Page 105 of Portrait of an Unknown Woman

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Piccadilly

“Where are you taking me?”

“Somewhere I can have you all to myself.”

“Not the Lanesborough?”

“No, Mr. Dimbleby.” She gave him a look of contrived reproach. “Not on our first date.”

They were walking along Piccadilly into the blinding light of the sun. It was one of those perfect early-summer evenings in London, cool and soft, a gentle breeze. The woman’s intoxicating scent reminded Oliver of the south of Spain. Orange blossom and jasmine and a hint of manzanilla. Twice the back of her hand brushed against his. Her touch was electric.

She slowed to a stop outside Hide. It was one of London’s costliest restaurants, a temple of gastronomic and social excess beloved by Russian billionaires, Emirati princes, and, evidently, beautiful Spanish art criminals.

“I’m not quite posh enough for this place,” protested Oliver.

“The art world is at your feet tonight, Mr. Dimbleby. You are, without a doubt, the poshest man in London.”

They made quite an entrance—the corpulent, pink-cheeked artdealer and the tall, elegantly dressed woman with shimmering black hair. She led him down a swirling oaken staircase to the dimly lit bar. A secluded candlelit table awaited them.

“I’m impressed,” said Oliver.

“My butler at the Lanesborough arranged it.”

“Do you stay there often?”

“Only when a certain client of mine is footing the bill.”

“A client who’s interested in acquiring the Veronese?”

“Let’s not rush things, Mr. Dimbleby.” She leaned into the warm light of the candle. “We Spaniards like to take our time.”

The front of her blouse had fallen open, exposing the inner curve of a pear-shaped breast. “Is it as nice as they say?” blurted Oliver.

“What’s that, Mr. Dimbleby?”

“The Lanesborough.”

“You’ve never been?”

“Only the restaurant.”

“I have a suite overlooking Hyde Park. The view is quite lovely.”

So was Oliver’s. He nevertheless forced himself to lower his gaze to the cocktail menu. “What do you recommend?”

“The concoction they call the Currant Affairs is life-changing.”

Oliver read the ingredients. “Bruno Paillard champagne with Ketel One vodka, red currant, and guava?”

“Don’t mock it until you try it.”

“I generally drink my champagne and vodka separately.”

“They have an extraordinary sherry selection.”

“A much better idea.”