Grand Passion

wine. Apparently satisfied, she took a swallow. “On the other hand, when you become successful the hard way, you have the confidence that comes from knowing you earned it.”
    Max met her eyes. “It's not quite the same thing.”
    “No, it's a much more impressive sort of assurance. It's the kind of deep-rooted arrogance that comes from knowing that if you lost everything tomorrow and had to start over, you could make your way to the top again. You radiate that kind of confidence, Max.”
    “That's different. I wasn't talking about that kind of assurance.”
    “Why not? It's much more interesting than the other kind,” Cleo said coolly. “In fact, it can be down-right intimidating at times. It's probably most intimidating to someone who comes from a background of wealth. When you're born into money, deep down you don't really know for certain if you could make it on your own. But, Max, you know you can. You've proved it to yourself and the world.”
    Max smiled. “But the guy who was born with a silver spoon in his mouth wouldn't have to worry about whether to serve champagne or a good Cabernet in a situation like this. He'd know the answer.”
    “Oh, dear.” Cleo's eyes sparkled behind the lenses of her glasses. “Were you suffering a great deal of angst over the matter?”
    “Don't worry, I wasn't going to let it ruin my whole evening.”
    “Because you knew I wouldn't particularly care whether you served champagne or Cabernet or diet cola, right?”
    “Right.” Max came to a decision. Glass in one hand, cane in the other, he went toward the door. “Come on, I want to show you something.”
    “What?” She got out of his way and then turned to follow him.
    “Come with me.” He went down the dark, paneled hallway to the steel door that guarded his treasures. He thrust the glass into Cleo's hand. “Hold this for a minute.”
    She took the glass and watched curiously as he punched in the code that opened the door. “What's in there?”
    “Some things that are important to me.” Max opened the door. The lights came on automatically, revealing a stairwell.
    Cleo studied the stairs with interest. “Say, you aren't going to do anything real weird to me down there, are you?”
    “That depends on what you consider real weird.”
    Max led the way down the stairs and opened the second steel door at the bottom. Another bank of lights came up as the barrier swung open to reveal his gallery. Max heard Cleo suck in her breath as she stepped into the chamber.
    “My God, Max. Is this stuff all genuine?”
    The question irritated him. “Hell, yes. Do you think I'd bother to collect fakes?”
    She shot him an odd glance. “No, I guess not.” She drew a finger along the top of the room's single chair. “Nice chair.”
    “It's an original,” Max said dryly. “English. Early nineteenth century.”
    “Naturally.” She walked to the center of the chamber and turned slowly in a circle, examining the masterpieces of modern art that were hung on the white walls. “I don't see a single picture with a dog or a horse in it.”
    He couldn't tell if she was teasing him or not. “No seascapes, either.”
    She looked at him. “I'll give you a couple of the seascapes that Jason painted. You can hang them in your room at the inn next to Sammy's picture.”
    “Thank you,” Max said. “I'd like that.”
    Cleo paused as she spotted the blank space on the north wall. “Why isn't there anything there?”
    “That's where I'm going to hang the Luttrells when I find them.”
    “Oh, yes. I forgot.” Cleo walked over to the bookcase and scanned the shelves. She read the titles on the spines of several leather-bound volumes. “Gosh. Real Latin. Real old. Real impressive. I'll bet the local libraries hope you remember them in your will.”
    “I did,” Max said.
    Cleo stopped short when she came to a series of narrow, tattered books. “What's this? Dr. Seuss? The Hardy Boys ? Max, what are these doing in here?”
    “They were the first things I ever collected.”
    Cleo glanced at him, her eyes gentle. “I see.”
    “Cleo, will you marry me?”
    She went still.
    Max realized he suddenly could not breathe.
    “Where do you intend to put me?” Cleo asked softly.
    A rush of bewildered anger swept through Max. “What the hell are you talking about?”
    “I was just wondering where you would hang me in your gallery. I'm not sure I would fit in here, Max.” Cleo walked slowly around the room, peering at his