The Forbidden Brother. Barbara McMahon

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      “We were engaged,” she acknowledged. “He told me once he had a brother who was off building bridges. Since he never mentioned another brother, I assume that’s you.”

      “Probably all he told you. I’m an engineer, and yes, I build bridges in places of the world where transportation means the difference between living and dying for entire villages.”

      “That could be said for anywhere. All goods have to be transported.”

      “True, but where I was working was out of the normal travel lanes. The message about his death didn’t reach me until last week. It’s taken me this long to get here.”

      “Last week? He died three months ago. Your office didn’t notify you?” She couldn’t believe a telegram or e-mail or something hadn’t gotten through earlier than last week. Despite not wanting to feel anything for the man, she felt a touch of regret that he’d just learned of his brother’s death. It had to have hit hard.

      “Have you dealt with my parents much?” Jed asked.

      “Primarily your mother. She lets me sell some of her work.” She would not tell him how Maria was driving her crazy about the showing of Jordan’s work. She was Jed’s mother, as well, and Laura believed in being discreet. Wasn’t that the reason she never told what she’d discovered that last day? She wanted to spare Maria the heartache. And herself the embarrassment, if she were honest.

      She wished she’d not known. That Jordan had gone to his grave with the secret and she could mourn him with all the passion she held for him.

      “She called the home office and left word for me to call. Nothing more. Nothing to indicate that it was a family emergency, not that there had been a death in the family. The message about the call came in my regular mail, which I get about every three to four months, unless it’s critical, in which case it’s faxed or e-mailed.”

      From the tight control he exercised, she suspected he was furious with the situation. She’d always heard twins had a close connection. How sad to lose his brother and then not find out for three months. Maria wouldn’t have done it deliberately, she knew. The woman lived in her own world. Surfacing occasionally to interact with others, then going back to the paintings she did so brilliantly.

      “So when I returned her call last week, she told me,” he ended bleakly.

      “I’m so sorry,” she said, her heart going out to him. Despite everything, she’d loved Jordan and could relate to how his brother must be feeling.

      He ignored her offer of sympathy. “Where are the paintings?”

      She went to the rack where she had them stacked. To an outsider, it might look haphazardly arranged, but she knew exactly where everything was. The large room was climate controlled, necessary in the salty air of Cape Cod and the humidity of summer. The floor was immaculate. The paintings were arranged by subject matter. She gestured to the facing one.

      Jed studied it a moment, then looked at her.

      “What’s its value?”

      Was that all he cared about? Money? “I haven’t appraised the lot. Your mother said she only wanted them on display, not appraised.”

      “Well, my mother lives in her own world. What price would you list it for in the show?”

      “Actually the show is a retrospective. Your parents did not plan to sell any paintings. I thought your mother wished to keep his work.”

      He reached into an inner coat pocket and pulled out a bulging envelope. He held it out for her. “You’ll see Jordan left me in charge of his estate. According to his attorney, I have complete authority. And I don’t have time to wait around for several weeks while you show his paintings and then decide what the next step is. I have a bridge halfway built. I want to liquidate the assets and divide them among the family members, as he indicated. Then I need to get back to work.”

      Laura looked at the envelope and then at him. “So leave the paintings in my hands and I’ll tell you how the showing goes,” she said flippantly. “Your mother really wants this for Jordan.” Laura hoped giving the exhibit would ease some of her own grief at the way things turned out.

      Jed studied the painting for a minute. “Is it any good?”

      Laura looked at it. “It will appeal to a certain portion of the population,” she said carefully.

      “Like some farmer in Iowa?” he said derisively.

      She looked at him in surprise. Did he know she was from Iowa? Was that a criticism on her judgment?

      “I may not be artistic, but I can recognize excellent work. My mother’s paintings have a depth that’s amazing and a use of color that’s phenomenal. This looks like a paint-by-numbers view of a ubiquitous Cape Cod seascape,” he continued.

      Laura bit her lip in indecision. Normally she agreed with customers—it went a long way to selling art. Agreement with the artists kept them happy and kept them bringing in more work. She didn’t like confrontation. But this was different.

      “Am I wrong?” he challenged. His dark eyes so like yet unlike Jordan’s, held hers.

      “No,” she admitted reluctantly. “But there’s a definite market from tourists who want souvenirs to remind them of their holidays.”

      “So why the show? If they aren’t any good, let’s get rid of them. I think they’d be more suited to the harbor tourist traps than a reputable gallery like this one.”

      “I didn’t say they weren’t any good, just not up to your mother’s caliber. And she wants to have a showing of some of his work. There are so many other galleries they could choose to represent their work, but she chose this one.” And maybe holding the showing would assuage some of her own guilt. Would things have turned out differently if she’d given Jordan a one-man show like he’d asked?

      “So you’re doing this for my mother?”

      “Primarily.”

      “What happened at his showing last winter?” Jed asked.

      “What showing last winter?” she asked. A sinking feeling swamped her, remembering his obsession for a show. Had Jordan turned elsewhere? Maybe another gallery owner had found something in his work she’d missed. She looked at the picture, searching for an elusive aspect that would change its value.

      “He said he was going to have a one-man show, said he’d invite me to the gala event. It pays to have connections in the art world, as I recalled the letter went. When no invitation came, I assumed he’d just forgotten. Not that I could have come. I was in Brazil at the time.”

      “He didn’t have a show that I know of,” Laura said, remembering how passionately he’d pushed her for the chance. But he’d not wanted an alcove at the gallery when she had halfheartedly suggested that compromise. Jordan had wanted to commandeer the entire showroom in a solo production. Jordan’s assessment of his work differed from Laura’s.

      “You’d know—it was this gallery he was talking about,” Jed said.

      She turned back to the large table in the center СКАЧАТЬ