by Riona Kelly
“Beautiful, but missing something without you. What’s up?”
His voice was flirty and upbeat, and his words made her heart beat a little faster as her blood warmed. He missed her.
“Sorry to bother you when I know you have a lot on your plate, but I need a favor if you can help me out. I think you have better contacts than I do and can help me with something.” She paused, took a deep breath, and then explained the situation with the paintings and what she’d seen. “Too many things look identical, and even if de Sintra copied Roberto’s work or vice versa — although Roberto swears he did not copy anyone — even the brush strokes look the same. I would like an expert’s opinion, and I figure you might know someone in Europe.”
As Colin remained quiet a moment, she tensed, thinking he might say he didn’t have time or the contacts, but then he said, “I think I know just the person. A mate of mine, one I’ve worked with a few times, is an art expert in Paris for a gallery there. I will be heading that way in a couple of days, and I’ll have him take a look. I have Roberto’s canvas you loaned me, and I’m certain there must be one of de Sintra’s in the city we can view and photograph for comparison. If there’s something dishonest going on, I’m certain we can get to the bottom of it. Just leave it to me, and I’ll let you know what we learn.”
“I knew you were the man for the job,” she purred into the phone. “A regular secret agent. How’s the scouting going?”
“Very well. I think I have three possible locations that should make the producers happy and two more to look at tomorrow. Then it’s back to Paris to check out a studio there. And finally, I’ll head back to Spain. Are you enjoying Seville?”
“Absolutely, but it would have been so much better if you’d been here.”
“What about Marchant? You wouldn’t have had dinner with the gallery owner if I’d been along. This could be an opportunity for your work, and it would have been a shame to have missed it. So long as it’s only business.”
“Do I detect concern or a touch of jealousy?” Lindy teased.
“Maybe a little. I miss talking to you... and other things.”
Her breath caught, and a cascade of thoughts flowed through her as her heart swelled. Good lord, was she falling for this man? Was she doing exactly what she told Michelle not to do? This was a travel fling, not something she could expect to last. But he plucked her heartstrings like a guitarist with a skillful touch drawing out every desire.
“Me, too.” Her voice carried a catch in it and pitched a little lower than normal.
“How long are you in Seville?”
“Another day, then we’re moving on to Portugal.”
“Lisbon? Hmm, maybe I can look at a couple of locations in the area. Look, just be careful, and don’t worry about the painting thing. I’ll be in touch, and we’ll figure it out, okay?”
“You got it. Until I see you again...” Her voice trailed off, and she made a kissing smack sound into the phone.
“Mmm-wah back,” he said, mimicking it.
A wistful sigh escaped her lips as she hung up. She did miss Colin, not necessarily a good thing. She would be foolish to allow herself to fall for anyone who was likely a fling and not looking at a lasting relationship, but Colin kept surprising her and giving her hope.
She shook off the feeling and grabbed her dress, then slipped into it, adjusting the fit a little as it slid on her curvy body. She added a matching pair of low heels, then studied her reflected image in the mirror on the wardrobe door. The aqua color resembled the Mediterranean sea on a summer day and set off the creamy tones of her skin. She added a touch of lavender shadow to highlight her eyes and topped it off with a light Kashmir-rose-colored lip gloss. She’d pulled her hair up into an elegant French twist and teased the front bangs forward to give her a sophisticated, yet youthful look.
Marchant’s appreciative looks at Michelle the night before hadn’t gone unnoticed, and she was determined to divert his attention away from her young niece. With a satisfied expression, she grabbed her floral-print black shawl, picked up her matching clutch handbag, and went down to the lobby to meet her date.
Alain waited for her at the bar, a mojito in his hands as he chatted with the bartender. Again, he wore a casual beige suit with an open-collared pale yellow shirt setting off his tanned skin. He spotted her and flashed a big smile as he stood and held out a hand in greeting.
“Melinda, you look beautiful. Would you like a drink before we leave?”
Lips curving in pleasure, she took his offered hand and sat on the cushioned barstool next to him. “I’ll have a small sangria, please.” She crossed her legs at the ankles and placed her bag and shawl in her lap, creating a demure image.
“How was Italica today? Was it crowded?”
“No, it was not busy at all, and we had a wonderful visit. I was there a couple of decades ago before it had been excavated, so it was a totally new experience for me to see it now. I am very impressed.”
“The setting is quite beautiful, don’t you think? It would make a wonderful painting.” He sipped his drink and watched her over the rim.
“Funny, you should say that,” Lindy answered. “With those lovely tiles inspiring me, I took some photos with the idea of painting a scene from the Roman period in mind.”
He raised an eyebrow and grinned. “I would like very much to see it. Shall we head for dinner? I have a taxi just arriving.”
The restaurant wasn’t far from the hotel, but Lindy was happy she didn’t have to walk it after the day at Italica. Within ten minutes, the taxi pulled up to a striking three-story building showing yellow plaster wall panels set between long runners of red brick. Each level displayed windowed rooms with wrought-iron railing enclosing small balconies. At the ground level, the huge glass windows displayed the name Restaurante Oriza above an ornate design in the glass.
Inside, the place was warm and welcoming with more ironwork, while glass brick dividers and orange drapes accented the golden colors. The head waiter welcomed Alain as a friend and showed them to a table in a quiet corner where they could talk privately. Alain ordered a bottle of wine then suggested a tapas platter for a starter.
“Good plan,” Lindy said. “I love experimenting with the different hor d'oeuvres. The chefs are so creative. What is good on the menu here?” She lowered her eyelids seductively and curved her lips into a coy smile as she spoke.
Alain ate it up, returning the smile and opening his menu to the entrees. He suggested a seafood dish with shrimp and grilled cod, proclaiming it to be excellent. She agreed that it sounded wonderful. Once the food was ordered, Alain got to the business of the evening.
“Have you given more thought to the idea of placing a few of your canvases with my gallery? I think it would be a very good match, and your work would be well received.”
“I checked out your web site. You do carry an eclectic collection of artwork and artists, so it does look like a place where some of my work might fit in well. I would like to know a little more about the actual business deal. What percentage does the gallery take? Is there a time limit on the agreement? Tell me about the contract.”
He barked out a brief laugh. “I like a woman who cuts to the chase. Here’s the deal...” He refilled her wine glass, then proceeded to detail the financial part of the agreement, what he expected from her as the consignor, and what she could expect from the gallery. Lindy nodded as he talked, taking in the information and comparing it to other deals she’d taken. When he’d finished, she said, “Well, Alain, your proposal sounds very reasonable, and I am inclined to offer two pieces on consignment with the terms you outlined. If they do well, and we feel it is to both our advantage, then I might consider additional ones.”
“Excellent. You select the art and send me a short description, the canvas size, and your asking price, and I’ll take it from there. We’ll send you a contract, and you send us the paintings. What could be simpler?”
“Nothing, I guess. I look forward to t
his partnership.”
He raised a glass, and she tapped it as they drank to the deal. She’d barely taken a sip when the tapas arrived. They admired the delicious-looking creations before they began devouring them. Alain laughed a little over the awkward way to eat crab rolls as oozed butter down his chin. Lindy decided to be more clever and not pick one up with her fingers. Instead, she used the cocktail fork to stab one and nibble at it as she held it over a plate and leaned forward. The move, calculated or not, revealed more of her cleavage, and Alain noticed, his eyes sliding to the ravine between her breasts.
She raised her eyes to his, then said, “You know, I was thinking about the artist you mentioned last night, and I wondered about the painting you have at your home by him. Is it one of his early works?”
“Pablo de Sintra. Yes, it was one of the first pieces he did. I acquired it recently. It is quite lovely, isn’t it?”
“I believe you mentioned you discovered him and brought him into the art world. How did it happen?”
His eyes narrowed a little, and he seemed to hesitate before answering. “Very simply. I saw this older man sitting in front of a shop on the Casa de Blanco in Perdido. He had three or four paintings displayed around him. They caught my eyes because of the composition and the vivid colors, so I took a closer look and began talking with him. Once I learned his history, I decided to buy one of the paintings to show some colleagues. They loved it, and it grew from there. You said you saw some of his paintings in New York, I believe.”
“Yes, at a small gallery. If I recall right, there were six of them on display in one of the petite galleries. Like you, I was struck by the colors and the composition, but I didn’t think more of it until later.” She tried to keep it simple; a casual interest in the artist was all.
Being honest, she acknowledged she hadn't remembered anything about the artist until Alain had brought his name up the previous night. Although she did think Roberto's paintings had reminded her of something she'd seen before, she hadn't connected him with the paintings from New York.
"But you weren't impressed," Alain said as if he could read her thoughts. "You studied my painting closely last night, and I wondered what had attracted you."
She sipped her wine, thinking about how to phrase her answer. "The painting intrigued me. As I said, I liked the composition and the way the light is handled in it, along with the smooth direction of the brush strokes. You say he's an older man, but he has fine control of the brush, which is unusual for someone who has not done a great deal of art. So, I think he might have a storehouse of other paintings from a younger time in his life. Don't you wonder about it?"
Alain laughed briefly. "Yes, I do, and I did ask him about it. If he has any, he's locked them away and is not willing to show them to me or anyone else. Perhaps his practice pieces were not good enough. Or because he was a poor man, he simply used the same canvases over and over."
"I don't suppose you would be willing to sell me that painting? Wasn’t it called 'La Señora de Laundressa'?" Lindy asked.
His mouth turned down as his eyes met hers. "No, I am sorry. I ended up selling it to Jose this afternoon as the painting I was expecting for him did not come in today, and he was quite taken mine. Maybe I will keep the new one instead, or it may be available in a few days." He smiled charmingly and leaned back. "Would you like to go to a Flamenco show? There is a dance-theater close to here, and a show will start around eleven."
"It sounds lovely, but I don't want to get back to my hotel too late." She glanced at her watch to see it was ten-fifteen already.
"The show is only one hour," Alain replied. "And it is one of the best in the city. Surely it is not too late for you."
"Well, when you praise it so much, how can I not go?"
The theater was a few blocks down from the restaurant, which was below the Alcazar, which loomed over this section of the city. On their side of the street, the grounds and hills of the royal palace sprawled toward the structure at the top. They were closer to the central district than she'd thought.
Alain took her arm and led her across the street to a small courtyard where an outdoor cafe served coffees and sweets, and just beyond it was the door to the club. A brightly painted sign proclaimed Flamenco in bold lettering. Just within the door, they found the theater box office.
As he paid for the tickets, Lindy looked at the photos on the walls of the dancers in performance. They included handsome men, some in their mid-years, dressed in the snug pants and short jackets so typical of the Spanish male dancer while the women wore the extravagant dresses with long trains and shorter front hems to show their feet as they dance.
Their seats were to the back at a small coffee table with a deep red velvet cushioned love seat for them to share. A cocktail waitress brought them each a glass of sangria to enjoy then moved on to the other patrons, some of whom were already seated while others were just arriving.
This is cozy, Lindy thought, noting no one was behind them, but the place was so small they still had an excellent view of the stage.
As the lights dimmed, Alain slipped his left arm around her shoulder, pulling her a little closer to him. She tensed a bit and resisted moving over. He tugged a little harder.
"I thought this was business," she whispered.
"No harm in combining it with a little pleasure, is there? You are a beautiful woman, and it's a romantic setting, so what is the harm in a little affection?"
"A little? None, but don't expect more."
"No, of course not." But his fingers tightened more around her upper arm.
Lindy tried to relax as the show started with explosive guitar music and the tap of the steel-toed shoes on the wooden floor in sharp staccato. The lights flashed on the stage in yellow and red bursts as the dancers came out.
In form, the Flamenco, which is sometimes referred to as the Gypsy dance, is similar to tap dancing in about the same way Irish dancing is to it. They all use metal plates on the shoes, and they dance taps or stomps on the stage. With Flamenco, there is a lot of heel and toe work, so the rhythms are important, and the dancers use the taps to tell the story. Lindy was as fascinated watching it now as she had been when she'd first seen it.
By the time a slower-paced piece of music started, Alain had advanced even closer and now tried to pull Lindy into his lap. She pulled back, putting a few inches between them.
"I said no," she said in a loud whisper. While it bought her a few moments of respite, it was short-lived before Alain began advancing again. She felt his mouth nuzzle against the nape of her neck, and she twisted away again, trying to get some distance between them.
By the end of the second dance number, Lindy had enough. She pulled her shawl around her arms, picked up her handbag, and excused herself, saying simply, "I have to go."
She saw the confused look on Alain's face as she moved past him and made her way along the wall to the exit. He didn't come after her, perhaps he misread her intention. She didn't care. She hurried to the exit and out in front of the open-air cafe where she saw a taxi sign and stood next to it, looking for an open cab. In a few minutes, one pulled in, and she gave him her hotel address.
She arrived within a few minutes and heard the muted sound of her phone ringing and felt it shake in her handbag as she paid the driver. Going inside, she pulled it out and saw the caller number, then switched it off. Alain. She didn't want to talk to him right now. He'd not taken no for an answer, and while she might not have minded the advances under other circumstances, right now, her mind was on Colin, not the gallery owner with whom she might one day do business.
Stepping off the elevator, she felt her purse jiggle as the muted phone vibrated. Probably Alain again, she thought and ignored it. She stepped into her room, flipped on the light, and looked around. No sign to indicate Michelle had returned yet, but she still had a few minutes before her curfew.
She ignored two more calls on her phone and changed into her nightgown. When Michelle wasn't in by the time she c
ame out of the bathroom, she checked her phone and saw one of the calls was from her niece. All of them had left messages.
She hit the play button and listened as the first came up.
"Melinda, what happened? Are you all right? I thought you'd gone to the ladies’ room and had one of the girls check for you, but you were not to be found. Please call me back." Alain's voice sounded mildly concerned.
The next call was his also, his voice a little more angry as he said, "I assume you have left me here without a word. Call me when you get this message."
The third, which must have come in while she was in the bathroom, was Michelle. "Sorry, Aunt. We're running just a little late. I'll be there before one. Roberto is refilling his gas tank right now."
At least one worry was answered, and the girl had been thoughtful enough to call.
The last call was Alain, and it was brief. "Call me. I am concerned."
She climbed into bed and closed her eyes as her head hit the pillow. She didn't even hear Michelle come into the room.
Chapter 17
They had breakfast at the hotel rooftop restaurant at mid-morning. Roberto joined them before they'd even made it through their first cups of coffee. He looked chipper and refreshed, Michelle thought, although she felt a little tired still. She'd been surprised her aunt was already asleep when she'd arrive the previous night, but glad for it anyway.
The show at the Flamenco club they'd gone to see had run longer with the enthusiastic crowd urging the dancers on. She hadn't even glanced at the time until it was well past eleven, then she'd had to pry Roberto away from the place. Next, he said they had to stop for fuel or his bike wouldn't make it back to the hotel.
"What could I say then?" she asked her aunt when she told her about the delay as they munched on breakfast rolls.
"Not much," Lindy agreed. She cast a stern glance at Roberto. "You, on the other hand, should have filled your fuel tank before you went out."