Page 66

“It doesn’t sound as if they were allowed to meet at all. He probably painted her from memory. And he wants to marry her, doesn’t he? I doubt he would disrespect her by painting anything too lewd.”
“What about this, then? ‘Should my family ever discover them, I fear their outrage would know no bounds. For, in their eyes, I have…’ I think that might be trespassed. Yes, ‘trespassed beyond the limits of what is acceptable.’”
We think about that. “Turner painted some erotic sketches,” I concede, “and that would have been twenty years before this.”
Hallie’s eyes gleam. She looks back at the letter and continues, “‘But I would paint you a… thousand times more, if only to… preserve forever the truth of what we are to one another.’”
She shivers, but I don’t know if it’s because of the passion beneath the words, or if my breath has touched her cheek.
She continues, “‘If ever these letters… should be read by another, let them know: it was not… scandal that compelled me, but love.’”
She looks up at me, over her shoulder. “It’s as if he knew we would read these one day.”
Her lips are just millimeters from mine. It could be the beauty of the summer afternoon, the sentiment behind theletters, or the way Hallie’s lips look so soft, but the temptation is too great, and I lower my head and kiss her.
It’s a sweet kiss, just a press of our lips, but when I lift my head, her cheeks are flushed and her eyes are bright.
“Naughty boy,” she says, smiling as she lowers her gaze back to the letters. “I think there’s a kind of magic in these words.”
It’s true that they’ve stirred something inside me. I feel a strange lifting of my heart to think that Richard stood up to those who would have kept them apart. He got his girl, and he married her.
I look at the curve of Hallie’s cheek, her pink lips… I think about how knowledgeable she sounded when she handled the letters, how impressed Adam was… and what great company she’s been, and how good she is with people…
She’s looking at me again, and I realize she’s asked me something.
“Sorry,” I admit, “I was distracted.”
“I was wondering if the mention of these paintings is the reason this letter wasn’t included in Rudolph Hemingway’s book.”
“I would imagine so, wouldn’t you?”
“But why? Do you think the paintings still exist?”
“Maybe.”
“So why aren’t they displayed in the house?”
We start walking along the path slowly as we think about it. “Perhaps it was a bone of contention in the family,” I say. “Maybe some family members were ashamed of them.”
“Ashamed? Even if she was only showing an ankle or something?”
“Revealing the paintings would open the letters to being seen through a different lens. You yourself called them lyrical and poetic, but they would be scrutinized and questioned. Hisyearning and longing might be condemned as indecency or lewdness. If it was your family, you’d do anything to prevent that, wouldn’t you?”
She smiles at me. “You’re very astute.”
“My father has always been worried about perception. He would do anything to protect his family and the school from scandal. So if that’s Isabel’s issue, I do understand, even if I don’t agree.”
Hallie’s smile fades, and she lowers her gaze to the path. I frown, wondering what’s going through her mind. Is she thinking about her own father? She was with Ian for ten years, and didn’t reveal the truth to him. So I’m not likely to be able to wheedle it out of her after spending one night with her.
These women and their secrets…
“So where do you think the paintings are now?” she asks. “Hidden away in the loft?”
“Probably. Or in safe storage somewhere, maybe in a bank vault.”
We walk a little further, quiet as we both think.
“Do you think Adam knows about them?” she asks, stopping to admire the large, creamy blossoms on one of the magnolia trees.