The Da Vinci Deception (4 page)

Jonas's voice became little more than a whisper.

“I detest the word ‘blackmail.' But I like the thought of a very painful and fatal accident even less.”

“H
ere's to Ellie Shepard. May she enjoy fame, fortune, and happiness.” Steve Goldensen downed the champagne in a single swallow. He refilled the tall tulip-shaped glass and raised it as if to make another toast.

“No . . . right words . . . wrong order. Here's to fortune, happiness, and fame. Or should happiness come first? And health, Steve. Shouldn't health be in there someplace?” Ellie asked, a cigarette in one hand, the other holding her champagne.

She giggled as she sipped. Her laughing stopped and she set the glass on the table and stared at it. Even with a frown spreading over her face, Eleanor Shepard was a stunningly beautiful woman. Long auburn hair contrasted with her pale, clear skin and her hazel eyes were flecked with strong green accents. Her lips were full and sensuous. “Oh God, Steve, that sounds horribly selfish. Why can't I say the right words? I came to Washington with such dreams. I'm the gal who was going to be the first female director of the FDA and after three years I've managed to become an expert on analgesics and skin ointments.”

He took her hand to his lips. “Ellie, my sweet, you haven't lost that impetuous drive. You came with a thousand stars in that pretty head and expected Washington bureaucracy to bend to your will. It didn't and it won't . . . not for you or anyone. It's all part of the fabric around here.”

Steve was right. Steve was always right, Ellie thought. She looked at his dark, handsome face.

“But it has to change. This city will cave in from its own flab. If I don't run into sheer incompetency, I crash into idiotic mediocrity and there's mile after mile of both.”

“So you re going to run away from it.”

“No, I'm not running. That's not the way I do things. I was told that if I wanted to make a contribution, I should become involved. To get on
the inside. Well, I've done that. But I've become what's happening on the inside. I've become one of
them,
and I don't like it. All I've learned is how a single piece of this government works—slowly, stupidly, expensively. The waste, Steve. The mountains of paper, the meetings, the endless hearings, the pompous asses.”

“Hey, hold on. If you got rid of all that, you'd put us lawyers out of business.”

“Then they would have to hustle to earn an honest living. Is that so bad?”

“Poor choice of words.”

“I'm sorry if I offended you. I didn't mean you were being dishonest.”

“Of course you didn't. But you're getting all hung up on feeling you must make a contribution. That things have to change. Ellie, it's a lousy system but it's the best there is.”

Ellie snuffed out her cigarette. “Look at me. Three years with the Food and Drug Administration and I'm still smoking.”

“You're changing the subject.”

“I think we should. We're not being very happy right now.”

“I have a happy subject. Let's get married.” He raised his glass. “Now.”

“Steve, I hoped you wouldn't bring that up tonight. I know you love me—”

“Very much.”

“Yes, you love me very much. And I ... I love you, too. But it's not the same kind of very much. Not so I can say yes.”

“How far from saying yes are you?”

“In centimeters? Or how my heart feels? Or the way I think I ought to tingle? You're a fine person, Steve. You're very good-looking, you're bright, we'd make beautiful children, you have a future, but . . .”

“But what?”

“Please don't be offended.” Ellie looked intently at him. “I don't want to be a Jewish Princess and I believe you would want me to be one.”

He slumped back in his chair, his eyes closed. She reached for his hand. “Oh, Steve, you sweet thing. I did it again. Believe me, it isn't a religious thing. I don't care that you're Jewish or Moslem or nothing at all. I know you too well. You'd give so much, I'd be stifled. At sixty I might like it, but not at thirty. Right now I need a lot of independence, the freedom to move and do as I please. Does that mean I'm selfish?”

Steve smiled weakly. “I'll take you home. We still haven't finished
that toast.” They left the hotel and walked in the chilled February air to Steve's car.

Ellie was subleasing a choice apartment in Georgetown, one owned by an undersecretary in the State Department and an old family friend. The Frederick Youngs were completing a year's assignment in Vienna and delighted to have Ellie look after their apartment and the valuable paintings and antiques they had accumulated during thirty years of government service.

Ellie turned the keys in two locks on a thick door, then switched off an intricate alarm system. Steve knew the collection and took a fast inventory, including a Matisse that hung directly over a Queen Anne desk in a small study. “All safe and cozy, the Young Collection has survived another day.”

“It's no joke, Steve. I feel a terrible responsibility and I just know I'm going to forget to do something and come home to find the place in shambles and the paintings gone.”

He caught her by the hand and engulfed her in his arms. He kissed her forehead and cheeks then pressed his lips to hers. His eyes were moist, his voice slightly choked. “I can't help loving you like I do. It's not fair to lose someone because I want to give so much.”

Ellie returned a warm kiss. “There's a split of Mumms in the refrigerator. Let's have a damned good toast and get you and me straightened out.”

“Okay, you're on. I'll meet you in there.” He nodded toward the hall and beyond to Ellie's bedroom.

She looked up and was silent. She ran a finger down his nose and over his lips and chin. “You need a shave,” she whispered. Then her fingers ran across each eyebrow. “I've never made a champagne toast in bed.” She kissed him sweetly, her tongue reached for his. Then she pulled away and started for the bedroom. “Glasses are in the cupboard over the cutting board.”

Steve found a large, white napkin, which he neatly folded over his arm, and set the still uncorked bottle and two glasses on a small, silver tray. He entered the bedroom to find Ellie sitting at the head of the bed, a sheet drawn around her shoulders. Her auburn hair fell against the white bedclothes, a single light on the vanity spread a warm light through the room. He placed the tray on the bed, then sat beside her. She unknotted his tie and slipped it away from his shirt. Then each
fumbled to unbutton the shirt and giggled as four hands tried to loosen a single button. The sheet fell away from her shoulders and he tenderly rubbed her swelling nipples. He leaned forward and kissed her on the mouth and then across her neck. Then, slowly, his tongue caressed the tips of her breasts. He straightened and kissed her firmly on the lips.

“Shall we have that toast before the champagne is as warm as you?” Ellie said brightly.

“Not while I'm fully dressed. I'm still wearing my socks.”

She reached down and pulled off his socks, ran her hands up his legs, across the thighs, then with both hands cupped his penis and gently rubbed it. She pulled away, pointing to the champagne. “First things first.”

Steve fussed with the cork and forced it free. A loud pop was followed by a gushing of the champagne, which sprayed over them. They looked at each other and laughed, their eyes glistening. “It's only a little bottle, darling, we can't waste it.” She nestled closer and licked his chest.

Ellie took her glass and held it in both hands, staring at the bubbles rising to the surface. Her smile disappeared. “Oh, cripes, Steve, the toast. I still don't know what to say.”

“Why not keep it simple? No great pronouncements . . . no promises. How about the simplest of all: ‘Here's to us . . . if it's to be . . . let it be.'”

“Would that make you happy?”

“Right now I want you happy. I'll just take a big dose of patience and wait it out.”

“That's sweet, and thank you.” She made her glass touch his. “Here's to us. If it's to be . . . let it be.”

With their eyes fixed on each others, they drank. For an hour they were lost in their love, each giving to the other unselfishly. Their passion was intense, their lovemaking bold and beautifully sincere. He could make her tingle, and she was carried to an ecstasy of pleasure when his tongue flicked across her taut stomach then slowly moved down to her rhythmically pulsating groin and stopped to dwell on the tiny, hidden erection of flesh. His tongue caressed it, sending shudders of total pleasure throughout her body. She felt it everywhere but would not let it enter her heart. She feared that and didn't want to undo a commitment made in the euphoria of their lovemaking.

At the end they lay close together, their hands clasped tightly, their lips silent.

Ellie interrupted the stillness, turning first to kiss Steve, then rolling off the bed onto her feet. She wrapped herself in a pink-and-white dressing gown and, sitting at the vanity, brushed her hair until it glistened.

“Steve, do you have any friends in Italy?”

“What an incredible coincidence . . . how did you know I was lying here thinking of all my Italian friends?”

“I'm perfectly serious, silly monkey. Do you?”

“I know a few guys from State stationed in Rome. Stuart Larson went over on a special assignment for Agriculture. Old Stu's been studying the Italian wine industry. Call that tough duty?”

“Where's he located?”

“I don't know. Probably travels all over the country. Why the sudden interest in Italy?”

“It's not so sudden. I haven't mentioned this before because it didn't matter then. Now it does. If I make some coffee, will you let me tell you what it's all about?”

“Now who's the silly monkey. Of course.”

Ellie entered the kitchen, set a kettle on the range, and spooned coffee into an old drip coffeemaker.

They sat at a small table, and after taking several sips of the hot coffee, Ellie's expression turned somber, and without looking up she said, “I haven't told you anything about this because when it happened, it seemed so strange I didn't think it was real. Well, it's real, all right. Very real.

“The Youngs are great art collectors, and they've taken me to the galleries and introduced me to their friends who are really into collecting and that sort of thing. Just before they left for Vienna we went to the National Gallery for a patrons' reception. There were two lecturers and one of them fascinated me. His subject was the Renaissance masters; painters like Raphael and Leonardo and Michelangelo.”

“I recognize the names,” Steve said smugly. “Did you learn anything?”

“Some. The little-known things about the great painters and the times they lived in. But the man who spoke was . . . well, he was fabulous.”

“Should I be jealous?”

“Let me describe him. He's enormous; over six feet and must weigh three hundred pounds. He has squinty eyes, thick glasses—probably terribly nearsighted—and a funny mouth. When he smiles, it goes like
this.” Ellie's mouth formed a little “O.” “His name is Jonas Kalem, and if this Jonas had met the whale, I'm not sure who would have swallowed whom.

“I was introduced after the talk and he started grilling me about my background and my education—”

“Ah, now I become jealous.”

“He was perfectly charming,” Ellie teased. “When he discovered I had a masters in chemistry and wasn't overjoyed with the FDA, he invited me to have a drink.”

“The plot thickens. Did you fall in love right away?”

“You have a one-track mind. When we left the gallery, I found we were a threesome. I figured the newcomer was an assistant of some kind. His name is Tony Waters. Now, Tony you could be a little jealous over. He's English and good looking in a menacing way. He'll attract a lot of women but he's definitely not my type. So the three of us went to the bar in the Hay-Adams and Jonas asked three thousand more questions about me and my background and what I want to do and how much money I want to earn. Then he said he might have a position for me, but it would be in Italy and I would have to live there for as long as a year.

“He asked me to think it over and invited me to New York a week later. I had some shopping I wanted to do up there and decided to have one more talk.”

“So you went to New York and fell in love with Tony Waters.”

“I told you he was not my type. Jonas has the most incredibly strange and beautiful office I've ever seen. He's an art dealer and runs a commercial art studio and has branches in London and Paris. He told me about the assignment . . . he needs someone who can analyze ancient paper and ink and trace their origins.”

“Origins to what?”

“He didn't really get into that. I guess that in his work he needs to know about these things. It's like a research assignment and you know that I'm good at sticking my nose into strange places. And he did say that it's all very hush-hush. I'm not supposed to be telling you about it.”

“Why the mystery? He wants you to leave a perfectly sound position in Washington and go off looking for old pieces of paper without knowing why or what it's all about?”

“For God's sake, Steve, I am not leaving a sound position—it's a stupid one, and I hate it. If this man wants me to find old pieces of paper
and study how inks were made hundreds of years ago, then I believe there is a real purpose in doing it. The idea of living in Italy is exciting, and I think I will be doing something more important than trying to prove that six million aspirin tablets will give a poor little mouse thrombosis of the colon.”