Page 16

The last days before the exhibit passed in a rush of last-minute details and the usual flurry of activity around such an event. The transport of the paintings finished without another hitch. Still, after Casey had taken up the mantle again, fully recovered and fully determined, Ms Jackson and her maddening requests took up most of her waking hours.

Double the caterers. Change the wines. No, we can’t rent that piano; it needs to be a Blüthner. Why are you using white tablecloths? That’s so last year!I heard all about it whenever Casey found some time to call, and in the end, it seemed like a little bit of a miracle when the big day finally arrived, and everyone was still in one piece.

On the morning of the event, me and Frank were having a pleasant and peaceful breakfast until he quietly swore at the newspaper. Roused by his strong reaction to the normal blandness of regional news, I looked up from Harry’s copy of The Prince.

“Look at this,” the old man said with irritation in his voice, holding the newspaper under my nose.

A couple of hours later, Casey sighed at the same sight as she perched on her desk chair. “Talk about jumping the gun. How on earth did someone get a look at the centrepiece? It’s just a vague description, not a photo, but come on.”

“It sucks,” I agreed tightly. “This whole unveiling thing is something people expect from a Renaud exhibit, and it’s a tradition that’s held firm all those years not just because it’s effective but because it’s so popular.” I walked back and forth, grinding my teeth. “It’s wrong to spoil her efforts like this.”

“Wow. You’re really upset about this.”

“Of course, I am! We both know how much is riding on this exhibit for her. Hell, for you, too. That someone just completely ignores that for their own gain is unbelievably shallow and callous.”

Casey leaned back in her chair. “It’s not great, that’s true, but the description isn’t all that detailed. A wide-angle landscape could be anything. And the few colours they added? Makes me think they only got a look at it from far away. Maybe it’ll create more curiosity and interest about seeing the real thing.”

“I don’t know, Case.” I uneasily shrugged my shoulders. “I would have preferred it to just stay a secret until tonight. These are her artworks, her private possessions, and neither the fact that someone made money off her work nor the thought that someone was spying on her make me feel very good.”

“You’re right. And you’re not the only one who thinks so. Ms Jackson called earlier.” My friend pursed her lips. “The woman is on the warpath, and this time I can’t even blame her. Whoever talked to the newsies is going to experience hell on earth when she gets their hands on them.”

“I almost feel sorry for the son of a gun.”

If I had known the words would conjure up the woman herself, I would have glued my lips closed with instant adhesive. With an echoing bang, the door to the gallery slammed open. It took less than twenty seconds before Emmanuelle’s manager stormed into the office, her furious glare hitting Casey before zeroing in on me.

“You! You did this!” she seethed. Some corner of my mind noted that the door of the gallery opened again, but Jackson’s ire was like a storm, blocking all before it.

I furrowed my brows. “I’m sorry?”

“It could only have been you who talked to the media. Do you know how incredibly unprofessional that is? Do you?”

Casey had risen halfway out of her chair. “Okay, how about we calm down and talk about this reasonably...”

“This is your fault too, Ms Morgan, for dredging up someone with such questionable morals. Probably wanted to make a quick buck off the Renaud fame.”

“You think I did this?” I asked.

“Who else could have done it? You were inside the house!”

My jaw worked, no words coming over my lips, and Casey was just about to jump to my defence when a firm voice interrupted.

“What on earth is going on here?”

We all turned towards Emmanuelle standing in the doorway.

“We were talking about the person who is responsible for this galling news article.” Jackson slapped her newspaper copy onto the desk in front of me. “I think it’s pretty obvious.”

My stomach fell like a stone, and I swallowed hard when I thought about Emmanuelle believing her.

But my new friend surprised me by only chuckling. “Oh, Ellis, it wasn’t her.”

“But you told me yourself she was inside the house.”

“What does that have to do with anything? I’m telling you it wasn’t Sam, and I’d appreciate it if you stopped insulting her.”

“So, who did it? How do you know it wasn’t her?”

“I don’t know who did it,” Emmanuelle said slowly, “and there weren’t all that many people in the house since I moved. But when Sam was there, the centrepiece was covered the whole time.”

“And there was no moment where she could have snuck a glance while your back was turned?” Jackson demanded, regarding me with thinly veiled scepticism.

Yes, while Emmanuelle was in the kitchen getting the iced tea.

“No,” the artist said and held my gaze, “there wasn’t.”

I blinked.

“I see,” Jackson gritted out. “Well, you can trust that I’ll find out who spilled their guts to the media, and whoever it was will have a very hefty compensation claim on their hands. Ms Morgan, I expect the rest of the day to go according to plan. There will be no more deviations!”

The manager’s stiletto heels clicked on the ground in a fast-paced staccato rhythm when she stalked out of the gallery again. There was a moment of silence.

“My apologies for that,” Emmanuelle finally remarked with a sigh. “Ellis doesn’t take it well when someone messes up her carefully orchestrated plans.”

In reality, the artist had the biggest right to be angry and disappointed. Strangely, she seemed to be neither of those things, something that piqued my curiosity.

“She’s right to be upset, Ms Renaud,” said Casey. “I’m really sorry this happened. I can assure you, though, neither Sam nor myself had anything to do with that article.”

“I know that, don’t worry. And … well, I can’t say I’m exactly happy about it, but I doubt it will be a detriment to the success of the exhibit. Even bad press is press, after all, and the added exposure might come in handy.” She hesitated, for the first time seeming less than composed. “The only thing that worries me is that a stranger might have been inside the house. As I said, few people visited me in the last weeks, and all of them were either relatives or very good friends. I don’t believe for a second that one of them talked about my work to the media.”

Casey cringed, as if pondering whether to speak her thoughts aloud. “You might want to think about getting an alarm system installed.”

“I’ll consider it. It’s a pretty open property, so I guess it’s easy enough to sneak onto the porch. Maybe I left a window open again. I seem to keep forgetting.” She shook her head as if she was annoyed at herself. “Right now, though, I just want to focus on the grand opening. The rest can wait. I will see you both tonight?”

We nodded. Satisfied, she excused herself and left the office.

“Would you mind if I…” I began and waved towards the exit.

Casey threw me a curious glance but only nodded. After scurrying out, I caught the painter just before she got into her car.

“Emmanuelle,” I said, stopping a few feet away. The small lines around her eyes conveyed fatigue. It was obvious then that finishing the centrepiece had been costing her sleep since we last met. Suspecting burglary probably hadn’t let her rest easier either. “I really am sorry about that damned article.”

A weak chuckle came over her lips. “I know, Sam, and it’s fine. This isn’t your fault.”

“But how can you be so sure about that? You’ve told Ms Jackson that there was no moment I could have used to sneak a peek, but we both know that that’s not true.”

What the hell was I even saying? Did I want her to suspect me?

You’re an idiot, Hale.

Emmanuelle snorted, and gentle amusement replaced the tiredness. She stepped closer and tapped the middle of my chest with a finger. “You’re right. Technically, you could have sprinted towards the canvas, ripped off the sheet, looked at the painting, committed most of the lines to memory, and then replaced the sheet again, exactly the same way it was. But when I got back from the kitchen, Sam, you were still rooted to the same spot you’d been standing in before … and even if you hadn’t been, the thought that you, of all people, would blab about my artwork to the press?”

Emmanuelle shook her head with a wry grin, and the way she looked at me made me want to reach out and stroke the sadness out of the edges of her smile.

“It’s ridiculous,” she continued. “Someone who is that private about their own art would never expose someone else’s. Besides, you’ve never once asked about it. And you’ve also never asked about my money or anything else related to the Renaud family. You’ve only ever asked about me. Me, the person, not me, the artist. Do you know how rare it is to meet someone like that?”

The question made my hand rise to rub the base of my neck.

“You always do that when you’re embarrassed and don’t know what to say.”

The limb froze halfway to its destination, and my flabbergasted expression made her laugh affectionately.

“You’re not very good at hiding your feelings, Sam.”

Just how much do you see when you look at me?

“Maybe I’m not, but I can’t even begin to imagine what it means to be you. I just … I never wanted you to feel like you had to be on your guard with me.”

“And I’m not,” Emmanuelle said softly, tapping my chest again. “Because I know you’re a good person.”

Warmth spread over my chest. Way, way too much warmth, but I firmly reminded myself to sack it. “I’m really glad to hear that, and I assure you I’ll personally strangle whoever told the journalists about your painting.”

She regarded me with a coy twinkle in her eyes. “Are you going to play the knight in shining armour again? Brave the evil magpies of this world?”

“No, I’ll just be there to support you.”

“And that’s more than enough,” she assured me. “Though I hope the few details in the newspaper won’t make you any less curious to see the centrepiece.”

“No, I’m still very much looking forward to it.”

“That’s good to hear because I really hope you like it.” A chuckle escaped her. “You see, I derived inspiration from a most unexpected source.”

I twitched. What the hell could that mean?