Page 30 of Shift in the Blood
“Why?”
“From what I understood, the pieces were stolen on commission. People asked this man and his partners for particular pieces.”
“It would explain the randomness.” She nodded.
“The person who commissioned this piece to be taken either could not or would not pay.”
“So he was going to destroy it?” She was outraged.
I nodded. “Yes. He couldn’t sell it to anyone else. There was an agreement of secrecy, so that everyone got what they wanted and no one went to jail. It was no good to him, and he was angry.”
“How did you get it?”
“I offered him double what he was asking.”
“It’s amazing.” Her gaze returns to the Degas.
“Are you ready to see the Laferrieres?”
“Oh, yes, please.”
I walked into the last room, the lights coming alive.
I wasn’t sure, but I think Clara stopped breathing.
She went to stand in front of one painting, of the fields of Le Subdray. It was a simple composition. The sky, some houses in the distance, and the wheat fields. She stood in front of it for a long time.
According to my heart, hers was hammering wildly.
Slowly, Clara moved along the wall of paintings. “They’re more stunning than I remember.”
“I think the same thing every time I come down here.”
“You miss him.” She turned to look at me.
“I do. I never got to say goodbye.”
She bit her lip.
“What?”
“He wouldn’t want this. If you’d had this one locked away when I was little I would have never become a painter.” She moved closer to the first painting, the one of the wheat fields of Le Subdray.
“These are mine.”
“Art belongs to everyone.”
“Yet you produced forgeries?” I couldn’t hide my scorn.
“Yes. I did. I wish I hadn’t. I wish I’d been strong enough, brave enough to tell Maxim to go to hell, that I’d make it on my own. But I was scared. I had to take care of us.” Her arms went around her waist. “I’m not scared anymore.”
“You did what you needed to do to survive.” I wanted to make her feel better.
“I guess.”
I looked at my watch. The day was turning to night, and it was time to find Neville and deliver my message to Maxim Popov. “He’s never going to bother you again.”
“How do you know?” She looked back, and I could see that her fingers were idling with the necklace. The one that proclaimed our connection.
