But it wasn’t her father in the gilded frame.
No, it was his portrait hanging there.
Stretched out naked, on the fan-shaped chaise, in the light of a golden afternoon.
He sat and stared at the portrait for a while. It was a good enough likeness, he supposed, this fellow in the wicker chaise, but it wasn’t at all him. No, the man in the portrait was someone else. He had light in his eyes, blood pumping in his veins, a pulse quickening beneath the skin.
The man up there was alive and in love.
He got up, thinking he’d take the painting down and shove it into the stone fireplace, smelling of old damp wood. Toss the lantern in on top of it.
Watch it burn.
Standing at the hearth, the lantern in his hand, he saw that there was already a burned painting in the fireplace. He saw a charred bit of heavy gilt frame, a whole corner of it. He knelt down and pulled it out, removed what was left of the painting, out onto the hearthstone.
The frame and canvas hadn’t burned completely. A charred bit of her father’s handsome face was still staring out at the world, his hand holding the reins of the fierce white stallion, looking every bit the great hero.
Ivan the Conqueror.
He blew out the lantern and returned to the
The rain had let up. He could sail back to St. George’s, pick up his motorcycle, and still be at Shadowlands in time for dinner.
“ALEX HAWKE, YOU’RE positively drenched,” Lady Diana Mars said, ushering him into the library, where his friend Ambrose sat before the fire. Congreve got to his feet and opened his arms, embracing Hawke.
“Darling, get him a sweater or something, would you, please?” he asked Diana. “He’ll catch his death in those wet clothes.”
“Certainly, darling,” she said, and hurried from the room to fetch something for him.
“Sit down, Alex, close to the fire. Drink?”
“I’ve already had enough, thank you,” Hawke said, taking the chair next to Congreve’s.
“You know, I’ve been meaning to talk to you about that. Diana and I are both a little concerned about your drinking and-”
Hawke smiled. “Please, Ambrose, not now. I want this to be a happy night. I’ve even brought you something, you see. Something for you to give to Diana.”
“Really? What on earth?”
Hawke dug deep into his pocket and pulled out the treasure he’d found buried beneath the sea.
“What is it, Alex?”
“Have a look,” he said, placing it in Ambrose’s hand.
“It’s Mother’s ring!”
“It is, isn’t it?”
“How on earth did you ever find it?”
“It was easy enough. I knew where to look.”
“My God, Alex. I never thought I’d see it again. I cannot possibly thank you enough. You know, I’m going to give it to her tonight. I’ve waited too long as it is.”
“Yes, you have. Don’t wait a moment longer.”
“Are you quite all right?”
“Splendid.”
“Look at the firelight reflected in the stone. It is lovely, isn’t it, Alex?”
“It is.”
“A diamond is forever, as they say.”
“Yes. Forever. I think I should be going. I just wanted you to have the ring.” He got to his feet.
“Not staying for dinner? We’re counting on you.”
“Another time. I think tonight is for you and Diana, Ambrose. Three’s a crowd when a man is giving a woman a diamond ring. Represents eternity, you know. Serious business.”
Congreve walked Alex through the house and out to the porte-cochere, where he’d parked his motorcycle.
“I can’t tell you what this means to me, Alex. And to Diana. You’ve made us both so very happy.”
“See you soon, I hope,” Hawke said, climbing aboard the Norton and firing it up.
HE RODE OUT of the light and into the darkness of the trees, rain dripping from the heavy leaves.
He stopped at the coast road, debating which way to turn.
Left was home.
Right was someplace hot, smoky, and loud, where a man could drink in peace.
No.
Nothing is forever.
Nothing.
Ted Bell
