Nola stepped back slightly, tapping her lips with the forefinger of her left hand as she regarded the portrait silently, and then she jabbed the air in the direction of the portrait. ‘This has to be Taine’s Trinity,’ she stated matter-of-factly, quite assured in her assumption.
She crossed to the phalanx of shelves that filled the entire wall to the left and right of the window, ignoring those on antiques and statues. She began perusing the spines of the books on art and paintings, tilting her head solicitously as she whispered the titles beneath her breath, until she eventually found the book she was looking for: a large, heavy volume, packed with colour reproductions of paintings by famous artists, and those who were less well known, but equally talented and rare.
Flicking through the pages, Nola halted about half way through. The page had the name Dion Taine printed at the top, and along with a brief history of his work – which spanned only fifteen years until his murder in 1568 – there were photos of his three well-known works, Crucible, Majolica, and Sangraal. There was also an artist’s impression, using first hand documentary historical references, of what his four other known paintings probably looked like, of which only two were known to have names: his only two portrait studies of human form, Khan and Trinity – both of which disappeared during the Second World War. It was a widely accepted assumption that the Gestapo had stolen the paintings from their rightful owners, and if that were true, there was little likelihood of them ever seeing the light of day again, though most art historians dared to maintain a degree of hope.
The remaining two known paintings, a still life and a portrait, had been lost during the Eighteenth Century, and very little was known about them, except for brief descriptions in a letter Dion Taine himself wrote shortly before his death; a letter that had been found secreted behind the canvas of Majolica.
The artist’s impression of Trinity, along with a reproduction of a faded, creased and torn sepia photograph from the early part of the century, seemed to indicate that the portrait propped against the wall in Gaia’s bedroom, was indeed Taine’s Trinity.
‘My God,’ cried Eudora rabidly, ‘do you have any idea how much this painting might be worth?’
‘I couldn’t even begin to hazard a guess,’ replied Nola. ‘If his other paintings are anything to go by, we’re talking in the region of fifty million – at least! Do you realise that this could be the art-world find of the decade, possibly even the century?’
Eudora nodded. ‘Yes, I knew it was something special the moment I first set eyes on it, but I never dreamed it was this special.’ She sniffed as tears welled up in her eyes as she thought of Isadora, who would have almost certainly recognised it for what it was; she could almost see her sister hyperventilating with orgasmic excitement, trying hard at the same time to prevent those around her sensing her excitement. Someone else had clearly recognised Dion Taine’s work, and killed Isadora for daring to outbid them! Not even the discovery of a rare painting such as this was worth the death of her sister: someone was going to pay!
Nola’s voice brought her back from her sad reverie. ‘You should get in some real experts to take a look at it, just to make certain it’s genuine and not a fake!’
‘Yes, yes – I suppose so,’ Eudora sighed. She knew exactly whom she was going to call as well.
* * *
A little later that afternoon, Nola and Derek sat nursing untouched drinks in the same bar a short distance from the Donat Gallery, unaware of the other’s presence.
Around them, Londoners and visiting out-of-towners milled around, jostling for space, mumbling, chattering, never silent, never still. Everyone else went about their business. Everybody else seemed happy.
Everyone except Derek, who despised himself for deceiving Eudora – but the offer of one million pounds, in cash, was too tempting to pass up.
Everybody except Nola, in the next booth but one, who hated the fact that she had lied to Eudora, the woman who had been so much of a mother to her that the deceit hurt like a knife, stripping away her morals and scruples. It cut so deep she could almost feel the knife twisting, cutting out her heart.
Eudora had been so kind to her, and how had she repaid her?
By lying and cheating, and playing one dangerous game of deception after another, right from their first introduction – at her father’s behest! When Eudora found out the truth, then that would be it: the end of her job at the gallery, the end of their close friendship. Eudora would not be forgiving. Of that, Nola was certain.
She was ashamed of herself. She had followed her father’s odd instructions to the letter, without hesitation. When he had originally told her about the portrait, Dion Taine’s Trinity, he had told her how it belonged in his family, and how it would one day come to be in the possession of the woman Theodora Donat. Nola had wanted to know how he knew the Donat woman would come to own the painting, but she knew better than to question her father. At times, he was the most loving man she knew; at other times, he frightened her. She never understood what was going on in his head; his constant mutterings about revenge unnerved her, as did his persistent insistence that a man called Spiridon was still alive and had to die.
She had always put the murmurings and conversations down to his schizophrenia, and when he had faked his suicide, he made her promise not to tell anyone. He had told her he was undergoing a secret new procedure that no one was to know about, and she had believed him without question.
He had insisted she take a job at the gallery and get to know the woman Theodora intimately; he had been a little surprised to learn there was no woman there by the name Theodora, but later insisted that he had said the name Eudora and that Nola had misheard him.
He was her father, and Nola would do anything and everything he asked of her, right down to befriending Eudora and telling her that she was an orphan. Dino Clayton knew that would make Eudora Donat more susceptible to her suppressed maternal instincts. All the parts of his plan had so far gone like clockwork, and there was no reason why the rest should not continue in a similar fashion.
Nola was not so sure; now that she had discovered from Eudora that Taine’s Trinity was the painting Isadora had unearthed in Paris, she began to suspect that her father might have had a hand in Isadora’s murder. She did not want to believe he could be guilty, but it was too much of a coincidence, especially now she had actually seen the painting and readily recognised one of its subjects.
She wanted to question her father about the incident, about why he wanted her to lie and get close to Eudora, about why he originally believed her name to be Theodora, and why the painting seemed to depict him, but she had no wish to incur her father’s wrath. Perhaps due to the continued voices in his head, Dino Clayton had a terrible temper when riled. He hated having the motives for his actions questioned, especially by those close to him, and he would most assuredly not be pleased with his beloved daughter asking about his involvement in the murder of one of her employers.
Denial would be his only option, and retribution for the impertinence would undoubtedly be swift; but still the desire for the truth was too great, so Nola decided to try her hand at a little detective work.
Two booths away, Derek decided he had been a witless, greedy fool. One million pounds was undeniably a great deal of money, but not enough to lose a valued friendship over; he valued his close camaraderie with Eudora much more than a million pounds, and since he had yet to be paid, he decided it was one deal he could renege on without losing precious sleep over. If he took the money, then took the painting and gave it to Dino Clayton, he would lose a great deal of sleep, for many years to come. He still could not understand how he had allowed himself to be dragged into the scheme in the first place. It was all down to greed, of course, but he had not expected one of the Donat women to die, and now he knew it was not something he wanted to be party to.
He decided then and there that he would tell Eudora to keep the portrait out of the gallery. Even though he was not about to go through with
the theft, there was little doubt in his mind that Dino Clayton would easily find someone else to do the job, and there were plenty of thugs more than willing to do it for a fraction of what he had been promised.
It was only as he stood to leave and passed her booth that Derek noticed Nola. He hovered uncertainly, unsure whether to say anything, but Nola glanced up when his shadow fell on her. She recognised him as the annoying courier who regularly delivered the newly acquired stock to the gallery. She knew he disliked her, but she was also aware that he was the man her father had selected to carry out the theft.
‘Would you care to join me?’ she asked coolly.
The feeling of dislike was mutual, and Derek hesitated momentarily, then lowered himself into the booth, sliding along the couch until he faced her. ‘Do you like what your father’s doing?’ he mumbled. When Nola merely blinked, Derek frowned. Perhaps he had been wrong; maybe the annoying girl knew nothing of her father’s plans after all? ‘You do know what he’s up to, don’t you?’
Cautiously, Nola nodded. ‘Of course I do,’ she whispered. ‘I’m as much an unwilling pawn as you!’
Derek sighed, allowing himself a slight smile of relief. ‘So we do have something in common then?’
‘Yes. The question is, what can we do about it?’
Derek shrugged. ‘When I signed on for this gig, I didn’t plan on anyone being killed! It’s all got totally out of hand, and whatever we do now, someone else is going to get hurt. I cannot go through with the plan, so I’m going to tell Eudora everything. Better I lose my friendship with her than she loses her life, like her poor sister!’
‘When are you going to tell her?’
‘As soon as possible. Today probably.’
‘I’ll come with you… if you like?’ Nola mumbled uncertainly. ‘I’ll make my own confession!’
Across from the booth, the thickset man who had been eavesdropping on their conversation glanced at his companion, who nodded and disappeared through the entrance, while the first man headed for the payphone at the far end of the bar.
‘Trouble,’ he muttered, when the call was connected and he heard the familiar voice on the other end.
‘What kind of trouble?’ demanded the voice irritably.
‘Nola and the man, Derek, have just met and decided to tell the Donat woman everything!’
‘Damn!’ There was a brief spell of silence on the end of the phone, and then the deep voice continued. ‘The girl must remain unhurt!’
‘Of course.’
‘Then you know what you must do?’
‘Yes, Sir.’ The thickset man hung up, in time to see Nola and Derek leaving through the front door. He slipped out through the side door, to find his companion sitting in their car, the engine running. He scrambled into the passenger seat, slamming the door behind him. ‘The man – and only the man!’
The driver put the car in gear and pulled away from the kerb. Nola and Derek were crossing the road further down; the driver put his foot down on the accelerator and kept it there. Nola and Derek looked back when they heard the screech of tyres on the road behind them. Nola caught a brief glimpse of the black car as it hurtled towards them, and then Derek shoved her out of the way moments before the car smashed into him, sending him catapulting up into the air. Nola, sprawled inelegantly across the pavement, heard the sickening crunch of the impact, followed moments later by the even more sickening squelching thud of Derek’s broken body as it hit the ground mere feet from her.
The car was gone even before people started appearing from out of the nearby buildings. Nola crawled over to Derek’s inert body. Blood collected in a pool beside his head; the jagged white of bone pushed through the ripped skin of his left leg, bent at an impossible angle beneath him; his neck was broken, his eyes wide, staring lifelessly up an the sky.
As she cried openly for a man she had disliked immensely until ten minutes ago, there was no doubt in Nola’s mind about who was responsible; the only question was, had she been an intended victim as well?
Chapter Six
As she heard the commotion down the opposite road that opened onto Regent Street, Eudora wondered fleetingly what was going on, but her interest dissipated when Nathan Bosporus appeared.
‘Hi, Nate,’ she said as she invited him into the gallery.
Nathan jerked his thumb in the direction of the commotion. ‘What’s going on down there?’
Eudora shrugged. ‘I have no idea. What brings you here? I was going to call you later this afternoon.’
‘I need to talk to someone.’
‘About you and Izzy?’
Nathan shrugged. ‘I don’t know. I just want someone to talk to.’
Eudora glanced at her watch. It was ten past two, and she was expecting Storm Delamare, her friend from Christies, at three. Talking to Nathan was bound to require more than fifty minutes, but she couldn’t turn him away; in the current climate, his need for someone to talk to would take precedence over her desire to have any work of art authenticated and valued every time.
She led him to the back of the gallery, where they sat together on the low sofa beside her desk, and shared a tearful hug before chatting about nothing in particular. As she spoke, Nathan noticed Eudora still shared all of Isadora’s peculiar mannerisms; the twitch of the lips when she smiled; the flick of the wrist when she gesticulated to make a point; the curious way her eyebrows arched independently occasionally: she was even more like Isadora than ever.
‘I was thinking of asking Isadora to marry me after she returned from Paris,’ he muttered sadly.
Touching his hand gently, Eudora nodded solemnly. ‘Gaia and I wondered when you two were going to get back together!’
‘I think I only decided to because of her announcement a few weeks ago that she was expecting my child.’ As soon as he had uttered the words and noted Eudora’s stunned look of surprise, Nathan knew Isadora had told no one else the news, just as she had asked him to tell nobody. ‘You didn’t know, did you?’
Eudora shook her head. ‘No, I had absolutely no idea. I wonder why she never told me.’
Nathan had no answer. ‘I know she was terrified of losing the baby; perhaps she wanted to wait until it was more developed with less chance of a miscarriage before she told everyone else. Besides, you know she wouldn’t want people to make a fuss; she loves her foreign trips, and was probably worried that you would try to stop her! She wasn’t even going to tell me originally, because she didn’t want me to think she was trapping me into getting back together with her!’
Eudora smiled wistfully. ‘You and Izzy belong together, Nate. You parted amicably, and the fact that you and she continued seeing each other is proof of that.’
‘You think so? I don’t know – we parted because we realised we are incompatible. Perhaps proposing might have been a mistake.’
‘I wonder if she told Gaia she was pregnant?’ pondered Eudora, having apparently not heard him
‘If not then I reckon Gaia would have felt it anyway; you know what they were like, both knowing what the other was thinking, both feeling what the other felt.’
‘You don’t suppose it was Gaia who’s pregnant, and Izzy felt it and thought it was her?’
Nathan shook his head. ‘No; she’d been to her doctor, had all the tests and everything. She was about three months pregnant.’
‘Three months?’ gasped Eudora. ‘She didn’t know until recently, and she was three months pregnant, and she was worried about a miscarriage? My God, for the past few months she’s been lugging all sorts of heavy objects and pieces of furniture around!’
‘Well, whatever her reasons, we will never know now,’ mumbled Nathan, breaking into tears. He desperately wanted to tell Eudora where his true feeling lay, but found he could not; what would she think of him, betraying Isadora’s memory when he had just told her of his plan to propose?
Not quite knowing what to do, Eudora found herself cradling Nathan’s head against her breast, stroking his hair tenderly as
Isadora had done for her after their father’s death all those long years ago. ‘It’s always best to get it all out in the open,’ she whispered comfortingly.
She was glad no prospective customers entered the gallery right then. Usually the man comforted the woman in distress, cradling her head against his chest protectively; it must have looked rather peculiar the other way around. Nathan was certainly no wimp, but it was at terrible times of grief like this that his sensitive nature showed through his casually cool exterior. The fact that he was distraught upset Eudora greatly, but it did not bother her unduly that he was a strong man, weeping like a baby; his ability to show his grief made him endearingly human, and proved just how much Nathan still loved Isadora.
Some minutes passed before Eudora sensed a change in Nathan’s mood, and when he ceased crying, she released him. Her blouse was damp with his tears, but she did not mind.
‘God,’ he sniffed, drying his red eyes, feeling how puffy they were, ‘I must look a mess!’
‘I shouldn’t worry, Nate,’ smiled Eudora bravely, desperate not to give in to her own tears, which now threatened to spill. ‘Nobody saw!’
‘You’re very kind and understanding, Dora. You have a sympathetic ear. Thank you.’
Nathan had done more crying than talking, and all he really said was that Isadora had been pregnant and that he had thought of proposing, but left it too late. Eudora’s shoulder appeared more sympathetic than her ear; and as for kind and understanding – all she had done was comfort a close friend during a period of distress.
The word close seemed suddenly to lodge itself in her mind, unwelcome, and as she noticed for the first time just how close she and Nathan were still sitting, their bodies touching, she realised it was far too close to be acceptable in current circumstances.
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