Page 29 of Shift in the Blood
She was gone in an instant.
“She’s good for you.” Mrs. B. looked at me.
“You met her five minutes ago.”
“Just because it take you an age to see a good thing doesn’t mean it’s the same for others. Besides.” Her smile turned sly. “Didn’t you just meet her yesterday yourself?”
“Oh, hush.” I turned. “When you bring tea, will you tell her to meet me in the foyer?”
“Yes, your royal highness majesty emperor celestial being.” Her voice was cheerful despite the sarcastic words.
It was her way of letting me know I was getting above myself.
I realized how fortunate I was. Not only that I had a beautiful dwelling, that I wasn’t regulated to the shadows of the world. But that I had people in my life who liked me, who cared about me.
I was going to add one more, if I had anything to do with it. First, however, I had to sort the damnable Carina. I’d promised the girl security. While I wasn’t happy that she made Clara upset, I was a man of my word.
“Neville!”
* * *
An hour later, I strolled into the foyer. Neville and I had not only found a security team that were willing to look out for Carina Manning, but I’d discovered where she was working and living. If Clara wanted to know, I’d be able to tell her.
I put all of the familial concerns aside. This, right now—this was for Clara. And for me. Very few people were ever invited into my gallery. Not only because some of the work had been liberated from museums, but because it was mine. Most of the paintings were those of my father. There were a few others, things I’d seen and fallen in love with over the centuries.
Clara flew down the stairs. Neville told me she’d taken rooms on the same floor as my rooms. That was both intriguing and endearing.
I’d felt flashes of her desire, her interest, and her conflict throughout the day. It gave me hope, but as I’d reminded Mrs. B., I’d known this woman all of one day.
My heart knew. But hers was a mystery. While part of me was impatient, I was able to contain myself. My heart knew. My head was more cautious.
“I’m so excited to see your collection of Laferriere.” Her excitement was like another person standing next to me.
Caught up in her feelings, I took her hand and led her into the basement. Once a dank and moldering place, I’d turned this into my gallery. Special lighting so as not to harm the paintings. Climate controlled. Cases that protected the canvas and paint. Most of all, security that would make a bank proud.
“What do you have in here?” Clara watched me go through the process of opening the locks.
“The things I value the most. Well, most of the things.” I had to amend my statement. Clara wasn’t down here, but right here next to me.
As we walked in, I felt the cool hiss of the air of the gallery pass my face. The rooms were dark, with pools of carefully curated light, designed to highlight the paintings without harming them.
Clara stands still, and then begins to move. There are three rooms in my private gallery, with the room of my father’s paintings being the last.
Her mouth is open, and I can feel her delight and wonder. She is struck by the beauty. The colors. I don’t know how I know this, but I do. Perhaps it’s the sharing of a heart.
She stops at the opening between my modern masters and my father’s room. “Didier, is this what I think it is?” She peers at the simple sketch, done in black and white.
“It is.”
“Why do you have this?”
I shrugged. “It would have been destroyed. That robbery?” I am referring to the Isabella Gardner museum robbery. Thirteen works of art were stolen. The frames still hang bare, as the terms of Isabella’s will say nothing can be changed. No one knows anything about it. It’s a robbery that has kept the entire world guessing. Which is saying something, because within art thieves, you always have a talker.
However, all but one of the thieves are dead, and he’s not a talkative sort.
“Yes. Were you part of that?”
I shook my head. “I met one of the men who was. He was going to destroy this.” I nod at the Degas sketch ofStudy for the Programme.
