The Collector
Page 110

“It has to do with what happened to Oliver, and it’s complicated. I’m handling it. You don’t want the details, Dad, any more than you wanted the details of Oliver snorting his trust fund up his nose or gulping it down in pills and alcohol.”
Some bitterness there, Ash realized, and not completely fair. He’d often wished to Christ he’d been spared Oliver’s details.
“Oliver aside, there are plenty of stains on the family linen. There are too many of us for it to be otherwise. I handle what I can when I can. I wish I’d done a better job of it with Oliver when I had the chance.”
Spence swallowed what Lila thought might be a combination of pride and grief. The dregs of it roughened his voice. “What happened to Oliver isn’t your fault. It’s his own, and maybe partially mine.”
“It doesn’t much matter at this point.”
“Let me help you with whatever you’re trying to do. Let me do that much. Personal disagreement aside, you’re my son. For God’s sake, Ashton, I don’t want to lose another son.”
“You did help. I used the plane to get to Bastone, and used your name. You told me ahead of time what you knew and thought of him. It got me in.”
“If he’s involved in Oliver’s murder—”
“No. I promise you he’s not.”
“Why won’t you tell him?” Lila demanded. “Oliver was his. It’s wrong not to tell him what you know, and at least partially because you’re mad at him about me. You’re wrong, Ashton. Both of you are wrong and stupid and too stubborn to get out of your own way. I’m going upstairs.”
Ash thought about telling her to stay, then let her go. She’d been shoved into the middle long enough.
“She says what she thinks,” Spence commented.
“Most of the time.” And he realized he’d be sharing that calzone after all. “Let’s have that beer, and unless you’ve eaten, you can split my calzone. We’ll talk.”
Nearly an hour later, Ash went upstairs. He knew women—he should, with lovers and sisters, stepmothers and the other females who’d been part of his life. So he knew when a little fussing was in order.
He put her sandwich on a plate—linen-napkin time. Added a glass of wine, and laid a flower on the tray from the arrangement she’d picked up for the living room.
He found her working on her laptop at the desk in one of the guest rooms. “Take a break.”
She didn’t stop or glance back. “I’m on a roll here.”
“It’s after two. You haven’t eaten since early this morning. Take a break, Lila.” He leaned down, kissed the top of her head. “You were right. I was wrong.”
“About what, exactly?”
“About talking to my father about some of this. I didn’t tell him everything, every detail, but I told him enough.”
“Good. That’s good.”
“It wasn’t easy for him to hear it, but you were right. He needed to. He deserved to know why he lost a son.”
“I’m sorry.” With her hands gripped together in her lap, she stared at her laptop screen, seeing nothing.
Ash set the tray on the bed, went back to her. “Please. Take a break.”
“When I’m upset, I either stuff sweets down my throat or I can’t eat at all. I’m upset.”
“I know it.”
He picked her up out of the chair, stepped over, set her down on the bed. With the tray between them, he sat cross-legged facing her.
“You have a habit of just putting people where you want them.”
“I know that, too.”
“It’s an annoying habit.”
“Yeah, but it saves time. He knows he was wrong, Lila. He apologized to me—and not just for form. I know when it’s for form’s sake. He’s not ready to apologize to you, except for form. You won’t want that.”
“No. I don’t want that.”
“But he’ll apologize and mean it if you give him a little more time. You stood up for him. You have no idea how completely unexpected that was for him. He’s feeling a little ashamed, and that’s a tough swallow for Spence Archer.”
“I can’t be a wedge between you. I can’t live with that.”
“I think we took care of that issue today.” Reaching over, he rubbed her knee. “Can you give him some time to apologize, make some amends?”
“Yes, of course. I’m not the issue. I don’t want to be the issue.”
“He’s blaming himself for Oliver, a large part of it. He let go, Lila. He didn’t want to hear any more, see any more. It got easier to just wire some money and not think about where it was going. He knows that, feels that.”
Ash raked both hands through his hair. “I understand that because I’d hit pretty much the same line with Oliver.”
“Your father was right when he said it wasn’t your fault. It’s not his either, Ash. Oliver made his choices, as hard as that is, he made his own choices.”
“I know it, but—”
“He was your brother.”
“Yeah, and my father’s son. I think he jumped all over you because, by God, he wasn’t going to have another son go down the wrong path. And I’m his first,” Ash added. “The one who was supposed to follow in his footsteps and didn’t even come close. It’s no excuse, but I think it’s part of the reason.”
“He’s not disappointed in you. You’re wrong again if you think that. He’s afraid for you, and he’s still grieving for Oliver. I don’t know what it’s like to lose someone so close, but I know what it’s like to be afraid you will. Every time my father was deployed . . . Anyway, we’ll say emotions ran high. And I don’t need everyone to like me.”
“He already does.” Ash rubbed her knee again. “He just doesn’t want to.”
Possibly true, but she didn’t want that, or herself, to stay at the center.
“You told him about the egg, about Vasin?”
“Enough, yeah. Now I can leave it to him to make arrangements for the Fabergé to go to the Met when it’s time.”
Giving him part of it, Lila thought, instead of shutting him out.
“But you didn’t tell him you intend to face off with Nicholas Vasin?”