Stars and Bars by William Boyd

Author:William Boyd [Boyd, William]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 978-0-307-78707-1
Publisher: Knopf Doubleday Publishing Group
Published: 2011-02-02T05:00:00+00:00

As he undressed, Henderson felt overwhelmed with tiredness. He climbed wearily between the sheets and laid his head with a sigh of relief on his cool pillow. Within seconds it became uncomfortably warm. He turned over. His ears were like hot plates. He lay on his back, breathing steadily, trying to summon up a mood of controlled relaxation. He was still awake an hour later when he heard the Cardews’ car drive away.

At least and at last he had seen the paintings, he told himself. He farted noisily. What had he eaten? Was it the corn dogs, the hoppin’ john or the turnip greens? Or was it all down to Henry’s Goat? … He’d phone Beeby with the good news tomorrow. He couldn’t see any major problem with Gage; they got on fine and he seemed happy enough to sell. He pondered vaguely on Beckman’s notion of Freeborn’s premature sale. They were so obviously Gage’s personal possessions it seemed inconceivable that his son would have any independent claim on them himself.

But why was Gage selling? It was a question he rarely asked of his clients—it was none of the auction house’s business. Often, though, some reason was voluntarily given, security concerns, death duties, a move—but seldom, however, the most common: poverty. He strongly suspected this was what applied here. Gage was broke. Clearly he had been rich once, but everything about the household spoke of galloping penury.

He wondered how he would get through to Beeby the next day. Freeborn had said he was going away so perhaps he could prevail on Shanda without fear. He didn’t fancy having to walk into Luxora Beach every time he wanted to make a phone call.… And when was that cretin Duane going to fix his car? He was paying good money for it precisely to afford him the mobility he now required, and yet it stood uselessly outside on three wheels, gathering dust.

Thinking about phoning Beeby reminded him of the call that had come through to Freeborn’s trailer. He felt sure it had been for him, but who? Beeby? Melissa checking on Bryant? Irene? The mild sensual stimulus provided by Gage’s sixteenth-century bit of erotica set up aches of longing for Irene. She should get his letter by tomorrow … He had to get her down here, to patch things up. He couldn’t let one disastrous night ruin everything. He would send her a first-class return ticket to Atlanta, book them both into the plushest hotel they could find and have three or four undisturbed days together after this whole business was over. He ran through half a dozen scenarios of their reunion. Sleep had left him far behind now, he realized. He should get up and read, make notes on the paintings. He compiled a swift catalog in his head, estimating possible prices. The Dutch paintings were curiosities and worth nothing significant. But the Sisleys and the Vuillards were important, and the Braque … He thought suddenly of Gage’s father and his father.

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