“I got a message we’re all having dinner,” she said when he answered.
“Yes. Eight o’clock at Mark’s Club. I chose it because of Laurie. It’s such an easy place for a wheelchair.”
“I like Mark’s anyway. How was he, Malcolm? Did he agree to a meeting at four?”
“He did, yes, but later, at five. He doesn’t know why I want to see him. Actually, I asked him for dinner first.”
“Don’t sound so worried. It’s going to be fine. Just tell him, be confident, firm, and don’t stand for any nonsense.”
Malcolm chuckled. “You keep saying that, but who better than you knows what a bloody tough customer he can be, and argumentative.”
“Forget that. Forget it’s Marius, your mentor. He is after all just another man. Tell him straight to his face that you’re marrying Laurie, and that’s that.”
“Yes, sir, by your command, sir. And for now, goodbye, sir.”
“Goodbye, Malcolm,” she said, laughter in her voice, and hung up the phone.
Eyeing her sister’s message, she thought about her for a few seconds and then called her back. “Hi, little one, how are you?”
“I’m great. Fine, Annette. And very happy. I’m glad we’re having dinner tonight, and that Marius was able to join us, that he’ll be back from Cirencester in time.”
“He’s gone to Cirencester?” Annette couldn’t keep the surprise out of her voice.
“Yes, he told Malcolm, who called him on his mobile. Apparently Marius was on the way to Gloucestershire to see a client.”
“Well, he does have several there. Anyway, I just wanted to tell you that Chris understood everything Carlton was saying about the Cézanne, and he’s taking it back to Knowle Court this afternoon. It seems he doesn’t want to destroy it, but instead he’s going to keep it. His prerogative of course. It does belong to him.”
“That doesn’t matter, does it? He can’t very well sell it, not the way it’s so badly smudged with black soot, and there’s no provenance.”
“That’s everything I pointed out to him, and to Carlton, who seemed a bit put out. He wants that painting dead and gone.”
“But he’s like that, Annette, a bit of a stickler for . . . law and order and all that jazz.”
“I know. So I’ll see you tonight, darling.”
“You will, and you’ll also see my engagement ring. It’s an emerald. Malcolm gave it to me last night.”
“I’m so happy for you, Laurie, really and truly happy. You deserve a good man like Malcolm, someone to look after you.”
“I can look after myself, thank you very much, that’s how you brought me up . . . to be my own woman and a strong one at that.”
After dropping Annette at her office, Jack had returned to his apartment in Primrose Hill. He was very hungry, and the first thing he did was make himself a smoked salmon sandwich and a cup of coffee. As he sat eating it, watching the news on CNN, he thought about the woman he had just left.
He had longed to ask her to have lunch with him, but had suddenly decided against doing so. She had been a bit standoffish in the cab, so he had retreated into himself a little, chatting to her intermittently, not saying too much, keep it strictly business.
No, not standoffish, he now thought. Wrong terminology. She was . . . cool. Very cool indeed. And calm. And collected. Absolutely in control of herself. Very self-possessed.
He sighed under his breath. He felt just the opposite; his emotions were running amok. Imagine, he had only met her twice in his life, and yet she was dominating his thoughts. He wanted to be with her, to spend time with her, to get to know her better. And to possess her. His physical attraction to her yesterday had so startled him he had been thrown off balance, although he had endeavored not to show it.
He felt like a schoolboy with an overwhelming crush. But he wasn’t a schoolboy. He was almost thirty years old and experienced, had been with enough women to know that the first rush of heat, that overwhelming feeling of sexual desire and passion, gradually began to lessen, and sometimes rather swiftly.
Not this time, he thought. No, not this time. Not at all. Because I’ve never actually felt exactly like this before. Not ever. Not with the two fiancées. Not with Lucy.
Oh, God. Lucy. He hadn’t called her. He’d forgotten again. That ought to tell him something about himself, his feelings for Lucy. And also for Annette. His preoccupation with her over the last twenty-four hours had truly fouled up his head, hadn’t it?
Turning off the television, he took the plate and mug to the kitchen and went back to his desk, sat staring at his laptop screen for a few minutes.
Finally, he sent Lucy an e-mail explaining how busy he was, and promising to phone her at the end of the afternoon, and then he clicked onto Google to gather some information about Laurie Watson, Annette’s sister.
She popped up immediately, and he looked harder at the screen, doing a double take, leaning forward when her photograph suddenly appeared. My God, she was a real knockout. Incredibly beautiful, with shining red-gold hair, an exquisite face, and large green eyes. She had a slight look of Annette, but that was all, and they were very different types altogether.
The caption told him the photograph had been taken at Sotheby’s, on the night of the auction. Annette was standing next to Laurie, who was seated in a wheelchair and fashionably dressed in a beautiful gown, well turned out.
As he gazed at Annette’s image, he noticed she was more simply put together than her younger sibling, wore a suit and a minimum of jewelry, just a single string of pearls and pearl earrings. Conservative, understated, elegant, and a little reminiscent of . . . who? Now who did Annette remind him of in this photograph taken in March?
Her blond hair was swept back in a chignon, and her blue eyes looked even more vivid under her dark brows. Her expression was . . . enigmatic. The wheat-colored suit and pearls spelled class to him. Of course. Now he had it. She had a look of Grace Kelly . . . in To Catch a Thief. His favorite old movie, all sea and sky and the south of France. Witty, sophisticated Cary Grant and lovely Grace in that masterpiece by Hitchcock, which was as viable today as it had been in the fifties.
After a few seconds, he clicked off Google and went to other search engines, looking for information about Annette Remmington and Laurie Watson. He could not find anything other than those interviews given on the evening of the Rembrandt auction, and a few lead-up stories which had been carried earlier in the year.
Well, she had told him that, hadn’t she? Had explained that she didn’t do interviews because there had never been anything to interview her about. “The Rembrandt auction is my sole claim to fame,” she had muttered the other day in her office. And he realized this was the truth. Until Christopher Delaware had fortuitously brought the painting to her, she had merely been a successful private art dealer, not a star in the art world.
Clearing the screen, he began to type up the bits and pieces of information he had gathered earlier that day at Carlton Fraser’s house, and in the time they had spent alone afterward. Once he had done this, he began to formulate his ideas about the profile he had to write over the weekend, in order to meet his deadline for the London Sunday Times. Once this was completed, he began to work on the outline for his much longer piece for the Sunday New York Times Magazine.
When the telephone suddenly shrilled, he jerked his head toward it, momentarily startled, so concentrated was he.
“Hullo? Jack Chalmers.”
“Jack, it’s Annette.”
“Oh,” he said, startled. He quickly recouped and asked, “Is everything all right?” And immediately felt like kicking himself. What a stupid thing to say to her.
“Yes, everything’s fine. But I’ve just had a thought about the interview tomorrow. I was wondering if you would like to see the two pieces which will be the ‘star’ items in the new auction I’m planning?”
“Well, yes! My God, I certainly would!”
“In that case, could you come to the flat? Tha
t’s where I have the sculptures.”
“Sculptures. Who are they by?”
“You’ll see.” She hesitated, then murmured, “I want to surprise you. Let me give you my address in Eaton Square.”
“Go ahead, I’m at my desk.”
Once she had given him the address, she said, “The same time we arranged. At noon tomorrow. Is that all right?”
“Yes, yes. And lunch afterward. Okay?”
“That would be very nice. See you tomorrow. Bye.”
She had hung up before he could respond. He sat back in his chair, realizing he was going to get the news before anyone else. Just as Tommy had said he would. He was pleased about this. It would make a wonderful lead-in, and now he must rearrange his thoughts about the first part of his profile. And select a nice restaurant near Eaton Square for their lunch. That was easy, no problem at all.
The phone rang again, and he grabbed it. “Jack Chalmers.”
“Hi, Jack,” his brother said. “About tonight, do you mind if my producer Tony Lund comes to dinner with us?”
“Does he have to?”
“Sort of. He just flew in from the Coast the other day, and although I’ve had a couple of meetings with him, I keep promising him dinner. He picked tonight. He’s off to Paris tomorrow.”
“It’s all right, I don’t mind. Anyway Tony Lund’s a talented guy. I’d like to meet him.”
“Great. Eight o’clock. At Harry’s Bar.”
“Harry’s Bar! We are getting fancy, aren’t we?”
“That’s where he wants to go. Good thing Dad made me a member two years ago.”
“Let’s face it, the food’s great and it’s sort of jazzy, and I promise I’ll wear a tie.”
Kyle laughed. “Listen, how did the moving go? Did you get the trunk out?”
“No, I’ll be taking everything away this weekend. I got interrupted this morning, I’m afraid.”
“Okay. I’ve gotta go. See you later.”
“Great, Kyle.” Jack hung up and dialed his agent’s number. He had the urge to tell Tommy how right he had been, and that Annette was showing him the prize pieces of her next auction tomorrow. He was not merely getting the information but also a preview.
Twenty-two
“Why didn’t you tell me?” Marius bellowed from the doorway of her dressing room. She was sitting at the dressing table wearing a robe, and she jumped in surprise, immediately swung around, and stared at him. She had not heard him come into the flat, and she was startled by his sudden arrival and angry tone.
“Because Malcolm wanted to tell you himself,” she shot back swiftly, “and that’s why he came to see you today. I’m presuming he did so, that he didn’t announce his engagement to Laurie over the phone.”
“I saw him a short while ago. And to say I was stunned by the news would be the understatement of the year. I was bloody flabbergasted, actually stupefied, for a moment or two. I just couldn’t believe I was hearing correctly. And—”
“Why are you so upset?”
“What a question to ask me! You, of all people!” he exclaimed, anger still echoing in his voice. “It’s so ridiculous, these two getting married. What sort of life are they going to have together? Not a very good one, if you want my opinion. Laurie’s in a wheelchair, a paraplegic, and Malcolm’s a normal, heterosexual man with quite a taste for women, and the owner of a highly successful business, where high-powered entertaining is essential. No, it’s not going to work, I’m certain of that,” he asserted, leaning against the door jamb, staring at her balefully. “They’re ill suited.”
Annette gazed back, her face cold. “So what you’re saying is that Laurie is inadequate as a woman, because she’s a paraplegic, and that she won’t make him a good wife.”
When he did not immediately reply, Annette went on, “Actually, what you’re saying is that she’s not good enough for Malcolm Stevens, your protégé, who owns the Remmington Gallery, which you started, and which he has made even more famous than it ever was under your aegis, if the truth be known.”
Marius gaped at her, taken aback, suddenly aware of the steel in her tone, her icy blue eyes, recognizing that he was treading on dangerous ground. Instantly tempering his voice, he responded in a quieter tone, “You’ve taken offense, when I didn’t mean any. I love Laurie, you know that, and I’ve always looked after her, been conscious of my responsibilities. But let’s be honest about this situation, Annette. She has her limitations. As a wife.”
Inside Annette was enraged, furious with Marius, but she kept her expression neutral, her voice even when she answered him. “Are you referring to their sex life?” she asked, a brow lifting sardonically.
“Of course I am. Malcolm’s forty-two, healthy, virile, attractive, something of a man about town, in a quiet sort of way. I don’t want to see Laurie get hurt, also I—”
“Malcolm’s not going to hurt her,” she cut in peremptorily. “He loves her, is in love with her. And in any case, Laurie is quite capable of having intercourse, and has been for years. In fact, she had a relationship three years ago with Douglas Brentwood, and he also wanted to marry her. She broke up with him because she wasn’t in love with him. But she is in love with Malcolm.”
Marius was suddenly looking utterly bewildered, and he straightened up against the door, a quizzical look entering his eyes. “Laurie can have sex?” Still puzzled, he frowned, shook his head in apparent disbelief.
“Yes, she can, and she enjoys it, too.” Annette suppressed a smile; she had been unable to resist making that last comment.
“I never knew that,” he muttered almost to himself. “I never equated Laurie with sex.”
“I didn’t think it necessary to tell you, or to discuss it with you, or anyone else. And Laurie wanted her privacy. Insisted on it. Furthermore, she’s a bit shy, as you well know. I can hardly see her discussing her sex life with you. You’re a man.”
“I see.” Recovering slightly, he went on, “But look here, Annette, let’s be sensible, practical. Sex isn’t enough to make a marriage work. What about children, bringing up a family? Then there’s the entertaining and traveling. It can all be very stressful, and it can wear anyone out, never mind a woman in a . . . I mean a woman who is handicapped.”
Annette did not speak for a moment. She gave Marius a thoughtful look, and finally said in an acerbic tone, “Obviously Malcolm didn’t tell you that Laurie is six weeks pregnant.”
“Pregnant,” Marius repeated and sat down heavily in the chair near the door. “Laurie’s pregnant?”
“Very much so, and they are planning to have the wedding in July. Furthermore, they are both thrilled.”
Marius didn’t respond. He closed his eyes for a moment and began muttering to himself.
“I didn’t hear you, Marius,” Annette exclaimed. “What did you say?”
Opening his eyes, he glared at her. “I said she could have an abortion.”
Holding herself very still, drawing on every ounce of her bred-in-the-bone self-possession, Annette said slowly, very precisely, in a steady voice, “No, Marius. Laurie is not going to get an abortion. She and Malcolm want this baby, and they are going to have it. And they are going to be married this summer . . . before the baby is born. Because Malcolm, in particular, wants that.”
Marius went on gaping at her, seemed befuddled, at a loss for words, and then he leaned back in the chair and closed his eyes.
After a moment or two, Annette stood up, went over to him, shook his arm. “Marius, sit up and listen to me.”
He was unresponsive. She shook him harder and cried, “I will not permit you to interfere in their lives! And they won’t allow it either. Malcolm came to speak to you out of good manners. It was a courtesy. Because very frankly, they don’t give a damn what you think or what you want. Nor are they interested in anyone else’s opinion. They’re grown-ups, Marius.”
“Yes, I know that,” he murmured as he opened his eyes. “Not that they are behaving like adults.”
&
nbsp; Walking back to the chair in front of her dressing table, Annette sat down, studying him as she looked across the room. At last she said in a voice dripping ice, “You have always run my life, manipulated me, and controlled me as much as you could. For years people have said you’re my Svengali, but I’ve ignored that, dismissed it, paid no attention. After all, I chose to remain with you, to share your life. But if you interfere in any way with Malcolm and Laurie’s marriage, I promise you now that I will leave you.”
He threw back his head and roared with laughter. “Leave me,” he spluttered a second later. “You know damn well you’ll never leave me.” His voice was full of self-assurance.
Annette was silent, knowing he spoke the truth. He knew far too much about her painful past, the trouble she had been in, what she had done. She was caught in a trap of her own making. She had confessed to him.
Marius finally said, “Come on, darling, let’s not fight about these two ridiculous people. They’re idiots, and you and I—”
“They’re not idiots!” she snapped. “They are two people I care about, who are madly in love, having a child and planning a wedding. They are fully in charge of themselves and their lives, and that’s the way it’s going to be. And you’re going to accept that, or otherwise you and I will no longer have the same kind of relationship. I promise you that.”
“You can never leave me,” he said in a threatening tone.
“I know. We can share a flat but we don’t necessarily have to share a life.”
Although Marius knew that his hold over her was unbreakable, and that she would not, in fact, ever leave him, he was also aware that over the years she had developed a will of iron. She was not only intelligent, ambitious, and a relentless workaholic, but also determined, strong, and decisive. And often made many decisions he did not always agree with. However, he had not fought her. Long ago he had recognized that he must give her space if their marriage was to remain loving, sexual, and intrinsically warm. Now, at this moment, he understood that she would fight to the death to give Laurie what she most desired. He could not compete with her baby sister when it came to an issue such as this.
Playing the Game Page 19
