Unbroken Love

Chapter 19

Chapter 19

The Blue Dot

Sunday, February 6, 2011

1:03 p.m.

Ethan felt sad.

He leaned his head on the headrest of his Rolls-Royce, appalled by his whole life. He had started intense therapy the week after he had the talk with Sophia and since then he had been seeing things more clearly.

The car stopped slowly in front of the gallery and he realized he could have gained not only Sophia’s love, but Barbara’s or even Paola’s, if he had been more confident not in them, but in himself.

I should never have looked for Sophia in Barbara. It solved none of my problems.

He had behaved badly with all three women and it was not his parents’ fault. He was a grown man and responsible for his own actions. He could hide forever behind the excuse that he had been abused but he didn’t want it anymore.

You need to take responsibility for your actions if you want to be happy. The only person you control is yourself, Ashford. He climbed the three steps of the imposing building and stepped into the wide and tall center hall. You’re old enough to do something about your feelings and to start it all again. A new start. A fresh one.

Guinevere, one of the beautiful and intelligent receptionists at the gallery, approached Ethan as soon as he entered. She knew she had a potential buyer in her hands as she recognized him.

“Mr. Ashford, welcome to The Blue Dot.” She stretched out her manicured hand. “I’m Guinevere Lockheed. May I help you?”

Of course she would know who I am. My money reeks. He almost snorted but a smile opened on his face. Ethan assessed the beautiful, tall brunette that approached him with a smile on her face. Sell me something. Anything.

“Guinevere.” He savored her name on his tongue and fixed her with his electric azure gaze. Beautiful woman, aren’t you? “Please, call me Ethan. I’m looking for a new piece for my penthouse, which is being refurbished. I want something…different.”

He paused for a moment, trying to explain what he was looking for but he didn’t quite know himself. I want something that can make sense out of the nonsense that has become my life.

“So, Ethan, a painting perhaps?”

“No. I want something that…reminds me of the past but makes me yearn for the future. A sculpture, perhaps. Or an object. Not a painting, nothing figurative. I have a wide open space.” That needs to be filled.

“I have the perfect thing for you.” She motioned him inside. “It has just arrived from Brazil. It’s going to be the main piece in the exposition of the two young artists who were recently discovered by Mr. Tavish MacCraig.”

Explaining the concepts of the artists’ work, she took him to the storage room on the third floor, where she pointed to a wide, round, wrapped object and asked two young staff members to set it in the next room.

Ethan observed as she easily made her way around the storage, offering him tea or champagne, all the while talking about art and pointing to other objects on display, without being pushy. He accepted a cup of tea and closely inspected the things she showed him.

One after another, the objects were discarded and Ethan’s eagerness deflated as it had at his visit to the White Cube gallery. “I don’t think I’m lucky today.” As always, when I deal with my past.

“I don’t give up so easily, Ethan,” she informed him, pulling forward another trellis on which objects were hanging.

Before she could explain them, one of the staff members called her, saying they’d finished. “Shall we?”

They moved to a minimalist spacious room with a sofa and two armchairs on one side, and on the other side, a glass table and Cerzan Studio acrylic chairs with apple-green seats. The whole room was made for this kind of sale.

In the middle of it, hanging from the ceiling by two twisted irons was a round mirror.

So obvious. Ethan grimaced, as he approached the mirror. I thought she was more intelligent than this. “No. I don’t think so.”

“You are looking superficially,” she explained. “You asked for a sculpture, but you are looking at only one side. Look deeper.”

I’m not in a good mood anymore. Stop playing games. He raised an eyebrow at her.

“A mirror does not exist by itself. A mirror is a half. Half is done by the piece. The other half has to be done by the beholder. You need to be the half to see what you’re looking for, so the mirror can exist. As you should do with other persons.”

Beautiful words, but I don’t want to be the spectator anymore so others can exist. I want to exist.

She moved her hand in the air. “Walk around it.”

He needed to escape from the dark, loathsome rooms full of half-despair and half-hope, the unconscious opened graves where he had buried all the stillborn and murdered Ethans, where he almost buried himself alive. He wanted to live, and leave behind the pain of years of solitude.

He needed to move on; walk away in his newfound, still unsteady legs, even if on a dubious path, still feeling hopeless, to wash away all the dirt of his half-requited loves and half-satisfied desires.

Ethan moved to one side and saw that there was a concave mirror covering a large space, reflecting him distortedly. Not so imaginative either. He looked back at her and she was by his side, as if urging him to continue. He walked to the other side of the object, pausing right in the middle of it.

Guinevere’s smile grew as she saw Ethan become hypnotized. She remained silent giving him time to work it out.

“This is…” Amazing.

He was expecting the back silver surface of a normal mirror.

Instead, he was looking at multiple Ethans. He stepped toward it, mesmerized.

It was not a simple mirror. In a round box, with a shimmering silver light around the inside extremities, it reflected Ethan’s image continuously, making him wish to dive inside and swim until he could reach each new one, until he met the last eternal Ethan.

“The future—” she started to describe the concept of the object when he whipped his head to face her. The ferocious look in his eyes made her parted lips suck in air.

“Apparently rational justifications will never explain all sorts of the different feelings and raw emotions art invoke in people.”

“You’re right,” she said huskily, impressed with the passion in him.

“Today is my birthday.” The words left his mouth unhindered. “Would you like to go out with me?”

Italy, Tuscany, Florence

Grand Hôtel Villa Cora

3:39 p.m.

“How you allow this, I don’t know. It’s too cold to be in the pool.” Alistair huffed, looking away from the twins playing in the heated pool with Gabriela to glance at Sophia, who was smiling at the scene.

The two of them had left Gabriela with the twins while they went to the marble factory to pick up their urgent order of the little angels and blooming camellias.

Sophia had showed her ideas to Valentina, without revealing exactly what they were for. A skilled artist, Valentina had redrawn Sophia’s idea into a lovingly opening camellia and four exquisite angels. Sophia had left the plaster replicas of the pointed spikes in the factory and asked for urgency. It had been easier than she had thought.

Of course, the spitfires would do something wrong while we were away. “Gabriela will catch a cold. They’re really crazy in the head.” But adorable.

“Alistair Connor. The water is heated, it’s a beautiful day and…they’re young. Let them enjoy life. A shower, warm clothes, and a hot chocolate afterwards will do the trick.”

She looked away, her gaze hovering over the magnificent grounds of the hotel. She had just remembered it was Ethan’s birthday.

Is Alistair going to be upset? Sophia chewed her bottom lip, wondering if she should call him or not. It disturbed the peace and tranquility she had been feeling since she had arrived in that haven on Tuesday night. Will it keep Ethan thinking of me in the wrong way?

Alistair frowned at her fidgeting.

His almost healed hand gripped her chin and turned it in his direction. His eyes searched for hers, but they were hooded. His thumb pulled her lip away from her teeth. He softy said, “Ah-ah. What’s bothering you?”

“I remembered it’s Ethan birthday. I—I don’t know if I should call him, text him—If you’re going to be upset.”

Mo gràdh, you’ll never upset me. His thumb caressed her mouth, stopping her words.

She looked up, meeting his stare.

“Nae,” he said hoarsely, “I don’t think you should call him. But text him. And, aye, I confess, I won’t like it very much but you’re his friend, his business partner, and you know what?”

Oh, Alistair Connor… Her heart blossomed and love sparkled in her eyes. Her lips moved under the gentle pressure of his thumb. “What?”

“Why should I be jealous of Ashford?” he asked, smirking. “You, Wife, are here with me; worried if I would be upset if you talk or text a male friend of yours on his birthday. You, I have no doubt, are mine. And I, I’m sure, am the love of your life.” You are the love of mine.

“Ah!” Sophia smacked his bicep. “Lord Convinced! I take it back. I’m calling Ethan on Skype and having a long conversation with him.”

That made his smirk turn into a smug, male laugh, the sound warming Sophia all over.

“Nae, mo chridhe, I’m not convinced, I’m just sure. I’m wrapped around your finger, clay under your talented hands. And I don’t know how or why, but your eyes tell me you are mine. Only mine.”

The Dorchester

10:22 p.m.

Ethan waited in the doorstep as Guinevere finished a call that had just come through when she got out of his Ferrari.

I’m starting fresh. In every way. He breathed in the rainy air, looking up at the sky. The rain had stopped but it was still overcast. He thought not even rain could rob him of his good mood that night. He looked Guinevere over, wondering how she would be in bed, when he felt a hand on his shoulder pulling him.

“Hello, Ethan,” Barbara said softly. “I was waiting for you. I—I came to kiss you happy birthday and—and I—”

Damn. “Barbara,” he acknowledged her drily. He crossed his arms over his chest and stared down at her. Barbara was carefully dressed, but not even the expertly applied makeup could hide that she was thinner and had shadows under her eyes. “What are you doing here?”

“Ethan, darling, I’ve missed you—” She paused, unsure of how she was going to tell him about her feelings. “Why don’t we sit for a moment in the bar? I—” She stopped when Guinevere stepped by Ethan’s side and smiled at her.

Ethan immediately passed a loose arm around Guinevere’s shoulders.

Seeing him with another woman should have reinforced to Barbara that he had indeed moved on with his life.

Instead, she was remembering those sensual lips pressed against hers, those azure eyes demanding her c****x and that gorgeous face thrown back in passion when she pleasured him. She could almost feel him orgasming and emptying himself inside her body.

She tightened her jaw and forced the thoughts from her mind as a deep pain cut her. She squinted her eyes at Guinevere. She didn’t look like Sophia, with lighter skin and shorter, lighter hair, but was the same age, and what was more important, the same classy elegance. Barbara’s heart broke when she realized he had easily replaced her after all the love she had given him; after all she was prepared to do to be with him.

“Hi, I’m Barbara.” She swayed but Ethan’s hand steadied her. “Are you the new w***e? You do look very much like Sophia.”

Appalled, Guinevere put a hand over her mouth.

Jesus! Protectively, Ethan brought Guinevere closer to his body, hissing to Barbara, “You’re drunk. Go home. We have nothing to say to each other anymore.”

“No, I’m not drunk.” She leaned closer to Guinevere as if she were sharing a secret. “A piece of advice. Run. While you still can. He drives his women as crazy as the phantom in his castle.”

Guinevere was gaping at her with a baffled expression on her face.

That’s enough. He turned to the doorman. “Please call a taxi. The lady is not feeling well.”

“No, Ethan. I’m not feeling well. I’m heartbroken and—” Barbara breathed and straightened. In an evil tone, she said to Guinevere, “He used me to impersonate Sophia Leibowitz in bed.” She whipped her head back to Ethan. “You think your money pays for everything? You’ll discover it—”

He raised his eyebrows and spoke in a dark, low voice, “Served you well when you needed, didn’t it?”

“You bastard,” she shrieked and raised her hand to slap him on the face but he caught it mid-air.

Security approached.

Ethan saw Guinevere and the other guests staring at the scene. Appearances.

He started backing her away from the hotel door, but it was not easy without putting his hands on her, which he didn’t want to do again.

“Does Sophia know? Do you want her to know?” Barbara had lost all composure and was screaming now. “And her, the new w***e? Does she know what you do?”

Take control, Ashford. “Barbara.” His voice was even but his azure eyes had turned a dark blue. “You’re making an unnecessary scene.”

“Sir, the lady’s taxi has arrived.” The doorman was impassively opening the door of the taxi.

“You have a creep in your hotel.” She backed away as he stepped closer, pushing her back without touching her. “A stalker—”

“Mind your head,” Ethan said icily and disguising it with care, he fisted her hair in his hand and shoved her inside the black taxi. Taking a bunch of fifty pound notes from his note-clip, he gave them to the driver. “Please, drive the lady home. She’s not feeling well.”

“Ethan, you—”

He closed the door on her, turned on his heels.

“I’m sorry for the scene, Guinevere. Barbara was a girlfriend I had in between Sophia and you. She was always jealous of her and has never accepted it was not Sophia’s fault that I broke up with her.”

“I understand.” she said politely. Guinevere was not a hard woman, but she was young and fresh out of college, with her whole life to think of. Even though Ethan was a handsome and intelligent man, she decided she didn’t want to pamper rich men with complicated lives, much less get involved with the ex-boyfriend of her boss’s wife. “I have a bad headache. Could you drive me home?”

Ethan sighed inward and towed a pale Guinevere back to his Ferrari that was still waiting for them.

The silence in the car was deafening.

Ethan shifted gears robotically, thinking how he was going to explain Barbara’s words to the shocked woman beside him or where he should take her. He wondered if she were thinking the creep was him or if Barbara was an old lover with a grudge.

In less than five minutes he was parked in front of her garage. “Guinevere—”

“Happy birthday, Ethan,” she cut him softly and bent forward to kiss him on the cheek. “I’ll call you. Thank you for the dinner. It was wonderful. Goodbye.”

“Take care, Guinevere.” He didn’t say anything else.

After she entered the building, Ethan’s head bumped on the rest and he closed his eyes.

A middle-aged woman passed by the Ferrari and looked inside. The man behind the wheel of the luxury car struck her as someone so lonely and ill that she almost stopped to knock on the window and ask if she could help.

Then she shrugged and moved on, thinking that it was better not to meddle in other’s affairs. She had her own problems and he appeared to be wealthy enough to pay for a doctor to solve his troubles. After all, in her opinion, money solved everything.

London, In a dimly lit room

Thursday, February 10, 2011

1:43 p.m.

“So, stop beating around the bush. I’m a businessman. I dropped everything to answer your call. What do you need? I have to return, urgently.”

“No f*****g way. Our guy and his troupe are very difficult to please. He requested the best suites, an absurd number of towels, round the clock room service, including double-D-breasted escorts, the best vodka, and the translator couldn’t understand half of the other things.”

The computerized laugh didn’t please Alberto.

“Prepare to be around for a while. I need your services.”

“Hire another translator,” Alberto shouted, enraged, not used to being ordered around.

“I have but she resigned. Too much slang, curses, and a very difficult accent.”

“Hire another. Hire two. Change the group,” he suggested. “Money is not the problem.”

“No more time. He knows all the floor plans and cameras videos. Besides, we can’t afford this getting out. He talks too much and boasts a lot about himself.” Ghost looked at his notes. “He says he is the owae thou burrougoudouh, or something like this.”

There was a long and pregnant pause before the elder man corrected, “Uó do borogodó.”

Ghost answered the question with one of his. “What the f**k is owae thou burrougoudouh?

“OU-AW.” Alberto rubbed his tired eyes. “This is hard to explain. O is the article the and also it’s the forth vowel. Then, aw is the tonic sound of the same vowel. Borogodó has only a common vowel, the o, but the last one is tonic. In the middle of equals, there is only one that distinguishes itself. It’s a Carioca slang that refers to sexy, smart people. Not necessarily physical beauty, but ginga. Cleverness. There was a criminal nicknamed Uó, that used to terrify Rio de Janeiro some years ago.”

“The one and only.”

“I couldn’t possibly be. How did you find him?” Alberto asked astonished.

Ghost smiled. “Nothing escapes my radar, and I have connections all over the world. Your beautiful daughter-in-law had pressed his buttons a few years ago and he disappeared. He was looking for her. There is a reward on her head. So, prepare your stay. I’ve booked you a suite next to his—”

“No, no!” There was clear fear in Alberto’s voice. “He’s a convicted criminal on the run. He’s wanted for many horrible crimes. I don’t want to meet him, cross paths with him. Put me in another hotel—”

“Hey, man! Don’t piss your pants. It’s f*****g booked and you’re going to stay there. You won’t have to meet him. I’ve set everything up. You’ll communicate via an encrypted line. You’ll talk to him and order room service or whatever he wants.”

Alberto asked, resigned, “For how long?”

Ghost laughed. “Who knows?”

“I can’t—”

“You don’t want your plans thwarted now that we are so close, do you?” he threatened. “You lost your son, your wife, and your grand-daughter. Ah, and the wealthy Leibowitz Oil. Are you going to let her win?”

Alberto swore he would make her pay for how all his dreams had been turned to ashes. He would do whatever was necessary to see to it. “No.”

“Good. Enjoy your stay.”

The City of London Bank Headquarters

In the Main Meeting Room

6:51 p.m.

“Very well, Malcolm. I’ll be here during Carnival.” Alistair rose with such a dark grimace on his face that everyone at the table shuddered. “Ah, gentlemen, for your information, the other account, from which you made the first payment, is closed now and only I and Tavish Uilleam know the new one.”

Without waiting for an answer, he walked out of the room. Instead of feeling vindicated, he was feeling hollow.

In his business dealings, he was all about control, but when anything involved his dear, beloved wife, he never had any. Looking impartially from outside, Sophia had wrapped him around her finger from the first moment they met, and he had been under her spell ever since.

It was Sophia he wanted, not money. Knowing he wouldn’t be able to accompany her to India was killing him.