The Island of Dragons (Rockpools Book 4) by Gregg Dunnett (best love story novels in english .txt) 📗

football. It was worth over a hundred thousand dollars. But apparently insured for several times that. So I made the family a profit, hence I’m still allowed in. But not with a football. Pick a door.”

I do, and Eric takes me into a huge bedroom. For a second I wonder if it’s Lily’s.

“It’s not. If that’s what you’re wondering. She sleeps in the very grand master bedroom. Not even I’ve been in there, only James. This is just one of the guest rooms.”

He says James’ name so quickly I almost don’t catch it, but I do, and I stop myself from repeating it.

“What’s the third rule?” I ask, after I’ve looked at the large bed, and admired a wardrobe.

“The third rule,” Eric turns to me. He looks more serious now, even a bit scary. “The third rule of you being here Billy, is you don’t try and fuck Lily.”

I’m completely taken aback by this.

“I wouldn’t…” I manage, eventually.

“I know. I know you wouldn’t. She’s completely out of your league. Completely out of everyone’s league. Except James of course. But the things is, she’s just so gorgeous, isn’t she..?” He smiles again. “Not exactly my type, of course, but that doesn’t mean I don’t appreciate how bewitchingly beautiful she is. All that milky white skin, clear eyes. Gorgeous cheek bones. And I suppose you can get away with fantasizing about it. When you’re back at home. But if you make a move on her, when she’s drunk, or when you’re drunk, and she may give you that chance, because she can be flirty can our Lily. But if you act upon it, if you try to fuck her, then this whole place will collapse around you. Collapse into ruins.”

I don’t know what to say. But even through the warning, I feel a kind of pain. “That guy James, is he her boyfriend?”

Eric is silent. But then he nods.

“What about Oscar?”

“What about Oscar?” He frowns now. “He’s just a… He’s James’ friend. He’s nothing.”

“He’s not…” I don’t know what I’m asking, and it seems Eric doesn’t know either.

“He’s not with… with Jennifer?”

Eric stares at me closely. “I think so. But why would you care? About her. Are you a particular fan of winning second prize?” He raises his eyebrows. “With Jennifer? I suppose you could try your luck there, but to be honest I wouldn’t recommend that either.”

“I didn’t mean…” I struggle to make sense of all this. “I just mean, who are you all, to each other?”

Eric fixes me with a look before answering.

“We’re just friends, Billy. We’re just an ordinary group of friends. Now let me show you the roof terrace.”

Chapter Fourteen

Not long after Jennifer calls up the stairs that dinner is ready, and we all go into the dining room. I sit in the center of the table between Eric and Jennifer on one side, and opposite James who has Lily and Oscar either side of him. And James kind of takes control now, but also he seems to be in a better mood now. He pours me more wine – red this time – and makes space on the table for Lily to put down a dish of what looks like little balls. I’ve no idea what it actually is, until she notices my face and explains.

“It’s gnocchi.”

“Mmmm.” Eric says. “Homemade?”

“Yes, but not by me.” Lily replies. “From the deli. And there’s salad too, I’ll just get it.”

“I’ll go.” James gets up, and he smiles at her, looking completely normal and genuine this time. He leaves the room. When he comes back, the others start digging in, and after a moment, encourage me to do the same. I don’t actually know what gnocchi is, but it seems to be a kind of soft pasta stuff, shaped into balls. It’s pretty tasty actually.

“Did you come to a conclusion,” Jennifer asks, addressing the question to James, “about which of the French impressionists was the best?”

“We agreed it was a tie,” James replies, smiling broadly now. He really is handsome, it’s hard not to notice. “Between Monet and Cézanne.” Then he turns to me. “Maybe Billy can cast the deciding vote. Do you have a favorite painter Billy?”

I can tell that this comment could be made to belittle me, but actually it doesn’t feel like it. It feels like a genuine question.

“I don’t really know.”

“I didn’t either,” James continues, without hesitation. “I couldn’t tell my Pissarro from my Picasso…” He’s interrupted.

“Or your Andy Warhol from your hairy asshole,” Eric cuts in, but James carries on talking as if Eric doesn’t exist. He just gives him a look.

“But we went to Europe last summer, to see them first hand. And it really is something.” There’s murmurs of approval from the others, and I understand he means they all went, together.

“The thing about art is, it’s…” He stops, and stares off into space for a moment. “It’s a strange mixture of money, mystery, scarcity-value, and a visible progression of skills and techniques, that you can trace through the artists, through history.”

I guess he can tell I don’t know what he means.

“OK, the money. Maybe seventy percent of the attraction is the value. They’re called priceless, but each painting has a value, and it goes up all the time, because of the scarcity, there’s a limited number, and since all the artists are dead you can’t make any more.”

He smiles. “Then the mystery. There are many more paintings rumored to exist, than are actually accounted for. But if you – if you have certain connections – you become aware that some of these paintings aren’t lost, but hidden. Here in this house, for example, there’s a Renoir, that isn’t known about by any of the museums. By anyone.”

“Is there?” says Jennifer. She sounds surprised. “I haven’t seen it.” Then I notice Lily is staring at James, she looks just a bit annoyed.

“It’s in the master suite.” Lily says, then gives a funny frown. “It’s a bit risqué. It’s called Nude in the River.”

“No