Kitabı oku: «The Sinful Art of Revenge», sayfa 2
A sense of inevitability settled on her shoulders. Damion was going nowhere. She could fight, or she could take the money. That sort of money could make a huge difference—change the lives of so many. ‘I’ll do it. For the two million. But I want something else.’
Grey eyes darkened with thinly veiled contempt. ‘Of course you do. What?’
‘Invite me to your exhibition.’
‘Non,’ he negated immediately.
Her lips tightened. ‘My talents are good enough for tracking paintings but not good enough for your crowd?’
‘Precisely,’ he parried without blinking.
His insult bounced off her. He wasn’t the first to call her character into question and he wouldn’t be the last. Reiko liked it that way. With people busy examining the glossy, showy shell of her carefully honed character, they weren’t looking underneath to the scars, the pain of loss and the constant fear that lurked there; they couldn’t see the empty darkness in her soul that she battled every waking moment to hide.
She needed the camouflage just as she needed every wit to keep Damion Fortier from finding out just how damaged she’d become.
‘I’ve been out of circulation for a while. If you want me to find your paintings quickly, don’t deny me this lead.’
The lead would also give her the chance to find the final Japanese jade statue she’d been attempting to retrieve. Her client’s last desperate call rang in her ears—one she hadn’t been able to ignore. The digging Reiko had done this past week had pointed her in the direction of a prominent French politician who’d be attending Damion’s exclusive exhibition.
When Damion’s face remained impassive, she changed tactic. ‘Your guest list reads like something out of an art collector’s fantasy. I don’t think I’ll ever get another chance to mingle with people so influential in art or come within a whisper of the famous St Valoire Ingénue collection.’
‘Your presence anywhere near my exhibition is not something I’d term a fantasy. In fact I’d call it more of a nightmare.’
Despite knowing he wouldn’t believe her, she said, ‘I’m not a thief, Baron.’
‘All evidence points otherwise.’
‘I’m an art connoisseur, like you. Just because we took different paths in our pursuit of art doesn’t make us any different from each other.’
His haughty expression added insult to injury. ‘I highly doubt we’re anything alike. You deal underneath the black market—’
‘I retrieve art no one else can and return it to where it belongs. Isn’t that why you’re here?’
One silky eyebrow shot up. ‘So you’re the Robin Hood of the art world?’
She grimaced. ‘Green tights aren’t my style. Besides, I don’t really like labels. Invite me to your exhibition. Who knows? Your squeaky-clean patrons might rub off on me and I’ll transform into a model citizen and find your precious paintings.’
His eyes narrowed.
Reiko held her breath, fought the urge to speak. Sometimes silence was a better weapon.
‘You can work on your transformation in your own time. First you’ll agree to use your every resource to find the paintings.’
The gravity and raw need behind his words caught her attention. Glancing at him, she saw something in his face she couldn’t give a name to—although she felt his near-hypnotic eyes pin her to the spot. In that moment she was almost ready to forget everything she knew about this man and believe the paintings meant something significant to him.
Almost … if she didn’t know for a fact that Damion Fortier was a heartless bastard. He’d said it himself—anything that didn’t earn him cold hard cash was sentimental and messy.
His bloodline might be pure but the man was anything but. In the past five years, the broken hearts he’d left scattered around Europe alone—publicly denied in return for jaw-droppingly extravagant parting gifts but privately mourned—put his status as heartless in direct conflict with his family’s sanctimonious image.
As for his year-long affair with Isadora Baptiste …
‘Why do you want the paintings so badly?’ she asked.
For several minutes she thought he wouldn’t answer. A very real emotion that looked oddly like pain settled in his eyes. Her breath caught. Pain was a familiar emotion to her, along with guilt, and panic-inducing demons that haunted her nights. Suddenly the need to know clawed at her, and her heart was thundering wildly as she waited for his answer.
‘Why, Damion?’
‘I want … I need to have them back. My grandfather is dying. The doctors have given him less than two months to live. I have to find the paintings for him.’
CHAPTER TWO
DESPITE THE INDIRECT devastation Sylvain Fortier had caused her, the raw pain behind Damion’s words made her insides clench.
Swallowing the lump in her throat, she fought the sudden automatic need to offer comfort, but the words spilled out anyway. ‘I’m sorry for …’ She stopped. What could she say in such a circumstance?
When she’d been contacted to broker the sale four years ago, she’d known immediately what the Femme paintings meant to Damion’s grandfather. Her grandfather had told her the history behind them. At the time her first instinct had been to refuse the commission. But she’d convinced herself she’d moved on from Damion’s betrayal—that it was merely another business deal. Now, looking into Damion’s darkened eyes, she wondered if she’d inadvertently set herself up for this meeting, and for his displeasure when he found out just what she’d done with his paintings.
‘Damion, I need to—’
Reiko heard footsteps at the door and her heart sank. A second later, Trevor walked in.
‘Sweetheart, what’s going on? I thought I heard the guests leave—’ Catching sight of Damion, he froze inside the doorway. ‘What are you doing here, Fortier?’ he demanded, his hands leaving his dressing-gown pockets to clench at his sides.
Damion’s set jaw tightened. ‘My business is with her, Ashton, not you. And I’d think carefully before lying to me again in future.’
‘You should’ve fetched me the moment he got here, Reiko. After what he did—’
‘I didn’t want to worry you,’ she rushed to interrupt before he could finish. He was acting out of concern for her. His guardian role was one he refused to relinquish despite her insistence that at twenty-seven she was old enough to take care of herself. What she’d been through made it difficult for him to let go.
She placed a hand on his sleeve. Damion Fortier’s exquisitely sculpted features tightened as he followed the action.
‘My business with Reiko is private. You’re interrupting.’
The two men squared off, hostility bristling between them.
With a sigh, she took her guardian’s arm. ‘It’s okay, Trevor. I’ll be up shortly.’
Desperate that he didn’t reveal anything to Damion, she walked him out of the room and into the hallway. As she mounted the first of the worn carpeted stairs, she saw Damion snatch his phone from his pocket.
She tried to keep her panic down. ‘Is it worth me asking who you’re calling? Your dungeon-keeper, perhaps? Are you sending for your personal guillotine to finish us off?’
‘I was about to arrange to have a list of my guests sent to you, but my guillotine can be arranged if that is how you prefer to conclude our business?’ Dark brows winged in a mocking query.
Damion saw relief race over Reiko’s face before she concealed it.
The swiftness with which she regained her composure surprised him. The Reiko he’d known had worn her feelings on her sleeve. She’d been open, carefree and sexy as hell with it—
Correction … the Reiko he’d thought he’d known …
His jaw tightened as his gaze swung between the pair in front of him. He noted the familiarity between them, the ease with which they spoke, and the whole tableau filled him with distaste. It was obvious Ashton was her latest lover.
An annoying twinge surfaced inside Damion, tightening even further when Reiko murmured a response to Ashton as he leaned his body even closer to hers.
Damion had never craved attention, never sought it for the purpose of spotlighting himself—even though his life seemed to fascinate the tabloid press and the endlessly vacuous social media. But in that moment Damion admitted he didn’t like being ignored. In fact he hated it. He wanted to growl, to shout and draw Reiko Kagawa’s attention from the older man. Instead he gritted his teeth and watched as they mounted the stairs and disappeared into the upper hallway, not once looking back.
Swallowing the distinct taste of displeasure that coated his mouth, Damion shoved his hand through his hair. He was seriously considering storming up the stairs when Reiko reappeared alone. The upper-hallway light cast her silhouette in soft relief. Through the material of her dress, Damion traced her shapely legs to where they met at that triangular gap that had once so fascinated him.
Heat slammed into his chest as he recalled how he’d been able to slip his fingers inside her without the smallest need to part her thighs.
Lost momentarily in the past, he let his gaze drift upward, over her curvy hips to the small indentation of her waist where she’d planted her hands. His hands could encompass that small waist. Easily. She’d always melted into his arms when he’d done just that.
‘So what now?’ she asked.
‘Come down here,’ he instructed hoarsely.
Catching and killing his wayward thoughts, he shoved his hands into his pockets. She was midway down the steps when he noticed she wasn’t wearing shoes. Dainty feet with nails painted a soft peach clashed with the heavy make-up and scarlet lips.
He frowned. ‘Are you and Ashton lovers?’ he asked, before the question was fully formed in his mind.
Surprise flared in her eyes. A charge of heated energy arced between them. That familiar twinge struck deep, and for the life of him he couldn’t dismiss it.
‘I fail to see what business that is of yours.’
‘I wouldn’t want him causing problems with your pursuit of the paintings.’
‘He won’t be a problem.’
‘Bien. Give me your phone number.’
‘Why?’
‘So I can text you the list of names attending my exhibition. Be ready to leave for Paris when I return in the morning.’
‘You’re not afraid I’ll vanish once you leave?’ she mocked.
‘No. Because you’ve revealed another weakness.’
Her eyes, a unique hazel that was more brown than green, remained unreadable despite the rapid pulse beating at the base of her slender throat.
‘By all means, enlighten me.’
‘Aside from the money, you obviously care about Ashton. I can only imagine what you’ll do to prevent him from being carted off to jail once I arrange for his debts to be called in.’
A spark very much like anger heated her cheeks. ‘Careful, now. That renowned Fortier halo is looking a tad besmirched.’
Damion laughed. The realisation that he was actually enjoying besting Reiko eased the intense frustration of the past few weeks.
‘You fight dirty. I fight dirtier. Phone number?’
Tersely, she recited it. He entered it into his phone and pressed ‘send’. ‘The quicker you strike my guests off your list, the quicker you can move on to find out who has the paintings. You’ve gained yourself an invitation to my exhibition, but if you have even the faintest urge to pull anything underhand, squash it.’
‘Scouts’ honour.’ She raised two slender fingers.
The folds of her billowing sleeves fell back and Damion caught the faintest glimpse of puckered flesh before she sucked in a breath and tucked her arm against her side. Whirling, she retreated into the shadowed hallway.
Puzzled by her behaviour, he followed. ‘Reiko—’
‘I didn’t get the chance to tell you before Trevor come downstairs.’
‘Tell me what?’
‘I’ll only need to find the Femme sur Plage.’
Ice clutched the back of his neck and he forced himself to speak. ‘Why?’
‘Because I already know where the Femme en Mer is.’
‘Where is it?’
‘In a storage vault in London.’
‘Who owns it?’
‘I do.’
CHAPTER THREE
THE DREAMS CAME AGAIN … She was laughing as she pulled her father’s resistant hand, telling him he had nothing to worry about, that there was space on the crowded train. No, she didn’t want to wait for the next train. His hastily concealed concern … his familiar embrace … his strong arms around her.
Then nothing … only the heavy weight of blackness.
And screams—horrible, heart-rending screams—as carnage reigned all round her. Her father’s warm hand was clutching hers, then gradually growing cold.
But this time her dreams were interspersed with other images.
Within the chaos Reiko dreamed of dancing with the Baron de St Valoire. And not just any dance. She dreamt of the Argentine frickin’ tango.
Reiko woke with her mind filled with vivid images of train wrecks, scarred bodies … and Damion’s long, muscular legs tangling with scissor-like precision and skill against her much shorter ones, his hands guiding her with exquisite mastery.
She dreamt of short, shockingly sexy dresses, stratospheric red-soled shoes.
In her dreams the disparity between their heights didn’t matter. They fitted perfectly. And when a particular move wasn’t possible, her dark-haired, stormy-eyed partner merely lifted her up against his strong, virile body and continued dancing, their heated breaths mingling, his movements getting increasingly faster, headier, sexier—
‘What the hell, Reiko?’
Shoving off the offending hot sheets, she went into the bathroom and turned on the shower. She had just over an hour to get ready before Damion returned.
Recalling the incandescent rage that had filled his face after her revelation last night, she swallowed. Weirdly, he’d pulled himself under rigid control after that short display of emotion. He’d told her to concentrate her efforts on finding the Femme sur Plage, then he’d left.
After showering, she selected her best power suit. The severe cut of the black jacket and matching trousers coupled with a cream silk dress shirt gave off the no-nonsense vibe she wanted to project, while serving the very useful purpose of covering her up from neck to ankle.
More than anything, she wished she could catch her hair up into a tight bun to cement the outward image she craved, but the scars on her neck made that impossible, so she prayed the suit and make-up would be enough.
After brushing her fringe over the scar that slid down from her temple to her ear, she arranged her hair carefully over her shoulders and slipped her feet into black patent platforms. To complete the look, she secured small diamond studs to her ears.
The heels were a bad idea after the hours she’d spent in another pair yesterday, but there was no way she was putting herself at a disadvantage by wearing flats in Damion Fortier’s presence.
She’d pay the price later, with painful stretching techniques and long hours of hydrotherapy, but the idea of going toe to toe with the Baron made it worth it.
Half an hour later, Reiko brushed imaginary lint from her sleeve to avoid Trevor’s probing gaze.
‘Tell me again why you’re doing this, Reiko?’ he asked, concern etched into his face.
Reiko contemplated telling him about her bargain with Damion and immediately discarded it. ‘Because he’s paying me a shedload of money.’ She attempted a smile.
He frowned. ‘Money has never been your motivation.’
Her smile dimmed. ‘Sylvain Fortier is dying, and Damion’s asked me to help find his painting.’ The partial truth was better than nothing.
Trevor’s lips compressed. ‘That’s just it, Reiko. After what they did to your grandfather, and to you, they have no right!’
Reiko’s heart performed a painful flip but she kept the smile fixed in place. ‘That’s in the past. I’m over it. Besides, I wasn’t joking. He is paying me a shedload—some of which can help you—’
He shook his head firmly. ‘I can take care of my own financial mess.’
‘You took care of me when I needed you. Now it’s my turn.’
The lines of worry faded but didn’t disappear. ‘Did you sleep last night?’
She shrugged. ‘A little. Don’t worry about me, Trevor. That’s an order.’
He laughed, his worry abating to reveal the vibrant fifty-five-year-old man he was, despite his greying hair. Whatever answer he intended to give was curtailed by the sound of a throaty engine in the morning air.
Reiko’s heartbeat escalated as she watched the black sports car roar its way down the long lane.
Damion didn’t stop in the front drive like any other visitor. He kept coming, his ease behind the powerful car evident in the way his wrist rested on the steering wheel.
His gaze locked on hers, he drove forward until the hood of his car was directly in front of the conservatory. Even with a thick layer of glass between them, Reiko felt the force of his presence, the sheer magnetism of the man, like a crackle of electricity in the air.
Still trapping her with his gaze, he killed the engine and stepped from the car. He’d always had the ability to hold her captive like this, so her every sense was heightened, quaking with awareness.
This morning he’d discarded the designer suit in favour of designer casuals. Dark brown chinos encased his slim hips and ended precisely atop his high-gloss black boots. A slate-grey cashmere jumper worn over a sky-blue shirt did incredibly wonderful things to his eyes.
Watching him mount the shallow steps, she recalled with way too much clarity how his long legs had felt wrapped around her five years ago—and last night in her dreams.
Reeling herself in, she pulled on her cuffs. ‘Good morning. I trust today finds you in a less homicidal mood?’
‘To see you didn’t make a run for it in the middle of night is a good start, certainement.’
‘You need to have more faith, Baron.’
‘I prefer to rely on performance-backed talent.’
‘Then it’s a good thing I have that in abundance.’
His gaze flicked over her suit. ‘Why are you dressed like that?’
‘Like what?’
‘We’re visiting a dusty vault, not attending a state funeral.’
Her belly tightened at his probing look and she forced a careless shrug. ‘This is England, Damion. The weather turns at the drop of a hat and I hate being cold.’
She turned with relief as Simpson walked in with her small suitcase. She went to take it but Damion beat her to it. His fingers brushed over hers, making her heightened senses shriek in hysterical warning. But he seemed totally oblivious as he thumbed the electronic key and stowed the case in the boot.
He glanced at the disappearing Simpson and frowned.
‘What?’ she asked.
‘Is this all you’re taking with you?’
‘Yep, I have a PhD in travelling light.’
His upper lip curled ever so slightly, making Reiko’s hackles rise in response. ‘I suspect you’d need to, in your profession.’
She felt her smile slip and struggled to keep control. ‘If you don’t mind, I’d prefer the insults to start after I’ve digested my breakfast. Now, can I have a minute to say goodbye?’
His eyes cooled as they flicked to Trevor. ‘Make it quick. I don’t have all day.’
She went to Trevor and brushed her lips over his bearded cheek. ‘I know you want to clobber him, but try and rise above it, okay?’
Trevor’s lips twisted. ‘I want to do more than clobber him. But I have to trust you know what you’re doing.’
She smiled, despite knowing Trevor would be no match for Damion. The whipcord strength in the Frenchman’s broad shoulders and that aura of power that radiated off him meant Damion Fortier need never lift a finger in a show of force.
Straightening, she stepped outside and encountered a stony-faced Damion. A dangerous edge of something she couldn’t quite name vibrated off him as he held the passenger door open. The hard slam of the car door rattled her teeth, but she kept the smile on her face for Trevor’s sake.
The moment Damion slid in beside her, Reiko found breathing difficult. The already cramped space diminished even further, the mixture of his scent and the smell of the soft black leather of the luxury car made the air intoxicating in the extreme.
Her trembling fingers had barely secured her seatbelt before he was accelerating down the lane.
‘You do realise you’re not coming back here until after I have my painting?’
She frowned. ‘Yes.’
His gaze left the road for a second. ‘The size of your case seems to indicate otherwise. If you have any thoughts of returning here any time soon, kill them now.’
‘Our agreement still stands. I packed a small case because I didn’t want Trevor to worry. Whatever else I need I can get later.’
His lips tightened. ‘Does he know of our past?’
‘What past?’ she taunted and watched his nostrils flare in irritation.
‘Is he your only lover or do you have one of those progressive relationships?’
‘Our relationship is based on truth and trust. More than I can say for whatever it was you and I had.’ She sucked in a sustaining breath and wished she hadn’t. Damion’s scent filled every pore of her being, invading her skin as he’d invaded her dreams last night. ‘And, for the record, my relationship with Trevor is none of your business.’
As for other relationships … the very thought made her snort bitterly.
Stormy grey eyes sliced into her. ‘You find me amusing?’ he rasped, his tone chilly.
‘Amusing? No. Inappropriate? Definitely. Who I sleep with has nothing to do with this commission. So, before one of us blows our top, I suggest we change the subject.’
His hands clenched over the wheel, his hooded gaze on a red light. As if he’d willed it, it turned green.
Damion’s foot slammed on the accelerator, sending the car surging forward.
‘I agree. This isn’t a subject I find palatable. Why did you buy the Femme en Mer?’
Reiko’s heart lurched. ‘Because it was a good investment and I had the resources to buy it at the time.’
Damion glanced at her before smoothly joining the motorway. ‘Was that the only reason?’
She licked her lips, nerves eating at her. ‘What other reason would there have been?
His eyes narrowed. ‘Foolish sentiment, perhaps?’
‘Sentimental? Over you?’ She tried to inject as much cynicism into her voice as possible.
‘I know our time together meant something to you. You wouldn’t have been so riled up last night if it hadn’t.’
‘Wow—conceited much?’ Reiko didn’t know why she was goading him. But then she’d never been one to leave well enough alone. ‘FYI, I got over you pretty quickly.’
His fingers gripped the steering wheel until the knuckles showed white. ‘Oui, I remember,’ he clipped out. Minutes ticked by. ‘So who was he?’
Reiko felt the familiar wash of shame and looked out of the window. She had no intention of revealing the truth of what had happened in the weeks after Damion had left. It wasn’t a time she was proud of, and she planned on keeping it buried along with all her other secrets.
‘No one you know. If you really want to know my reason for buying the painting, my grandfather once told me the story behind it. I was intrigued. But I’m willing to set my sentiment aside for a healthy return.’
Damion changed lanes again, swerving into the fast lane to pass a slower car. Beneath his trousers, his powerful thigh muscles bunched, the way they had in her dream. And just like in her dream, heat pooled in Reiko’s belly and started to rise. Staunchly, she pulled her eyes away and focused on the traffic.
‘What exactly do you know about the painting?’
There was nothing but curiosity in his tone, but apprehension raced over her skin nonetheless.
‘Our grandfathers met your grandmother at the same time. Sylvain Fortier got the girl and the chance to paint her. My grandfather lost out because yours had the most money and power in the love triangle. They remained long-distance friends and business partners until you Fortiers decided your mutual history wasn’t worth a damn in the face of your bottom line. Cute story, isn’t it? For goodness’ sake, slow down! I’d really appreciate arriving in one piece.’
Reiko breathed a sigh of relief as the powerful car eased its frightening pace. Beside her, Damion’s brows were clamped in a fierce frown.
Finally he drew to a stop at another set of traffic lights. Stabbing a hand through his hair, he exhaled. ‘Cute is the last term I’d use to describe the story behind the paintings.’
‘I was being facetious. Trust me, there’s nothing cute about watching someone you care about lose everything. And there’s certainly nothing cute about being made a fool of. So unless you want to talk about that, I suggest we drop the subject, shall we?’
Stony-faced, Damion shrugged. The rest of the journey was made in silence.
Their escort to the vault in Central London was conducted with reverent haste once the patrons recognised Damion. He stood close as the Femme en Mer was removed from the vault and its protective sheets unwrapped.
The painting was of a woman in a barely-there bikini, crashing through frothy waves. Her windswept hair gleamed dark and glossy, the chocolate tresses begging to be touched. Her laughing face, set in profile, was stunning, and drew the eye to her exquisitely detailed features. Around her neck was fastened a thin white scarf that billowed over one shoulder, lending a whisper of innocence to the painting.
But it was her mouth—a sensual mouth so like Damion’s that Reiko had to steel herself not to glance at it—that set the woman’s beauty apart from the ordinary. The painting was alive. The oils, even after over a half-century, were vibrant and passionate. It was a true masterpiece.
‘She was truly stunning, your grandmother,’ Reiko murmured, unable to take her eyes off Gabrielle Fortier’s image.
‘Oui, she was.’ His tone was firm, but where she’d expected fondness or a little warmth, she heard nothing.
A glance at his face showed the same stony demeanour he’d worn since they stepped out of the car into the quiet London side street.
Curiosity made her continue. ‘My grandfather told me she had the whole of the Sorbonne at her feet the two semesters she was there.’
His smile did nothing to alleviate his icy, harsh features. ‘I’ve no doubt that is what happened, because at her feet was exactly where Grandmère preferred her men.’
Her shocked gasp made him raise an eyebrow.
‘I’ve surprised you?’
‘I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised, but I wasn’t expecting … Wow—just … wow.’
‘It’s the truth. You expect me to mouth platitudes where there are none?’
‘Platitudes? Probably not, seeing as you don’t do sentiment. But isn’t it a harsh thing to say about your own grandmother?’
‘You know nothing about my life.’
Pain struck sharp. ‘Of course I don’t. Damion Fortier is a stranger to me. I spent six weeks with a man I knew as Daniel Fortman. But I do know about social etiquette and the art of polite conversation. I wouldn’t denounce a member of my family the way you do without even blinking. Especially when your family goes to great lengths to project a pristine image.’
‘Even angels fall, mademoiselle. And I hid my identity simply to avoid this very situation.’
‘What situation?’ she demanded.
He waved his hand at her. ‘This false affront. This pretence that what I did caused any lasting damage. We both know you got over me very quickly, don’t we?’ he flamed at her.
Heat crept up her neck and engulfed her face. His condemning gaze raked her face but she refused to look away. ‘You have no right to look down your nose at me when you lied to me consistently for six weeks. And I don’t really care about your reasons for lying. I trusted you enough to give you my body. You didn’t return the favour; instead you sent a cheque for a million dollars to salve your conscience. And now you’re disappointed I took it? If the money was some sort of test I was expected to pass to be deemed worthy in your eyes, then screw you, Damion. I’m glad I failed—’ Reiko bit her lip to stem the flow of words.
The last thing she wanted him to know was how devastated she’d been when she’d received the money after her grandfather’s death in place of an explanation. Yes, she could have taken the high road and ripped the cheque to shreds. Instead she’d taken delight in giving away every last cent to her favourite charity.
‘… sorry.’
The low, deep word drifted over her, pulling her back from dark recollections. When she glanced at him, he looked slightly shaken—taken aback, even.
‘What did you say?’
His features remained taut. ‘Perhaps the situation could’ve been handled differently.’
‘No kidding, Sherlock.’
‘And for that I’m sorry.’
She heard the words but the condemnation in his eyes didn’t dissipate. Slowly it dawned on her what was really bothering Damion. ‘It’s not about the money, is it?’
‘What do you mean?’
‘Even though you’ve apologised, you’re still staring at me like I’m pond scum. But it’s got nothing to do with the money, has it? It’s because you think I sl—’
‘I prefer not have this conversation here, Reiko, or indeed at all.’ He nodded to the vault attendant who’d been listening raptly to their conversation. The young man hurried forward with the crate.
‘That’s fine by me.’ Reminiscing … sentiment … led to nothing but pain. She needed to be as clinical as Damion, see this job through, and make sure the next time she disappeared she stayed hidden for good.
Jaw set in concrete, Damion packed the Femme en Mer himself, his gentle but efficient handling of the painting a testament to his years of experience in art-dealing.
The St Valoire auction house dated back to the turn of the nineteenth century, when it had been opened by one of Damion’s illustrious forebears, but Damion himself had been the one to open the now world-famous Gallerie Fortier.
