Promise Not To Tell(97)

On the other side of the room, Virginia joined Cabot and Hector Montgomery. Hector fixed his very focused attention on Virginia and said something to her. She inclined her head and led the way across the room to a large metal sculpture that had been twisted into what Anson considered a very strange shape.

Cabot propped one shoulder against the wall, drank a little champagne and watched Virginia with the eyes of a man who knew damn well that he had found the woman of his dreams.

“I just want my granddaughter to be happy,” Octavia said.

Anson snorted. “If you ask me, happiness is overrated.”

Octavia rounded on him with an expression of disbelief. “I beg your pardon?”

“Most people don’t even recognize happiness when it hits them over the head. They only appreciate it when they find themselves unhappy. There’s something a lot more important than happiness.”

Octavia regarded him with intent curiosity. “About your theory of happiness. Perhaps you would care to explain further?”

“Sure,” Anson said.

And he did.

CHAPTER 72

“I gather the show was a success,” Octavia said.

“Better than I could have hoped.” Virginia set her teacup down on the saucer. “Hector Montgomery, the tech mogul who is firing up his own foundation, was there.”

It was midafternoon. She and Octavia were having tea in the sunroom of Octavia’s house. The space overlooked the large garden.

She was off the pain meds but the doctor had suggested that driving was probably a bad idea until her side had healed. Cabot had taken the suggestion as law. He had insisted on driving her to Octavia’s house before heading to the office.

“I saw Montgomery chatting with you,” Octavia said. “He appeared quite animated.”

Virginia smiled. “Between you and me, he’s the type who gets wildly enthusiastic whenever he discovers a new passion. Currently, that passion is art, so I’m not complaining. He wants to hire me as a consultant.”

“That’s wonderful. He has become a collector, then? I assumed as much when I spotted him in the crowd.”

“Yes. He wants to build a personal collection with a focus on Pacific Northwest artists, but he also wants to have a series of installations in the headquarters of his new foundation. That means that the artists involved will get a lot of public exposure. It’s a fantastic opportunity for them and for me.”

“Yes, it is.” Octavia hoisted her teacup in a small salute. “Congratulations, dear, you’re on your way. The Troy Gallery is going to flourish. Once word gets around that Montgomery has hired you as a personal consultant, you will have people standing in line outside the gallery. Interior designers and serious collectors will be desperate for your advice.”

“Well, collectors are a fickle lot and artists are inherently complicated. Still, you’re right, last night provided a wonderful launching platform. Now it’s up to me to take my business to the next level.”

“You will,” Octavia said. “The gallery is your passion. I understand that now and I am grateful that you stuck to your own path, even when I was pressuring you to take another one.”

“I know you wanted me to be happy. You thought that would only happen if I stuck to the family script and went into academia.”

Octavia smiled. “I have it on good authority that happiness is an overrated condition.”

Virginia raised her brows. “Good grief, where did you get that bit of advice?”

“Anson Salinas and I had a rather illuminating chat last night,” Octavia said. “When I told him that I just wanted you to be happy, he gave me his opinion of happiness. He claimed it was a superficial, fleeting sensation that most people don’t even recognize when it happens to them. They only pay attention when they find themselves unhappy. And then they tend to feel resentful and angry.”

“He has a point, I suppose.”

“He went on to say that what really mattered was the ability to experience joy. He seems to feel that is the more powerful emotion because it endures, regardless of circumstances. Once you’ve known joy, you are never quite the same. It changes a person.”

“Do you think he’s right?”

“I know he’s right. I was devastated when I lost your mother. I blamed myself.”

“I thought you blamed me,” Virginia said. “She got married because of me. She was vulnerable to Quinton Zane because of me. Later you and Granddad got divorced because of me.”

Octavia shut her eyes in an expression of grief and regret that was far more poignant than words. Alarmed, Virginia reached across the small table to touch Octavia’s hand.

“Octavia… Grandma. Please. You were right. We shouldn’t talk about the past. It just opens up all the wounds.”

Octavia’s eyes snapped open. They burned with resolve.

“Pay attention, Virginia,” she said, “and never forget what I am going to tell you. You are not to blame for the choices that your mother made, and you are not responsible for the choices that your grandfather and I made. We were the adults. We made our own decisions. You bore the fallout of those decisions, and for that I can only say I am truly sorry. I have no right to ask for your forgiveness. I just want you to know that I’m sorry.”

Virginia gripped Octavia’s hand very tightly. “There is nothing to forgive. You were there for me when I needed you. You gave me a home. You provided me with stability and structure when I needed it most. And I always knew that you loved me, no matter how much we argued. I know I often disappointed you but I hope you know that I love you, too.”