A Hidden Fire

“Or the best,” he said with a wink, as he reached for the romance novel in the bottom drawer.  “Think carefully about that one.”

She snorted.  “I’ll take it into consideration.”  She turned back to her computer and opened a paper she was supposed to be working on.  Carwyn opened the book and began to read, still sneaking glances at her until she finally sighed in frustration.

“What now?  I really should get some work done.”

“Come back to work.  He’s far more of a pain in the ass since you’ve been gone.  He pretends nothing’s wrong, but he’s all mopey and has no sense of humor.  I think he might hurt my dog if you don’t.”

“Nice blackmail, Father.”

He shrugged and only looked at her with hopeful eyes.

She finally smiled.  “I wasn’t going to stay away forever, you know.”

“Will you tell me why you left?”

She shook her head firmly. “No.”

“I tell you all sorts of things,” he muttered.

“You have got to be the most immature thousand year old I’ve ever met.”

He folded his arms and scowled.  “I’m not even going to offer the most obvious retort to that.”

She smirked as she watched him but realized, if there was one person she instinctively trusted in this whole messy world she had found herself in, it was Carwyn.  As far as she could tell, he had no ulterior motive to tell her anything, and he always answered her questions.

“Bad choices about men, remember?” she finally said, referring to their last conversation in the reading room.  “Trying to make better choices in life, Carwyn.  When it comes to…you know.”

He stared at her for a moment before he nodded.  “Understood.”

“And don’t say a word to—”

“Count Prissypants tells me nothing.  Therefore, I tell him nothing.”

She sighed.  “I was actually going to say Caspar.  I think he and my grandma are thick as thieves now.”

His eyes lit up.  “Oooh, let’s gossip about them, shall we?”

Beatrice smiled, gave up, and shut down her computer. 

Chapter Thirteen

Houston, Texas

February 2004

The first thing Giovanni smelled when he walked into the house at three in the morning early Friday was the coq au vin Caspar must have cooked for dinner the night before.  The second thing he smelled was Beatrice.

A smile tugged at the corner of his mouth.  He had hoped she would come back to work before he needed to leave for New York.  In the back of his mind, he entertained a fanciful notion of taking her with him and showing her the lights of Manhattan, taking her to a play, or walking through the Met.

“You’re back.”

He turned when he heard Caspar at the kitchen door.

“I am.  Why are you still awake?  And is there anything I need to know?”  Giovanni busied himself emptying his pockets on the counter and looking through the mail Caspar had set out.

“I’m awake because I wanted to talk to you.  I’m sure you’ve realized B is back at work.  She and her grandmother had dinner here earlier in the evening.  Also, I am completely smitten with Isadora.”

“I don’t blame you one bit.  She’s a charming woman,” he mumbled as he looked through the file of e-mails Caspar had printed out.

“I find myself irritated that I’ve been living in this city for years and had no idea she existed.”

He looked up at Caspar, disarmed by the sincerity in the man’s voice.  He cocked his head.  “I’m glad for you, Caspar.  You deserve to find someone like that.  You’ve been alone too long.”

“So have you.”

Considering Caspar’s sentimental nature, he knew where his old friend was going, but it still gave Giovanni pause.  “Caspar—”

“I want to talk to you about B.”

Giovanni shrugged.  “There’s nothing to talk about.  The girl—”

“Don’t be so damn dismissive.”  His eyes shot up, surprised by Caspar’s angry tone.

“I’m not dismissing you.”  He frowned and set the papers down on the counter.

“Her, Gio, you’re dismissive of her.”

He sighed and stuffed his hands in his pockets, examining the older man.  “I have no idea what you’re talking about, Caspar.  How am I—”

“You talk about her like she’s a child.  Maybe a bright and entertaining child, but a child nonetheless.”

Giovanni rolled his eyes and walked toward the living room, but Caspar only followed him.  He stopped to pour himself a drink at the sideboard.  When he turned, Caspar was still looking at him with an impatient expression.

“She is a child.”

“She’s not.”

He shook his head.  “She’s only twenty-two—”

“She’s not as naive as you think, old man.”

Giovanni’s glass crashed down to the table and he looked up, suddenly angry at his friend.

“I am an old man,” he quietly bit out.  “A very old man, Caspar.  I was an old man 450 years ago.  Do you forget that?  Do you forget that I was already an old man when I took you in as a child?  Do you forget that I will remain an old man long after you leave this world?  Do you have any concept of how many human friends I have seen grow old and die?”