CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT
The view stilled my mind as I stood by the window. I watched the ever-changing blues, and soul-lifting turquoise sky that was at times tranquil, while other times, wild and unexpected, just like my emotions. My eyes shifted to the painting of the reclining woman. Clarissa entered my thoughts. Not that she was ever that far from them. I recalled the tingly feeling I got when setting eyes on the painting at Sotheby’s. Paying higher than its value at the time, I had to have it.
I’d always been a sucker for women with long black hair and brown eyes. The need for the painting superseded mere indulgence. Never would I have predicted that I would find myself in the arms of its double.
Having not picked up a book since Europe, I decided to visit my library. Clarissa had inspired me to read again.
It came as no surprise to find Julian Moone there with his head buried in a book. Seated in a recliner, he looked the part in his cravat and gentlemanly attire. It was like stepping back in time and gratifying to see the room being enjoyed.
Julian peered up over his horn-rimmed glasses. “Oh, you must be Mr. Thornhill.” Placing the book down, he started to rise.
“No, stay there, please.” I approached Clarissa’s father and held out my hand. “Pleased to meet you.”
Julian took my hand and nodded. “Likewise.” He had that familiar uncertain smile. Like father, like daughter.
“Are you enjoying the collection?” I ran my finger over one of the gold- scrolled spines.
“I’m in heaven,” said Julian. “You have an impressive collection here.” He got up and directed my attention to the mahogany desk, where a ledger sat. “The catalogue is coming along very well. I’m recording everything by hand. And Greta…” He paused, his face looking flushed suddenly. “Ah, Greta suggested I photograph the entries and pop them into digital format.” He smiled faintly. “Or at least, she’ll show me. I’m not good with technology.” His dark eyes reflected a hesitant nature, another family trait.
I opened out my hands. “Work it as you like, Mr. Moone. I’m just excited that the library is being used.” Shifting gears into personable mode, I asked, “What are you reading?”
“Please, call me Julian.” His eyes lit up. “Nathanial Hawthorne, The Scarlet Letter. You have a fine collection of early American literature. I can’t wait to get into the Henry James’ first editions. All unexpurgated. Mind you, the man would’ve done well to trim some of his prose.” He laughed.
I responded with a chuckle, not because I knew anything about this subject, but more because his laugh was infectious. Just like his daughter’s. I instantly warmed to him. There was such joyful eccentricity with Julian. He reminded me of some of the characters I’d met in Europe.
“I came in for a book to take away with me. I’m off to Germany for two weeks.”
“Oh…” Julian wrinkled his brow, deep in thought suddenly. His eyes rested on the dark wood shelves. “I suppose you won’t want a heavy hardback in your luggage,” he said with hand on chin.
“That won’t be a problem,” I responded, careful not mention I was going in my own private jet. This was hardly the time to flaunt my obscene wealth.
“Well, then,” he said. “Have you got any book in mind, an author perhaps?”
“Not sure. I’m interested in war history, I suppose.”
Julian’s eyes fired up. “Ah. Right, then…” He regarded me. “You were in the army. Clarissa mentioned something about that.”
I nodded.
“Which unit?” Julian asked.
My body stiffened. “The Special Forces.” I didn’t want to talk about that.
Julian’s face was brimming with interest. “The elite squad, I take it.”
I nodded.
“Impressive,” Julian replied. I relaxed again. He had a calming, avuncular quality. “Did you read much while deployed?”
“I did.”
“Which were your favored books?”
Without giving it a thought, I replied, “Les Misérables and War and Peace.”
Julian’s eyebrows shot up. He nodded in approval. “Door stoppers. They’re major works. Extraordinary books, in fact. If somebody were to ask which books edify and enrich while challenging moral concepts, I would direct them to those two.”
I smiled. My head officer, an avid reader and well-educated man, had spoken similarly on their virtues.
“So, war history, then,” Julian reflected. “How about Ernest Hemingway?”
Before I even opened my mouth, Julian had a copy in his hands.
I took the book A Farewell to Arms. “That should work,” I said, adding, “I’ll probably take one other.”
Julian’s eyes sparkled. He was enjoying this. “What about A Tale of Two Cities by Dickens?”
“Sure, if you recommend it.”
“It’s about the French revolution. Taking into account you’ve read War and Peace, I think you may find this enjoyable.” Julian had it in his hand before I had a chance to reply. He knew his way around the collection almost supernaturally.
I received the book with gratitude. Then, clearing my voice, I announced, “I probably should mention that I’m seeing your daughter.” This wasn’t easy, but the last thing I desired was that Julian heard it from another source or encountered an image of us kissing on the streets of LA. Which would surely surface sooner or later, considering I hadn’t hidden my passion for Clarissa.
“Oh, right, yes…” he said, shifting his glasses. I’d thrown him a curve ball.
“I was hoping for your blessing.” My muscles tightened.
Julian opened out his hands. “As long as Clarissa is happy, I’m happy.” His voice had a tinge of hesitancy about it.
Unable to leave it there, I said, “You sound concerned.”
“Clarissa is a sensitive girl.” Julian paused to reflect. “She was never the same after her mother died. Before that, she was an excitable, bubbly child, full of drive and joyful creativity. Very much like her mother, who was equally remarkable—that’s where Clarissa gets her beauty.” His eyes drooped wistfully at the mention of his late wife. “When my wife died, Clarissa was eight. For one whole year, she didn’t speak. The shock was that extreme.”
Shit.
“Anyway…” He sighed slowly. “She eventually snapped out of it, and one day she just talked again. But something in her had changed. Lately, I’ve seen a glimpse of that little girl—the bubbly, excitable child.” He looked at me, a faint smile forming. “Now I know why.”
My chest finally filled with air. “Mr. Moone, I mean, Julian, I have no intention of hurting your daughter.” How can I? I’m fucking head over heels…
“Mr. Thornhill…”
“Aidan. Call me Aidan.”
“Clarissa’s been a model daughter.” Julian brimmed with parental pride. “In that, she’s never given me cause to fuss or worry. On Saturday nights, instead of pestering me to let her out, which I would’ve allowed, of course”—he chuckled— “she preferred to stay home and either paint, read, or watch a classic movie with me.” Although Julian struck me as the stoical kind, his voice was thick with emotion.
“You have some reservations, Julian?” I asked.
“Only that my daughter is young for her years, due to this lack of experience.”
“Julian, I have no intention of hurting her. My feelings are genuine. That’s her charm—Clarissa’s pure heart and spirit. I just want you to know so that we can be together without sneaking around.”
“Yes, yes, I can see that, Aidan,” he said. “And you have my blessing. I only told you this because Clarissa is as fragile as a rose in the hot sun.”
I exhaled slowly. “Love makes us all a little vulnerable, Julian.”
Julian held onto his chin pensively, nodding slowly. “Quite so, Aidan, quite so.” Pain glistened in his eyes. It was obvious that Clarissa’s mother remained deeply etched into his soul.
I left the library lighter knowing that I’d made my connection with Clarissa official. Julian’s shared insights made my desire for Clarissa even stronger—if that were at all possible, considering how much I already wanted her. As I sat staring at my empty suitcase, with my head in my hands, all I could think of was how Clarissa would take me once she learnt of my past.
Eight-year-old Clarissa, taciturn and frozen, entered my thoughts. A childhood interrupted by trauma. I’d confused that lost expression for innocence. It explained the silent treatment, the insecurity, the sad glint in those doleful eyes. Having witnessed animation leave my best friend’s once expressive eyes, I knew how it felt to lose someone close. That dark, vein-icing moment still haunted my sleep— his lifeless eyes staring at me so lucidly was suffocating.
A knock at the door made me jump. Such was the muddle of contemplation besieging me.
“Sorry if I startled you,” said Greta as I stood aside to allow her passage.
My aunt had totally shed the serious persona I’d come to recognize. Apart from the change in clothes, she’d colored her hair, taken to wearing make-up, and was generally in a gay mood. Although I found this rather baffling, I was nevertheless pleased.
As my father’s twin, Greta was the mother I should’ve had. She had cared for me with the intent of reversing the neglect I’d suffered as a young child.
“I’m just packing. I have to leave soon.” I glanced down at my watch.
Greta’s eyes fell on the two books I was about to pack away. “You’ve been to see Julian?”
“Yep. I picked up something to read. He’s a knowledgeable man.” I opened my closet and selected my warmest winter jacket. “He’s a calming influence, much like his daughter.”
“Aha…” Greta lingered. I could tell she wanted to say something.
“So, Greta, what’s up?”
“I spoke to Grant earlier.” She shifted nervously. “He mentioned you introduced him to Clarissa, and in his words, you were all over her.”
“And?” I asked, shrugging.
“Aidan, she’s a lovely, gentle, and sensitive girl. I don’t want to see you hurt her. I’ve grown rather fond of her.”
Despite being annoyed at the assumption that I would hurt Clarissa, I was touched that Greta cared so much for her. Instead of giving her any stay-out-of- my-life bullshit, I kissed Greta on the cheek. “We’re good, real good. I’ve never felt this way before.” My eyes went misty.
Oh Christ, tears? No! I’m tougher than that.
“She’s not like the others. That’s plain enough. I just needed to understand,” said Greta.
I exhaled a slow breath. “She sure isn’t like the others.” I combed back my hair. “I’m in there for the long haul, Greta. I mean it.”
We regarded each other silently. A very faint smile grew on my aunt’s face.
“She’s the best event organizer we’ve ever had, Aidan. I’d hate to lose her.”
“You will. I’ve got other plans for Clarissa.” I kissed Greta on the cheek. “I better get cracking. See you in a couple weeks. I’ll stay in touch.” As she was about to leave, I added, “Oh, and Julian Moone’s a decent man.” I smiled and raised my eyebrows.
Greta responded with a blush and a rarely seen wide smile.
As I snapped shut my luggage, I was already missing Clarissa. I’d only dropped her off at the cottage two hours earlier. My lips had devoured her. And Clarissa had ended up pushing me out the door, giggling. God, I wished I could record that giggle. It was such a turn-on.