AllFreeNovel
Share Us
“Would you rather get married in Cyprus or Gibraltar?” he asked. “Both are good for eloping.”
“Put me down, Brat.”
“Is this painting acrylic?”
“What?” She glanced at her painting—it even looked good upside-down. “Yes. Why?”
“Just making sure it’s dry. We’re taking it.”
She was laughing so hard it hurt, which made it very difficult to properly yell at him as he plucked the painting off the easel and carried it and her to the door.
“Cyprus or Gibraltar?” he said. “I’m leaning toward Gibraltar, but Lia’s in Cyprus right now. Want to meet my sister?”
Regan was going to throttle the man blue when he finally put her down. She tried punching him on the back, but it was like throwing cotton balls against a brick wall. While attempting to make a dent in him, she glimpsed the tattoo on her wrist, no longer covered by her watch because she no longer wore a watch.
He was going to regret this. Maybe. Or not. What did she know? What was it that Evelyn de Morgan’s daughter was famous for saying about her parents?All artists are fools?Maybe she was right.
“Gibraltar,” Regan said, catching her breath.
“Brilliant. We can spend a few days in Spain, too, if you like. You can meet Lia at Christmas.”
At that he put her on her feet and kissed her. But it wasn’t a long kiss. That would come later.
First she had to pack a bag, find her passport, change her clothes. She did it all in record time, and soon they were in a taxi on their way to Charles de Gaulle Airport. She did convince him to leave the painting behind to dry thoroughly, but only after promising she would ship it to Wingthorn after their honeymoon. Her last wedding had taken months to plan and this one was rushed, hurried—mad, mad, mad, but that was as it should be.
Art might be eternal, but life was short.
They didn’t have a moment to lose.
16
The Pearl
There was no art in Hell.
That’s why it was Hell.
Hell is a place of destruction while art is the act of creation. Destruction and creation repel each other and so when Malcolm knew he could bear Hell no longer, he did the only thing he could do to free himself.
He created an artist.
For decades he’d kept an eye on his “children.” When he’d discovered his illegitimate great-granddaughter had taken a wrong path and gotten married instead of pursuing her art career, well, he realized he could kill a whole brace of birds with one stone. All he had to do was set her on the right course again, turn her back into the artist she was meant to be. The moment Regan signed her name to the first canvas she’d finished painting in ten years, Malcolm had been spat out of Hell like Jonah from the belly of the whale.
He’d found a perfect match for Arthur, got Charlie back into the family’s good graces, and reunited the two halves of the Godwick family, divided just long enough that there would be no negative consequences to bringing them back together again. As for their future together…Malcolm had reason for hope.
Hell was, quite frankly, hellish. The devil’s favorite torment was showing the damned all the agony their loved ones are and would suffer in the future, including their deaths, if they were early or painful. That’s how he knew Regan would make it, because although Old Scratch had shown Malcolm visions of an arduous cancer battle—Arthur at her side the entire time—Satan had not shown him a vision of her tragic too-soon death. That meant she’d recover. She’d live and love and make art for a very long time.
So. Praise the Lord and pass the pretty girls, Malcolm Godwick was a free man again. Well, a free man with some stipulations. He wasn’t whisked away into Heaven. No, he’d been sent back to Earth, given a second chance. He was even allowed to choose where he could start his second life.
Really, he thought as he glanced around The Pearl’s smoking lounge, it didn’t look much different from his day—a hundred years ago. Same dark paneling. Same old chairs and sofa. Same musty, dusty leather-bound books on the shelves no one could be sodded to read. A new painting was hanging in the lounge, however. Must have been a purchase by Regan, the future Countess of Godwick. The painter was the magnificent Lilla Cabot Perry, and the painting was of an elegant young woman in fine dress, holding a single pearl between her finger and thumb. Appropriately, it was calledThe Pearl.
Malcolm sat down withThe Timesand a cigar. Nice to see that politicians were still as daft and corrupt as they’d ever been, that the papers still printed the same rot and gossip they always had. The women, however, were even more beautiful now than they’d been in his day. The vote had been very good for them. Wonder if he could convince a young lady today to give him her vote of confidence. Now, in fact, would be a good time.
He closed his paper and tossed it aside. Snuffed out his cigar and left the smoking lounge.
Immediately, he saw a girl walking toward the lifts, blonde with big blue eyes. Her red coat suited her nicely, but would suit his bedroom floor even more nicely.
At the lifts, he caught up with her. “Pardon me, miss,” he said, “but do you work here?”
