Page 22 of A Life Imagined
“Anything of interest?”Rayan asked.
“Parliament’s proposed another round of tax hikes.What they get away with under the banner of public good… It’s glorified protection money.”Mathias had been forced to become more acquainted with that particular racket now that he ran his business aboveboard.Fortunately, he had a creative accountant.
“Still sore about that?”Rayan teased.“Thought you’d have embraced your new civic duties.”
Mathias ignored him.“There was some story about the upcoming election in Canada.”
Rayan stilled.“Piper’s running again?”
“You should read what they’re saying about him—like, he saved the country from itself, cleaned up its nasty image,” he scoffed.“Canada, the poster child for peace and prosperity.”
“It’s not all peace and prosperity,” Rayan replied carefully.
“No, not all of it.”
Rayan lifted his cup to his mouth and took a measured sip.“Do you ever wonder what the Feds are up to these days?”
Mathias sometimes thought about where things had landed after they’d left—not with Inspector Allen’s investigation but with the inquiries that would have undoubtedly followed.“Not really.And we’re too far removed for them to take much interest.They have enough on their plate as it is.”
“Right.”Rayan’s forehead furrowed, and he stared down at his cup.
“You miss Montreal.”
Rayan gave a wistful shrug.“Yes and no.I feel like I gave it up long before I left.”
Mathias studied the man.He briefly considered mentioning Charles and the postcard from De Luca but decided against it.He had no intention of involving Rayan in the lingering dregs of their past.It would only plant a seed of unease, and for what?He had no interest in resuming contact with the family.
Mathias folded the newspaper and finished the remainder of his coffee.“I’m heading to Belgium this afternoon to drop off a piece for a client.”He would have sent Elise, but the client had called earlier in the week and specifically asked for him.“He’s somewhat particular.”
“Heylen?”
Mathias nodded and stood to deposit his empty cup in the sink.
Jacob Heylen was a Belgian shipping magnate obsessed with Napoleon Bonaparte.He’d spent years painstakingly decorating his three-story Gothic townhouse in Bruges’s historic center with furniture sourced from the era of the French emperor’s reign.Heylen owned JFH Logistics, one of the largest international container-shipping companies in Europe and, despite his questionable taste in antiques, was a shrewd businessman.Which put him in a different league from the majority of Mathias’s clients, who solicited art as a means to ease their wealth-imposed boredom.
Mathias reached for his jacket draped over the back of the chair and shrugged it on.He felt Rayan’s hand on his waist and turned to pull him close.As the man kissed him, Mathias was struck by a flash from the dream—the bold press of Rayan’s hands on his thighs.When they parted, the headiness he’d tried to shake earlier had returned.
“Will I see you tonight?”Rayan asked, nestling his face against Mathias’s neck.
“I’ll be back before then.”
“Good.”Rayan released him with a smile.
It was less than an hour to the Belgium border and then another forty minutes to the bustling coastal city of Bruges.Heylen had arranged to meet him at the JFH Logistics headquarters building by the port.One of his assistants was waiting for Mathias in the underground carpark with a furniture trolley, which she used to transport the nineteenth-century wooden cabinet he’d brought up the elevator and into Heylen’s office.
Heylen couldn’t keep his hands off the thing when they arrived.He made a series of appreciative noises as he circled the piece Elise had unearthed at an estate sale in Bordeaux on their recent acquisition trip.
“It’s remarkable,” he gushed.“I don’t know how you do it, Beauvais.”
Heylen had certainly compensated him handsomely for his trouble.Mathias made a game of these sales, cranking up the figure Elise gave him by at least half.And still the man paid, not batting an eye.Mathias wanted to see how far he could push, but Heylen had yet to negotiate.He was the human equivalent of a blank check.
“Sit, please,” Heylen said, ushering Mathias toward a plush seating area in the corner of the top-floor office, which boasted sweeping views of the port below.“Have a drink.You’ve come all this way.”
Mathias sat down in one of the overstuffed chairs, and Heylen took a bottle of top-shelf whiskey from a nearby bar cart and poured two generous glasses.
“I’ll be honest—I had somewhat of an ulterior motive in asking to see you today,” Heylen said, handing Mathias his drink.
I wasn’t born yesterday.Mathias had a sneaking suspicion Heylen’s insistence on him making the trip out had nothing to do with neoclassical symbolism.
