Priceless (26 page)

She backed up against the kitchen cabinets.

“Who’s got a gun, Mummy?”

The four adults turned to see Katie standing in the doorway, barefoot and dressed in her pajamas. She was holding her favorite toy bunny, twisting his ears as she looked from her mother to Julian to the two strange men for an answer.

Leonid, to his credit, immediately dropped his jacket so that it covered the pistol entirely. He raised his hands in Katie’s direction. “I haven’t got a gun,” he said, his accent thick with the exotic cadences of his homeland. Yasha had the decency to look slightly shamefaced. Julian shrugged.

“Katie, darling.” Serena rushed forward to wrap her precious daughter in her arms. She smoothed her hair away from her face and looked full into her eyes as though to try to hypnotize her into forgetting what was in
front of her. “What are you doing up so late? You’ve got school in the morning.”

“I heard you shouting,” she said. “You woke me up, Mummy. And who are these people?”

Katie looked from Yasha to his driver, as though she were a duchess finding gate-crashers at her ball.

“They’re friends of Julian’s,” said Serena, loading the words with sarcasm.

“And we’re just leaving,” said Yasha. “Julian, I take it you can make your own way back to London?”

Julian nodded. The last thing he wanted was to spend four hours in a car with those two men again.

“Good night, Serena. I look forward to seeing you again very soon.”

He gave her a courtly bow. Leonid merely nodded, but was careful not to let the door slam as he followed Yasha back out to the car.

Serena’s eyes burned into Julian over the top of Katie’s head, giving him the distinct impression that only Katie’s presence in the room had saved him from a knee in the nuts.

With Katie safely back in bed, Julian and Serena sat at the kitchen table nursing a matching pair of brandies.

“Jesus, Julian,” said Serena for the hundredth time. “You told me that you would keep me out of this kind of shit.”

“I don’t know how he tracked us down,” Julian said again.

“It seems pretty obvious to me. You are the weakest link.”

“It’s going to be okay,” said Julian softly. “I’ll talk to him again tomorrow and try to come to a proper arrangement.”

“You heard him. You’re no longer part of the equation.
It’s my painting talent he wants. Not your oh-so-discreet ability to distribute the work. Four paintings through the same auction house, I should have known that was stupid.”

Julian set his jaw.

“You didn’t say so when I brought you the money. You were absolutely fine with that. You can’t seriously be thinking about doing as he asks without me. You need a middleman.”

“What are you thinking, Julian? Do you want to protect me? Or do you still want your cut?”

“You know the answer to that.”

“I think I do. And I suspect it’s not the answer I want.”

“I want to protect you, darling.”

“Well, you haven’t done a very good job of that so far.”

Julian reached across the table for her hand. He picked it up and kissed her fingers. She slapped him away. Tears were gathering in her eyes.

“Don’t even start,” she said.

Serena went to bed alone that night, sending Julian on his own back to the drafty big house next door.

It had been like something out of a film. That Russian guy turning up in his suit and his Bentley with the driver built like a pit bull. And a gun! In her home and in front of her daughter. It could only go badly from here on in. She berated herself over and over for having allowed Julian Trebarwen into her life, into her daughter’s life, for getting involved with him because she was so lonely down there in Cornwall and she needed someone to make her feel desirable again after the end of her marriage. It just wasn’t fair that it should have come to this.

What could she do? Call the police and tell them she
had been a victim of blackmail? But then she would have to explain what she had to be blackmailed about, and who knew what trouble that might bring to her door. It was impossible. Serena sensed that this particular nightmare was only just beginning.

CHAPTER 36

L
izzy was having a bad week. The hangover she earned on her night out with Yasha Suscenko stayed with her for a full twenty-four hours. She knew she had made a fool of herself by drinking so much and thinking that he might make a pass at her. She had called his office to thank him for the dinner, and he had been short with her, claiming he had a long business trip to make and would talk to her later. She had a feeling that Yasha would be dealing with Sarah Jane from now on.

Bloody Sarah Jane. Though she had laughed out loud at the idea that Nat might try something while they were in France, Sarah Jane had, nonetheless, gone to a huge amount of effort to prepare for the business trip. A suspiciously huge amount. One lunchtime, Lizzy walked into the office to find Sarah Jane showing Olivia a bagful of purchases from Fenwick. Two bright new bikinis and a pair of matching pareos. She stuffed them hurriedly back into the bag when Lizzy walked in.

Lizzy tried to be cool about it. “Come on. I want to see them!” she said, all full of girly enthusiasm. “Oh, aren’t they lovely!” She could only imagine how fabulous
Sarah Jane was going to look as she lounged by the pool, and it didn’t cheer her up at all. But Lizzy’s luck was about to change.

Later that day, Lizzy was at her desk, checking for typos in a catalog proof, when she heard the scream. The bloodcurdling noise was followed by very audible panic. There were “oh my Gods” as other people reached the scene of the disaster, even some more screaming. By the time Lizzy got to the gallery, it seemed that the entire staff of the auction house had gathered there in shock and awe.

“Is that Sarah Jane?” someone asked.

All you could see of Sarah Jane was her feet in their fishnet stockings and pointy black heels. It was like that scene in
The Wizard of Oz
where the Wicked Witch of the East is flattened beneath Dorothy’s house, except that Sarah Jane had not been flattened by a house.

“Oh my God!” Nat shouted. “Not the Reynolds!”

Sarah Jane was pinned to the floor beneath a life-size painting of a society lady that the Old Masters department had dubbed “horse face.”

An investigation would have to be made as to why the painting fell off the wall. Thankfully, the damage to the portrait was minimal. Horse-face was a tough old bird, just a few more cracks in the paint. But the damage to Sarah Jane would not be so easily repaired. The edge of the heavy frame had caught her right on the forehead, causing a concussion that meant she would have to be in the hospital overnight at the very least. She’d also jolted her spine, having fallen straight backward under the weight of the canvas. The long-term repercussions of her adventure were unclear and possibly serious.

The short-term repercussions were a cause of great
delight for at least one girl in Ludbrook’s fine art department.

“Don’t you worry for one moment,” said Lizzy, holding Sarah Jane’s hand as she was wheeled out to the ambulance by two paramedics who had been trying and failing to conceal their amusement at the circumstance of the call. “I will step into your place on the Randon presentation and make sure it goes just as well as if you were there yourself.”

Sarah Jane frowned up at her. Her head was held still by a neck brace. “Thanks,” she said. “Thanks a lot.”

Well, it’s an ill wind that blows nobody any good, as they say. Lizzy was in heaven. There was really no danger that Nat would choose to go to France on his own. He was far too lazy for that. He needed someone with him who could take calls and send faxes and make last minute changes to presentations in PowerPoint. Nat was woefully hopeless at PowerPoint. Olivia or Marcus could have done the job, but of course he chose Lizzy.

The moment work ended that evening, Lizzy hit the lingerie department of Fenwick and stocked up. She blew the best part of a month’s rent on French panties and balconette bras, on lacy thongs and a white bikini with gold trim that would not have looked out of place in a Bond movie.

Back at home that evening she lay out her purchases on the bed and regarded them with adoration. The fact that she was only Nat’s second choice of companion for the trip was long since forgotten. She was going to the Cap d’Antibes with the man she loved.

CHAPTER 37

C
arrie Klein had more important things to think about than what she would be wearing by the pool. Mathieu Randon was the most significant potential client Carrie had been asked to pitch to since arriving in London. The night before she flew to France to meet him, she got just four hours’ sleep, working on her presentation until late and getting up early to run through it one more time.

Arriving in Nice around lunchtime, it was as though Carrie had traveled across seasons rather than simply across Europe. She left a gray London for the startling blue sea and sky of the Côte d’Azur. She had swapped the eternal gloom of the United Kingdom for a real summer. If only she were there on holiday.

Randon’s assistant had arranged for a car to meet Carrie at the airport. The driver took the scenic route, following the coast, busy with holidaymakers even though the real start of the season was still a couple of weeks away. Already there was barely room to put a popsicle stick between the brightly colored beach umbrellas that shaded large sun-bathers and small dogs alike. The sea itself was just as busy with swimmers, water-skiers, and yachts that got sleeker and more extravagant the closer they were to the horizon.

Carrie looked out enviously, wishing she were lying on the deck of one of those feeling the sea breeze on her face, rather than in the backseat of a car with the air conditioner on full blast.

After an hour in snail-slow traffic, the car reached the
road that curved up around the Cap. Nice’s gaudy Promenade des Anglais with its Rollerbladers and ice cream sellers and overheated tourists suddenly seemed a million miles away as the driver whisked Carrie on through Antibes. Here was tranquility and exclusivity. Tall pines hid more and more impressive homes from view. The road wound higher and higher until finally the car turned through the big gates of the hotel itself. A uniformed guard touched the brim of his cap and beckoned them inside.

This beautiful hotel, built in the nineteenth century, was one of the world’s most exclusive destinations. As the bellboy dealt with her bags and Carrie checked in for the weekend, she thought about the other guests who had stood on this spot in the past. From Rudolph Valentino to Johnny Depp. Scott and Zelda Fitzgerald. George Bush. It was quite something to be there on business.

Carrie could not suppress her delight as the bellboy showed her to her room. After more than a year of living in a hopelessly bare apartment, this hotel room was such a visual treat, finished as it was with luscious fabrics and well-chosen ornaments. But the room itself was nothing compared to the aspect. Carrie had a beautiful view of the hotel’s manicured park and, in the distance, the sea, azure blue and dotted with beautiful sailboats. She wondered which of the silhouettes on the horizon was Mathieu Randon’s boat.

She threw open the window and breathed in the salty tang of the waves, feeling her heart lift as she filled her lungs. Such a beautiful place. No wonder it was such a popular spot for honeymooners. Carrie watched with not a little envy in her heart as a couple strolled across the lawn.

Her mind wandered to another hotel room in another town. She saw Jed’s tousled blond hair on the pillow at
the Trump Tower. His brown shoulders rising up out of the white sheets. The very thought of it made Carrie’s hand drift to her neck as though to comfort herself for the lack of him. She’d been surprised when she hadn’t heard from him after their night together. He’d seemed so happy to be with her, and yet … It obviously hadn’t meant as much to him as she had thought. For a moment, something like sadness overwhelmed her.

Mathieu Randon had, of course, booked two rooms for Nat Wilde and his assistant. But Lizzy didn’t spend long in the room that had been allocated to her. As she was unpacking her suitcase, Nat called.