Page 65 of Flirting with Forever

“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. “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, “‘The publisher will 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 II, 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.’”

Twenty-six

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. Peter wouldn’t have come—it pained him to humble himself here—but he must stop Campbell Stratford, no matter what it took. How dare she meddle in his life, after using him to get to Van Dyck.

“Well, I’m very sorry for your trouble, Peter. Very sorry. Especially after all that you’ve done for me.” Van Dyck pulled at the narrow beard that ran from his lip to his chin. “Is there anything I can do to help?”

“There are two things, actually.”

“Name them.”

“First, please don’t tell 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 quill.”

* * *

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

“It’s not that simple, Peter.”

“The hell 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 allow it.”