Born in Fire
Page 67
“I thought I would have to let you down again, Maggie.” More than a little overwhelmed by the sight of Maggie’s work glittering in a roomful of exotic strangers, Brianna slipped her hand into her sister’s. “I was trying to think of how to manage it. Mother’s fine with Lottie, of course, and I knew I could leave Con with Murphy. I even asked Mrs. McGee if she’d look after Blackthorn for a day or two. But then there was the how to get here.”
“You wanted to come,” Maggie said softly. “You wanted to.”
“Of course I did. I wanted nothing more than to be with you. But I never imagined it would be like this.” Brie stared at the white-coated waiter who offered her champagne from his silver tray. “Thank you.”
“I didn’t think it mattered to you.” To clear the emotion from her throat, Maggie drank deeply. “I was, just now, standing here thinking I wished it mattered to you.”
“I’m proud of you, Maggie, so proud. I’ve told you.”
“I didn’t believe you. Oh God.” She felt the tears well up and blinked them furiously away.
“You should be ashamed of yourself, thinking so little of my feelings,” Brie scolded.
“You never showed any interest,” Maggie fired back.
“I showed all the interest I could. I don’t understand what you do, but that doesn’t mean it doesn’t make me proud that you do it.” Coolly, Brianna tipped back her glass. “Oh,” she murmured, staring at the bubbling wine, “but that’s lovely. Who’d have thought anything could taste like that?”
With a hoot of laughter, Maggie kissed her sister hard on the mouth. “Jesus save us, Brie, what are we doing here? The two of us, drinking champagne in Paris.”
“I for one am going to enjoy it. I have to thank Rogan. Do you think I could interrupt him for a moment?”
“After you’ve told me the rest. When did you call him?”
“I didn’t, he called me. A week ago.”
“He called you?”
“Aye, and before I could wish him good morning, he was telling me what I would do and how I would do it.”
“That’s Rogan.”
“He said he’d be sending the plane, and that I was to meet his driver at the airport in Paris. I tried to get a word in, but he rolled right over me. The driver would take me to the hotel. Have you ever seen the like of that place, Maggie? It’s like a palace.”
“I nearly swallowed my tongue when I walked in. Go on.”
“Then, I was to get myself ready, and the driver would bring me here. Which he did, though I thought for certain he’d kill me along the way. And there was this in the hotel room, with a note from him telling me it would please him if I’d wear it.” She brushed a hand down the misty blue silk of the evening suit she wore. “I wouldn’t have taken it, but he put the request in such a way I’d have felt rude not to.”
“He’s good at that. And you look wonderful in it.”
“I feel wonderful in it. I confess, my head’s still spinning from planes and cars and all this. All of this,” she said again, staring around the room. “These people, Maggie, they’re all here for you.”
“I’m glad you are. Shall I take you around so you can charm them for me?”
“They’re charmed already, just seeing the two of you.” Rogan stepped beside them and took Brianna’s hand. “It’s delightful to see you again.”
“I’m grateful to you for arranging it. I can’t begin to thank you.”
“You just have. You don’t mind if I introduce you around? Mr. LeClair—there, the rather flamboyant-looking man by Maggie’s Momentum? He’s just confessed to me that he’s fallen in love with you.”
“He certainly falls easily, but I’ll be pleased to meet him. I’d like to wander about as well. I’ve never seen Maggie’s work shown like this.”
It took only minutes before Maggie was able to draw Rogan aside again. “Don’t tell me I need to circulate,” she said before he could do just that. “I have something I need to say to you.”
“As long as you say it quickly. It doesn’t do for me to monopolize the artist.”
“It won’t take long for me to tell you that this was the kindest thing anyone has every done for me. I’ll never forget it.”
He ignored the distraction of the rapid French a woman chattered at his shoulder and took Maggie’s hand to his lips. “I didn’t want you unhappy again, and it was the simplest thing in the world to arrange for Brianna to be here.”
“It might have been simple.” She remembered the ragged artist he’d escorted up the elegant steps of the gallery. That, too, had been simple. “That doesn’t make it any less kind. And to show you what it means to me, I’ll not only stay through the whole evening, until the last guest toddles out the door, I’ll talk to every one of them.”
“Nicely?”
“Nicely. No matter how often I hear the word visceral.”
“That’s my girl.” He kissed the tip of her nose. “Now get to work.”
Chapter Sixteen
IF Paris had staggered her, the south of France with its sweep of beaches and snow-covered mountains left Maggie awestruck. There was no rattle of traffic here in Rogan’s sparkling villa overlooking the searing blue waters of the Mediterranean, no crowds bustling toward shops or cafés.
The people who dotted the beach were no more than part of the painting that encompassed water and sand, bobbing boats and an endless, cloudless sky.
The countryside, which she could see from one of the many terraces that graced the villa, spread out in neat square fields bordered by stone fences like the ones she saw from her own doorway in Clare. But here, the ground rose up in terraced slopes, from orchards on sunny embankments to the higher green of the forests and on to the foothills of the magnificent Alps.
Rogan’s grounds were lush with blooms and flowering herbs, exotic with olive and box trees and the sparkle of fountains. The quiet was disturbed only by the call of gulls and the music of falling water.
Content, Maggie lounged in one of the padded chaises on a sun-washed terrace and sketched.
“I thought I’d find you here.” Rogan stepped out and dropped a kiss, both casual and intimate, on the top of her head.
“You wanted to come,” Maggie said softly. “You wanted to.”
“Of course I did. I wanted nothing more than to be with you. But I never imagined it would be like this.” Brie stared at the white-coated waiter who offered her champagne from his silver tray. “Thank you.”
“I didn’t think it mattered to you.” To clear the emotion from her throat, Maggie drank deeply. “I was, just now, standing here thinking I wished it mattered to you.”
“I’m proud of you, Maggie, so proud. I’ve told you.”
“I didn’t believe you. Oh God.” She felt the tears well up and blinked them furiously away.
“You should be ashamed of yourself, thinking so little of my feelings,” Brie scolded.
“You never showed any interest,” Maggie fired back.
“I showed all the interest I could. I don’t understand what you do, but that doesn’t mean it doesn’t make me proud that you do it.” Coolly, Brianna tipped back her glass. “Oh,” she murmured, staring at the bubbling wine, “but that’s lovely. Who’d have thought anything could taste like that?”
With a hoot of laughter, Maggie kissed her sister hard on the mouth. “Jesus save us, Brie, what are we doing here? The two of us, drinking champagne in Paris.”
“I for one am going to enjoy it. I have to thank Rogan. Do you think I could interrupt him for a moment?”
“After you’ve told me the rest. When did you call him?”
“I didn’t, he called me. A week ago.”
“He called you?”
“Aye, and before I could wish him good morning, he was telling me what I would do and how I would do it.”
“That’s Rogan.”
“He said he’d be sending the plane, and that I was to meet his driver at the airport in Paris. I tried to get a word in, but he rolled right over me. The driver would take me to the hotel. Have you ever seen the like of that place, Maggie? It’s like a palace.”
“I nearly swallowed my tongue when I walked in. Go on.”
“Then, I was to get myself ready, and the driver would bring me here. Which he did, though I thought for certain he’d kill me along the way. And there was this in the hotel room, with a note from him telling me it would please him if I’d wear it.” She brushed a hand down the misty blue silk of the evening suit she wore. “I wouldn’t have taken it, but he put the request in such a way I’d have felt rude not to.”
“He’s good at that. And you look wonderful in it.”
“I feel wonderful in it. I confess, my head’s still spinning from planes and cars and all this. All of this,” she said again, staring around the room. “These people, Maggie, they’re all here for you.”
“I’m glad you are. Shall I take you around so you can charm them for me?”
“They’re charmed already, just seeing the two of you.” Rogan stepped beside them and took Brianna’s hand. “It’s delightful to see you again.”
“I’m grateful to you for arranging it. I can’t begin to thank you.”
“You just have. You don’t mind if I introduce you around? Mr. LeClair—there, the rather flamboyant-looking man by Maggie’s Momentum? He’s just confessed to me that he’s fallen in love with you.”
“He certainly falls easily, but I’ll be pleased to meet him. I’d like to wander about as well. I’ve never seen Maggie’s work shown like this.”
It took only minutes before Maggie was able to draw Rogan aside again. “Don’t tell me I need to circulate,” she said before he could do just that. “I have something I need to say to you.”
“As long as you say it quickly. It doesn’t do for me to monopolize the artist.”
“It won’t take long for me to tell you that this was the kindest thing anyone has every done for me. I’ll never forget it.”
He ignored the distraction of the rapid French a woman chattered at his shoulder and took Maggie’s hand to his lips. “I didn’t want you unhappy again, and it was the simplest thing in the world to arrange for Brianna to be here.”
“It might have been simple.” She remembered the ragged artist he’d escorted up the elegant steps of the gallery. That, too, had been simple. “That doesn’t make it any less kind. And to show you what it means to me, I’ll not only stay through the whole evening, until the last guest toddles out the door, I’ll talk to every one of them.”
“Nicely?”
“Nicely. No matter how often I hear the word visceral.”
“That’s my girl.” He kissed the tip of her nose. “Now get to work.”
Chapter Sixteen
IF Paris had staggered her, the south of France with its sweep of beaches and snow-covered mountains left Maggie awestruck. There was no rattle of traffic here in Rogan’s sparkling villa overlooking the searing blue waters of the Mediterranean, no crowds bustling toward shops or cafés.
The people who dotted the beach were no more than part of the painting that encompassed water and sand, bobbing boats and an endless, cloudless sky.
The countryside, which she could see from one of the many terraces that graced the villa, spread out in neat square fields bordered by stone fences like the ones she saw from her own doorway in Clare. But here, the ground rose up in terraced slopes, from orchards on sunny embankments to the higher green of the forests and on to the foothills of the magnificent Alps.
Rogan’s grounds were lush with blooms and flowering herbs, exotic with olive and box trees and the sparkle of fountains. The quiet was disturbed only by the call of gulls and the music of falling water.
Content, Maggie lounged in one of the padded chaises on a sun-washed terrace and sketched.
“I thought I’d find you here.” Rogan stepped out and dropped a kiss, both casual and intimate, on the top of her head.
