Chapter Seven
The curving wooden staircase creaked noisily in the silence following in the wake of the guests’ departure. Wesley winced slightly at the sound; he didn’t want McNab to know he was headed back upstairs to his closet to move the painting. That man was obsessed about anyone looking at “his” art collection. Sometimes that man took it for granted that since his father had worked for Wesley’s father, he could get away with anything.
It only took him a few minutes to move the painting from his closet and carry it down the hall to the storage room. When he reached the narrow door that led to the storage room, he opened it slowly. How had he never noticed how badly it squeaked? He waited for an instant, and not hearing anything, he flicked on the small light bulb in the storage room and walked in with the imitation J.M.W. Turner.
“Can I help you with anything?” McNab’s smooth voice behind him caused him to jump, hitting his head on the low doorsill. He rubbed the small bump on his head and glared at McNab.
“No! I’m fine. Just putting the “J.M.W. Turner” in the storage room—didn't want it to get ruined in my closet.” He held the painting loosely at his side waiting for McNab to leave him in peace.
Not getting the hint, McNab looked at the painting in his hand. “Did you want me to put that painting up somewhere?”
“No. Thank you, McNab. I was just looking at it. There is no need to put it up sooner than you were planning.”
“If you say, sir.”
“You’re free to have the rest of the weekend off, after you’ve locked up.”
“Thank you, sir.” McNab nodded and finally disappeared silently down the stairs.
If it took giving McNab a couple days off to get rid of him for a minute, it was worth it. McNab was so sensitive about the art, it was as though he were the curator of some prestigious museum or something. Wesley rolled his eyes, walked over to a renaissance painting on the south wall, and gently removed it to hang the J.M.W. Turner in its place. As he stepped back and studied the tempestuous landscape again, he thought about the day Philip Drake had brought it to him as a peace offering several months ago.
“Phillip Drake is here to see you,” McNab had announced at Wesley’s office door. Wesley looked up in surprise. “Well, show him in then.” What could Philip have to say to me? Wesley wondered as he waited for McNab to show Drake in. Only two days ago he'd informed Wesley that he was quitting the project, claimed a time crunch issue as an excuse. He must be coming over to apologize and reschedule the meeting with the engineers. Of course, that was it. He admitted to himself he'd begun to worry that if Drake actually quit, he might take Katherine with him, and he was too attached to her for that. She’d just begun to finally warm up to him as well. The last several weeks had been wonderful—he'd finally convinced her that he wasn’t some vicious wolf on the prowl and she'd relaxed and been a ball of fun.
“Well, this is a pleasant surprise.” Wesley greeted Phillip, who stood awkwardly in the doorway. His lanky figure was dressed fumblingly in a plaid overcoat paired with blue pants. Must be his attire of choice when he’s not in the office, Wesley decided.
Phillip stepped inside, dragging a huge rectangular package behind him and shut the door behind him. “I realize you're most likely not very happy with me right now.” He took a half step forward, then paused again. “And you have every reason to be so.”
“Okay, Phillip, stop with the dramatics.” Wesley chuckled as he leaned back in his black leather chair. “I've never seen you so awkward, but I’m happy to have you back on board. The project needs you—we all need you. No apologies necessary. We’ll pretend none of this ever happened.” Confident to have passed that hurdle, Wesley sat up straight and opened his black leather-bound schedule book as he flipped to the current week. “Now, when should we schedule the meeting with the structural department?”
“No.” Phillip almost shouted. He swallowed, cleared his throat, and began in a more sedated voice. “I’m not coming back onto the project. I’m done. Nothing has changed my mind.”
Brows furrowed, Wesley studied him, confused. “But I don’t understand. You’re going through with this?”
Phillip nodded.
Wesley studied him a bit longer. “You at least owe me an explanation.”
Phillip opened his mouth as though to speak, then shut it again. He silently leaned the huge package against the office wall. “I’m afraid I can’t give you any more of an explanation than I gave you earlier.”
Wesley chuckled, unable to believe what he’d just heard. “No explanation? Come on, Phillip. We aren’t first graders in a schoolyard disagreement.” His smile slowly faded as Phillip’s face remained drawn, almost haggard-looking. “The only explanation I’m to get is you’re suddenly too busy?” It wasn’t really a question, and the instant it left his mouth, Wesley realized it was a statement. Befuddled, he leaned back in his chair again, waiting for Phillip to speak.
“I brought you something.” Phillip tapped the rectangular package that took up almost the entire space of wall where'd he set it. “A peace offering of sorts, I suppose you could call it. No hard feelings.”
No hard feelings? Wesley bit back a peal of laughter as he perceived the man’s obvious distress. What was really going on here? What was Phillip scared of? That ‘too-busy’ excuse was a crock of crap. Who would overbook his schedule and not realize until the project was over half done that he couldn’t complete it? Thoroughly confused, he silently stood up, walked over to the thing leaning against the wall that was as tall as him, and began untying the bulky white knot that held the brown paper swathed around it in place.
“I know you’re an art connoisseur of sorts. I thought maybe this was something you could add to a temporary collection until maybe you find the original.
The white rope fell to the floor and Wesley tore back the paper to reveal the blues and reds of a painting. He stared at it appreciatively for a moment. “A J.M.W. Turner imitation?”
Phillip nodded. “Yes. I know it isn’t much, but I’d be honored if you’d accept it as an olive branch of sorts.”
Wesley stared at him in disbelief, took in his drawn face, then slowly nodded his head. If the man was actually his usual suave self, he could question him more. He dared not push the issue of how Phillip was acting now. Best to play along. He’d bide his time . . . until he could get the real reason out of him. “All right. I’ll accept your peace offering. McNab will be thrilled to have a J.M.W. Turner to add to his collection, even an imitation one.”
Wesley realized Philip had been holding his breath, and now he let it out and looked immensely relieved. He extended a sweaty palm for Wesley to shake. “Thank you. I knew you’d be professional about it.”
Even though you’ve been far from professional!?!? Wesley wanted to yell. Instead, he smiled coolly and shook the moist hand. “Alright, Phillip. I’ll be seeing you around.” Phillip Drake nodded, gave him a shaky relieved smile and hurried out of the office, leaving the door open behind him. Wesley listened to his retreating footsteps as they reached the foyer, heard the creak of the door as he let himself out. He moved angrily over to the window; the fall colors looked much too bright for his mood right now. He felt betrayed having Drake quit on him. And nobody betrayed Wesley Grant.
Slowly his eyes regained their focus as his mind drifted back to the present, to the painting he now looked at with a newfound appreciation. The painting reminded him of the afternoon of his party. When Katherine had looked up and their eyes had met for several seconds. Had she felt the same jolt of electricity that he did? He sighed. He’d been in love with her since she’d first stepped into Phillip’s office wearing that fitted gray suit. The fire in her eyes as she’d been introduced had set his own blood aflame in response. What had she expected when she first met him? She’d almost seemed prepared for battle. A smile crept across his face at the memory. He would ask her the next time he saw her.