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Chapter 146 — Life Lessons (part 2)
Mary has been glanced nervously at her watch. Even playing with her children she still could not fully concentrate on this. Noon passed but Mason did not return yet.
The house plunged into an afternoon slumber. Mary suddenly decided to go upstairs to the studio. She had to finish the portrait.
Even opening the door with his key Mason feels that silence. The living room was empty. Littered with toys and soiled bibs of Mickey. But Mary is not here though usually she waited for him.
But before he could think through this idea Mary quickly walks downstairs.
"You're back?"
She walks up to him and stares into his eyes.
"Are not you glad?" Mason does not understand why he's sneering. He went back for a very different thing.
"I'm glad," she weakly smiled and fingering his cheek. He notices that her fingers paint stained. Mary became serious. "I think you will agree that we need to talk," she said.
"I agree," Mason took her wrist. "Are you backing to old ways?"
"If you mean my painting — yes, I do. I want to finish your portrait."
Mason frowned.
"It's the point we need to talk. I thought--"
Mary puts her finger against his lips.
"Give me a little time, okay? Today until the evening. Especially since you clearly are not in the best mood for conversation now also."
Before he could answer she already started up the stairs. But then she stopped and smiled.
"I'm not going to leave you," she said distinctly. "This is just for the case you're occurred with such nonsense."
"Of course I'm not," Mason said pretending that he's in the righteous indignation. Usually he'd afraid when Mary showed his ability to see through him but now he somehow felt warm inside the heart.
The waiting was continued until the night. No, of course, he can see Mary but they hardly talked. Seems she's gone deep into herself and even almost not responded when she was called by the name. At the dinner Mason caught the worried look of Mrs. Rold and sent back the soothing smile. He does not like what's happening inside Mary too but she seems aware what she does. He hoped that she does.
After the dinner hour passing after hour but Mary did not come out of the studio yet. At one point Mason almost decided to go for her and see if she is ok but then he called himself an idiot and flopping down on the sofa plunging into the latest issue of the Law Weekly.
He had time to read about three pages when the long-awaited footsteps finally heard on the stairs.
"I'd going to go for you," Mason stands up.
Mary looked tired but calm. And... impossibly determined. Mason felt the sting of an alarm.
"Were you finished? Let's talk now."
But Mary shook her head and took his hand by her warm fingers.
"Please, go up the studio first."
Mason shook his head in amazement but walked up to the attic. He stepped into the darkness but Mary turned on the light in a second.
The covered painting sits on the easel in the center of the room. Mary took two steps and carefully removed the oiled rag.
Mason winced. It was noticeable that the portrait is really finished. It's not the sketch — the real picture.
Despite his ill feeling Mason came closer to the portrait and then looked back questioningly at Mary.
"I finished," she said softly. "And I entrust this picture in your hands."
"What?" Mason confused. He not knew what he expected but it's not this. "Do you want me to--? What do you want me to do with it? Don't give me the offer to hang this thing on the wall!"
"You can do with it anything. I'll accept whatever your decision. Even if you decide to burn it."
"Burn? You want me to burn your work?" Mason rubbed his forehead and smiled wryly. "Something I just can not understand you. I guess it's the working for my father really soured my brain."
"I do not want you burn your portrait. But... I'll understand if you do," she pulled him toward the door. "Come on, let's talk about."
They go downstairs again. Mason helped himself to brandy, Mary did the same and sat down in the chair. Mason sat down on the sofa.
"Why?" He's twiddling the tumbler between his palms, looking at the brownish liquid. "You're so caught up on your work. Why are you giving the portrait to me?"
Mary speaks after a pause.
"Probably because I feel that only you have the right to dispose this picture. Your reaction to it... I just could not do otherwise. Burn it. Cut into pieces. You can do it. It's just a piece of canvas and some paint. I will survive."
"I do not want to hurt you. I can see how much it meaning to you," he reaches for her hand.
"Not by your pain. I made the mistake. I had no right to draw you without your permission. I was arrogant and stupid."
"Don't... don't talk nonsense."
"It is not nonsense," she looked into his eyes. "This is our relationship."
"You do not have to perform penance in this regard. I understand — you see me with different eyes," he turned to the topic that was interesting much stronger for him. "You're drawing exactly what you see? Right?"
"Well... not really."
"How?"
"Mason, it's not the portrait taken from the life. I painted... from my memory in the way I often see you."
"Do you often see me like this?" Mason grew cold inside as just before a high jump.
"Quite often. But beside you ever have been angry, funny, just focused--"
"So you do not think I'm angry on the portrait?" Mason asked.
"No, of course, not."
"It's scary to think how you see me in anger if you're said that the person being calm," he muttered.
"I'm not afraid of you," Mary moved to the sofa and takes his hands in her palms. "Never was afraid of you."
"Actually there were a couple of times--"
"No. I pushed you away only when I cannot recognize you. When you're mingled in my mind with someone else."
"Okay. So this unprincipled satyr does not look threatening for you. But Mary... can you really love him?"
"Here we come to the point," Mary sighed and takes a sip of brandy. She stares thoughtfully into space. "Could I love him? The person who you describe — no. But I love him — you," she looks into his eyes. "It's really true."
"So you're wrong," Mason stood up. "Because I described myself. I'm the person who you're paint."
"Right. But he is not an unprincipled satyr."
"I'd better know."
"Do you think there are only two opinions — your and wrong one? Mason, I cannot able to choose what I see when I'm looking at you. I see what I see. I can change nothing. As well as I cannot agree that a clear sun is a black cloud."
"You always thought I'm better than I am in fact."
"And you always think you are worse then you're in fact. And where is the objective truth there?"
"Are you meaning that you're more objective then I am? With regard to my own character."
"Of course not," she looked up him. "We both are frustratingly subjective."
"Agree. So what do you suggest us to do? Where we can get the arbitrator?"
"I suggest..." Mary finished her brandy, licked her lips and puts her tumbler on the coffee table. "I suggest to leaving tries to be objective and let me see you by the way I can see. It's just pointless, Mason. You cannot make me see though your eyes just as I cannot make you see though mine."
"And if one day you're seeing the light? What then?"
"Do you not believe that I love you?"
"Why? I believe," he's a little confused. "But where does it?"
"Just I love the person whose portrait I did finish today. But it's only the portrait. Whatever you would do with it would not affect my feelings for you."
"Are you sure? If someone burns my favorite book--"
"I'm sure. In fact it's my own offer. By the way if I'd mistaken about you so how I could draw you so accurate? You really can see yourself, right?"
"It's true," Mason thought over her words. "Seems to me that you're looking directly into my heart," he winced. "Not the most pleasant feeling in my life."
"So what is the point of our conversation? I see you exactly in the way you see yourself. And I continue to love you."
She gets up and goes to him, hugging from behind and pressing her cheek against his back."
"Forgive me," she said quietly. "I had no idea what demons I can awake with my art hobby."
"I do not blame you. Those demons appeared not because you."
"But I aware about of its existence. Mason, someone did portraits of you earlier?"
He gives a wry laugh.
"Oh, yes. A few ones is still lying somewhere in the attic. And of course there were the family pictures. But I'd never been touched by its."
"Perhaps the pictures never drawn by the woman who is in love with you."
"Fortunately. I would not have survived twice."
"I'm sorry--"
"Do not apologize," he turned to her, cupped her face in his hands. "Well, I experienced not the most pleasant moments in my life but you had been experienced enough troubles because me as well."
"Are you not mad at me?"
"No, I don't," he bent down and kiss her in lips.
"And what you're going to do with the portrait?"
"Later I'll think," Mason captured her lips again. "Forget about it now. You have the original."
Mary said nothing because she was complete agreed with Mason.
* * *
CC Capwell was sitting in the living room of his own mansion and pondering. Inside of his heart feels empty and cold. Suddenly he remembered terrible nights of the times when he thought that Sophia was died. He was raged, blamed himself and others... and sobbed in silence of his bedroom. Alone. Later his pain gradually transformed into an ice. He stopped to longing and stopped feeling at all. But sometimes memories rolled over him with such force that his heart felt be torn to pieces.
Charlie's conception was the result of one of those moments. He recalled those days with shame and embarrassment as if he got egg on his face in public. It was the accident. Just the coincidence and nothing more. He came to London on business. A clerk accidentally mixed hotels and he found out himself in one of the rooms of Claridge's — the same one where he and Sophia once celebrated the wedding anniversary.
It seemed to him that he would not survive the night. He canceled all his business meetings and blindly wandering along the banking. He could not think about anything. He's in so bad state when he was found by Pamela. Frightened hotel staff found her somehow and sent after him. Pamela drove him to her home. He's stayed in her bed for almost a week and then he returned home as soon as he gained enough his reasoning. He's back in Santa Barbara and tried never to think about those days.
And now Charlie's hovering before his eyes was as the living reminder. For devil's sake, Mason was right about his reasons to send the boy away to the boarding school. Although Mason not knew the whole truth. Nobody knew but CC did--
He raised his head and blinked. It seems he has hallucinations because his loneliness. But the boyish figure so reminiscent of Mason's one emerged from the shadows. Charlie.
"What are you doing here?" CC's angry that he was nearly caught off guard.
"Sophia brought me. I like to see Brandon," Charlie spoke in quite usual tone.
"He is not at home."
"Where is he?" Charlie seemed upset.
"At his mother's."
"Really?" Charlie's face brightened. "You let him to go to his mother?"
"I'm not such a monster as you all think of me," CC muttered without mentioning that he had no choice. Then he looked at his youngest son and said softly: "But I can not take you to your mother. I would like to be able, but I'm not."
"Why? She hates me?"
"No. Your mother... is not healthy. That's why she had sent you to the boarding school. She could not take good care of you."
Charlie frowned puzzled.
"But she looked healthy. She was so cheerful as always."
"Not all diseases are visible, son."
"But when she'll recover, you let me go to her?"
"Of course," CC thought sadly that is unlikely to be happened. Pamela... shows no signs of improving. Too little hope for Charlie.
"Charlie, you found Brandon?" They heard Sophia's voice.
"No," he replied loudly. "He's not here; he's at his mother's place. The father let him leave."
"What a pity. Well so you'll see him later. Come on, Charlie."
"No, wait," CC stands up. "Let's go for a short walk, young man. I need to talk to Sophia."
Sophia looks after her stepson leaving and shifts her clear sad eyes to her husband.
"What is it, CC?" she asked quietly. "Do you want to tell me something?"
"No, I do not," involuntarily escaped from the patriarch. "Just want to be with you for some time."
Sophia looked surprised, but followed him into the living room.
"I cannot remember when you said that you're missing me last," she said sitting down on the couch.
"I'm not saying that yet," CC pursed his lips. "However it does not matter. Our older daughter told me that you're looking for a new house for yourself and my son. Do not you think that it's some absurd?"
"Not at all. The school starts soon. Charlie needs the home and his own room."
"From when you're presenting yourself as his mother?"
Sophia sighed showing her angelic patience: "From when Pamela entrusted him to our care."
"My care, not ours. Do you think that Pamela wanted to entrust my son to you? She even was not aware that you're alive."
"She had her chance to take him when she arrived. She did not so she agreed with my candidacy."
"Not all depended on her, my dear. However in fairness she even did not mention you. Although she certainly saw you."
Sophia shuddered at the thought about her last meeting with CC's first wife. How prudently Pamela came in the house and what was happened later.
"CC, I do not know what's between you and Pamela," she said slowly. "But just at the moment the man who I loved and with got married was disappeared."
"Nobody was disappeared!" CC got angry. "Where are you going!?"
Sophia resolutely stands up and walks to the entrance door.
"Charlie and I are going back to the hotel. If you cannot or want not to trust me so I can do nothing. But recently I manage to know your son very well. And I'll let you to send him to the boarding school just over my dead body. I almost allowed you to ruin Mason's life. You have not such chance about Charlie."
But before she could call for Charlie and leave there was a ferocious roar of CC Capwell.
"Alright! Alright. Dammit... Okay, I'll tell you everything." He just cannot see how she's walking away; it was beyond his mental strength.
Sophia turned to him.
"Everything?"
"Yes. Everything about my first marriage. About my damn first marriage. And about Pamela's part."
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