The Mistress Page 9

  “I believe Mr. Stanislas wants you to come back now,” he said with emphasis and worried eyes.

  “I won’t be long.” She smiled at him and took another look at herself with the coat. She was concerned it was too bright and Vladimir might not like it, but it was fun and she could see herself wearing it with jeans or over a black dress. She took it off and tried another more traditional one while he conferred with the three bodyguards outside. She could see that they were radioing the boat. And a moment later, he walked into the shop again, carrying his cellphone, and told her Mr. Stanislas was on the phone. She took it from him with a smile, and joked with Vladimir when she heard him at the other end.

  “I promise I won’t spend all your money. I just want a little longer to look around. The shops are so nice here, better than St. Tropez.”

  “Get back here now. When I give you an order, you are to obey my commands.” He had never spoken to her that way before, and she was stunned.

  “What’s happening? Why are you upset?”

  “I don’t owe you explanations. Get back to the tender immediately, or I’ll have them carry you out of the store.” With a shocked look, she thanked the woman for showing her the fur coats, and left the shop. She noticed that the guards were walking unusually close to her, and the first officer was directly in front of her. Clearly something was happening, but she had no idea what.

  She got into the tender at the quai a few minutes later, and there were four security guards waiting for her. The boat was heavier in the water, and lower. She was soaking wet when she walked up the swaying ladder to reach the deck. There were security men lined up along the rail, and five of them followed her inside. It looked like their full complement was out, and there were four more with Vladimir when she found him in his office. He was on the phone and hung up as soon as she walked in, dripping water on a priceless Persian carpet. He nodded, and the security guards left the room.

  “What’s going on?” she asked as she tried to kiss him, and he brushed her off. He seemed distracted and upset.

  He hesitated for a moment and then looked at her. There was something rock hard in his eyes, and a fury she had seen there only once or twice, but never directed at her. And she could see now that he wasn’t angry at her, but at someone else.

  “I’m not going to tell you a lot about it. But I made a very large deal in Moscow in the last week. It has to do with a segment of the mineral industry, and very important territory was awarded to me by the president of Russia. There were three contenders for the land I was allowed to buy. Myself, and two others. I was awarded the land and the mineral rights fairly, and paid a very large sum of money for it. The two men who were in competition with me were murdered this morning, along with their female companions, and one with his oldest son who was in the business with him. And there was an assassination attempt on the president half an hour ago. Whoever is unhappy about this deal means business. We believe we know who it is. It looks like random acts of terrorism, but I think it’s more specific than that. You’re in danger, Natasha, because of me.” He said it clearly and simply and didn’t beat around the bush. He had never explained as much about his business as he just had. “We have a protective system here on the boat, and all the weapons and guards we need to keep us safe, but I don’t want you outdoors at the moment, anywhere on deck, or going ashore. And as soon as the wind dies down, we’ll pull up anchor and go somewhere else. But right now, I want you to do exactly as I say. I don’t want you to get killed.” She didn’t like the sound of the situation, and she looked frightened as she listened. She had never seen him look so intense. “Do you understand?”

  “Yes, I do,” she said softly. She had never before felt at risk. Whatever business he engaged in, it had nothing to do with her. This time, it did. If the female companions of the other two men had been assassinated, they would be gunning for her too. For the very first time, she knew that her life was in danger because of him.

  “I want you out of sight for the next few days. We’re moving to an inside cabin, so there will be no portholes where they can see you. But the electronic devices our enemies use are so sophisticated that they can find you just about anywhere. Hopefully, the Russian intelligence services will find them soon.” His eyes were icier than she had ever seen them, and she could tell that he meant business. She wondered if he was frightened too. But he looked angry more than afraid.

  For the next few days, they remained confined in an inside cabin, and moved around the boat very little. There were two bodyguards with them inside the room, several lining the halls, and a full commando team on deck. The helicopters were being protected, and she overheard that their missile system had been armed, and all the guards were carrying machine guns. She felt as though they had been transported to a war zone, and it was terrifying knowing that she was a target too.

  She was very quiet as she sat in the cabin reading, and glanced over at Vladimir occasionally. He was in constant contact with Russian intelligence and antiterrorist details, and finally after three days, he got a call at four in the morning. Vladimir said very little, and listened, and then spoke in Russian. His questions and responses were curt, but Natasha understood what it meant.

  “How many?…Do you think that’s all of them?…The answer to that is simple…kill them. Now. Don’t wait.” He listened again for several minutes, agreed with whoever he was talking to, and hung up. Natasha didn’t dare ask him any questions, and in the dim light of their night lamp, Vladimir looked murderous as he lay in bed and thought about it. And then Natasha fell asleep. In the morning, the wind had finally died down, and she could feel that they were moving.

  “Where are we going?” she asked Vladimir when he came back into the room. He had gotten up while she was asleep, and had been awake for hours. He looked more peaceful than he had the night before. But Natasha couldn’t get the conversation she’d heard out of her head. He had given the order to have someone killed, probably the people who were after them, but it was upsetting nonetheless. She had never seen this side of him before.

  “Back to Corsica, to stay out of the way for a little while, until everything calms down. The problem is over,” he said quietly, “as of an hour ago, but it’s always good to be sure. And after this we might go to Croatia, Turkey, or Greece. But we might not have to.” He smiled at her then and seemed more like the man she knew, not the frightening stranger she had seen in the past few days. “No shopping for a while. I want you to stay on the boat.” She nodded and went to put on white jeans and a T-shirt and one of the uniform windbreakers the female crew wore on the boat, with the insignia of Princess Marina. It had been a terrifying few days, while Natasha prayed that neither of them would be killed. It brought home to her just how high the stakes were in his new deal, and she wondered if a threat like this was likely to happen again, but she didn’t dare ask him. She didn’t want to upset him further.

  Everything calmed down during the five days they spent in Corsica. Several of the crew members took her fishing, and she went swimming several times a day. Vladimir let her go sunbathing while he stayed in his office, in constant contact with intelligence services and the president of Russia, but a week after it had started, the problem was over.

  Vladimir took her to Portofino, where they went shopping, and he took her to dinner onshore at a simple pasta restaurant in the port that she loved. They kept six bodyguards with them just in case, and she knew that they were armed. And then they went back to the boat. They had moved back into their cabin, and everything appeared normal except that their security guards were still carrying machine guns on the boat—just to be sure, Vladimir explained to her. “We’re not in danger now.” And she knew by then from what she’d overheard that five people in Russia had been killed in retaliation.

  They floated around Portofino for a few days, and all the reports Vladimir got were good, and then they motored back to the South of France. It had been a frightening time. Ten people in all had been killed, the five vi
ctims and their five attackers. She was just grateful that she and Vladimir weren’t among them. But she knew as they reached Antibes that she would never feel totally safe again.

  Chapter 5

  When Gabriel came back to the South of France, he had a surprise for Maylis. He had planned a little trip for them to one of their favorite cities. He wanted to take her to Florence for a week, before the restaurant got too busy during the summer and it got too hot in Italy. June seemed like the perfect month to travel. The only problem for her was that she needed Theo to agree to take her place at Da Lorenzo, and he seemed to be working very hard these days. She had hardly seen him.

  She called Theo as soon as Gabriel told her about the trip, and left it up to him.

  “I’m so sorry to do that to you, I know you hate standing in for me. But I’d feel bad telling Gabriel that I can’t take the trip. Our trips together mean so much to him.”

  “They should mean a lot to you too,” Theo scolded her, and for once he didn’t complain about working at the restaurant for a week. He was secretly hoping that Vladimir and Natasha would come in again. He said nothing about it to his mother, but he accepted willingly. His only caveat was that he was showing two of his paintings with a New York gallery, at the Masterpiece London art fair in late June. They wanted to include his work in their exhibit, although they didn’t represent him, but they might want to in the future. And he wanted to be there to see how they hung his work and the rest of the fair, and make sure his work was well displayed. It was a new gallery for him. He hadn’t signed a contract with them, but he was pleased to show his work with them.

  “I promise we’ll be back in time,” Maylis said when he gave her the dates, and she was very grateful that he was willing to cover for her. And so was Gabriel when she told him the good news. She had bought him a beautiful gold watch at Cartier, to thank him for the painting sale he had negotiated, since he no longer took a commission, and he loved it. He loved everything that Maylis gave him, and as unaware as she sometimes was, singing Lorenzo’s praises, she was nonetheless very generous with him. And Gabriel never complained when she talked about her late husband, since he had loved him too.

  Gabriel went to visit Theo at his studio, and immediately saw the portrait of Natasha on the easel. It was nearly finished, although Theo insisted he still had to add some final touches. It was a remarkable piece of work, and Gabriel concurred with Marc that it was one of his best.

  “I think you’re ready for a show in Paris,” Gabriel said seriously. “In September, I want you to go and see the galleries I recommended to you. There’s no reason to wait.” Theo wasn’t sure but said he’d think about it. He wanted to see how his work did at the London art fair first. “You should exhibit at the Biennale in Venice next year,” Gabriel encouraged him, as he had done for his father so many years before. “You can’t hide your light under a bushel forever. The world needs more artists like you, Theo. Don’t deprive them of your work.” It was a lovely thing to say, and he was such a nice man, brilliantly knowledgeable about the art world, and a far kinder person than Theo’s father had ever been. Theo often reminded his mother how lucky they were to have him in their lives, and she agreed. Although it didn’t stop her from extolling her late husband’s virtues, many of which he’d never had, or her memory had exaggerated to an unreasonable degree. Lorenzo had been a great artist, but never a great man. Theo remembered it more clearly than she did, and Gabriel never said a word in criticism of him. He let Maylis have her fantasies about Lorenzo. He was happy with her, and other than always making him feel like second best, she was good to him too.

  They left on their trip to Florence in high spirits, and Theo took over her place at the restaurant, greeting guests as they came in, and escorting them to their tables before turning them over to the maître d’. And each night he checked the reservation book, hoping to see Vladimir’s name, but the week sped by, and he and Natasha never came in. He wondered if they were on the boat or someplace else, and had no way to know. And he feared that he’d been right, when he last saw her, that he’d never see her again. The portrait was almost finished, and the eyes were perfect now, and had the gentle expression he remembered so well. And her mouth was exactly as it looked, as though she was about to speak. Marc said that just from her portrait, he was falling in love with her too. Theo hadn’t admitted to being in love with her, but acknowledged that he was obsessed, which he insisted was different, and even more uncomfortable than love would have been. But he spoke of his obsession to no one else, only his old friend. He wouldn’t have dared admit it to his mother or she would have told him he was insane, and repeated her earlier warnings about not falling in love with the mistresses of fabulously rich Russian men.

  Theo was happy to be relieved of duty at the restaurant when his mother and Gabriel returned. And he worked on the portrait for a few more days before he left for London. There were several art fairs on at the same time, and he was staying at a small boutique hotel filled with artists and art dealers, and every conversation he heard around him, at the hotel, or on the street, or at the art fair, was about some aspect of art. And he was very pleased when he met the owners of the gallery in New York, whom he’d only corresponded with before, by email. They had hung both of his paintings prominently in their booth, and although he didn’t like it, in his biography they had mentioned that he was the son of Lorenzo Luca. He hated riding on his father’s coattails, but they were in the business of selling art, and it was a positive point for him, and one they wanted to capitalize on as best they could. But whoever’s son he was, his work spoke for itself.

  He was standing just outside their booth on the night of the opening, when he saw a man walk by who seemed familiar, and Theo realized instantly who it was. It was Vladimir, and Natasha was walking just behind him in a micromini black leather skirt, with a gray sweater that looked like it had been torn, and black high heels that showed off her legs. She looked spectacular, with her hair in a knot, and blond tendrils framing her face. She recognized Theo immediately and was surprised to see him there. Vladimir had already walked past without recognizing him.

  “What are you doing here?” she asked, suddenly confused, as Vladimir turned around to look for her, and had no idea who she was talking to. “Are you an artist or just enjoying the fair?” As Theo answered, he could feel himself stumbling over his words.

  “I have some work at the fair.” He didn’t indicate the two paintings that were in plain sight behind him.

  “How interesting,” Natasha said, looking excited about it, as Vladimir beckoned to her. There was a painting he wanted her to see several booths away. “It’s good to see you,” she said, hurrying away. Theo’s heart started to pound as he watched her. He couldn’t believe it, but every time he met her, she turned his world upside down. He was incapable of not reacting to her. It was as though they were joined by an electrical current that shot through him every time.

  He caught a glimpse of her later, far down the same row. She didn’t notice him, and they were leaving, with Vladimir carrying a painting he had bought. Theo was relieved that they hadn’t shown an interest in him, picked up his bio, and discovered who his father was, which would have been embarrassing, since he’d been more or less masquerading as a headwaiter at the restaurant, and never admitted he was Lorenzo’s son. Even when he talked to her for two hours on the boat, he hadn’t told her. But at least she knew he was an artist now. The other thing she didn’t know was that he had been working on a portrait of her night and day since they met, which would have been mortifying. She would have thought he was a lunatic or a pervert of some kind, a stalker. There was no way to explain his fascination with her, or the time he spent thinking about her and wishing he knew her, or the way he felt now, as though someone had ripped his heart out of his chest. He knew he had to get over her, but he had no idea how. Maybe time. Or he could make a career of painting portraits of her. The whole idea of it was ridiculous, and he was still thinking about her
and how she had looked in the leather skirt, as he walked back to his hotel that night.

  He was walking through the lobby with his head down, when he crashed into a young woman and almost knocked her over. She was coming out of the elevator, wearing military boots and a short red skirt, with dyed pink hair and a million-dollar smile. She was a pretty girl, although with what she was wearing, she looked a little like a clown, and he noticed that she had a diamond stud in her nose.

  “Well, hello, you! Aren’t you a sight for sore eyes? Going somewhere—like my room?” she said, eyeing him with a broad smile. He laughed at how bold she was. She was embarrassing but fun, and people around them smiled. “Would you like to go to a party with me?” she asked without hesitation—she was anything but shy. “Italians, Spaniards, a whole bunch of people from Berlin. Where are you from?” She had an aristocratic British accent, but said she lived in New York, since her family was unbearable.

  “St. Paul de Vence,” he answered, more than a little startled by her, “in the South of France.”

  “I know where it is, for heaven’s sake. What planet do you think I’m from?” It was a good question, given how she looked. “I’m Emma, by the way.” And suddenly he realized who she was. Lady Emma Beauchamp Montague. Her father was a viscount. She owned one of the most avant-garde galleries in Chelsea, in New York. He had read about her, but never met her before.

  “Theo.” He shook her hand, and she swept him along, and the next thing he knew, he was on the sidewalk, climbing into a cab with her, while she gave the driver a fashionable address, and turned to chat with Theo again. She talked a million miles an hour, and was very funny, and had him laughing uncontrollably by the time they got out of the cab. He had no idea what he was doing there, and found himself in a palatial house with taxidermy everywhere, including a stuffed lion you practically had to crawl over in the powder room. There were several hundred people, many of whom spoke German, and every European nationality seemed to be represented, along with a large contingent of Americans, and she knew them all. She spent the evening introducing Theo to everyone, and kept him close at hand, until she whispered to him after two hours and asked if he wanted to go back to the hotel and smoke a joint with her. He’d been ready to leave anyway, and the invitation to go back to her room with her definitely had some appeal.