Part 115 (2/2)

She smiled a little. ”I couldn't begin to explain.”

”Maybe you should have.”

”I tried.” She turned away a moment. ”He didn't understand. He

couldn't. I only wanted to be with him, with you. Because that wasn't

possible I tried to be what he wanted. That night in Martinique.” She

paused, choosing her words carefully. Even Marianne didn't know what

she had seen. ”Things changed for me, and for Dad. I finished out what

I'd started, Johnno. I owed him that-so much more than that. But this

is for me.”

”I'll talk to him for you.”

”Thank you.”

”Don't thank me yet. He's liable to take one leap over the Atlantic and

lop off my head.” Idly, he opened the portfolio. ”You always were

clever,” he murmured. ”Both of you.” He nodded to a sketch of

Devastation that hung on the east wall. ”Told you I was going to frame

it.”

With a cry of pleasure Marianne leaped up. She had drawn it on the

evening of their graduation celebration. The house Brian had rented on

Long Island had been full of people. Never one to be shy' Marianne had

ordered all four men to pose. ”I didn't think you meant it. Thanks.”

”I suppose you're going to make your way drawing pictures while Emma

snaps them.”

”That's right. It'll be a bit hard to be starving artists with the

inheritance my grandmother left me, but we're going to give it a shot.”

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