Page 12 of The Chase
I’d let out a sigh as I’d watched him express his belief that students benefited greatly from learning to see beyond the ordinary—
“They must be taught to look closer,” he’d fervidly expressed. “They must be shown how to peer through the enlightened lens of art and develop the skills that will lead them to experience creative lives.”
That short journalistic piece had highlighted his serious nature, which I’d glimpsed last night. Though when Tobias had finally relaxed a little, enough to smile into the camera, he might as well have been looking through the screen at me.
My face burned brighter at the seeming chink in that bad boy charm that threatened to disarm my defenses.
Though there was tragedy in his past too. I found an article on him from five years ago, written in theTelegraph Online. His parents had died in a plane crash when he was a boy. Perhaps this was why he was so driven; he was running away from the pain. He’d refused to comment on that aspect of his life, preferring instead to keep it private.
There had been photo after photo of the press catching him making supersonic exits at every opportunity, his hair messed up and his sunglasses shielding those stunning green eyes. The press had christened him “Mr. Elusive” and it suited him.
Now that I knew it wasn’t unusual for him to perform a disappearing act I didn’t feel like it had been me who’d scared him away with any number of my usual social blunders.
I wished I’d savored that sun-kissed body a little more but I’d been so shocked to see a living, breathing masterpiece subtly flexing his muscles in The Otillie’s basement.
I felt a wave of melancholy that I’d never know the meaning of that Latin inscription on his well-toned torso. I wondered if he had any more of those mysterious inked inscriptions on any other part of his body.
I flinched and almost bit through my lip.
And burst through the top-floor exit with a little too much gusto.
That caffeine had evidently kicked in, and I startled Elena, the receptionist, forcing her to spring to her feet to greet me.
“Morning exercise,” I managed breathlessly.
“Good morning, Zara.” She sang the words in that heavy Glasgow accent.
I’d fallen for Elena’s easy breezy charm the day of my interview when she made me laugh with her cheeky humor. She’d worked here for years and seemed to know the inside scoop on everyone. I loved her fashion sense, that daring miniskirt just above her knees and those fine leather boots, which seemed a statement of her unwavering confidence—I’d overheard her on the phone handling difficult clients—her purple sweater added a dash of color.
A rush of movement came at me.
Danny Kenner swept past me with the biggest grin. “Hi there.”
His accent reminded me of Tobias’s, but Danny had a Californian lilt whereas Tobias’s had an indistinguishable husky edge.
His ripped jeans and Lacoste jumper, along with his Nike sneakers, revealed Huntly Pierre’s more casual approach to their dress code.
I smiled after him.
Danny had made me feel welcome during my first visit here, and we’d hit it off straight away with our shared love of “anything” by Rembrandt and Starbucks.
Elena beamed at him. “They got a fingerprint on the Jaeger case.”
My gaze snapped after Danny, wanting to run after him and hear more.
Last night, the same evening I’d droppedMadame Roseoff at The Otillie, there’d been a theft from a private house in Holland Park.
This morning, I’d been riveted to the TV as the BBC newscaster had reported that nothing else had been taken. The Jaeger family had lost their greatest heirloom, an 1896 Edvard Munch, and were predictably devastated.
This second theft in under a month in London was sending the art community into a spin. The police were scrambling for clues and had brought in the team at Huntly Pierre.
Part of this job was also comforting the victims and I prided myself that with my tragic history I’d flourish with that aspect of my profession. I knew what it felt like to lose what had essentially become a friend; for some, art had a way of drawing you in and holding you spellbound for a lifetime.
I felt a rush of excitement that I was finally here.
“Your meeting with the staff got pushed,” she said. “The boss has a last-minute change in schedule.”
“I imagine everyone’s crazy busy,” I said. “How are you handling the press?”
