Page 109 of The Time for Love

Martin inclined his head. “So?”

Blackwell hauled in a huge breath, then in a rush, said, “So I want you to advise me as to what business I might get into.”

Martin studied the man and couldn’t not ask, “What do you want to get out of this enterprise?”

“Satisfaction.” The answer came so quickly it was patently the truth. “And jobs for my lads.”

“Leaving the lads aside for the moment, what do you mean by satisfaction?”

Blackwell frowned and thought.

Martin took a sip of his ale and wondered what the hell he was doing, responding to the man’s appeal.

Eventually, Blackwell said, “By satisfaction, I mean knowing inside that something you’ve done is good and worthwhile. That you’ve created something that is useful and will last and remain a good thing once you’ve passed.”

That, Martin had to admit, wasn’t a bad answer. He found himself nodding. “All right. So…” He focused on Blackwell, then asked, “How old are you?”

Blackwell looked at him warily. “Why does that matter?”

“Because of the time it takes for a business to mature. I assume you want to achieve satisfaction before you die.”

Blackwell huffed and looked into his glass. “I’m forty-five.”

Martin blinked. He’d thought Blackwell in his mid- to late fifties.

Blackwell saw his surprise and gestured to his head. “It’s the hair. It went gray when I was thirty. M’father was the same. As for the face, it was always like this, so people never can tell my age.”

“That’s not necessarily a bad thing.” Martin studied Blackwell for a long moment. The man didn’t flinch or look away.

Am I really going to do this?

Yes, he was, because Blackwell had gone against his own impulses, bared his soul, and asked for help.

“Swear to me,” Martin said, “on your mother’s grave, that you are no longer involved in any slum estate or in any similar business that exploits others.”

Blackwell held his gaze. A slight frown wormed its way onto his face. “I still own the land the houses are on, but I don’t take any money at all from those who live on it.”

Martin nodded. “Fair enough on that count. Anything else?”

Blackwell shook his head and, without prompting, formally swore the oath Martin had asked for.

Martin studied him for a moment more, saw nothing but dogged sincerity in his pale eyes, and nodded. “Very well. This is what you’re going to do.”

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