Precious Gifts (11 page)

“No men in your life during all that time?” He was surprised at that, given what she looked like.

“A few, but not serious ones. My girls wouldn't have liked that. They were very outspoken about the men I went out with. No one was ever good enough, in their opinion, or measured up to their father. And I never met anyone I was seriously in love with. Maybe one I could have made a life with, but he had difficult children, too, and a troublesome ex-wife I didn't want to deal with. It's not so easy meeting someone new when you have children,” she told him, smiling. She had made her peace with it, which Aidan could see and thought was unfortunate. “And Paul was always on the fringes of my life, to offer advice and companionship when I needed it. Between his romances, we went to things together. And he always spent the holidays with us. I think it kind of diminished my motivation to get seriously involved again. And then I felt that I was too old to meet somebody. Men want to go out with women my daughters' ages, not mine.”

“That's crap, and you know it,” Aidan objected as they ordered coffee. “You weren't even trying. And what right did your girls have to tell you who you should be dating?” She laughed at the question.

“Children don't hesitate to tell you what you should be doing. And they were very loyal to their father, even if he didn't deserve it. As they got older, they saw where he fell short as a father, except for my middle daughter, who always thought he was perfect. But they never saw where he failed as a husband, and I didn't discuss it with them, out of fairness to him. So they compared everyone to him unfavorably. Until a few weeks ago,” she said quietly.

“What happened a few weeks ago?” He looked puzzled. She had made some vague reference to it before, without going into detail.

“Some things came up at the reading of the will that shocked everyone. It spelled it out very clearly even to them that he hadn't been much of a husband. He even admitted it himself in the will. I had always tried to protect him in their eyes, but I discovered after we separated that he was very badly behaved when we were married, even worse than I knew. He had an unfailing eye for pretty young women. We divorced over an affair he was having, but there were others I didn't know about.”

“Did you stay with him because he had money?” Aidan asked her bluntly. He wanted to know what she was about, and she almost laughed at the question.

“No, not because he had money. I loved him, and we had ten very happy married years, until he fell madly in love with a famous model. He was so blatant about it that the damage became irreparable. I forgave him eventually, but our marriage was dead by then. And there were other things I was unaware of, so it was just as well we parted.” She didn't sound bitter as she said it, just sad and matter-of-fact about what had happened, which touched him. And she didn't want to tell a man she barely knew that Paul hadn't had a penny and had married her for her money, and was happily blazing his way through it at the time, in answer to Aidan's question. She wanted to give Paul's memory more respect than to tell Aidan that, and she didn't want to make a point of her having a great deal of money. She was discreet about it, and Aidan hadn't guessed.

“That's why I never married,” Aidan said as they finished their coffee. “People do such rotten things to each other. It seems easier to get out of it if you're not married. At least you got three nice kids.” She nodded, and agreed. She was having trouble defending the institution of marriage these days, too. It had made sense at the time, but now that she knew just how dishonest he'd been with her, her whole marriage felt like a sham. He'd been in love with someone else and having a baby when she still thought they were happily married. It made her feel like a fool.

She offered to pay for dinner, or at least split it with him, but he wouldn't hear of it, and picked up the check, and left a handsome tip. In spite of what he called his “dirt poor” background, he acted like a gentleman with her, had very nice manners, and was perfectly polite, in a normal, relaxed way.

As they left the restaurant, Aidan suggested they go to the casino and gamble. It was located at Ca' Vendramin Calergi, right in Venice, so they would have to take a water taxi, a five-minute trip to reach the casino. It sounded fun and different to her, and she agreed.

When they got there, it was a classic Venetian building, and the casino had been in existence since the seventeenth century. The entrance to the building was elegant, and the gaming rooms surprisingly simple. They were crowded with well-dressed women in cocktail dresses and men in suits, so they blended easily into the crowd. Véronique stood behind him while he played blackjack, and he won a thousand euros. He looked as though he was practiced at it, and then they played a few hands of poker, and left before it got too late. He said he had one last stop to make in Venice before taking her back to the hotel.

Aidan wouldn't say what the last stop was, when they got into the water taxi, and he directed the driver to Piazza San Marco. And as soon as they got out, he hired a gondola. She hadn't been in one yet, although she had promised herself to every day. She'd been too busy walking, visiting churches, and exploring the city with Aidan. She had wanted to visit the glass factory in Murano, and hadn't gotten to that either. But Aidan insisted that a ride in a gondola was a must, and she couldn't leave Venice without being in a gondola at least once.

The gondolier Aidan hired was wearing the traditional striped sweater, and the gondola was a particularly pretty one. They settled into their seat, and Aidan had already told him where they wanted to go. It was a perfect last night in Venice, with the moon shining overhead and the gondolier singing softly. It was a very romantic scene as Véronique looked at Aidan with a smile and thanked him. He had thought of everything, and it had been a fun evening, from Harry's Bar to the casino and now a gondola ride. She didn't have the feeling that he was trying to woo her—he just wanted her to have a good time. And then when they reached the Bridge of Sighs, the gondolier explained that they had to kiss while they went under it if they wanted to be together forever. Véronique laughed when he said it since they had only just met.

“What's so funny about that?” Aidan teased her.

“The last thing you need is to be stuck with me ‘forever,' ” Véronique said to him. “You don't know any of my bad habits or what a rotten cook I am.” He didn't, but he had already figured out what a good person she was. He just smiled as she said it, didn't comment, and a moment later they were under the bridge, as the gondolier crooned an Italian love song to them. The beauty around them was awesome, it had been a lovely evening, and she'd had a great time. Every moment with him was an adventure. And as she closed her eyes, enjoying the moment and listening to the gondolier singing, suddenly she felt gentle lips on hers. She opened her eyes, and looked into Aidan's eyes with amazement, and then closed her eyes again. It was a serious kiss, her first in a long time. And he kissed her until they were clear of the bridge and the moonlight was shining brightly all around them when she opened her eyes and gazed at him.

“I saved your life,” he said calmly. “I figure I might as well keep you around forever,” he added lightly, “otherwise, what's the point?” He put his hands out in a very Italian gesture, and she laughed at his words. But she was very startled by the kiss. She had no idea if there were romantic overtones to it. He acted perfectly normal for the rest of the ride. She felt slightly confused by the kiss and the Chianti they had drunk. He helped her out of the gondola when the ride was over, and gave the driver an extra tip. He was pleased with his blackjack winnings at the casino. The entire evening had gone extremely well, for both of them.

And he took her all the way back to the Cipriani, and told her he would meet her there the next morning. She invited him to a last drink at the bar, and this time it was her treat. He had paid for everything until then. She told him what a wonderful time she'd had, and neither of them mentioned the kiss in the gondola. She was sure he had kissed her to be nice, or out of local tradition, but it had swept her away for a minute. And she suddenly realized that there was a very sensual side to him, although he kissed her chastely on the cheek when he said goodnight. He didn't want her worrying about the trip to Siena, or thinking he was doing it to seduce her. He just enjoyed being with her, more than he had any woman in a long time.

“Goodnight, Aidan. I had a fantastic evening,” she said, and meant it. He had made her trip to Venice infinitely better for her in every way.

“So did I. See you in the morning.” And then he looked worried. Seeing the hotel she was staying in, it suddenly occurred to him that she might be traveling with a mountain of bags. He hadn't thought of it before. “How many bags do you have with you, by the way?” His Austin-Healey had a tiny trunk and a tiny makeshift backseat, barely big enough for a small dog, where he could put his backpack but not much else.

“Just four big suitcases and two trunks,” she said innocently with her huge blue eyes. “Is that okay?” He looked panicked and wondered how they'd get to Siena and Florence, and realized he might have to rent a car for the trip. And then he saw that she was laughing and making fun of him. “I have one small bag, the size of a carry-on, and a tote,” she reassured him, and he laughed.

“You had me worried for a minute. That'll work.” He said goodnight to her again, and saw her into the elevator, and then he left, took the boat to San Marco, and walked to his hotel with a broad grin. She was the kind of woman he'd always dreamed of, just in a different package than he'd ever expected. She obviously came from money or a fancy family of some kind, and had probably been married to a rich man, and she was eleven years older than he. But he didn't care what she came from, who she'd been married to, or how many years older she was, he had never met anyone as wonderful in his life, as smart, as beautiful, or as sexy. And he could hardly wait to go to Siena the next day. And in the meantime, their time together in Venice had been perfect, and he liked her better every day. She had a graceful, gracious way about her, an innate elegance, and a gentleness he had never found in any other woman. Véronique Parker, whoever she was, and whatever she came from, was the woman of his dreams. And as he walked into his tiny little hotel on a back street of Venice, he was smiling from ear to ear. He had thoroughly loved their first kiss. And he had managed it under the Bridge of Sighs. He felt like a kid as he thought to himself, it didn't get better than that. He was whistling and wanted to do a little jig as he walked up to his room, excited about their trip the next day.

A
idan met her at the Cipriani in the morning, with his backpack and small suitcase, and they took the hotel boat to the huge parking lot that served all residents and visitors to Venice. It took him a few minutes to locate his Austin-Healey. And she loved his car when she saw it. It was a dark, very British-looking racing green, and suited him perfectly. They filled the trunk and the miniature backseat with their things. She had thought to bring along a box of sandwiches from the hotel in case they didn't want to stop and eat. She was wearing pink jeans and a white T-shirt, and a pair of sandals she had bought in Venice. She looked fresh and pretty on the hot July day. Aidan wore a shirt with the sleeves rolled up and jeans. He put the top down, and they both put on dark glasses and got in the car. They looked perfectly matched and totally at ease with each other, and no one would have guessed a difference in their age, or that they had been strangers until very recently. Her children would have been astounded to see them together. And Véronique was surprised at herself.

“All set?” He turned to smile at her, and she nodded, and they took off for the three-hour drive to Siena. They admired the scenery and chatted occasionally. She offered him a sandwich after an hour, and he ate half of it, while she ate an apple, and she thought of their kiss the night before but didn't say anything. He was so relaxed and casual with her that she wondered if it was simply a one-time event. He acted as if they were old friends. She was comfortable with that, but the night before when he kissed her, she'd been suddenly aware of wanting more with him. She was conflicted about it, and not sure what she wanted or which way she wanted their friendship to go, and it was all so new.

They reached Siena shortly after lunchtime, and decided to look around the city, before they checked into a hotel. He had already made vague reference to getting two rooms, to put her mind at ease. So she wasn't worried about it and concentrated on what they were going to see.

They walked around the Piazza del Campo, and visited the enormous Palazzo Pubblico and the cathedral with a remarkable striped facade. The entire town had been built in the Middle Ages in the thirteenth century, and seemed even older than Venice. They had just missed the festivities of the Palio, which happened every year in July, and again in August, with thousands of spectators, trumpets, costumes, and horse races. Aidan had been in Siena for it once and described it to her, and told her it was really worth seeing one day. It took over the entire town, and people came from all over Italy and Europe to be part of it, and he said the horse races were incredible. They readily agreed that there was nothing to beat the charm of Italy. Even France, which they both loved, never seemed as warm and enticing as this. And every step of the way, Aidan took photographs, including many of Véronique.

In the late afternoon, they made their way to a small hotel that Aidan remembered, and took two rooms. The rooms were next to each other, and the hotel was very sweet. The innkeeper couldn't do enough for them, and recommended a small restaurant for dinner, which they both enjoyed. It was entirely different from Venice, but it was lovely to see. Véronique admitted to him as they walked back to the hotel after dinner that for her Venice had been the highlight of the trip.

“Should I give up now trying to charm you with the rest of Italy?” he asked, looking crestfallen, and she laughed at him. They both agreed that based on past visits, they liked Florence, too, and were looking forward to it.

They drove on to Florence the next day, after coffee and pastry at their hotel, and they each paid for their own rooms. Aidan offered to pay for both, but Véronique wouldn't let him do it. They were traveling as friends. And in spite of that, he seemed to be paying for every meal, which didn't happen often to her. She didn't know his circumstances, and was touched by how generous he was, and how well he was treating her.

Aidan was amused to see that Véronique could hardly contain herself as they approached Florence. She acted as though they were going to Mecca, and she talked about the Uffizi Gallery and how much she loved it, the Duomo, the cathedral, the Palazzo Vecchio. She kept telling him about all the art treasures she had seen there. She had gone there many times with her parents, and later alone with her father, and she could hardly wait to show her favorite places to Aidan. They checked into the Excelsior Hotel in Piazza Ognissanti as soon as they got there, parked the car, and started out on foot.

They went to the Cathedral of Santa Maria del Fiore first, and then the museum behind the cathedral. She knew all about the works of Donatello, Della Robbia, and other artists, and shared her extensive knowledge with him, which he found fascinating. And from there they went to the Uffizi Gallery, which was heaven for her. Aidan loved visiting it with her. She knew stories about almost every artist, details about their work, and compared one work of art to another in ways he would never have thought of. And her eyes were ablaze with light and excitement when she talked about it. She brought the Renaissance alive for him. And she was equally excited when, at other times, they talked about the Impressionists. It was a thrill for Aidan to be there with her.

And on their way back to the hotel, they stopped at the Piazza della Signoria, and bought gelato again. She seemed to live on a steady diet of it, despite how thin she was. They agreed to come back to the piazza that night, to have dinner there after resting at the hotel for a while. It was nice being outdoors in the warm nights.

And that night at dinner, they almost got into an argument, when he said that the only reason she hadn't continued painting was that she could afford not to, and she said she was busy bringing up her children.

“That's no excuse. If you have a God-given talent, you have to use it. You can't just ignore it for twenty years. That's criminal. If you were poor, you'd have worked at it.”

“If I were poor, I'd have been a waitress somewhere, to support my kids, and I wouldn't have been sitting around doing portraits either.” She looked faintly miffed and was defensive on the subject.

“Maybe you'd have done artwork commercially. But you wouldn't have just ignored it.” It was hard to know what she'd have done. And never having had any, he had no idea how time-consuming children were. And she had always thought her kids more important than her art and said so to him.

“It would have been better for them to know that they had a talented mother who was serious about it and respected her gift. That would have been a great example for them.”

“They're all following their passions. Just as I did mine for all these years,” she said quietly. She was touched that he admired her drawing and love of art, but her children had always been more important to her, and spending time with them, and with Paul when they were married. But that whole value system was foreign to Aidan. His whole life was about using his own talent, and developing it, which she respected. But he had no children or partner to take care of or focus on, so it was all about him. Her life had been very different, dedicated to her family. They were her priority.

They were still discussing it at the end of dinner, when she got a text message. She glanced at it to make sure it wasn't from her children, and saw that it was from Nikolai. He was just checking to see that she was well and had recovered from their encounter in Rome. And he said he hoped to see her soon. She smiled as she read it, and then mentioned it to Aidan.

“The text was from Nikolai Petrovich. He was checking to make sure I'm okay.” She didn't answer it and thought she would later. She didn't want to be rude and respond to his text in front of Aidan. And she was surprised to see him look annoyed when she told him.

“What's that about? Why is he writing to you? You said you told him you were fine when you left Rome. What's he after?”

“Nothing,” she said, startled by his reaction. “He's just being friendly, and responsible, after the accident.”

“Just tell him you're fine and to leave you alone,” Aidan growled at her. “He's probably part of the Russian Mafia anyway. Nobody makes that kind of money honestly.” He was said to be worth eighty billion dollars, according to the press.

“That's certainly possible,” she admitted. She didn't know Nikolai well enough to defend him, nor how he made his fortune. “But he was very nice to me,” she said fairly.

“After he tried to kill you. He's probably afraid you'll sue him.”

“Of course not,” she said, trying to calm him, and then realized that he was jealous. It made her wonder if the kiss in Venice had meant more than just a touristic gesture, although they hadn't kissed since, and he had been very circumspect and respectful with her, but he looked genuinely upset over Nikolai texting her. “You were the hero of the piece, Aidan,” she said gently, trying to reassure him. “You were the one who saved me.” She patted his hand then, and saw his ruffled feathers start to smooth into place. She had to force herself not to smile then. She thought his mild fit over the Russian was very sweet.

“Be careful about guys like that,” Aidan warned her, trying to put her off him. “You don't know him. He's a rough guy. There's no telling what someone like that would do. Men with that much power and money think they own the world and everyone in it. You don't want him to think he could own you.” The way he said it touched her. He treated her as though she were young and naïve.

“I don't think I'll hear from him again. I think he was just being polite. I was pretty banged up after I hit the pavement.” She tried to mollify him, but Aidan looked chagrined.

“That was my fault, not his.”

“No, you saved me,” she insisted. “If you hadn't pushed me that hard, I'd have been worse than banged up. I would have been dead.” He smiled at her then.

“I'm sorry you got hurt,” he said, and meant it.

“I'm not,” she said easily. “Maybe I'd never have met you then.” He nodded, and the evening went smoothly after that, although it reminded her that he had a chip on his shoulder about anyone he considered “rich,” and Nikolai certainly fit that bill, far more than she did. The money she had inherited was paltry compared to his. But people with money made Aidan uneasy, no matter how it had come to them.

The subject came up again after they visited the Palazzo Vecchio and the Palazzo Pitti and saw the signs of the great wealth in Florence at the time. It launched him into one of his philosophical diatribes about rich people and how they never understand anything about real life, and she politely disagreed with him.

“Money doesn't keep you from having real problems, Aidan,” she tried to explain to him. “My mother died when I was fifteen, and my father when I was twenty-one. Money didn't change that, although I wish it could have. Rich people die, get sick, and get their hearts broken like everyone else. Money just keeps you more comfortable while bad things are happening to you.” But he still bristled whenever the subject came up, although it was only when she admitted to him in a quiet moment over dinner one night that for a split second in Rome, she hadn't wanted to avoid the Ferrari, and had stood there tempting the fates, that she truly upset him. She confessed that Paul's death had saddened her profoundly, and the ugly revelations at the reading of the will, and with her kids grown and gone, there was much less meaning to her life. He looked horrified by what she said.

“Let me tell you something about me,” he said in a pained voice, his eyes locking into hers. “My mother committed suicide when I was twelve, because she had a miserable life. She was tired of being dirt poor and barely having enough to put food on the table, no matter how hard she worked. My father drank every penny she made, cheated on her with the neighbors, and beat her up whenever he got too drunk. So she killed herself, which must have seemed like the only way out to her.” Véronique was stunned into silence by what he told her, and not knowing what else to do, she reached across the table and took his hand. The look in his eyes nearly broke her heart. She could suddenly imagine the little boy he had been when his mother died. And he went on, “My father drank himself to death when I was seventeen. I left after the funeral and never looked back. I guess it's why I never wanted to get married or have kids. I didn't want them to have a childhood like mine.”

“You wouldn't be a father like that,” she said gently. “You're a very different man.” He nodded at what she said, and she could see that there were tears in his eyes, and he had trusted her with the dark secrets of his youth.

“My father was a son of a bitch, to everyone. My mother was a sweet woman, and didn't deserve someone like him.” Véronique nodded sympathetically and continued to hold his hand. It explained a lot about him—how angry he was at times, how frightened of the responsibility of marriage and children, his hatred of poverty and what it did to people—and he chose to blame the rich for all the world's ills. Someone had to be responsible for the miseries of the world, and as far as Aidan was concerned, they were it. He demonized anyone with wealth, which worried Véronique, but she sympathized with the agonies of his childhood.

He insisted that poor people and rich people were different. He couldn't imagine that people with money would ever suffer heartbreak the way he had. But Véronique knew that heartbreak came in all shapes and colors, and wasn't reserved only for poor people. Rich people lived tragedies, too.

“Some people are just bad people, Aidan. It doesn't matter if they're rich or poor.”

“I guess not,” he said with a sigh, as he squeezed her hand. She was a compassionate person, and he could see her caring in her eyes. “I hated every minute of my childhood, especially my father.” They went for a walk after dinner, and Aidan put an arm around her shoulders. They were both thinking about what he'd said. It gave her greater insight into him, as they got comfortable with each other. There was an abrasive quality to him at times, but she could tell that inside he was all heart, and a good person, and more sensitive and vulnerable then he wanted to admit. But he seemed closer to her after he had told her about his parents' deaths.