Flirting With Forever by Gwyn Cready (new books to read TXT) 📕

“So, despite everything, our writer profits?”

“But the book is stopped. That is the important thing. As I said, the Guild is quite grateful.”

Peter made no reply, and Mertons turned his attention to the portrait. He regarded the flowing, flame-colored hair, sparkling on a gold background, and pale-blue gown. There was a silver hair clip pinned to the top of the easel.

“Is that Ursula?”

Peter daubed speckles of green into the hair.

Peter daubed speckles of green into the hair.

“Sometimes. It is today.”

“I must apologize. The Guild gave me no indication of the circumstances regarding her death. If they had, I hope I would have handled the affair with more delicacy. I’m sorry.

It must have been very hard for you to go back.”

Peter sighed, laid down his brush and extended his hand. “Thank you, Mertons. You are most kind.”

Footsteps on the path made them turn. Rembrandt was half running, journal in hand.

Peter held up his palm. “Mertons told me the news. I am glad for Van Dyck’s sake.

“No, Peter,” Rembrandt said. “There is more. At the bottom.” He slipped on his glasses and read, ” ‘Simon and Schuster wil instead publish a different novel from Stratford, The Artist and the Angel of the Street, an intimate look into the steamy goings-on in the studio of Peter Lely, bad-boy portraitist to the court of Charles I —

where no woman’s portrait was complete until she loosened her tongue, her gown and her morals—and the love affair with a prostitute that drove Lely to heartbreak.’”

26

THE AFTERLIFE, VAN DYCK’S HOME

“And that’s the whole story?”

“Aye.” Peter gazed at the pale-eyed mustached man before him. They had known each other before, but not in this place. It was almost like meeting one’s father and discovering he hadn’t aged but you had. Peter was older now than Van Dyck, for Van Dyck had died at little more than forty. In the Afterlife, one remained one’s dying age until being reborn. He wouldn’t have come—it pained him to humble himself here—but he must stop Campbel Stratford, no matter what it took. How dare she meddle in his life, after using him to get to Van Dyck.

“Wel , I’m very sorry for your trouble, Peter. Very sorry.

Especial y after al that you’ve done for me.” Van Dyck pul ed at the narrow beard that ran from his lip to his chin.

“Is there anything I can do to help?”

“There are two things, actual y.”

“Name them.”

“First, please don’t tel the Guild of my visit to you today.”

Van Dyck looked at him curiously but nodded. “And the other?”

“I need a letter.”

“Peter, I don’t have my letters here. You know that. None of us does.”

“’Tis a new letter.”

“A new letter?”

“Aye. Get a quil .”

Peter had constructed his plan careful y, and to have Mertons refuse this simple request was infuriating.

“It’s not that simple, Peter.”

“The hel it’s not.” Peter pounded his fist on the long marble worktable in the Executive Guild’s Time Lab, and Mertons jumped. “I told you, I need only a few hours.”

“Aye, I’ve been hearing that for two days. But while I’m glad to see you are sensible of the impact such an act could have, it doesn’t change the fact that travel into the future is strictly forbidden.”

“But not impossible. Mertons, I have done exactly as I’ve been asked, and at no little cost. The Guild must al ow it.”

A blue button flashed on the wal next to the door’s window. Mertons pressed it and the latch on the door opened. A security guard stuck his head in the door, and Mertons waved him away. Peter eyed the ax, rope and hand and foot cuffs that hung within arm’s length of the table. They clearly had a high regard for security in the lab.

“It cannot be done,” Mertons said, lowering his voice.

“Traveling into one’s past is risky enough. Traveling into the future is a recipe for disaster. The models for the future are directional at best. We cannot know what wil be affected.

Hel , we can barely place someone at the correct destination, let alone ensure that the variables remain