trapped time. That was what made them so desirable to visitors and why transforming them into resorts had swollen my bank balance.
Pulling up at the car park, I noticed three people standing at the pillared entrance, waiting for me. As someone who believed in punctuality, I hated being late.
Stepping out of the car, I grabbed my jacket and put it on.
“Please accept my apologies,” I said on my approach. “The traffic was bad leaving London.”
The realtor smiled sweetly. Her eyes twinkling, she stretched out her hand. “I’m Melissa Campbell. I work for Jonathon Sharpe.”
I took her hand and nodded. “Pleased to meet you.” I shifted my focus to the pair selling their family home and offered my hand to the girl first. “Blake Sinclair.”
She nodded and smiled.
Melissa said, “This is Jane Joyce, and her brother Michael.”
I took the brother’s hand and shook it, while he stared at my car, googly-eyed.
“That’s a beauty. It’s the exact Bond model, isn’t it?”
Reluctant to get into a discussion about the engine, of which I had scant knowledge, I nodded and directed my attention to the building.
“Should we go in and take a look?” I asked.
Melissa was busy gaping at me with wide-eyed expectation, while Michael seemed gripped with want as his hands ran over the body of my car as if it were a woman’s shapely thigh.
His sister, Jane, looked as though she’d burst into tears at any moment. I’d seen it before—kids of wealth whose parents had left more bills than assets. After being spoon-fed all their lives, they’d been thrust into frugality.
As we walked about the checkered floor, I looked up, bathed in the illumination of color from the stained glass window. Sitting proudly at the top of the landing, that feature alone overwhelmed my senses.
“It’s fully heated,” said Melissa. “And it comes with all the furnishings.”
“You’re not planning on gutting it, are you?” asked Jane.
“If I were to buy it, that would be my right,” I replied. “But judging by its condition, I can’t imagine that will be necessary.” I turned to Melissa. “You have all the structural reports for me, I trust?”
“I’ll email those to you,” she said, her eyes remaining on my face.
We walked into the grand ballroom surrounded by windows that looked out onto the extensive grounds. The light was perfect. I visualized a restaurant and a bar. The model was perfect for my standard resort. The price was a bit higher than usual, but I felt sorry for the pair.
After I’d made them an offer and left them to discuss it among themselves, I stepped out onto the ground and called James. He’d left a message earlier.
“Ah, there you are,” said James.
“I scrambled out early. I had a morning appointment in Northampton.”
“Are you back tonight?”
“I’m driving back after a coffee and some lunch.”
“There’s an exhibition later on. I thought you might be interested.” He sounded flat.
“What’s wrong?”
“I’m kind of lost. We’ll talk later?”
“Sure. I should be back by late afternoon. I’ll call you, and we can meet for a drink beforehand if you like.”
“Look forward to it. Catch you then,” he said.
I hoped he’d obtained the blond girl’s phone number so that I could find out more about her friend.
I wasn’t normally in the habit of chasing girls. Sex was something that arrived at my behest, in that I bought it. No strings attached. No quibbling over not staying the night or inviting her into my home. I could enjoy dirty, guilt-free sex. But this girl was different. I couldn’t recall this kind of lingering obsession for a girl before, considering I hadn’t even spoken to her. Very odd.
6
* * *
PENELOPE
THE IMAGES LEAPT OFF the canvas. Gifted when it came to drafting, Sheldon painted three-dimensional shapes with enviable skill.
“I love this one,” I said.
Sheldon held his chin. “Mm… I did that one in one night. After Roger broke my heart, I painted like a demon. I seem to create my best work when I’m sad.”
“Isn’t that what it’s all about?” I sighed, thinking of how my colors intensified the more my life spiraled downward.
“I guess so.” He sipped wine almost mournfully.
We were both slumped in chairs, waiting for the public to arrive. The lighting was brighter than I would have liked, but the curator had insisted on it, and when it came to showing art, Marius had an edge over his competitors. He also didn’t charge as much commission as they did and took risks with student art. Sometimes he even lost money with avant-garde shows that