Chapter 36
Chapter
Thirty-Six
JO
We have been back from Paris for over a week now, and I have spent that time holed up in the vault, working my ass off.
I’ve got three paintings completely restored and one more almost finished.
But more importantly, I have been doing my best to avoid Axel, which has actually been pretty easy considering the long hours I am putting into restoring and the fact that I know he has been doing the same at the office.
It’s not that I don’t want to see Axel – I desperately want to see him – but it’s so hard to be around him and not touch him or kiss him.
We tried the ‘being friends’ thing on our first night back from Paris, but it was too soon, and so of course we ended up kissing in a way one definitely doesn’t kiss a friend.
I think we just need some time to let the dust settle.
At least, I hope that’s all we need anyway because I don’t want to spend the rest of my time here avoiding Axel.
Or pining for him like some lovesick fool.
Today is the first day since Paris that I am dressed in something other than my overalls or my pajamas. I am wearing black leggings and a long, cream jumper. I check the time and see it’s about time to leave. I hurry down the stairs and go to wait by the front door for my cab.
I’m not tense about today. Curious, maybe.
That’s all. Sheldon called me unexpectedly this morning and asked to see me.
He said it was important, and I admit, I’m interested in what it could be, so I agreed, and he gave me his address and asked me to come to his apartment.
It will be nice to get out and about and breathe in fresh air and still have something different to focus on and keep my mind occupied with something tangible, whether that’s paperwork, secrets, or just conversation, rather than the memory of a taboo weekend in Paris.
I jump when I feel a hand on my arm.
“Oh, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you,” Betty says.
I laugh softly. “It’s ok, I was a million miles away.”
“Are you alright?” Betty says, “I feel like I haven’t seen you since you came back from Paris.”
Betty doesn’t know about the stolen painting. She thinks, like everyone else, that Axel and I went to Paris to talk to some art experts about a tricky bit of the renovations. I hate lying to her, but it had to be done. I will tell her everything as soon as I can.
“I’m fine,” I say, smiling at her. “I’ve just been working a lot.”
“Anyway, it’s good to see you above ground,” Betty laughs. “Are you off anywhere nice?”
“I’m just going to see Sheldon. He called this morning and asked to see me.”
As I am talking, my cab appears and pulls up in a neat hiss of brakes. The driver tips his head in acknowledgment.
“That’s my cab,” I say. “I have to go. Let’s grab a coffee when I get back and catch up.”
“I’d like that,” Betty says. She catches my elbow. “Be careful, ok?”
“Always,” I say with a grin.
She looks like she is going to say more, but the cab driver honks his horn impatiently, and she nods and lets me go.
I get into the cab and give the driver Sheldon’s address.
We set off, and the city moves past us in a lovely kaleidoscope of color.
I rest my hand against the window, letting the cool glass press against my skin as I watch as the streets narrow, trees arch overhead, and pedestrians hurry along the sidewalks.
I wonder what got into Betty back there, telling me to be careful.
She probably just meant it in a way like I would say take care to a friend. I’m sure she didn’t mean to be so dramatic. I let the moment pass, trying to focus on the day ahead. Between Betty and Sheldon, maybe today will be the day I can let Paris become a distant memory and nothing more.
It’s unlikely, but a girl can hope, right?
His apartment building is quiet when I arrive, its red brick facade warm in the morning light. Iron balconies line the upper floors, curling and twisting like delicate filigree. I ring the bell for Sheldon’s apartment, and his voice comes over the intercom.
“It’s me, Jo.”
“Second floor. Come on up, both doors are open,” he says.
The door in front of me buzzes, and I pull it open and step inside.
I am a little bit surprised that Sheldon doesn’t live in a building with a doorman, but other than that small detail, this building screams expensive.
The floors are polished wood, the elevator doors gleam, and once they open, I see the whole elevator is mirrors, and there is not even one smear on them.
I’ve become spoilt living in a mansion. This is actually a lot different to the block of flats I’ve lived in back home in England, where the corridors were grubby and the elevators almost never worked.
I step out of the elevator and see Sheldon’s front door.
I remember he said both doors were open, so I test the handle and the door opens.
I go inside and immediately notice the luxurious scent of sandalwood, the way the sunlight filters through sheer curtains onto a Persian rug that looks like it will be impossibly rich and soft underfoot.
Sheldon is already waiting in the sitting area.
He is perched in an armchair, and on the low table in front of him are two porcelain teacups beside a matching pot.
Steam is curling lazily from the teapot’s spout.
Sheldon is dressed casually, a dark sweater over a collared shirt with jeans.
His hair looks like it is still tousled from sleep, despite the fact that it is almost noon.
To be honest, it looks like he had a rough night of drinking.
“Hi,” I say as I walk further into the room.
“Jo,” he says, standing. “Thank you for coming so quickly.”
“Of course,” I reply.
He reaches out for me, and we have a quick hug, then he gestures for me to sit down. I settle into the armchair across from him. Sheldon pours tea from the teapot into the two cups. The aroma of the tea is comforting, reminding me of home.
“Milk? Sugar?” Sheldon asks, glancing up at me.
“Just milk, please,” I say. I am curious, and I decide to nudge him along. “You said you had something important to discuss with me?”
“Yes, I do,” he says, pouring a little milk into each cup. “But let’s begin with the tea first. Polite conversation first. Then we’ll discuss the important part.”
I pick up my cup and take a careful sip of the tea, enjoying the subtle flavors. I let myself relax into the space. Sheldon moves with the ease of someone entirely confident in his surroundings, placing his own cup on the table and folding his hands.
“I hear you have recently returned from Paris,” he begins casually, though I can feel the undertone of curiosity. “Axel Rhodes and you vacationing together now? That’s … unexpected.”
“I know. It’s not a combination you would expect,” I say with a smile. “But it wasn’t a vacation. It was business. We went to see an expert about a part of the restoration project.”
It’s a lie, but not really. I have made it sound like I needed help from another restorer, but I haven’t explicitly said that.
Sheldon raises an eyebrow. “You’re a terrible liar, Jo,” he says. “People who need help with restorations come to you, not the other way around.”
He doesn’t sound offended that I lied to him, but I feel guilty. I decide to tell him the truth. He is my half-brother after all, and we have already eliminated both him and his mom from our investigation.
“It was only a half-lie,” I admit. “It was a business trip about the art. Please don’t repeat any of this.”
“I won’t. Go on,” Sheldon says.
I tell him about the fake Gainsborough and the investigation Axel and I launched. We went to Paris to talk to the dealer that whoever stole the original painting sold it on to.
He leans back in his chair, steepling his fingers. “Ah. That explains a lot.”
Does it? I don’t know what he means, but I sip my tea and nod to agree with him.
“And what did you learn?” he asks.
“Nothing we didn’t already know. I’m afraid the dealer wouldn’t talk.”
His eyes flick to mine, sharp and alert. “I see.” He pauses for a beat, then casually, as if speaking to himself. “So, he did tell me the truth.”
I feel heat flood my face. Has Axel already told Sheldon about this, and has he used me to corroborate the story?
“Excuse me?” I say, hoping I have misunderstood.
“The dealer called me,” he says, his voice calm, almost amused.
“He told me some people were sniffing around the Gainsborough. He said he didn’t tell them anything, and that one had an American accent, the other a British one.
I suspected immediately that you had somehow known the replacement painting was a fake. ”
Well, I definitely misunderstood him, but now I wish I hadn’t. He didn’t mean Axel told him the truth. He meant the dealer told him the truth. And that can only mean one thing.
“It was you,” I gasp, staring at him in shock.
He laughs, low and sharp, not warm at all. The sound curls in the room like smoke. “Yes. It was me.”
My hands tighten around the teacup. My stomach drops. “You switched the painting?” I whisper, disbelief hammering in my chest. “And you sold the original?”
He leans forward slightly, his eyes gleaming, a cold calculation under the polite smile. “Well done. You’re finally piecing it together.”
I stand up instinctively. “But why?” I ask, my voice rising. “You didn’t need the money. Your parents gave you everything you ever wanted.”
“No, they fucking didn’t,” he says, voice sharp. “I have debts. Gambling debts. The sort of people I owed money to aren’t the sort of people who wait, if you get my drift. I had to get the money fast without my mother or Joseph knowing about my habits. I had to cover it myself.”
I feel a flutter of anger, disbelief, and horror mixing together. Sheldon rises now too, and he moves. I realize I am in danger. The world changes. Time slows. I watch him in disbelief. His footsteps echo, the sound almost hypnotic.
My mind starts turning. I have to get out of here. I have to find some way to placate him and get out of here. “It doesn’t matter now. It’s all in the past.”
“Nah. It’s not in the past, is it? You and Axel are investigating, are you?”
“Look, if you come clean, Axel can help.”
He barks with laughter. “Axel help? Axel is the reason I had to steal the painting. He would have told my father, and if my father knew I had yet another weakness, he would have cut me off entirely,” he spits, spinning toward me, his eyes flashing with repressed rage.
“It had to be done my way. And it was done and forgotten, but you had to go poking your nose in, didn’t you?
All you had to do was restore the damned thing. You didn’t need to investigate it.”
He moves back to the chair he was sitting in, and leans down the side of the chair. To my utter disbelief, he pulls out a wooden baseball bat. The sunlight catches the varnish, turning it golden and sinister in his hands.
I freeze. My mind goes blank. My instincts scream ‘run’ as he stalks towards me, the bat raised, but my legs are frozen with fear. I scramble backwards, but I am not fast enough. He’s already looming in front of me.
“Sheldon …” I murmur, my voice barely audible as panic seizes me. “Please … d …”
Before I can finish my sentence, he swings the bat.
Hard. The bat strikes the side of my head with a sickening thud.
Pain explodes, sharp and immediate, and the world tilts violently.
The floor rushes up to meet me. The last thing I hear before everything fades is his laughter, cruel and triumphant, echoing around the apartment as darkness swallows me whole.