stunning fountain of sapphire glass rose halfway to the coffered ceiling; a delicate tangle of shapes and colors sat alone on a marble column and made Shannon think of Brianna's garden.
Marching practically with style were the tools of the executive-fax, computer, modem, copier, all sleek and high tech.
"Holy cow." Her grin started to spread as she moved in and skimmed her finger over the monitor of a top-grade P.C. "I would never have guessed this was here." "That's the way Maggie wanted it. And I, too." Rogan gestured to a chair. "This is home for a good part of the year, but to keep it home, I have to work."
"I guess I thought you had an office at the gallery." "I do." To establish the tone he wanted to set, he sat behind his desk. "But we both have demanding careers, and we both have a child. When scheduling allows, I can work here three days a week, tending to Liam in the mornings while Maggie's in her glass house."
"It can't be easy, for either of you. Juggling so much." "You make certain you only drop balls that are replaceable. Compromise is the only way I know to have all. I thought we'd talk about the other paintings you've done."
"Oh." Her brow creased. "I've done a couple more watercolors, and another oil, but-"
"I've seen the one of Brianna," he interrupted smoothly. "You've finished the one of the inn-the back garden view."
"Yes. I went out to the cliffs and did a seascape. Pretty . typical, I imagine."
"I doubt that." He smiled and made a quick note on a pad. "But we'll have a look. You'd have more in New York."
"There are several in my apartment, and, of course, the ones I brought back from Columbus."
"We'll arrange to have them shipped over."
"But-"
"My manager at the New York gallery can take care of the details-the packing and so forth, once you give me
a list of inventory." She made another attempt to speak, and he rolled right over her. "We've only the one on display here in Clare, and I think we'll keep it that way, until we have a more polished strategy. In the meantime." He opened his top drawer and drew out a neat stack of legal-size papers. "You'll want to look over the contracts."
"Rogan, I never agreed to contracts."
"Of course you haven't." His smile was easy, his tone all reason. "You haven't read them. I'd be happy to go over the terms with you, or I can recommend a lawyer. I'm sure you have your own, but you'd want one locally."
She found a copy of the contracts dumped neatly in her hands. "I already have a job."
"It doesn't seem to stop you from painting. I'll want my secretary to contact you in the next week or so, for background. The sort of color and information we'll need for a biography and press releases."
"Press releases?" She put a hand to her spinning head.
"You'll see in the contract that Worldwide will take care of all publicity for you. Depending on your inventory in America, we should be ready for a showing in October, or possibly September."
"A showing." She left her supporting hand where it was and gaped at him. "You want-a showing?" she repeated, numb. "In Worldwide Galleries?"
"I'd considered having it in Dublin, as we'd had Maggie's first there. But I think I'd prefer the gallery here in Clare, because of your connection here." He tilted his head, still smiling politely. "What do you think?"
"I don't think," she mumbled. "I can't think. Rogan, I've been to shows at Worldwide. I can't even conceive of having one there."
She asked herself that question again on the walk back to the inn. Then she changed gears and asked herself why. Why was she going along with this? Why was Rogan pressuring her to go along?
Yes, she was talented. She could see that for herself in her work and had been told by numerous art teachers over the years. But art wasn't business, and business had always come first.
Agreeing to Rogan's deal meant inverting something she'd pursued most of her life-letting her art take the lead and allowing someone else to handle the details of business.
It was more than a little frightening, certainly more than uncomfortable. But she had agreed, she reminded herself; at least she hadn't refused outright.
And she could have, Shannon thought. Oh, yes, she recognized well the tactics Rogan had used, and used with bloodless skill. He would be a difficult man to outmaneuver, but she could have done so.
The fact was, she hadn't really tried.
It was foolish, she thought now. A crazy complication. How could she have a show in Ireland in the fall when she would be three thousand miles away at her desk by then?
But is that really what you want?
She heard the little voice murmuring in her ear. Resenting it, she hunched her shoulders and scowled down at the road as she walked.
"You look mad as a hornet," Alice commented. She was resting a hand on her son's front gate and smiled as Shannon's head shot up.
"Oh. I was just..." With an effort she relaxed her shoulders. "I was going over a conversation, and wondering why I lost the upper hand of it."
"We always find a way to keep that upper hand in the replay." Alice tapped her finger to her temple, then opened the gate. "Won't you come in?" She pushed the gate wider when Shannon hesitated. "My family's run off here and there, and I'd like a bit of company."
"You surprise me." Shannon stepped through and re-latched the gate herself. "I'd think you'd be desperate for a couple minutes of peace and quiet."
"It's as my mother used to say-you have nothing but that when you're six feet under. I was having a look at Murphy's front garden. He's tending it well."
"He tends everything well." Unsure of her moves, or her position, she followed Alice back up onto the porch and settled in the rocker beside her.
"That he does. He does nothing unless he does it thoroughly and with care. There were times, when he was a lad, and it seemed he would plod forever through one chore or another I might give him. I would be set to snap at him, and he'd just look and smile at me, and tell me he was figuring the best way about it, that was all." "Sounds like him. Where is he?" "Oh, he and my husband are off in the back looking over some piece of machinery. My Colin loves pretending he knows something about farming and machinery, and Murphy loves letting him."
Shannon smiled a little. "My father's name was
Colin."
"Was it? You lost him recently."