perhaps that might clarify the story.”
“There are no others?” She was as curious as Taylor.
“Not that he was aware of. He explained that it seemed to be a solitary effort, so different from Lebasque’s other works, which were much less detailed, where rarely did faces emerge from the canvas. So we have only this painting and its little mystery, seen through the eyes of the little girl.” Taylor sucked in his lips and shook his head. He looked back at Sarah and saw her smile. The painting had been clear to her immediately. Maybe he did not understand it when he first purchased it—when he thought of it hanging in the home he would share with Emily. But now just these few days later, he could see what she saw. She studied the painting one more time and then turned to Taylor.
“I think it tells the story of the day they were born,” she said softly and slowly, but confidently.
Taylor considered her words and drew her to him. It was impossible to believe that the dim light of the hotel lobby was responsible for casting her entire face in a brilliant glow. He brazenly removed the one large clip holding her hair back in its tight chignon and he ran his fingers through the loosely falling blond locks. “I have wanted to do that all evening.”
She looked around quickly at the spirited hotel lobby, but saw that none of their group was present. With the soft pressure of his fingers along the nape of her neck, their tender touch brushing her ear so that a tingling sensation disarmed her from any ability to resist, he brought her head to his and she closed her eyes and accepted his kiss. But after only ten seconds, she pulled away and straightened her dress. She retrieved the hair clasp from the coffee table where Taylor had dropped it, nervously fumbling to reattach it so that it could once more hold her hair away from her face.
He stepped back and allowed her to compose herself.
“I spoke to your father and asked him a great favor.”
“Really?”
“Yes. Not when we were all together, but at a break this morning, during the conference. We had just signed off on the papers creating International Goods and Services. We had acknowledged the success of our conference, and so I took him aside,” Taylor said, trying to be businesslike. “I asked him if I might accompany you both back to Berlin for a stay…a brief stay, I assured him…an opportunity to see his operations firsthand.”
“Oh really…and what did he say to this proposal?”
“He was open to it…”
“But I think you insult my father with these words.”
Taylor was puzzled; he bent his arms at the elbows with his palms open and angling outward. His head went side to side in the recognized pose of confusion. “Insult him. I think you misunderstand. He seemed pleased…maybe flattered that I was so intrigued by his factories.”
“Insult his intelligence.” She was smiling and laughing slightly. “You think that you are not transparent to him, that he is unaware of your true motivation.”
“Oh, and now I ask you what you think that motivation is.”
“I think that you are not yet ready to put an ocean between us.”
Rachel
New York
January 1972
T his time love came to her in quite a different manner. There was no immediacy of love at first sight. She would never allow herself to fall into that trap again. Well, that was not totally true—she had fallen for love at first sight just once more—about two and a half years before—the moment that Jason was born.
Following the Jewish tradition, she was thrilled to honor Ida’s wish and she chose a name for her son with the same first initial of the brother that Ida had lost. After Jason Gold’s birth, Rachel—just like Ida so many years ago—was not eager to leave New York. She had become comfortable sharing a household with her aunt, had made many wonderful friends, and was extremely vested in her educational path at New York University. And that was where the love,
“There are no others?” She was as curious as Taylor.
“Not that he was aware of. He explained that it seemed to be a solitary effort, so different from Lebasque’s other works, which were much less detailed, where rarely did faces emerge from the canvas. So we have only this painting and its little mystery, seen through the eyes of the little girl.” Taylor sucked in his lips and shook his head. He looked back at Sarah and saw her smile. The painting had been clear to her immediately. Maybe he did not understand it when he first purchased it—when he thought of it hanging in the home he would share with Emily. But now just these few days later, he could see what she saw. She studied the painting one more time and then turned to Taylor.
“I think it tells the story of the day they were born,” she said softly and slowly, but confidently.
Taylor considered her words and drew her to him. It was impossible to believe that the dim light of the hotel lobby was responsible for casting her entire face in a brilliant glow. He brazenly removed the one large clip holding her hair back in its tight chignon and he ran his fingers through the loosely falling blond locks. “I have wanted to do that all evening.”
She looked around quickly at the spirited hotel lobby, but saw that none of their group was present. With the soft pressure of his fingers along the nape of her neck, their tender touch brushing her ear so that a tingling sensation disarmed her from any ability to resist, he brought her head to his and she closed her eyes and accepted his kiss. But after only ten seconds, she pulled away and straightened her dress. She retrieved the hair clasp from the coffee table where Taylor had dropped it, nervously fumbling to reattach it so that it could once more hold her hair away from her face.
He stepped back and allowed her to compose herself.
“I spoke to your father and asked him a great favor.”
“Really?”
“Yes. Not when we were all together, but at a break this morning, during the conference. We had just signed off on the papers creating International Goods and Services. We had acknowledged the success of our conference, and so I took him aside,” Taylor said, trying to be businesslike. “I asked him if I might accompany you both back to Berlin for a stay…a brief stay, I assured him…an opportunity to see his operations firsthand.”
“Oh really…and what did he say to this proposal?”
“He was open to it…”
“But I think you insult my father with these words.”
Taylor was puzzled; he bent his arms at the elbows with his palms open and angling outward. His head went side to side in the recognized pose of confusion. “Insult him. I think you misunderstand. He seemed pleased…maybe flattered that I was so intrigued by his factories.”
“Insult his intelligence.” She was smiling and laughing slightly. “You think that you are not transparent to him, that he is unaware of your true motivation.”
“Oh, and now I ask you what you think that motivation is.”
“I think that you are not yet ready to put an ocean between us.”
Rachel
New York
January 1972
T his time love came to her in quite a different manner. There was no immediacy of love at first sight. She would never allow herself to fall into that trap again. Well, that was not totally true—she had fallen for love at first sight just once more—about two and a half years before—the moment that Jason was born.
Following the Jewish tradition, she was thrilled to honor Ida’s wish and she chose a name for her son with the same first initial of the brother that Ida had lost. After Jason Gold’s birth, Rachel—just like Ida so many years ago—was not eager to leave New York. She had become comfortable sharing a household with her aunt, had made many wonderful friends, and was extremely vested in her educational path at New York University. And that was where the love,
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