feared knowing the answer. Yet it had to be asked, and sooner rather than later.

An idea began to take shape. He would give her the most memorable birthday she’d ever had. And then he’d gift her with the one thing she deserved more than anything else in the world: the truth. After that they would find a way forward together. They had to. His happiness, and he hoped hers, depended on it.

CHAPTER THIRTY

L
ia woke up on her twenty-ninth birthday smiling and full of anticipation. Gus had claimed her for dinner and a “special surprise,” he’d said. He would be calling for her at seven in the evening.

She spent the day working on Mrs. Mason’s portrait. Through a number of conversations about possible themes, she’d gleaned that the wealthy patroness (whom she now had permission to call by her first name, Bertha) adored working in her hothouse. Orchids were her specialty. Rather than depict the heavyset woman realistically with a potted plant by her side, Lia chose to explore the emotional connection Bertha had with her hobby.

“I suppose they make me feel more delicate,” Bertha admitted to her during a break for tea one afternoon. “And they’re exotic. In the wild, they only thrive in hot, humid climates like the jungle.”

On another occasion, over a couple of glasses of wine, Bertha had shared another aspect of her penchant for orchids. She motioned Lia to lean over the table so that she could whisper. “
Orkhis
means ‘testicle’ in Greek,” she confessed before giggling. “It’s a very sexual flower.”

Armed with that insight, Lia had thrown convention out the window and sketched a portrait in which Bertha, who really had a lovely face, was standing in her hothouse partially obscured by giant ferns and orchids, beckoning the viewer into her world. She looked mysterious and worldly, and, some would say, quite alluring.

Bertha fell in love with the concept.

Once she got the go-ahead, Lia spent a week painting and fine-tuning the work. She was now close to finishing the portrait, and brought it to the Mason’s mansion for a preview. If Bertha’s husband, Hunter, disliked it, she’d be starting from scratch.

She needn’t have worried.

“It’s marvelous,” Hunter exclaimed as he viewed the work. He was a successful, well-connected banker in his mid-sixties, and like Bertha, the privileged life he’d led was evident around his waistline. He put his arm around his wife. “You’ve captured Bertie’s obsession perfectly, and made us all see why she spends so much time amidst the dratted heat and all that soil.” He turned and wiggled his eyebrows at Bertha. “Seems I’ll have to find the time to make a visit to your domain, my dear.” Bertha giggled and Lia inwardly heaved a sigh of relief.

Back at her bungalow, she spent an hour getting dressed for her birthday celebration. For the past several years this week would send her into a funk that even Sandy couldn’t cajole her out of. But this year was different. This year she would spend the evening with a man who made her feel as though she were the most special creature on the planet.

During the past three months she had gotten to know the real man behind the newspaper tabloids. Gus was completely self-made. He was intelligent, intuitive, and a hard worker who cared about the people around him. Sandy was a perfect example. Gus could have treated him with derision, or worse yet, ignored him, but he didn’t. In fact, it seemed he genuinely liked and admired her wonderful friend. Then there was Will. He had nothing but good things to say about Gus, and she trusted Will’s judgment. And there was Gus himself. Aside from the first couple of times they’d met, Gus had been very respectful toward her, even though he’d let her know in a thousand different ways that all she had to do was say the word and he’d give her more.

Did she want more? If she were honest, she’d have to say a resounding
yes
. She wanted him physically, but it went way beyond that: she realized she was on the brink of falling in love with him. To her, “more” meant a future of some kind. If they became lovers, would that be the extent of it? Would he ever commit to something more permanent? He hadn’t made a commitment in the years since he’d been divorced. Maybe he never wanted to go down that road again. Lia shook her head ruefully. Why would he treat her any differently than he had all his other liaisons? Was she crazy to hope for something different?