The Time Between by Karen White Read Free Book Online Page A

the house’s façade, it was startlingly dark inside. I stood in a high-ceilinged foyer where a stairway with heavy wood balustrades led the way to the second story.
    Wainscoting encircled the walls in the hallway and alongside the staircase, the steps carpeted with a navy blue oriental runner. All the wood was painted white, saving the interior from being overwhelmingly dismal. As my eyes grew accustomed to the darkness, I saw that the draperies were drawn over the windows. And as I allowed my gaze to scan the walls over the wainscoting, I began to understand why.
    A collection of oil paintings of various sizes hung on the walls in the foyer, their colors protected from the sun and muted by shadows. These weren’t the typical paintings one found in a house, much less an island house. Knowing virtually nothing about art, I could still tell that these were very old. Stepping closer to what appeared to be a naked Greek god holding a trident and lounging on a cloud surrounded by cherubs, I could see small cracks in the paint. I could also tell that the paintings hadn’t been professionally stretched and framed. The canvases hung loosely in the frames, faint undulations still visible, as if the paintings had been kept rolled up for an extended period of time.
    As if anticipating my question, Finn said, “The aunts brought them from their home in Hungary. I’ve stopped begging them to allow me to get them restored and properly framed. Or even appraised. Aunt Helena didn’t want me to touch them.”
    I looked across the foyer to what appeared to be the dining room, where a large still life of a fruit bowl was centered by faded rectangular patches where other paintings had apparently hung.
    “She moves the paintings from time to time, taking some down and hanging new ones or not replacing them at all. I’ve spent virtually every summer of my childhood here and watched her move the paintings, but never once have I been able to encourage her to talk to me about them. I just gave up, figuring it was one of her eccentricities.”
    I raised my eyebrows. This was the first I’d heard about any “eccentricities.”
    “They’re all adorable, I assure you,” he said, a faint smile teasing his lips.
    I almost laughed, wondering if that was the first time he’d ever spoken the word “adorable” out loud. “What about Bernadett?” I asked. “Did she have any say about the paintings?”
    He shook his head. “Helena was the oldest and Bernadett deferred to her. I suppose if one had to die before the other, it happened the way it should have. As much as Helena would prefer not to live without her sister, Bernadett couldn’t have.” Something shifted behind his eyes. “I loved them both, but Bernadett just seemed . . . broken.”
    He stopped as if suddenly realizing he’d spoken aloud and regretted it.
    The sound of footsteps from the back of the house made us both turn. A mature redhead wearing a bright floral dress and sensible shoes came and stood at the bottom of the stairs. She was short and stout, and she had to look up as she approached. Her face brightened when she recognized Finn.
    “I thought I heard voices. Mr. Beaufain—it’s so good to see you.” She frowned, a deep V forming between her brows. “I’m afraid Miss Helena isn’t having a good day.” Her gaze slid to me in reproach. “I don’t think she’s up for visitors.”
    “Aunt Helena hasn’t had a good day in a while. I think it’s time we changed that, don’t you?” He indicated for me to step forward. “Nurse Kester, this is Eleanor Murray. She’ll be spending time with Miss Helena while she recuperates to give you and Nurse Weber a break and to assist in my aunt’s convalescence in any way that she can.” He smiled, but it wasn’t necessarily a pleasant one. It was more like the smile of a person used to getting his way. Or that of a talk-show host who already knew what was behind the curtain. This was the man I recognized.
    He