The Art of Deception

by Nora Roberts

  deliveries. It had never made her stomach flutter.

  “Thank you,” she managed. “So’re you.” No longer sure it was wise, she offered her hand. “Are you ready?”

  “Yes. Your father?”

  “He’s already gone,” she told him as she walked toward the door. And the sooner they were, the better. She needed a little more time before she was alone with him again. “We don’t drive to parties together, especially to Harriet’s. He likes to get there early and usually stays longer, trying to talk Harriet into bed. I’ve had my car brought around.” She shut the door and led him to a silver Porsche. “I’d rather drive than navigate, if you don’t mind.”

  But she didn’t wait for his response as she dropped into the driver’s seat. “Fine,” Adam agreed.

  “It’s a marvelous night.” She turned the key in the ignition. The power vibrated under their feet. “Full moon, lots of stars.” Smoothly she released the brake, engaged the clutch and pressed the accelerator. Adam was tossed against the seat as they roared down the drive.

  “You’ll like Harriet,” Kirby continued, switching gears as Adam stared at the blurring landscape. “She’s like a mother to me.” When they came to the main road, Kirby downshifted and swung to the left, tires squealing. “You met Melly, of course. I hope you won’t desert me completely tonight after seeing her again.”

  Adam braced his feet against the floor. “Does anyone notice her when you’re around?” And would they make it to the Merrick home alive?

  “Of course.” Surprised by the question, she turned to look at him.

  “Good God, watch where you’re going!” None too gently, he pushed her head around.

  “Melly’s the most perfectly beautiful woman I’ve ever known.” Downshifting again, Kirby squealed around a right turn then accelerated. “She’s a very clever designer and very, very proper. Wouldn’t even take a settlement from her husband when they divorced. Pride, I suppose, but then she wouldn’t need the money. There’s a marvelous view of the Hudson coming up on your side, Adam.” Kirby leaned over to point it out. The car swerved.

  “I prefer seeing it from up here, thanks,” Adam told her as he shoved her back in her seat. “Do you always drive this way?”

  “Yes. There’s the road you take to the gallery,” she continued. She waved her hand vaguely as the car whizzed by an intersection. Adam glanced down at the speedometer.

  “You’re doing ninety.”

  “I always drive slower at night.”

  “There’s good news.” Muttering, he flicked on the lighter.

  “There’s the house up ahead.” She raced around an ess curve. “Fabulous when it’s all lit up this way.”

  The house was white and stately, the type you expected to see high above the riverbank. It glowed with elegance from dozens of windows. Without slackening pace, Kirby sped up the circular drive. With a squeal of brakes, and a muttered curse from Adam, she stopped the Porsche at the front entrance.

  Reaching over, Adam pulled the keys from the ignition and pocketed them. “I’m driving back.”

  “How thoughtful.” Offering her hand to the valet, Kirby stepped out. “Now I won’t have to limit myself to one drink. Champagne,” she decided, moving up the steps beside him. “It seems like a night for it.”

  The moment the door opened, Kirby was enveloped by a flurry of dazzling, trailing silks. “Harriet.” Kirby squeezed the statuesque woman with flaming red hair. “It’s wonderful to see you, but I think I’m being gnawed by the denture work of your crocodile.”

  “Sorry, darling.” Harriet held her necklace and drew back to press a kiss to each of Kirby’s cheeks. She was an impressive woman, full-bodied in the style Rubens had immortalized. Her face was wide and smooth, dominated by deep green eyes that glittered with silver on the lids. Harriet didn’t believe in subtlety. “And this must be your house-guest,” she continued with a quick sizing up of Adam.

  “Harriet Merrick, Adam Haines.” Kirby grinned and pinched Harriet’s cheek. “And behave yourself, or Papa’ll have him choosing weapons.”

  “Wonderful idea.” With one arm still linked with Kirby’s, Harriet twined her other through Adam’s. “I’m sure you have a fascinating life story to tell me, Adam.”

  “I’ll make one up.”

  “Perfect.” She liked the look of him. “We’ve a crowd already, though they’re mostly Melanie’s stuffy friends.”

  “Harriet, you’ve got to be more tolerant.”

  “No, I don’t.” She tossed back her outrageous hair. “I’ve been excruciatingly polite. Now that you’re here, I don’t have to be.”

  “Kirby.” Melanie swept into the hall in an ice-blue sheath. “What a picture you make. Take her cloak, Ellen, though it’s a pity to spoil that effect.” Smiling, she held out a hand to Adam as the maid slipped Kirby’s cloak off her shoulders. “I’m so glad you came. We’ve some mutual acquaintances here, it seems. The Birminghams and Michael Towers from New York. You remember Michael, Kirby?”

  “The adman who clicks his teeth?”

  Harriet let out a roar of laughter while Adam struggled to control his. With a sigh, Melanie led them toward the party. “Try to behave, will you?” But Adam wasn’t certain whether she spoke to Kirby or her mother.

  This was the world he was used to—elegant people in elegant clothes having rational conversations. He’d been raised in the world of restrained wealth where champagne fizzed quietly and dignity was as essential as the proper alma mater. He understood it, he fit in.

  After fifteen minutes, he was separated from Kirby and bored to death.

  “I’ve decided to take a trek through the Australian bush,” Harriet told Kirby. She fingered her necklace of crocodile teeth. “I’d love you to come with me. We’d have such fun brewing a billy cup over the fire.”

  “Camping?” Kirby asked, mulling it over. Maybe what she needed was a change of scene, after her father settled down.

  “Give it some thought,” Harriet suggested. “I’m not planning on leaving for another six weeks. Ah, Adam.” Reaching out, she grabbed his arm. “Did Agnes Birmingham drive you to drink? No, don’t answer. It’s written all over your face, but you’re much too polite.”

  He allowed himself to be drawn between her and Kirby, where he wanted to be. “Let’s just say I was looking for more stimulating conversation. I’ve found it.”

  “Charming.” She decided she liked him, but would reserve judgment a bit longer as to whether he’d suit her Kirby. “I admire your work, Adam. I’d like to put the first bid in on your next painting.”

  He took glasses from a passing waiter. “I’m doing a portrait of Kirby.”

  “She’s posing for you?” Harriet nearly choked on her champagne. “Did you chain her?”

  “Not yet.” He gave Kirby a lazy glance. “It’s still a possibility.”

  “You have to let me display it when it’s finished.” She might’ve been a woman who ran on emotion on many levels, but the bottom line was art, and the business of it. “I can promise to cause a nasty scene if you refuse.”

  “No one does it better,” Kirby toasted her.

  “You’ll have to see the portrait of Kirby that Philip painted for me. She wouldn’t sit for it, but it’s brilliant.” She toyed with the stem of her glass. “He painted it when she returned from Paris—three years ago, I suppose.”

  “I’d like to see it. I’d planned on coming by the gallery.”

  “Oh, it’s here, in the library.”

  “Why don’t you two just toddle along then?” Kirby suggested. “You’ve been talking around me, you might as well desert me physically, as well.”

  “Don’t be snotty,” Harriet told her. “You can come, too. And I… Well, well,” she murmured in a voice suddenly lacking in warmth. “Some people have no sense of propriety.”

  Kirby turned her head, just slightly, and watched Stuart walk into the room. Her fingers tightened on the glass, but she shrugged. Before the movement was complet
e, Melanie was at her side.

  “I’m sorry, Kirby. I’d hoped he wouldn’t come after all.”

  In a slow, somehow insolent gesture, Kirby pushed her hair behind her back. “If it had mattered, I wouldn’t have come.”

  “I don’t want you to be embarrassed,” Melanie began, only to be cut off by a quick and very genuine laugh.

  “When have you ever known me to be embarrassed?”

  “Well, I’ll greet him, or it’ll make matters worse.” Still, Melanie hesitated, obviously torn between loyalty and manners.

  “I’ll fire him, of course,” Harriet mused when her daughter went to do her duty. “But I want to be subtle about it.”

  “Fire him if you like, Harriet, but not on my account.” Kirby drained her champagne.

  “It appears we’re in for a show, Adam.” Harriet tapped a coral fingertip against her glass. “Much to Melanie’s distress, Stuart’s coming over.”

  Without saying a word, Kirby took Adam’s cigarette.

  “Harriet, you look marvelous.” The smooth, cultured voice wasn’t at all like the tone Adam had heard in Fairchild’s studio. “Africa agreed with you.”

  Harriet gave him a bland smile. “We didn’t expect to see you.”

  “I was tied up for a bit.” Charming, elegant, he turned to Kirby. “You’re looking lovely.”

  “So are you,” she said evenly. “It seems your nose is back in joint.” Without missing a beat, she turned to Adam. “I don’t believe you’ve met. Adam, this is Stuart Hiller. I’m sure you know Adam Haines’s work, Stuart.”

  “Yes, indeed.” The handshake was polite and meaningless. “Are you staying in our part of New York long?”

  “Until I finish Kirby’s portrait,” Adam told him and had the dual satisfaction of seeing Kirby grin and Stuart frown. “I’ve agreed to let Harriet display it in the gallery.”

  With that simple strategy, Adam won Harriet over.

  “I’m sure it’ll be a tremendous addition to our collection.” Even a man with little sensitivity wouldn’t have missed the waves of resentment. For the moment, Stuart ignored them. “I wasn’t able to reach you in Africa, Harriet, and things have been hectic since your return. The Titian woman has been sold to Ernest Myerling.”

  As he lifted his glass, Adam’s attention focused on Kirby. Her color drained, slowly, degree by degree until her face was as white as the silk she wore.

  “I don’t recall discussing selling the Titian,” Harriet countered. Her voice was as colorless as Kirby’s skin.

  “As I said, I couldn’t reach you. As the Titian isn’t listed under your personal collection, it falls among the saleable paintings. I think you’ll be pleased with the price.” He lit a cigarette with a slim silver lighter. “Myerling did insist on having it tested. He’s more interested in investment than art, I’m afraid. I thought you’d want to be there tomorrow for the procedure.”

  Oh, God, oh, my God! Panic, very real and very strong, whirled through Kirby’s mind. In silence, Adam watched the fear grow in her eyes.

  “Tested!” Obviously insulted, Harriet seethed. “Of all the gall, doubting the authenticity of a painting from my gallery. The Titian should not have been sold without my permission, and certainly not to a peasant.”

  “Testing isn’t unheard-of, Harriet.” Seeing a hefty commission wavering, Stuart soothed, “Myerling’s a businessman, not an art expert. He wants facts.” Taking a long drag, he blew out smoke. “In any case, the paperwork’s already completed and there’s nothing to be done about it. The deal’s a fait accompli, hinging on the test results.”

  “We’ll discuss this in the morning.” Harriet’s voice lowered as she finished off her drink. “This isn’t the time or place.”

  “I—I have to freshen my drink,” Kirby said suddenly. Without another word, she spun away to work her way through the crowd. The nausea, she realized, was a direct result of panic, and the panic was a long way from over. “Papa.” She latched on to his arm and pulled him out of a discussion on Dali’s versatility. “I have to talk to you. Now.”

  Hearing the edge in her voice, he let her drag him from the room.

  CHAPTER 7

  Kirby closed the doors of Harriet’s library behind her and leaned back against them. She didn’t waste any time. “The Titian’s being tested in the morning. Stuart sold it.”

  “Sold it!” Fairchild’s eyes grew wide, his face pink. “Impossible. Harriet wouldn’t sell the Titian.”

  “She didn’t. She was off playing with lions, remember?” Dragging both hands through her hair, she tried to speak calmly. “Stuart closed the deal, he just told her.”

  “I told you he was a fool, didn’t I? Didn’t I?” Fairchild repeated as he started dancing in place. “I told Harriet, too. Would anyone listen? No, not Harriet.” He whirled around, plucked up a pencil from her desk and broke it in two. “She hires the idiot anyway and goes off to roam the jungle.”

  “There’s no use going over that again!” Kirby snapped at him. “We’ve got to deal with the results.”

  “There wouldn’t be any results if I’d been listened to. Stubborn woman falling for a pretty face. That’s all it was.” Pausing, he took a deep breath and folded his hands. “Well,” he said in a mild voice, “this is a problem.”

  “Papa, this isn’t an error in your checkbook.”

  “But it can be handled, probably with less effort. Any way out of the deal?”

  “Stuart said the paperwork had been finalized. And it’s Myerling,” she added.

  “That old pirate.” He scowled a moment and gave Harriet’s desk a quick kick. “No way out of it,” Fairchild concluded. “On to the next step. We exchange them.” He saw by Kirby’s nod that she’d already thought of it. There was a quick flash of pride before anger set in. The round, cherubic face tightened. “By God, Stuart’s going to pay for making me give up that painting.”

  “Very easily said, Papa.” Kirby walked into the room until she stood toe to toe with him. “But who was it who settled Adam in the same room with the painting? Now we’re going to have to get it out of his room, then get the copy from the gallery in without him knowing there’s been a switch. I’m sure you’ve noticed Adam’s not a fool.”

  Fairchild’s eyebrows wiggled. His lips curved. He rubbed his palms together. “A plan.”

  Knowing it was too late for regrets, Kirby flopped into a chair. “We’ll phone Cards and have him put the painting in my room before we get back.”

  He approved this with a brief nod. “You have a marvelous criminal mind, Kirby.”

  She had to smile. A sense of adventure was already spearing through the panic. “Heredity,” she told her father. “Now, here’s my idea….” Lowering her voice, she began the outline.

  “It’ll work,” Fairchild decided a few moments later.

  “That has yet to be seen.” It sounded plausible enough, but she didn’t underestimate Adam Haines. “So there’s nothing to be done but to do it.”

  “And do it well.”

  Her agreement was a careless shrug of her shoulders. “Adam should be too tired to notice that the Titian’s gone, and after I make the exchange at the gallery, I’ll slip it back into his room. Sleeping pills are the only way.” She stared down at her hands, dissatisfied, but knowing it was the only way out. “I don’t like doing this to Adam.”

  “He’ll just get a good night’s sleep.” Fairchild sat on the arm of her chair. “We all need a good night’s sleep now and again. Now we’d better go back or Melanie’ll send out search parties.”

  “You go first.” Kirby let out a deep breath. “I’ll phone Cards and tell him to get started.”

  Kirby waited until Fairchild had closed the doors again before she went to the phone on Harriet’s desk. She didn’t mind the job she had to do, in fact she looked forward to it. Except for Adam’s part. It couldn’t be helped, she reminded herself, and gave Cards brief instructions.

  Now, she thought as she replaced the receiver, it
was too late to turn back. The die, so to speak, had been cast. The truth was, the hastily made plans for the evening would prove a great deal more interesting than a party. While she hesitated a moment longer, Stuart opened the door, then closed it softly behind him.

  “Kirby.” He crossed to her with a half smile on his face. His patience had paid off now that he’d found her alone. “We have to talk.”

  Not now, she thought on a moment’s panic. Didn’t she have enough to deal with? Then she thought of the way he’d humiliated her. The way he’d lied. Perhaps it was better to get everything over with at once.

  “I think we said everything we had to say at our last meeting.”

  “Not nearly everything.”

  “Redundancy bores me,” she said mildly. “But if you insist, I’ll say this. It’s a pity you haven’t the money to suit your looks. Your mistake, Stuart, was in not making me want you—not the way you wanted me.” Deliberately her voice dropped, low and seductive. She hadn’t nearly finished paying him back. “You could deceive me about love, but not about lust. If you’d concentrated on that instead of greed, you might’ve had a chance. You are,” she continued softly, “a liar and a cheat, and while that might’ve been