Priceless (5 page)

I
brought it up to my nose to sniff the paper.  It still carried the scent of jasmine and sea grass.  My mom had always loved to buy unconventional things like scented greeting cards and artsy trinkets.  She’d sent me a wire bracelet with a painter’s palette and paintbrush charm along with the card, too.  The bracelet was lovely but, of course, it was her words that will always mean the most to me.  I reached for my glasses so I could read it again.

Darling,

I know you’re deep into your studies right now and just wanted
you to receive some love and encouragement from me.  I miss you all the time but I know you are doing so many amazing things over in London and in school.  Your father does send updates when he can, so I know you’ve been through some hard exams recently.  If you get any time, I hope you’ll consider a visit.  I so want to get you in my arms again and I know Dani and Blake do, too.  I don’t think I would let go of you for at least a day.  Gaby, I know you feel guilt for things that happened in the past, but you shouldn’t, my darling.  You are a beautiful and remarkable young woman who did nothing more than countless other women have done since time immemorial.  You know I believe there isn’t anything that can’t be overcome with determination and maybe some time.  I would love to see you for any length of time you could spare.  Just say the word and I’ll see that tickets are arranged for you. If you can’t, I understand, and will simply continue to love you from home.  When I take a stroll on the beach at dusk I think of you and the wonderful talks we used to have, just the two of us discussing the mysteries of the universe.  I know I would miss you whether you were in London or Los Angeles.  Distance is just a number after all.  I’m so grateful you have your father there to look out for you.

Love
you always and forever,

Mom

For the millionth time,
I tried not to read more into the letter than was there.  That she’d wanted me to come home for a visit was apparent.  But, was the reason more to do with her illness than just a longing to see her child?  This was my worry and I knew I’d never know the answer.  I’d called her and we’d talked for a long time after I’d received the card.  She’d assured me she was just feeling lonely for me when she wrote it, and to please not worry.

That had been
hard to do, though.

Of course I
’d worried.  My mom had been sick with a chronic illness that had the potential to kill her, and married to a man who probably didn’t mind if it did.

And then she did die.

It happened very quickly and without warning, because her general prognosis had not been dire.  But the worst part was I’d not been able to get home in time to see her again.  This card in my hand right now held the last words I would ever “hear” from my mother.

I pressed my eyes shut and thought of her.  Of how good she was, and how determined she was to let me know how much she loved me in spite of what I’d done.  It was my mother who had reached out to my dad and suggested I leave home and come to London to live
where he could help me to find my way.  After the mess I’d made, I’d needed some help.  The two of them had kept an open line of communication about their children over the years, and I often wondered if Garrick hadn’t snatched up my mother and married her, would my parents have gotten back together in time?

That had been impossible with my step-dad in the picture.  He was also Blake’s father and thus, I was stuck with Garrick Chamberlain as a family connection whether I liked it or not.

Garrick was solicitous of my mom when they were together, but I’d never seen any evidence of the love affair between them.  He’d married her for her money I was sure, and she had stayed married to him because of Blake.  And now that she
was
gone, Garrick wanted to control even the portions of her estate that had been left to me and to Dani.

It was very easy for me to blame Garrick for everything.  After all, my great shame was in part, because of him. 
Whenever I did visit my sister and brother in Santa Barbara, I couldn’t wait to get away from Garrick and back home to London.

Home?

Where was my home, really?

I had family in London
and in California, but I lived in London now.  I couldn’t see myself leaving it, either.  There was too much back in California to hurt me.  There was also nothing to tie my heart to California now my mom was gone.  I missed Dani and Blake terribly, but for now my imperative was pretty simple.

Avoid the hurt at all costs.

London

6
th
July

MY
do-over date with Maria would be handled a little differently than usual.  We’d already met face to face, and so the typical dinner or date activity wasn’t really necessary.  We could get down to what we’d started the other night.  No need to drag out the inevitable.  I was contracting for sex and she was providing it.

Business.

Just contractual business and nothing more.

So why did I feel like shit about the fact
I paid women to get me off?

The
truthful answer to that question helped me to realize my glass was empty and in desperate need of a refill.

I shrugged off my ugly t
houghts as I mixed the Bombay and Schweppes, tossed in a lemon twist, and envisioned how Maria would look today when she showed up instead.  To be honest, I couldn’t wait to see her again.  There was something about her that had got to me the other night despite our untimely interruption.  I knew one thing for certain.

I wanted to be with her badly
, and that fact alone was unusual for me.

Mostly, I couldn’t stop thinking about her, or how she’d been
so willing in my arms when I’d had her pinned against that gallery door with my fingers inside her.  Maria was a born sexual submissive, I would bet my life on it, and I wanted to explore her further.

I felt my cock punch out when the buzzer went off.  Maria was her
e, just on the other side of the door to my flat.

Mmmm…where to begin
with her…was the delicious thought that slid through my mind as I put my hand on the knob and turned it.

I stared at the female before me wearing black stilettos
paired with a pink and black trench coat cinched in tight at her waist with a bow.  Probably the only thing standing between her and public indecency I imagined.

“Mr
. Ivanhoe?” the too-thin blonde inquired softly.  She was probably evaluating my frown and general puzzlement at her presence.

“
But you’re not Maria.” I tilted my head at her.

“
No, but please call me Maria if you wish,” she answered with a nod as she checked me over with a smile.  “I am here for your pleasure, Mr. Ivanhoe.”

I guess she misread my shock at
her not being whom I was expecting and took it for an invitation, because she swept inside and shut the door behind her.  She walked into my living room and set her bag down on the coffee table.  She turned back toward me and started unknotting the belt of her coat.  The look in her dark brown eyes was predatory as she pulled the fabric of her belt out of the bow with a rasping draw.

Well, fuck.

This was definitely not who I’d been with in that store room.  Not even close.

The lush goddess with the green eyes that had seduced me with her melting cries aga
inst my lips as I made her come, wasn’t here with me after all.  I couldn’t remember more crushing disappointment than I felt in the moment. 

I didn’t enjoy the sex
, not really.

When my guest
opened the coat and revealed what was underneath I might have had enough to motivate me to see this through, but my heart wasn’t in it.

Not when she dropped to her knees and wrapped her painted
pink lips around my cock.  And not when she sucked me off while pretending to love it.  She hated sucking cock as much as Viviana had.  I could tell.

She didn’t mind the fucking though.  Yeah, as much as I wasn’t into her
, I still managed to get her off and go through the motions.  I was so getting drunk afterwards I decided.

The whole thing was messy
and less than satisfying.

And it took too long to get her out
of my house after I was done with her.

Donadea, Northern
Ireland

5
th
August

“YOU’RE
just not telling me words I want to hear right now, Paul.  Sorry, friend, but no.  I need this shit out of my goddamned house and I need it gone now!”  The pause from him was to be expected, and I was more than used to it.  In fact, this kind of reaction from others was pretty damn typical.  I bark, and people move.  Things get done the way they’re supposed to and the way I want.

Well, i
n theory they do.

Waiting for Paul
Langley to respond on the other end of the line made me impatient and I started tapping the top of my desk.  I studied the worn oak grain of the wood and realized something I’d never really thought about before.  My ancestors must have sat here at this same desk.  Even as far back as maybe two hundred years ago I supposed.  But that didn’t change the fact that it was
still
just a desk.  A useful piece of furniture.  A tool to be utilized rather than just on display as a formal antique appreciated only for its aesthetic value.

“Hello?  You still there?”

“I wouldn’t call it shit, Ivan.”

“Right.  Let me rephrase i
t for you then.  Paul, would you please get someone over to my house capable of archiving the very valuable shit I have a great abundance of?  A graduate student perhaps?  There must be someone who needs a job.  The papers tell of gloom and doom for the pissing dreadful economy.  A starving artist?  Work with me here, please.  I do plenty for your organization and you know it.”

Langley
sighed heavily into the phone.  “I’ll see what I can do.  There may be a possible candidate, but I’m not sure.  The student I’ve in mind is very busy and scheduling may be a problem.”  He hesitated before letting me have it.  “And you aren’t the easiest person to…ah…work for.”

“Are you trying
to tell me I’m an arsehole?”

Langley
laughed softly.  “Yes.  And I couldn’t pass up the chance to admit it to you either, especially since you asked.”

“Nothing new ther
e.  Right.  Good.  So offer your student a big pile of my money.  I pay well.  Get someone over here to do the job and you’ll get your usual toward the philanthropic health of the arts and all that crap, and I won’t be drawn and quartered for letting priceless paintings go to rot.”

He
muttered something about expecting a bigger donation cheque this year if he managed to find someone to come out.  “See that you do and you just might,” I told him as we ended the call.

I sent off an email to my assistant in London telling him to follow up with Langley per our conversation.  Lowell
would keep this item current and remind me again if no word came from Langley soon about assigning me a student from U of L.  Gratefully I had some good people working hard for me.

Once I finished that business my eyes wandered around this stately room I’d inherited
, to study the rich paneling carved by some master craftsman eons ago, over the valuable paintings hung atop it, past the antique furniture and the personal items which had belonged to my ancestors, to finally rest upon the best part of the whole room in my opinion.  The view out the floor-to-ceiling window.  The landscape of Donadea was stunning in all its green lushness—hills and dales dotted with trees contrasting against the blue skies above.  Too bad I didn’t have the heart to enjoy it much.  Not anymore.

I’d loved coming here as a kid even after
Mum died.  The best times of all had been the long breaks in summer.  Riding, shooting, fishing, times at the lake, picnics.  I’d learned to fly here.  It had been magical.  A place to forget the harsh bustle of London and the many responsibilities that came with this blasted life I’d inherited.  But Viviana had taken even the peace of this sanctuary from me.  Now Donadea reminded me of all that I didn’t have, which was symbolic for why I wanted this place cleared out.

The time had come to let
the past go.

It didn’t serve me in any good way and I didn’t need any more bad.  I’d had enough in my
thirty-four years to last for a while.  I didn’t like to complain about my life because it would sound incredibly ingenuous to anyone who might be inclined to quote me.  Which they would do with the utmost glee.  I could see the Fleet Street rags headlining me now—SUICIDE WATCHES FOR LORD IVAN.

I had money, of course, and fame to an extent.  Infamous was more like it.  I had some Olympic medals and even a coveted gold.  I’d been born with the right name mostly.  And because of the untimely deaths of others, I had so much when so many had so little.  So yeah, I couldn’t complain about anything to anybody.  I could only bear the hand I’d been dealt.
  Which sucked.

I left my
study and walked across the west wing of the house to the portrait gallery.  The walls were filled.  There was too much here.  It needed to be sorted and some maybe sold, donated, or stored for preservation even.  I thought of the ironic twist of fate that had left me as caretaker of such goods.  An art collection to rival the best in the world and I knew next to nothing about it.

My uncle
Matthew, the twelfth Baron Rothvale, had not been much better, and my father?  Fuck no, and fuck no a hundred times after that.  His interests had been all over the place for the short time he’d been in line for the helm of this slowly leaking vessel.  This estate had never belonged to him anyway, and that one small fact pleased me the most.  Irony was cruel most of the time. 

I took one last look around the room before going right back out again. 
No, the paintings in this house had been neglected for a great many decades and they were due some greatly needed attention.  Even my ignorant arse knew that.

It was my desire to get the
project started and then leave the expert to finish it.  I shouldn’t have to stay here indefinitely, even though the thought of staying at Donadea was very appealing, besides I had work in London that required me there regardless.  Always.

Work
, or trying to stay off the paparazzi grid—something I never quite managed to do for very long.

The Olympics had gone off without a hitch until just after they wrapped.  The events ran smoothly
, and my announcing contract had actually been a refreshing change of pace for me.  The Games were a smashing success despite Great Britain’s team performance on native soil in the archery competition.  I’d loved every moment of it.  Nobody had set off any bombs and I was still in one piece.  Just when I’d felt like I might take a breath and let my guard down for two seconds, more shit was dredged up.