The Portrait, page 7
“Maybe you’d both be happier,” Liam said gently, with youthful wisdom. His parents weren’t old, but they had given up on love, both of them. He knew from what his mother told him that she had had the love and approval of her parents, until she had married Charlie, irresponsibly. Liam knew too that his father had never been loved since his own mother’s death. Charlie had forgotten what being loved felt like, or maybe he didn’t think he deserved it. But he had the love of his son now, which warmed his heart, even if he thought he didn’t deserve that either. Liam wondered if his father had other women in his life, but he didn’t ask him. He didn’t want to know, and to share a secret like that would be a betrayal of his mother. And he was sure his father wouldn’t have told him. He was an honorable man, and hadn’t told Liam anything he didn’t already know, or had guessed. The lack of love between his parents was so obvious, and had been all his life, whatever the reason for it, or if it had ever existed. It didn’t now, which was all that mattered.
They lay there quietly on the deck for a long time after all that Charlie had said. They finished their wine and got up from their chairs to go to bed. Liam was grateful for what his father had told him, and for his honesty. Charlie added one more thing before they went to their rooms. “Your mom is my family. You and she are the only family I have. And the greatest thing she ever gave me was you. I will always be grateful to her for that,” he said in a husky voice, and they hugged each other. “Maybe that’s enough,” he said, and Liam hugged him tight for a moment.
“Thank you, Dad.” Liam had tears in his eyes, which Charlie didn’t see as they held each other. It had been an important moment between them, of honesty about his parents’ lives and how they felt about each other and about him. Liam was grateful for the independence they had given him, which had allowed him to grow up early and find his own direction. He felt sorry for his father, and sad that he was willing to settle for so little warmth in his life, except from his son. That didn’t seem like enough to Liam. He could see the price his parents had paid for a loveless marriage, and it seemed like too high a price to him.
For the rest of the time Liam spent with his father in the Hamptons, they had a wonderful time. When he could put a little more weight on his injured leg, they walked around the local towns. They went fishing together. Liam was stopping to see his mother in Aspen on the way home, despite her houseguests, and was going to try to tell her his plans. He had made up his mind. He was going back to France at the end of August, and before that he was going to enroll online in the landscaping school he was excited about. It seemed like it would open so many doors to him, and he loved the idea of working outside. It suited him and it would use his drawing skills, just as traditional architecture would have. He was sure this was the right path for him, and Charlie respected the passion he had for it.
The day before Liam left for Aspen, Charlie took him to the bookshop in East Hampton, and Liam found three big books about gardens. They were a popular category for people in the area, seeking to design the gardens for their estates. Charlie bought the books for him, and Liam was talking about them excitedly as they left the bookshop, like a kid with a new toy he couldn’t wait to play with. It made Charlie smile. He knew what it was like to have that kind of enthusiasm and passion for what you wanted to do.
Charlie was listening to Liam tell him about a garden he had seen in England with a maze that was two hundred years old, when he bumped into a woman on her way in at the bottom of the steps. He apologized immediately and looked at her and was suddenly stunned to find himself looking into a familiar pair of green eyes. It was Devon, and he was so startled to see her that he didn’t speak for a minute but quickly recovered.
“What a surprise to see you,” he said, and introduced her to Liam, who looked intrigued by her. There was something very gentle and ethereal about her which struck him.
“I spend the summer here, painting whatever I want,” she explained. “I have an old barn. It’s like camping out and I love it. It renews my energy before I go back to my real work in September,” she said, smiling at Charlie, and including Liam in her warmth. “Do you have a house here?” she asked.
“I’ve been renting the same one every year for ten years. So far, they won’t sell it to me, but hope springs eternal. I love it here too.”
“I’m surprised I haven’t seen you at the bookstore before. They have wonderful art books. I’m their biggest fan.”
“Liam is going to be designing gardens. They had some beautiful garden books.”
“You’ll have to come and visit my barn.” She included them both in the invitation.
“Liam is leaving tomorrow, but I’d love to see it,” Charlie said warmly, and Liam thought his father looked nervous when he spoke to her, and almost boyish. He had noticed how beautiful she was, in a totally natural way, with her red hair and no makeup, a pink T-shirt and paint-splattered jeans, and sandals. She fit right in to the local scene. Liam guessed her to be about thirty, which was what she looked like.
Charlie promised to call her and they left, while he tried to look less excited to see her than he was.
“Who is she, Dad?” Liam asked as they walked back to the car, with Liam still on his crutches. Charlie tried to look casual about it.
“She’s a famous artist. Devon Darcy. She’s a portrait painter, and paints mostly famous people. The bank wants me to have a portrait done for the boardroom. She’s going to start a portrait of me in January, if I have time.” He tried to sound offhanded as they got into the car.
“Wow, that doesn’t sound like you,” Liam commented. “Like the one of Granddad?” he asked, and Charlie laughed.
“I hope not. Her style is more contemporary. Her portraits are really beautiful. I went to a gallery show of hers in New York. She does very impressive work.”
“She’s beautiful,” Liam said, as though his father might not have noticed. Charlie’s insides had turned to mush again when he saw her, which Liam didn’t have any way of knowing, and didn’t suspect. Charlie was always so sensible, and wasn’t a flirt with women. He was very straightforward and direct, and treated men and women the same.
“Yes, she is,” Charlie agreed noncommittally, and they drove back to the house where Liam pored over the books they had bought before putting them in his suitcase.
Charlie was sending him to Aspen on his plane, so he wouldn’t have to struggle in an airport with his crutches, and he was sad to see him go.
They had their last lobster dinner together that night, and played a video game, which Charlie lost as usual, much to Liam’s delight. They lay on the deck chairs afterward under a starry sky. Liam’s stay there had been the best part of the summer, for both of them, in spite of Liam’s broken ankle, which had slowly become less painful, and he was becoming more mobile. He was sorry to leave. He and his father had never been closer, with no other distractions around them. He was grateful for all the advice Charlie had given him, and for the explanations about his parents’ marriage, which shed some light on the past for him. When he was younger, he had thought that he was a disappointment to them, so they paid little attention to him and often ignored him. He realized now that it had nothing to do with him. They were just intent on pursuing their own lives and ignoring each other. It was a relief to have some acknowledgment of it. He had gotten trapped in the arctic freeze of their unfortunate marriage. He was grateful for his father’s honesty about it. He was old enough to understand it now, and felt sorry for him.
Liam left the house at six A.M. to get to Teterboro in time for an early departure on his father’s plane. Charlie got up at five to make him breakfast and help him gather up his things, and get organized with his crutches. He carried everything to the car for him, while the driver carried Liam’s small bag he had brought from Europe, along with several shopping bags he’d added, with things Charlie had bought him in the Hamptons, including a pair of cowboy boots he loved that he could wear when he got rid of the orthopedic boot.
“I’m going to miss you, Dad,” Liam said softly. He’d never said that to him before, and he meant it.
“I’ll miss you too. I’ll try to get back to San Francisco before you leave, and if you leave before that, I’ll come to see you in Paris.” Liam smiled when he said it. “And don’t let your mom shake you up about your plans. It’s a big stretch for her, but she’ll get used to it.” Liam was anxious about the conversation he wanted to have with her. “I’ll talk her down after you tell her.” They had agreed that the announcement of his change of direction should come from Liam, not his father. He was an adult, and he wanted to act like one, but he had no illusions that she would greet the news with delight or even approval. He just had to work his way through it. She could be daunting, and very cold.
“I had a wonderful time,” he told his father again, as he stood next to the car, leaning on his crutches. He was tempted to stay but he still wanted some time at home to see his friends before they all left again at the end of the summer. Some of them were starting jobs in other cities, or going on to graduate school, since they had all graduated from college in May and June. A few of them were staying in San Francisco, but not many. The only good jobs available to them were at the tech companies. For those interested in other fields, San Francisco had little to offer, so they had to go to other, bigger cities to find jobs.
Charlie hugged him one last time and helped him into the car. Liam opened the window and waved as they headed down the driveway, and Charlie waved until the car turned onto the road. Liam couldn’t see it, but there were tears rolling down his father’s cheeks. The weeks with him were everything Charlie had hoped to share with him, and more. He was so glad he had gone to Paris to rescue his son and bring him back. It was the beginning of the solid foundation of their relationship as two men who loved and admired each other. Charlie couldn’t wish for more, as he walked slowly back into the house and put their breakfast dishes into the dishwasher.
He glanced at the kitchen wall clock. It was six-thirty. After running into Devon the day before, he had promised himself he was going to call her at ten, which seemed a respectable hour to call. She had invited him to come and see her at her barn, and he wanted to do that. He assumed that her cell phone would reach her. It had bowled him over to see her, and he wanted to see her again. He hadn’t called her the night before, on Liam’s last night. Seeing her made him feel like an awkward boy again, as naïve and inexperienced as his son. It was amazing how you could feel awkward and off balance at any age, no matter how old and experienced you were. Seeing Devon made him feel young again, like starting all the way back at the beginning with a clean slate.
Chapter 5
Charlie went for an early morning run on the beach, to pass the time before he felt he could call Devon. He didn’t want to call her too early and wake her, since he didn’t know her habits. He came back after running several miles along the beach, took a shower, poured himself a cup of coffee, and reached for his cellphone. He called her on her cell since it was the only number he had, and assumed she would use it in the Hamptons too. He hoped he was right.
The phone rang three times, and then he heard the sensual silk of her voice.
“Devon? It’s Charlie Taylor,” he began, feeling awkward and nervous, not sure how she would feel about his calling. He was afraid that she would guess his fascination with her. It never occurred to him that she might be equally intrigued and taken with him. She had seemed happy to see him the day before.
“It was nice to see you yesterday. Your son is such a handsome young man.” Liam looked just like Charlie, except he was blond like his mother, instead of dark-haired like his father. Other than that, they nearly looked like twins. They even had the same height, shape, and broad shoulders.
“Thank you. He’s a great kid. He broke his ankle in France, so I rescued him and brought him here,” he explained. “He just left a few hours ago. I was happy to run into you too.”
“This is my refuge from work. I spend my summers here, in my barn, painting anything I want. There was a deer in my garden yesterday, a doe. She let me photograph her. I’m painting her today. It’s a nice change from my serious commissions ten months a year.” Charlie realized that the portraits must take intense concentration, getting to know each subject, and trying to learn enough about them to paint them with the depth and insight that she did. It was arduous work, combining discipline, psychology, and art.
He decided to take a bold leap with the next question, and held his breath after he did. “You very generously invited me to come and see you at your barn sometime. I’d love to do that, or have you come to my place for a drink.” He tried to sound casual about it, though he was anything but.
“I’d like that very much,” Devon said, sounding sincere. “Why don’t you come by the barn this afternoon. I was planning to do some gardening, after I work on the painting of the doe this morning. I try to paint a few hours every day.”
“I’d love that,” he said enthusiastically, making every effort not to sound too excited so she didn’t think he was weird or a stalker of some kind. He had been so persistent the first time he met her that she might have gotten that impression, and it was her job to read people well. He actually did feel a little like a stalker, wanting to see her again. It had been less than two months since their last encounter, and the meeting outside the bookshop had been providential.
“Come around four,” Devon suggested. Charlie spent the afternoon reading and trying not to obsess about her.
He put on clean white jeans and a blue shirt to see her, and loafers without socks, which was standard Hamptons attire, and stopped at a bakery to buy some cookies and a box of chocolates to bring her as a gift. He didn’t want to arrive empty-handed.
She didn’t live far from him, he noticed when he put her address into his GPS. He had rented a station wagon for the time he was in East Hampton. He didn’t need or want a fancy car in the Hamptons, although there were plenty of them there. He had enough at home in California, and had no desire to show off or make his presence known during his peaceful summer retreat.
There was a pristine white gate at the entrance to Devon’s property, a short winding driveway that obscured the house from the road, and her barn came into view a moment later. It was a beautiful old Victorian barn with white-painted gingerbread trim. It looked like a barn in a fairy tale, like “Hansel and Gretel.” The barn was painted a pale dove gray, and there were neat flowerbeds of big white hydrangeas she had planted herself. The land around it looked neat and well maintained. Charlie could sense that it was a place she loved. The driveway was gravel and she came out of the barn as soon as she heard him arrive. She was wearing cutoff denim shorts with a pink shirt, her red hair piled on top of her head, to keep it out of her way, and she smiled as soon as she saw him. She looked happy to see him, which warmed his heart. She looked young and fresh and casual, in sandals she had bought in Italy that laced up her legs. She still had a European look to her, as he handed her the cookies and chocolates, and she thanked him warmly. He noticed that she was wearing no makeup. She didn’t need it. Her all-seeing green eyes were enough.
She invited him into the barn, which seemed enormous once he walked inside. It was all one space but she had divided it into a sleeping area, with a big four-poster bed draped in mosquito netting, and an inviting sitting area with a comfortable couch and chairs around a coffee table made of an antique door. There was a modern-looking open kitchen, and most of the space was a studio with several easels, canvases leaning against the walls, and her paintings all over the walls. Paintings of animals and children and dogs, still lifes of flowers, and portraits of people. Her distinctive style was visible in each of them, but the subjects were atypical for her, which was what she loved about doing them—a lamp, a goat, a cocker spaniel with a woeful expression, a child on a swing, a lobster, a brightly colored bird, and the painting of the doe on the easel in its earliest stages. Each painting was done in her remarkable technique, with infinite precision and expertise, with the soul of the subject leaping from the canvas. She had an incredible talent, which he already knew.
“This is my happy place,” she said with a smile, as she set the cookies and chocolates down in the kitchen. “I love it here.” She beamed at him as she said it, and exuded an aura of pure joy. She looked much happier than she had in the city, but there he had caught her on a workday, in the midst of a commission, and wanting one himself. Here, he wanted nothing from her, and she didn’t have to please anyone but herself. She painted the subjects she wanted to, and had fun with them. Some of the paintings were more playful than the subjects he’d seen at her show. But he would have fallen in love with these too. She was an incomparable artist, and her training and technique were flawless on each canvas he saw.
“I love the paintings you do here,” he said, looking at them with pleasure. They made him happy too. He studied the beginnings of the doe. It had a graceful elegance to it, with green leafy trees all around.
“I was really angry at her.” Devon laughed about the doe. “She ate two of my flowerbeds and trampled a third, but she was so beautiful I couldn’t stay mad at her. I got some great photos of her before she ran away. She leaped over my back fence, and now I’m painting her. The dog belongs to my neighbor,” she said as he studied the cocker spaniel. “The paintings I do here are just for fun. Sometimes I give them away.” He thought the recipients would be very lucky, as he would be when he sat for a portrait by her. But what she did here had a sense of freedom to it. Looking at her paintings was like listening to music—they had a magic and a melody all their own.
