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Chapter 13

Charlie sat in the back of the van with Gabriel and Carmichael, waiting for Sin to arrive. The Scottish National Gallery was located on the Mound, an artificial slope which had been built in the 18th century, to connect the New and Old Towns. They were parked on a side street out of view. Several computers had been set up on a makeshift table. Gabriel was on the phone to Dougal, making sure everything was in order.

"You look beautiful," Carmichael said to her.

"Thank you." The gray chiffon dress she wore was just loose enough around her stomach not to chafe.

Gabriel ended his call and handed her a tiny earpiece. "Put that in. With your hair down, no one will see it."

She slipped the device into her ear canal and they tested it out. She already had a small microphone pinned to the strapless bra she wore.

"He's late," Carmichael said.

Gabriel looked out the back window. "Aye. This is going to press us for time. You go on ahead and purchase your ticket, then head to the café."

Carmichael gave him a brief nod then leaned over and kissed Charlie on the cheek. "Good luck, and don't worry. I've got your back."

Her heart was already beating madly in her chest, she was so nervous. "I'll need it."

"You'll be fine," Gabriel said, trying to reassure her. He handed her a phone, double checking it was turned on. "We all have your back. Just listen for my instructions and keep that in your purse." He glanced at his watch again and looked out the window. "Here he comes."

There was a knock on the door and Gabriel opened it. Sin stepped in, wearing a tuxedo, followed by William. "Sorry I'm late." He handed Charlie two small boxes. She opened the first one. A pair of brown contacts sat in a case. "Your eyes are too identifiable. Put them in." She took a compact out of her new purse and quickly inserted them, blinking several times as she got used to the feel as Sin put in his earpiece and mic. She opened the second box and paused. It was an antique ring, with an engraved band and center round amethyst encircled by twelve diamonds. Sin plucked it from the black velvet holder and placed it on her left ring finger. "You're my wife," he said softly. "You need a ring."

Charlie didn't know what to do or say. She didn't want it.

"You need to go now," Gabriel warned them. Sin took her hand and helped her out of the van then they walked the short distance to the museum, getting in the small queue that had formed. The gallery itself was a work of art. Designed in 1859, it was fashioned after an ancient Greek temple with twin porticoes at the main entrance, surrounded by Ionic columns.

"Are you okay?" he asked in her ear.

"I'm fine." She looked straight ahead, unable to bring herself to look at him.

"You look breathtaking, by the way." They had made their way to the front of the line. Sin pulled a white card with elaborate gold lettering from his pocket and handed it to the gallery worker at the door. "Sinclair Scott and my wife Iris."

"Mr. and Mrs. Scott, welcome. Please, come this way." They followed the curator into the main hall. It was beautiful. Deep red walls acted as the backdrop to some of the greatest art in the world. Gold gilded frames displayed masterpieces by Botticelli, Raphael, Rembrandt, Vermeer, El Greco, and Van Gogh, amongst many others. A waiter came by with a tray of champagne, handing them each a crystal flute. Tables of canapés and desserts had been set up and a harpist played off to the side. Sin's eyes scanned the venue, taking everything in. "Time to blend in," he said quietly, putting his hand on her lower back and leading her through an archway into another room. Couples, elegantly dressed, huddled in groups as they talked in hushed voices. Charlie had seen it all before, a snob's rite of passage. To have taste in art and know a bit about it, was part of the glib accomplishments of the elite. Her parents were no different. She believed art should be for all and the love of it an equalizing factor.

They found a spot in front of Van Gogh's Olive Trees. A portly woman in a canary yellow dress and matching hat came up and stood next to them. "Regina Parker," she introduced herself.

Sin gave her a smile. "Sinclair Scott and this is my wife Iris."

"I just love this event. To be encompassed by like-minded souls. The appreciation of classical art, I'm afraid, is diminishing."

"On the contrary," Charlie said. "With the internet and the availability of virtual tours, I believe it is expanding."

"But to truly understand it. Most people just walk by and give it a glance." She looked down her nose. "Take this piece. Van Gogh was known for his landscapes and still life. The fluidity of his strokes and brushwork make a powerful impact. It's inspirational."

"Van Gogh was mad when he painted it. He was in an asylum. The gnarled roots express his agitation and are representational of the passion of Christ. He was depicting not only Christ's suffering but his own," Charlie said.

A gentleman joined them. "You're quite right, young lady." He gave her a smile. "Edmund Gallagher."

"Iris Scott. This is my husband Sinclair." She gave Sin an innocent smile. She could play his game.

Sin looked completely collected. A pro at work. He shook Edmund's hand. "Sir."

"It's nice to see fresh faces here with new perspectives." He turned to the lady in yellow. "Regina."

A man with a microphone clinked the side of his glass with a spoon to quiet down the crowd. "Welcome, everyone," he said. "Please gather round."

This was their cue to break away. Sinclair took her hand, leading them toward the back of the group. The print was located on the second floor in the post-impressionist room. The man continued to speak about the successful year the gallery had, praising the patrons and donors.

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