‘Aren’t you always,’ retorted Kevin. ‘I want to talk to you,’ he added, drawing Rick to one side.
The auburn-haired girl began to chat to Cressida about the use of oil paints and how all her creative talent vanished if she had to use any other medium. Cressida listened with half an ear, nodding and giving the occasional encouraging comment, while at the same time trying to hear what Kevin was saying to Rick. All she managed to grasp were small fragments that meant nothing on their own but were enough to arouse her curiosity.
‘I told you it was difficult,’ Kevin said at one point. ‘You should have let me do it.’
Rick muttered something that Cressida couldn’t hear and Kevin gave a harsh laugh that wasn’t a laugh. ‘You mean you wanted the money for yourself.’
Again Rick’s voice was pitched too low for Cressida’s ears but she could tell that Kevin was getting annoyed. ‘Doesn’t he trust anyone else?’ he demanded loudly. ‘What’s so special about you, apart from the fact that you like painting women in chains? Anyone can copy a –’
‘What do you think?’ asked the auburn-haired girl.
Cressida blinked. ‘Sorry?’
‘Do you think I should carry on as I am, or should I give in and try my hand at watercolours?’
‘Watercolours do very well at the gallery,’ said Cressida without thinking.
She knew the moment the words were out that she’d made a terrible mistake. Rick spun round to look at her and Kevin’s head turned sharply in her direction. ‘You’re not another of Guy Cronje’s protégées are you?’ he asked with a sneer.
‘Guy who?’ asked Cressida, playing for time.
‘Cronje, the chap who thinks the sun shines out of Rick’s backside.’
‘I’m afraid I don’t know anything about Guy Cronje,’ said Cressida.
‘But I heard you say that watercolours sell well in the gallery. I thought you were a poet.’
Cressida was sweating. The room was hot and she’d made a big mistake, especially as far as Rick was concerned. Her mind raced as she tried to think of a way out of the mess. ‘I didn’t say I was a professional poet,’ she reminded the angry-looking Kevin. ‘I work in an arts centre. We sell all kinds of things from doughcraft to watercolours, all by local artists. We even sell copies of works by members of our local writers’ group, so none of it’s very high powered. Why? What does it matter what I do?’
She forced herself to sound aggressive, and Kevin immediately backed down. ‘Sorry, no, you’re right, it doesn’t. The truth is, I’m trying to make contact with Guy Cronje. I think I could help him make a lot of money and Rick knows how I feel. If he’d even got himself a girlfriend through the gallery I –’
‘You’d what?’ demanded Cressida. ‘Ask us to leave?’
The auburn-haired girl laughed. ‘You tell him! He’s got a real chip on his shoulder because the one time he showed his work to Guy Cronje he was told he wasn’t good enough.’
‘But that was my own work,’ said Kevin ‘I’m good at reproductions.’
Cressida felt the hairs on the back of her neck prickle. Clearly Kevin knew a great deal about Guy Cronje and what went on at the gallery, and equally clearly he didn’t know that this was something he was meant to keep secret.
‘At our art centre we sell bought in reproductions of famous paintings,’ she said casually. ‘Does this Guy prefer to pay artists to do the same thing? I’d have thought that would be very expensive. Prints are cheap. We make a good profit on them.’
Kevin laughed. ‘We aren’t talking about your usual Monet landscape reproduction here! No, what Guy wants are people who can –’
‘Cressida isn’t interested in what Guy wants,’ interrupted Rick, taking hold of Cressida’s arm and starting to steer her away from Kevin. ‘This is meant to be a party. I don’t want to talk about work all the time.’
‘You usually do,’ said the auburn-haired girl. ‘We have to listen to all your angst about artist’s block and how you can’t get a girl who’s different enough to inspire your next piece of erotica. Why shouldn’t Kevin have his say for once?’
‘I am quite interested, Rick,’ said Cressida. ‘It’s always good to get new ideas from people and as our centre isn’t doing that well Kevin might be able to give me some hints.’
‘I’m surprised Rick hasn’t introduced you to his mentor,’ said Kevin. ‘Maybe he’s afraid Guy would steal you away from him. He’s not only a very sharp businessman, he’s also an inveterate womaniser. Isn’t that right, Rick?’
Rick was clearly angry. He put his hand on Cressida’s arm and pulled her towards the door. ‘I don’t much like your attitude tonight, Kevin,’ he said shortly, with none of his usual amiability. ‘I think Cressida and I could have more fun on our own. Come on, Cressida, let’s go back to my place.’
Cressida didn’t like to refuse, but she wished that she’d had just a few minutes alone with Kevin so that he could finish his description of the kind of artists Guy wanted. However, she couldn’t afford to antagonise Rick at this stage or she’d never get the chance to meet up with Kevin again, so she gave him and his girlfriend a rueful smile and left with Rick.
Once they were outside Rick rounded on her. ‘You certainly know how to make things difficult. I told you not to mention you worked at the gallery and then you have to start talking about what you do there.’
‘I’m sorry,’ said Cressida, with what she hoped was the right amount of humility in her voice. ‘It just came out. I’m not used to deceiving people and I didn’t realise it was such a big deal.’
Rick’s face softened. ‘No, I’m the one who should be sorry. You’re one of the most honest people I’ve ever met, and I shouldn’t have put you in that position. I can’t explain, but Guy’s very protective of his business and Kevin’s been really difficult, pestering him to take him on in some capacity or other.’
‘He’s certainly on the wrong track with reproductions,’ said Cressida lightly. ‘I should know. I sell enough prints. I suppose there might be a market for paintings that look like the real thing though. You know, the nouveau riche trying to build up an “old” family art collection that’s really all fakes, that kind of thing.’
‘Guy wouldn’t be interested in that. He loves art. He’d see it as a form of prostitution to encourage people in a deceit of that scale,’ said Rick fervently.
‘I’m sure you’re right,’ agreed Cressida as they drove towards Rick’s house. Privately she thought Rick was turning out to be less than astute when it came to summing people up.
Much later that night, when Rick had returned her home after some more passionate lovemaking in his attic, Cressida made a phone call to Detective Chief Inspector Williams and told him all she’d learnt.
‘Well, that clinches it,’ said her chief with satisfaction. ‘All we have to do now is catch him. Be careful, Cressida. If he ever learns there’s a spy in the gallery he could turn very nasty. You’ll be safer if you can get him interested in you in another way, if you take my meaning. At least until we’re sure we’ve got him cornered.’
‘I’ll see what I can do,’ promised Cressida.
In bed that night she remembered her superior’s comment and shivered beneath the duvet. She had a feeling that if she ever did get involved with Guy Cronje in a sexual way then her life might never be the same again.
Chapter Seven
THE FOLLOWING MONDAY was a strange day at the gallery. Cressida, her mind full of what Kevin had said at the party on the Saturday evening, longed for a chance to go through the files in Marcia’s office again, but she couldn’t think how to create an opportunity for herself.
Leonora, who turned up for work in a pair of palazzo pants and a white halterneck top which left nothing to the imagination, started the day in a good temper for once. When Guy arrived with Marcia, Leonora positively sparkled and Cressida was fascinated by the change in the girl. Guy, however, looked to be in anything but a sparkling frame of mind, and when Leonora got no
response she quickly retreated into her more familiar mood of apathetic silence.
Cressida watched Guy prowling around the rooms, restlessly fingering the pictures, readjusting them, changing the arrangements and generally seething with nervous energy. He also jumped every time the phone or the bell over the door went and Cressida wondered who or what he was waiting for.
After lunch she tried to draw Leonora out because the atmosphere was getting her down and for once there was little work to keep her occupied. ‘How did your dinner party go – the one with your stepmother and the friend of your father?’ she asked. ‘Was it grim?’
To her surprise Leonora turned her head and glared at her. ‘No, it wasn’t grim. Why should you think that?’
‘Well, you weren’t looking forward to it much on Friday afternoon,’ Cressida pointed out. ‘You said that you and Piers were missing a party just to keep your stepmother sweet.’
‘Did I?’ Leonora appeared to have forgotten all that. ‘Actually it was a great evening. One of the best I’ve ever had.’
Cressida laughed. ‘Your father’s friend must have been rather special!’
‘He was,’ said Leonora softly. ‘He was very special indeed.’ As she spoke she glanced down the gallery to where Guy was standing with a framed painting in his hand, looking as though he’d like to throw it on a bonfire.
‘It wasn’t Guy, was it?’ asked Cressida curiously.
‘Of course it wasn’t!’ protested Leonora furiously. ‘What a stupid thing to say.’
‘Sorry, but I know he’s acquainted with your father and –’
‘How do you know?’ demanded Leonora, her cheeks pink.
‘Because Marcia told me,’ said Cressida calmly, acutely aware that Chief Inspector Williams had told her as well. ‘That’s why you’re working here, isn’t it?’
‘Oh, well, yes I suppose it is,’ agreed Leonora, but it was plain she didn’t want to continue talking to Cressida any more and for the first time ever she went and picked up a catalogue and started studying it without being asked.
Cressida’s intuition told her that Leonora was lying. She felt certain that Guy had been the visitor on the Friday night, but why Leonora should have denied it, or enjoyed herself so much, was a mystery. She was still thinking about this when the phone went. ‘Is Guy there?’ asked a well-spoken woman.
‘I’m not sure,’ hedged Cressida, who knew that Guy hated taking unexpected calls. ‘I’ll see if he’s left yet. Who shall I say is calling?’
‘Lady Alice Summers,’ replied the woman.
Cressida realised that this must be the widow of the man whose fake pictures had sparked off the investigation and she took a few seconds to compose herself before putting the receiver down on the table and walking over to Guy.
‘There’s a Lady Alice Summers on the phone,’ she said quietly. ‘Do you want to speak to her?’
Guy’s eyes flickered with amusement. ‘How very tactfully you put that, Cressida! Yes, I think I do. Would you mind putting it through to the office for me, please.’
Cressida did as he asked. She desperately wanted to stay on the line and listen to the conversation, but it was too risky with Leonora sitting close by. Also, she wasn’t sure whether or not a light on the consul in the office would give her away if she didn’t replace her receiver. It was very frustrating to see the line engaged for the next twenty minutes but have no idea what the two were talking about, and she decided to mention a possible phone bug to her chief when she next rang him.
Soon after the call ended, Guy left the gallery. He didn’t look at Leonora but gave Cressida a warm smile. ‘Marcia and I are planning a little party later in the week. You and Rick must come,’ he said casually.
‘That would be lovely,’ said Cressida. ‘You ought to check with Rick though. He might want to bring someone else.’
‘No he won’t, because I want him to bring you,’ said Guy as he walked out of the door.
Leonora watched him go and promptly burst into tears. Cressida stared at her. ‘Whatever’s the matter?’
‘Nothing!’ shouted Leonora. ‘I’m going home, and if Marcia wants to know why, tell her I’ve got depression brought on by boredom.’ Grabbing her things she marched out into the street, leaving Cressida totally alone and thoroughly confused.
Luckily Marcia didn’t show herself at all until 5.30 and then she seemed to assume that Leonora had just left. ‘I’m sorry Polly still isn’t well,’ she said to Cressida. ‘Are you managing all right?’
‘Yes, luckily it wasn’t too busy today so I think we caught up.’
Marcia smiled. ‘That’s good. You know, Cressida, you’re probably the best assistant we’ve had here. You get so much done but never seem to be in the way. In fact, I often forget you’re here at all. With your knack of blending into the background you’d make a good spy!’ She laughed.
‘I don’t think I would,’ retorted Cressida. ‘I’m not devious enough.’
‘Doing anything interesting this evening?’ enquired Marcia, watching Cressida tidy her desk ready for the next morning.
Cressida remembered that she was meeting Tom, and her stomach clenched with nerves. If they were seen it could mean the end of everything, just at a really vital point in the operation. ‘No,’ she said nonchalantly. ‘I think I’ll have an early night. I’m still tired from the party Rick and I went to on Saturday.’
‘I can imagine!’ said Marcia with a knowing look in her eye.
As soon as Cressida had left the gallery, Marcia picked up the telephone. She didn’t know why, but she was uneasy about Cressida and the sooner Guy knew this the better. They couldn’t afford to have anyone working for them they didn’t trust, and it seemed to her that Cressida was simply too perfect.
Unaware of her employer’s doubts, Cressida hurried home, had a quick bath and then changed into a light blue belted jersey top which she wore over clinging navy leggings. She was so used to having to look good all the time now that without thinking she re-applied her make-up carefully and then sprayed herself liberally with Esteé Lauder’s Cinnibar.
She didn’t realise how much difference these small changes had made until she saw Tom’s face when she arrived at the Indian restaurant. He leapt to his feet with far more than his usual enthusiasm and hurried to pull out her chair for her.
‘You look great!’ he said admiringly.
‘Thanks, but –’ She stopped. It would hardly be tactful to tell him that she hadn’t made that much effort for him.
They both ordered and Tom told Cressida about his work until the food arrived. Then, once they were eating, he started pressing her for information about the gallery. ‘Are you getting anywhere?’ he asked.
‘Yes, I think I am. I’m quite sure Williams is right. There’s something going on there, some kind of fraud, but I haven’t yet managed to get close enough to a picture that’s being cleaned to find out what,’ she said quietly.
Tom’s face darkened. ‘You’ve got close enough to that artist chap though, haven’t you?’
‘I’m going out with Rick Marks, yes,’ replied Cressida carefully. ‘It’s my best chance of being accepted by Guy and Marcia, and until that happens I won’t make any more progress.’
‘What’s he like in bed?’ asked Tom sharply.
Cressida looked down at her plate. ‘Tom, I really don’t think we should be discussing this. We’re not even meant to meet, it’s thoroughly unprofessional.’
‘Is it part of your profession that you sleep around with artists?’ asked Tom, his voice rising.
‘Keep your voice down,’ muttered Cressida. ‘I’m not sleeping around with numerous artists. I’m having an affair with one.’
‘And that’s supposed to make me feel better?’
‘You’re not supposed to know,’ Cressida pointed out. ‘This meeting wasn’t my idea, it was yours. This is work, Tom. I’m not in it for pleasure. We’ve been through this before.’
‘So you don’t get anything out of
it? You never have an orgasm with him, is that right?’
Cressida wanted to get up and walk out of the restaurant. She was sure that people at the nearby tables could hear what he was saying and the entire situation was rapidly running out of control. ‘If you don’t stop this, Tom, I’m going,’ she said quietly.
‘And what about Guy Cronje?’ persisted Tom. ‘Are you going to sleep with him too if it means you can get to see whatever there is to see?’
Cressida glanced at him and to her horror saw two familiar faces at the back of the restaurant. Their heads were close together but there was no mistaking the fact that Guy and Marcia were sitting in the same restaurant and must have seen her and Tom.
‘Shut up, Tom,’ she said sharply. ‘We’ve been seen.’ Tom started to turn his head. ‘Don’t look round,’ she snapped, ‘that will only make it worse. Just call for the bill, settle up and leave. I’m going now. I’ll make it look as though we’ve had an argument.’
‘That won’t be difficult,’ said Tom. ‘We have. I want you off this case if our relationship is going to survive.’
‘At this moment,’ said Cressida as she got to her feet, ‘I’m not sure that I care if it doesn’t. I find your behaviour outrageous and insulting.’ Then, with much waving of arms and fumbling with her bag, she flounced out of the restaurant hoping that her exit had been noted by the watching pair at the back of the room.
It had. Guy glanced at Marcia and raised his eyebrows. ‘Well?’
‘Well what?’
‘Well, why are we here? Cressida’s entitled to have more than one boyfriend at a time, isn’t she? You’ve done it often enough.’
‘But don’t you recognise the man?’ asked Marcia.
Guy studied Tom as he paid the bill. Tom’s face was white and his expression shocked. ‘No, I can’t say as I do, but she’s clearly given him a bad time! Who is he?’
‘I don’t know his name but he’s a police officer. I remember him coming in to the gallery when we’d just bought it. He wanted to tell me all about security systems – rather amusing in the circumstances!’
The Gallery Page 13
