Page 93 of The Girl You Left Behind
She pushes herself upright, slowly registering where she is. Paul is sitting on the bed, pouring coffee into a mug. He hands it to her. He seems astonishingly awake. The clock says 6:32A.M.“I brought you some toast, too. I thought you might want time to go home before...”
Before...
The case. She takes a moment to let this thought penetrate. He waits while she rubs her eyes, then leans over and kisses her lightly. He has brushed his teeth, she notes, and feels briefly self-conscious that she hasn’t.
“I didn’t know what you wanted on your toast. I hope jam’s okay.” He picks it off the tray. “Jake’s choice. Ninety-eight percent sugar or something.”
“Thank you.” She blinks at the plate on her lap. She cannot remember the last time anybody brought her breakfast in bed.
They gaze at each other.Oh, my, she thinks, remembering the previous night. All other thoughts disappear. And, as if he can read her mind, Paul’s eyes crinkle at the corners.
“Are you... coming back in?” she says.
He shifts over to her, so that his legs, warm and solid, are entwined in hers. She moves so that he can place his arm around her shoulders, then leans into him and closes her eyes, just relishing the feel of it. He smells warm and sleepy. She just wants to rest her face against his skin and stay there.
There is a long silence. They listen to the dust cart reversing outside, the muffled clash of the bins, eating toast in companionable silence.
“I missed you, Liv,” he says.
He pauses, then says, “Liv—I’m afraid this case is going to bankrupt you.”
She stares at her mug of coffee.
“Liv?”
“I don’t want to talk about the case.”
“I’m not going to talk about it in any... detail. I just have to tell you I’m worried.”
She tries to smile. “Well, don’t be. You haven’t won yet.”
“Even if you win. It’s a lot of money in legal fees. I’ve been here a few times, so I have a good idea what it’s costing you.” He puts down his mug, takes her hand in his. “Look. Last week I talked to the Lefèvre family in private. My fellow director, Janey, doesn’t even know about it. I explained a little of your situation, told them how much you love the painting, how unwilling you are to let her go. And I got them to agree to offer you a proper settlement. A serious settlement, a good six figures. It would cover your legal fees so far, and then some.”
Liv stares at their hands, her own enfolded in his. Her mood evaporates. “Are you... trying to persuade me to back down?”
“Not for the reasons you think.”
“What does that mean?”
He gazes ahead of him. “I found stuff. You’ll see when you speak to your lawyer.”
Some part of her grows very still. “In France?”
He compresses his mouth, as if trying to work out how much to tell her. “I found an old newspaper article, written by the American journalist who owned your painting. She talks about how she was given your painting from a store of stolen artwork near Dachau.”
“So?”
“So these works were all stolen. Which would lend weight to our case that the painting was obtained illegally and taken into German possession.”
“That’s a big assumption.”
“It taints any later acquisition.”
“So you say.”
“I’m good at my job, Liv. We’re halfway there. And if there’s further evidence, you know I’m going to find it.”
She feels herself growing rigid. “I think the important word there is ‘if.’” She removes her hand from his.
