“No sense hanging around here. Silk's going to look after Abbott Charters for me. We might as well head to Seattle.”
“There's more to it than that, isn't there? You're more worried about this second murder than you want to admit. You're afraid there might be some danger here for me, aren't you? Hugh, if finding Cormier's killer is so important to you, why don't you stay here on St. Gabriel and I'll go home by myself?”
“Sure. And start ducking me again every time I try to call or see you? Not a chance, babe. I'm not letting you out of my sight this time. You want proof I'm serious about marrying you. You're going to get it.”
“Damn it, Hugh, I know you're serious about marrying me. That's not the point. It's the reason you want to marry me that I don't trust.”
He stopped packing the duffel bag and stood, feet braced, hands on hips, and regarded her with grim intent. “Now, you listen and listen good, babe. I want to marry you for all the normal reasons. I want a wife and a home, a real home. I want to have someone to talk to in the evenings, someone to warm my bed, someone to eat with, someone who gives a damn if I come home late. What's not to trust about that?”
She stared at him, her hands twisting together in her lap. “There are a lot of women who would be glad to do all that for you.”
“I don't want a lot of women. I want you.” He took two long strides over to where she was sitting and lifted her to her feet. “And I do not want to hear another word about my staying here on St. Gabe while you flit back to Seattle. Understood?”
Mattie looked up at him sadly. “I don't think it's going to work, Hugh.”
“Leave it to me, babe. I always get the job done.”
CHAPTER
Nine
Three days later Mattie picked up a canapé from a passing tray and surveyed the throng of well-dressed people milling around a prestigious Seattle gallery.
Plastic champagne glasses were everywhere. They were in people's hands, overflowing the wastebaskets, and standing around on every available empty surface. There were also a lot of little paper napkins, bits and pieces of canapés, and discarded programs. Most of the people in the room seemed more interested in being seen themselves than in looking at the art that hung on the walls.
Not that the art on the walls was not good. It was. The gallery was showing some of the best avant-garde stuff ever done on the West Coast. The show was, after all, a retrospective display of the works of Ariel Sharpe.
The canvases had been grouped according to the artist's four clearly recognized periods: her Early Dark period, her Exploratory period, her short-lived Elemental period, and the latest, which had been dubbed her Early Mature period.
Mattie caught a few of the snippets of conversation going on around her. “The emotion is incredible, right from the first…such brilliant use of color, even in the Early Dark period, when she was using only black and brown…a sense of cataclysmic inevitability…a surprisingly shocking use of line, but she was getting divorced from Blackwell at the time, and that kind of thing always has an impact with her. She's so emotional…a bit rough and crude, Art Brut, if you will, but it is from her Elemental period, after all….”
Mattie had no trouble recognizing the talent in her sister's work. The strong sense of line and color added an emotional sophistication and a visually compelling quality to the abstract designs which took them far beyond the ordinary and into the realm of the brilliant.
And the expensive.
Mattie nibbled her canapé and unconsciously began tapping the toe of her black leather pump. She glanced at the black and gold watch on her wrist.
Hugh was due a half hour ago. He had promised to show up at the opening right after his meeting with Charlotte Vailcourt. The meeting had been scheduled for four o'clock and it was now nearly six.
She knew he had not been looking forward to tonight's event, but Mattie had insisted he attend. Going to openings was part of her world, and if he was determined to fit into that world, he could darn well make an effort to learn something about it.
Mattie glanced impatiently at her watch again. She was beginning to suspect that Hugh was deliberately stringing out the meeting with her aunt in order to avoid the gallery show. She was wondering if she should phone Charlotte's office when a voice hailed her from halfway across the crowded room.
“Mattie, you're back from paradise. I thought you'd be gone another week or so. It was supposed to be a vacation, wasn't it?”
Mattie turned her head to smile at the tall, blond Viking god making his way toward her through the throng. “Hello, Flynn. I got back early. Paradise is not all it's cracked up to be. Things didn't go according to schedule, but I guess that's what happens when you take the budget tour package.”
“Well, glad you're back safe and sound. And glad you could make it here tonight.” Flynn Grafton was a striking man by any standards. His mane of pale hair was pulled back in a ponytail at the base of his neck, a dramatic contrast to his all-black attire, which consisted of black multipleated pants, a black shirt with wide, flowing sleeves, and black boots polished to a high gloss. The only ornament was a silver Egyptian ankh he wore around his throat.
“Looks like another successful show for Ariel,” Mattie observed.
Flynn nodded proudly. “It turned out well, didn't it? Elizabeth Kenyon always does a great job. Good crowd. The usual number of moochers who always float from one opening to another for the free munchies, naturally, but what the heck. They add color.”
Mattie chuckled. “I thought I saw Shock Value Frederickson and a couple of her friends nibbling her way through the hors d'oeuvres.”
“Starving artists, one and all. But there are some genuine buyers here. It's going well. Ariel will be pleased.”
“Speaking of Ariel, where is she? I've been here over half an hour, and I haven't seen her yet.”
Flynn's noble brow contracted in a brief frown of concern. “I don't know. She was due fifteen minutes ago. She was planning on making her usual entrance after everyone had arrived. I called home, but there was no answer.”
“She must have gotten held up in traffic.”
“Probably.” Flynn's expression of concern relaxed slightly. “She's been sort of tense lately. To tell you the truth, I'm a little worried about her.”
“Ariel's high strung, Flynn. You know that.”
He shook his head and munched a canapé. “This is different.”
“Any idea why she's more tense than usual?”
“Sure. I've been pointing out that her biological clock is ticking. She's three years older than you, Mattie. Thirty-five. If we're going to have a kid, we'd better get moving. The whole notion has her panicked.”
Mattie gave him a startled look. “I can imagine. I thought Ariel had decided not to have children years ago. I distinctly remember her telling me that the day she married you. Said it would interfere with her art.”
Flynn smiled complacently. “She's just scared because of her track record in love and marriage. After all, she's already been divorced once and lord only knows how many engagements got broken along the way.”
“Ariel? Scared? That's a crock. Believe me, Flynn, my sister has more pure, unadulterated self-confidence than anyone else I know except possibly a certain party she was once engaged to last year.”
“You may be her sister, Mattie. But you don't really understand her the way I do. Never mind. I'm glad she's running late and I'm glad you're here. Gives us a chance to talk. I've been thinking it over, and I want do some stuff for your gallery. Were you serious about taking a look at some of my work?”
“Any time, Flynn. But you know as well as I do the kind of thing I hang. I'm very commercially oriented. That means I can't use your experimental work.”
“I know, I know. But I've got a series in mind that would be perfect for Sharpe Reaction clients.”
“Ariel will have a fit,” Mattie warned gently. “She'll probably try to strangle us both. You know what she thinks about the kind of s
tuff I sell.”
Flynn smiled wryly. “Yeah. Commercial schlock. Don't worry about Ariel. I'll handle her. This is between you and me.”
“If you say so. Flynn, you know I'll be glad to look at anything you bring me. You really have a great talent. Ariel's quite right about that. You're just undiscovered, that's all. Unlike her.”
“I'll tell you something, Mattie. Undiscovered talent is about as useful as feathers on a hog. Look, why don't I bring some canvases by in a few days?” He broke off and glanced toward the door. “Ah, there she is. About time she got here. Who's that with her?”
Mattie turned her head to follow his glance. Her stomach clenched with a sick feeling that could only be jealousy. She fought to control it. “That,” she told Flynn, “is Hugh Abbott. Ariel was once engaged to him.”
“Oh, yeah. The guy from her Elemental period, right?”
“Right.”
“That was really a dead-end direction for her,” Flynn said, dismissing Hugh with ease.
“Yes, I thought the same thing at the time.” Mattie watched her sister descend like a queen on the gathering.
Ariel was especially striking tonight. But, then, her sister always looked dramatic. Her lustrous black hair, translucent white skin, and exotic green eyes lent themselves quite naturally to drama of all kinds.
Ariel applied the same intuitive sense of design to her clothes as she did to her art. She had favored black for years, ever since her Early Dark period. It still suited her, although her painting had become much more colorful. Tonight she was riveting in a totally black strapless gown and black high-heeled sandals.
Her jewelry consisted of only a pair of jet earrings that dangled to her shoulders. Her sleek black hair was parted in the middle and worn in a shining wedge that gave her finely chiseled features the air of an Egyptian princess.
The only touches of color on Ariel were her scarlet mouth and her startling green eyes.
Mattie thought wistfully of the little red satin sarong she had brought back with her from the islands. It would have made quite a splash here tonight. But, of course, it would have been totally inappropriate, she told herself firmly. The conservative gray business suit and pastel silk blouse she had on was what she always wore to this sort of function. Only the artist was supposed to look exotic or outrageous.
She saw Hugh scanning the room with an impatient glance. He was wearing the one jacket he owned, a rather battered-looking navy blue blazer over a white shirt and his usual pair of jeans. He also had on his boots. There was no tie.
His eyes met hers, and she smiled wryly. He started toward her, leaving Ariel amid a circle of admires.
“How well do you know this guy?” Flynn asked, helping himself to another canapé.
“Why do you ask?”
“Because he looks annoyed.”
“That's his usual expression.” Mattie locked her smile in place as Hugh came to a halt in front of her and glanced pointedly at Flynn.
“Hello, Hugh,” Mattie said. “I don't believe you've met Flynn Grafton. A wonderful artist. He married Ariel about six months ago.”
Hugh nodded brusquely and shook the hand Flynn offered. “Congratulations,” he said crisply.
“Thanks. I hear you're the guy from Ariel's Elemental period.”
Hugh's expression got darker. “That's not exactly how I think of it.”
“Hey, don't be embarrassed. I can see why you wouldn't want to be associated with that particular time frame in her work. I mean, we all know it was a useless digression when taken in the total context of her art, but the stuff she did during that period is very collectible. People are paying a fortune for it simply because it was such an odd detour, professionally speaking.”
“Is that right?” Hugh muttered.
“Personally, I've always kind of liked some of the stuff from that period. There's a certain rough-edged, primitive quality to it. Rather like early Ashton or Clyde Harding.”
Hugh's mouth was a humorless line. “Look, do you mind if I talk to Mattie for a few minutes? In private?”
“No, no, take your time,” Flynn said. “I'll see how Ariel's doing. Talk to you later, Mattie.”
“Fine.” Mattie took a sip of her champagne and watched Flynn saunter away through the crowd.
“All right, spit it out.” Hugh grabbed a plastic glass from a passing tray.
“Spit what out?” Mattie asked politely.
“You want to know why I'm late and why I arrived with Ariel.” Hugh swallowed most of the contents of the glass in one gulp.
“I do?”
“The answers are that, A, the meeting with Charlotte ran late and, B, Ariel was just getting out of a cab in front of this joint when I arrived. I couldn't avoid walking in with her.”
“I see.”
“Good.” Apparently considering the subject closed, Hugh glowered down at her. “Now, what's with you and Grafton?”
Mattie glanced up in astonishment. “What on earth are you talking about?”
“He was looking at you the way a dog looks at a bone. Real intense.”
Mattie shrugged. “He's an artist. Artists are always intense in one way or another. He wants me to look at some of his work. I said I would. That's all there was to it. What did you and Charlotte decide?”
Hugh frowned, looking as if he wanted to pursue the topic of Flynn Grafton. But he reluctantly altered course. “Everything's swell, just like I told you. She's happy to keep me on the payroll and says I can work here at the home office for as long as I want. Won't have to travel.”
“What are you going to do here at headquarters?”
“She wants a new security plan worked up that can be implemented at all the Vailcourt offices around the world. I told her no problem.”
“And how long will you be happy doing that, Hugh? I see you as a field man, not an office type.”
“The experience will be good for me,” he told her. “The more I learn about the business end of running a corporation, the better.”
“Because you plan to go back to St. Gabriel to run Abbott Charters eventually, don't you? Admit it. You see this Seattle jaunt as just a short hiatus you have to tolerate until I come to my senses and see the light, right?”
“Forget Abbott Charters and forget St. Gabe. I don't feel like arguing right now. Who's this heading our way?”
Mattie looked across the room and heaved a small sigh. “It never rains but it pours.”
“What's that mean?”
“Just that there's quite a crowd of Ariel's exes here tonight. That's Ariel's first husband, Emery Blackwell. From her Early Dark and Exploratory periods. They were married five years.”
“He looks drunk as a skunk.”
“He probably is.” Mattie bit her lip in concern.
Emery hid his problem fairly well. He was in his late fifties, but he had the craggy, slightly dissipated good looks that suited authors whose status had once been near-mythical in high-level literary circles. He was aging well, in spite of his increasing fondness for the bottle. It was true his jaw was getting a bit thick and there was evidence of a certain softness around his midsection, but he paid attention to his clothes, and they, in turn, hid a multitude of sins. His shock of silver-gray hair was as stunning as ever, and his pale eyes brimmed with intelligence, even when they were slightly bloodshot.
Mattie had always liked Emery, and he had always treated her with an avuncular affection.
“He's been under a lot of stress in the past few years,” Mattie confided softly to Hugh as Emery approached. “His career has been in the doldrums for ages, although he still gets tapped for lectures and readings occasionally.”
“More stress, huh? Is that the cause of everybody's problems back here in the States these days?”
“A large portion of them, yes.” Mattie smiled at Emery as he came to a halt in front of her and inclined his head with regal grace.
“Mattie, my love, you look positively splendid, as always. How would you li
ke to join me on Whidbey for a few days? I could use a muse. Bring something comfortable to change into, dear. We'll drink cognac and talk about poetry.”
“You know I never really got the hang of poetry, Emery. And you look pretty splendid yourself, tonight.” Mattie went on tiptoe to give him a small peck on the cheek. “But, then, you always do.”
“It's called style, my dear. Some of us have it—” Emery broke off to give Hugh an amused head-to-toe glance. “And some of us don't. Pray introduce me to your rustic friend, Mattie. He is a friend, I assume, and not a hired thug?”
“Hugh Abbott,” Hugh announced coldly. “I'm going to marry Mattie.”
“Good lord, Mattie.” Emery turned back to her with an expression of stagy astonishment. “I told you that you should have invited me to go along when you went on vacation. Send you out to the wilds of the Pacific alone and look what happens. You come back with a really tacky souvenir.”
“I may be tacky, but Mattie thinks I'm cute.” Hugh shoved an entire canapé between his teeth and bit down hard.
“Mattie's tastes have always been a little plebeian, to say the least. That's why she's been so successful with her gallery. And it may explain her problem with men.”
Mattie scowled at both males. “That's enough out of both of you. If you want to squabble, go outside in the alley.”
“Much too physical. I wouldn't lower myself to that sort of activity, my dear,” Emery demurred.
“I would.” Hugh stuck another entire round of cheese-and-pimiento-decorated cracker into his mouth and chewed vigorously, showing his teeth. “Any time, Blackwell.”
“Dear, dear. Where ever did you find him, Mattie?”
“I didn't. Aunt Charlotte did. He works for her.”
“That explains it, of course.” Emery smiled benignly at Hugh. “Charlotte Vailcourt is a noted eccentric.”
“Pay's good, too,” Hugh said.
Mattie lifted her eyes toward heaven in a silent plea that was answered almost immediately when a handsome, rather hard-eyed woman in her late forties joined the small group. She was an imposing female built along statuesque lines, who favored southwestern turquoise and silver jewelry.
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