Page 36 of The Unseen

T HE ART SHOW AT THE W INSTON G ALLERY IN THE F RENCH Q UARTER was a bohemian affair: visitors to the city with an interest in art, locals wearing everything from paisley yoga pants to designer cocktail dresses, and even a Jamaican man in a satin frock coat and breeches, with a purple plumed hat.

It was Nicole’s first show in Anne’s New Orleans gallery. Which meant she was nervous, not unusual, and glad to have Lucas beside her.

“You look gorgeous,” he said, his warm brown eyes sweeping over the sea-green silk dress, with the flirty skirt, she was wearing with a pair of strappy gold high-heeled sandals. She’d left her auburn hair loose around her shoulders—the way he liked it.

He wrapped a curl around his finger. “I don’t tell you that often enough.”

She grinned. “I like what I see in your eyes even better than your words.”

He laughed. “You’re making me want to drag you off to our hotel room, and I can’t do that quite yet.”

Facing a two-hour drive back to St. Francisville after the show, they had decided to spend the night in the city. Lucas had booked a suite at the Hotel Monteleone, a luxurious old French Quarter landmark. The heated look in his eyes promised the extravagant price he had paid would be worth it.

They had arrived in the city late Thursday afternoon. Beneath a sullen gray sky, the precursor of a storm, Lucas had helped her carry the last of her paintings from the Lexus into the showroom.

Several new landscapes now hung on the walls, and the dark paintings of Vicksburg that hadn’t sold before; the painting of the pond that included the faint image of Francois, and the shack on the bayou with the eerie portrait of Simone, sat covered on easels near the front of the room.

Her latest painting, which she had barely finished in time and hadn’t shown to anyone but Lucas, sat with the others, ready to be unveiled during the show.

“You look nervous.” In a white silk cocktail dress trimmed with gold Egyptian symbols, Anne Winston walked up beside her.

Gold bands ringed her upper arms, while gold earrings dangled from her ears.

The outfit set off her blond hair and blue eyes spectacularly.

Of course, everything Anne Winston did was spectacular.

She leaned in to give Nicole air kisses on both cheeks. “You needn’t worry, darling. The show’s going to be wildly successful.” She turned and smiled. “Lucas.” More air kisses. “It’s good to see you again.”

He glanced around the spacious room beneath perfectly positioned track lighting. “Looks like you’ve got everything under control.”

The gallery sat on Royal Street, in one of the many centuries-old buildings in the French Quarter. Completely remodeled, only the antique crystal chandelier in the middle of the room remained, which, combined with the ultramodern décor, provided a stunning contrast.

“Everything’s perfect,” Anne said. She glanced down at her diamond-faced gold wristwatch. “People are continuing to arrive. Time for me to go to work. Smile, darlings.” Anne headed off in a hip-swinging gait, and Nicole inhaled a steadying breath.

“They’re going to love what you’ve done,” Lucas said. “The new work is bright and cheerful, a memorable vision of the Louisiana landscape. And your dark work—well, it’s mesmerizing. There’s no other way to put it. Especially the Spirit pieces.” That was the description she had now given them.

Nicole leaned up and brushed a light kiss over his lips. “Thank you.” She looked toward the covered paintings perched on the easels. “I titled the first two Francois and Simone. Francois isn’t for sale. It was a gift to my aunt. She’s loaning it to me for the show.”

He nodded. “That’s where it belongs, I think. And the new one?”

Another Spirit painting of the shack. This time, a man’s face rose above it, and it wasn’t Francois.

“I’m not sure who he is, but I’m guessing it might be Jules.”

Lucas’s gaze went to the painting. “Handsome. Looks a little like Francois, only …”

“Only what?”

“Softer, less mature, perhaps more malleable.”

“Yes, that’s it. And rash. As if he lacks self-control.” She shook her head. “No idea why I feel that way.”

“It’s there,” Lucas said. “All of it’s there in the painting.”

“I named it Rendezvous. Again, no idea why.”

His gaze returned to the Spirit painting, and he nodded. Lucas always seemed to understand. It was one of the things she loved about him. Nicole blocked the thought. Loving someone was dangerous, and now wasn’t the time—not with people pouring in, filling the gallery.

There was a bar set up along one wall, next to a table of gourmet hors d’ oeuvres.

The storm had arrived outside, but no one seemed to mind.

They just closed their umbrellas and stacked them next to the door.

Nicole looked at the people clustered around her landscape paintings and her nerves continued to build.

“Why don’t I get you a glass of champagne?” Lucas suggested. “Maybe it’ll help you relax.”

She smiled. “Thanks, I could use it.”

Nicole hadn’t seen them come in, but as Lucas walked away, she spotted Phillipe Villard standing next to the bar.

Christian stood a few feet away, speaking to a pretty little blonde.

Nicole wasn’t surprised to see them there.

Phillipe was one of Anne’s most important clients, and Christian couldn’t resist an opportunity to mingle with beautiful, sophisticated women.

Carrying two champagne flutes, Lucas paused to speak to Phillipe, ignored Christian, and continued across the room. He handed her a glass of champagne.

“Thanks.” Nicole took a sip, enjoying the bubbles on her tongue. As the alcohol slid through her system, some of the tension in her shoulders began to ease.

“I guess you noticed two of your not-so-favorite people are here,” Lucas said.

“They’re Anne’s clients. I’m not really surprised.”

“Maybe Phillipe will buy a painting.”

“Maybe. I’m not completely sure I want him to own one.”

Lucas nodded his understanding.

Half an hour later, the gallery was packed as Anne walked up to the front and someone clinked a spoon against a wineglass, calling for quiet. Little by little, the crowd fell silent. The rain beating on the tall glass windows at the front of the gallery was the only sound in the room.

“Welcome to the Winston Gallery.” Anne flashed a bright white smile. “I hope you’re all enjoying the work of our featured artist, Nicole Belmond. Ms. Belmond is one of the premier Impressionist landscape artists in Louisiana. Many of you already own pieces of her work.”

Anne flashed her perfect smile. “Fortunately for us, lately she’s been experimenting, giving her artistic talent free rein. Tonight we’re unveiling what Nicole calls her Spirit pieces. They’re quite different from her usual paintings, a glimpse into a world only she can see.”

She turned to her assistant. “Frederick, if you would …”

Frederick Thompson, Anne’s latest companion, a handsome, intelligent dark-skinned man, began lifting away the covers to reveal the paintings beneath.

There was a moment of quiet, a subtle stirring, and then applause broke out. The crowd began to move toward the easels, making comments about the work. Nicole relaxed a little more at the murmurs of interest and compliments she could hear among the patrons.

“I told you not to worry,” Lucas said softly.

Nicole smiled. “So you did.”

But the atmosphere in the room was shifting, people nervously moving away from the Spirit pieces.

“Something’s happening,” she said as the patter of the rain increased, turning into a heavy downpour.

The weather was getting worse, the rain falling in sheets, turning into a roar.

A brilliant white flash lit the sky. A zigzag bolt of lightning struck outside the gallery windows.

Thunder cracked so loud someone screamed.

The windows shook as the driving rain increased—pounding, pounding—lashing in great heaving waves against the glass. The floor began to shake, and people, already nervous, began to move toward the front door.

“What’s going on?” one of the men asked as an icy chill pervaded the room, so cold Nicole’s skin rose with goose bumps.

“Stay calm, everyone,” Anne said. “This building has been in the French Quarter since the 1700s. It’s survived thousands of storms. You’re all perfectly safe.”

As if to prove exactly the opposite, the painting of Simone started shaking, then hopping up and down. It tilted onto its side and shot off the easel, bladelike, cutting through the air with vicious force. Nicole bit back a cry as people ducked and screamed and the canvas hit the wall.

“Let’s get out of here!” someone shouted.

“Everyone, take it easy.” Frederick picked up the painting. Amazingly, it seemed undamaged in its lovely gilt frame. “The wind must have caught the canvas,” he said, returning the painting to the easel. “It’s all right, everything is fine.”

But everything wasn’t fine. The beautiful overhead crystal chandelier began to shake violently.

Beams of light bounced off the glass prisms, shooting colored rays around the room.

The usually musical notes rattled with a grim clatter that sounded more like a dirge.

The noise gave just enough warning for people to move out from underneath before the chandelier crashed to the floor.

Everything inside Nicole screamed a warning.

“We’re leaving!” someone shouted. “Come on, let’s go!” People started pushing and shoving, trying to reach the front of the gallery.

Lucas reached for her and Nicole gripped his arm as Frederick raced ahead to the door and pulled it open, allowing the crowd to pour out onto the sidewalk. Some of them took time to grab their umbrellas, others just ran outside and disappeared into the storm.

Phillipe glanced around for his son, who stood a few feet away, staring at the Spirit paintings. His father grabbed his shoulder and spun him around.

“We’re leaving.”

Christian shook his head, as if trying to clear it, and the two of them ran out the door. Nicole held on to Lucas as he led her to the front of the gallery, where Simone sat once more on the easel.

“What happened?” she asked. “Was it … Could it be … her?”

“Yes.” Lucas covered the paintings while Frederick urged people out of the gallery.

Anne was assuring them it was just some sort of electrical phenomena caused by the unexpected violence of the lightning storm.

Nicole figured most people would believe it.

Until recently, she would have been one of them.

Once the crowd had left the gallery, she and Lucas pitched in to help clean up the mess, picking up cocktail napkins and dirty dishes, while Frederick swept up the broken glass shards of the chandelier.

“It was beautiful,” Nicole said to Anne, looking down at the shattered crystal sparkling beneath the track lighting.

“It was very old.” Anne shook her head. “Such a terrible loss.” Anne looked at Nicole. “I wonder what happened.”

Nicole’s stomach knotted. “There’s no way to know for sure, but … I’m taking the Spirit pieces back home with me, Anne. For now, things seemed to have settled down. If it’s okay with you, we’ll come by and pick them up in the morning.”

One of Anne’s blond eyebrows arched up. “You don’t actually believe those paintings had anything to do with what happened tonight?”

“I don’t know. Some odd things have been happening at Belle Reve. It never occurred to me the paintings could be dangerous, but I don’t want to take any chances.”

Anne sighed. “I don’t believe it. Not one word. But I suppose you know best.” She glanced around. “We’ve got this now. You two, go on and enjoy the rest of your evening. I’ll see you in the morning.”

Nicole looked over at Lucas.

“Anne’s right. There’s nothing more we can do here. We’ll come back for the paintings tomorrow as soon as the gallery opens.”