Read Online Restoration: A Novel (Contemporary / Women's Fiction) by Elaine D Walsh - Free Book Online Page A

are you there?  Tess?”
    “I’m over at Francesca’s,” she called in the direction of
her desk.
    Within a moment, Sharon buzzed Francesca’s speakerphone. 
“Ben’s holding for you.”
    “Could you tell him I’ll call him back later?”
    “He said it’s important.”
    “Tell him I’ll call within the hour, and please get the
number where he’ll be.”
    “He told me not to let you put him off.  Check.  Or is
that checkmate?”  Sharon chuckled.
    Tess shook her head and stood up.  “All right, put him
through to my desk.”
    Francesca motioned to her own phone.  “You can take your
call here.”
    “Okay, here he is,” Sharon said before Tess could protest,
and a second later Francesca’s phone buzzed.
    Her annoyance at both Sharon and Ben came through in her
tight-lipped smirk.  She picked up the buzzing receiver.  “Tess Olsen.”
    “Isn’t that a silly phone ritual, saying your name when
you already know who the caller is?  Wouldn’t saying, ‘Hello, Ben’ make more
sense?”
    “Hello, Ben.  What can’t wait?”
    “Have you given it any thought?”
    “What?”
    “Painting.”
    “I told you I don’t paint anymore.”
    “I thought you were going to think about it.”
    “I never said that.  And if I did, I need more than
twenty-four hours.”
    “I know, I know.  I’m working on a couple of things for
you that may help.  That’s why I called.  I had lunch with Kenyon LeMere, and I
was telling him about how good your paintings—”
    “Ben!” she snapped and turned her back on Francesca, who
was busy studying an infrared image on the camera’s screen.  “You’re a credible
art critic.  Don’t jeopardize your reputation bragging about my work,
especially to someone as talented as LeMere.”
    “Tess, hear me out.  I mentioned you were having a bit of
a problem getting motivated.”
    She rolled eyes at the convenient interpretation he’d
applied to her withdrawal from painting.
    “He’s an artist.  He understands.  Anyway, he has an
apartment in Chelsea with a studio.  He said that there’s another artist he’s
good friends with who has a similar setup in the same building and that the guy
is out west for the next six months staying on a reservation and learning how
to sand paint.  Kenyon said he’s sure the guy wouldn’t mind if you used his
studio.”
    “If I wanted to paint, I could set up an easel in my
living room.”  She struggled to hold down her voice.
    “Tess, it’s easier to get focused on something if you’re
in the right atmosphere.  It gets your mind off everything else, all the
distractions.  I know how that is.  I can’t write at the kitchen table.  Kenyon
said he’d get in touch with this other artist just to run it by him.  He
already has the key, and once he gets the go ahead he’ll turn it over to you.”
    “Ben, I need to get back to work.”
    “I’m working on one other thing, but I don’t want to let
the cat out of the bag until I’m sure I can pull it off.”
    “Ben!”  Tess said his name sternly while attempting to
keep her conversation private.
    “I wanted to whet your appetite.”
    “You’ve incurred my ire.”
    “I think all will be forgiven soon.”
    “Anything else?” she asked, annoyed.
    “What time can I pick you up for dinner on Tuesday?”
    “I’ve lost my appetite.”
    “You have a day to regain it.”
    “Seven-thirty.”
    “I’ll come by your apartment.”
    She looked over the top of the partitions as she hung up
the phone.  Sound traveled easily in this open space.  She knew she’d struggled
to keep her voice low and in control, but no one was looking in her direction,
at least not now. 
    Even Francesca, who worked only a few feet away, kept her
eyes on her work.  But Tess knew better.  Francesca had heard it all; at least
Tess’s side of the conversation.
    “It’s not a good idea dating someone who works in the same
field or who at least is connected in some way, if only