“Call me Max.” he said, his smile crinkling up blue eyes.
Then came the dark troubled looking one, Luca Fabri. Flavia had called him Luca the Venetian; even she had heard the rumours recently of a great scandal involving the death of his consort.
Lastly she came under the frankly admiring stare of the man in combat fatigues. He spoke with a clear English accent, his voice a lazy drawl;
“Welcome to the team Cassia. I’d be happy to show you the ropes. Rumour is you bring us an interesting set of skills.”
“Thank you Rafe, I’ve got it under control. Cass, meet Rafe Deverill. That was his apartment we stayed at in London.”
Was there some history between these two wondered Cassia; their body language was aggressive. No, Rafe’s wasn’t, it was Javier. Men, it was anyone’s guess.
“You left my car in a London street Javier. My new Porsche. Thankfully the boys on the clean-up team got it back to my garage. They had a spare key.”
This was about a car? That reminded her;
“Did they find my bike in the alleyway? A black Honda? Javier shot it up and made me crash.”
Javier gave a bark of laughter;
“Unbelievable! You had just assaulted me as I recall.”
“Now now children.” Rafe purred; “I’ll get someone to have a look Cassia. If it’s still there I’ll ask them to get it repaired and park it in my garage. Now, may I take you in to dinner?” He took her arm and slipped it through his own.
Cassia turned to look for Flavia, her mouth dropping open as she saw her laughing softly and shyly at something the man holding both her hands was saying. Her sister was holding hands with Chronus the Empath! Casting a frantic worried look at Javier she allowed Rafe to lead her out of the study.
As they emerged back into the hallway a girl of about ten hurtled down the stairs;
“Papa! Papa! Rosa said you were here!”
Javier ran to meet her and as she neared the bottom of the staircase the child simply launched herself into the air straight at him. They were both laughing as he caught her and spun her round and round as they chatted to each other in rapid Spanish. His love for his daughter was written so plainly on his face it made Cassia’s heart ache afresh with longing for her own father. Unhooking her arm from Rafe’s she moved closer prompted by a sudden desire to watch the two of them together.
As Javier put his daughter down she kept hold of his hand and looked up at Cassia with her father’s golden brown eyes;
“Papa, quien es ella?”
“In English mi tesoro; this is Miss Mathrafal. She is helping us with some work for a few days. Cassia, this is my daughter Beatriz.”
Cassia dropped to one knee and solemnly offered her hand. The girl was beautiful and she noticed with a pang of conscience that her thick wavy hair was a rich chestnut colour. She’d got that from her mother.
“How do you do Beatriz?”
“Are you a warrior like Papa?” Cassia’s hand was shaken with dignity.
“No, I’m more interested in art.” She ignored Javier’s stifled snort of laughter,
“Oh, then you’ll like it here. There are lots of beautiful paintings; my favourite is the sunflower picture that hangs in the breakfast room.”
Cassia felt her breath freeze;
“Sunflower picture? Why do you like that one?” Surely not, it couldn’t be.
“I’ve only seen the sun in movies obviously but it makes the room feel filled with light and warmth. It’s a very happy picture and that is strange because the painter was a sad man who had his ear cut off. Did you know that?” Beatriz related happily in her lovely, soft Spanish accented English.
“I’d love to see it Beatriz.” Oh, she certainly would, a possibly hitherto unknown Van Gogh? It was a dream come true. That Chagall up there and a Van Gogh…what else might there be?
“Well, if you’re staying, you’ll see it at breakfast. Would you like to see my sketchpad too?”
“You are an artist? Yes, I would love to see it.” Cassia looked up as Javier bent to his daughter;
“Run along now Bee, Rosa will be wondering where you are, it is past your bed time.”
Beatriz hugged him then smiled up at Cassia, a wide infectious smile.
“See you at breakfast. Come down early, before everyone crowds in. I had better hurry upstairs, I escaped from Rosa.”
She started to dash off then came back and dropped a small old-fashioned curtsey;
“It was nice to meet you Miss Mathrafal. She’s very pretty Papa, don’t forget my bedtime kiss.” then she ran back upstairs, turning at the top to give her father a wave.
“She’s gorgeous Javier. Are there lots of children here?”
Javier was still smiling and his eyes shone. Cassia experienced an unsettling yearning sensation in the pit of her stomach.
“A few, four others living in the chateau itself and a further four who live with their parents on the Island; they are all educated together.”
“Is the Island big, are there many people living here?” she had heard accounts of the Comte de LaSalle’s fortress island but had no idea about its size.
“Yes, quite big and very beautiful. We have a thriving community here, Vampire and Half-blood.” Javier stopped as Rafe joined them again.
“Coming Cassia?”
“I need to check on Flavia.” Cassia glanced anxiously towards the study then froze as her sister came out on Chronus’s arm. One look at the Empath’s face was enough to confirm that he had joined the list of men smitten by Flavia’s delicate fragile beauty. Good luck to him, thought Cassia savagely, Flavia had never fallen for any of them.
“Looks like Chronus is taking good care of her.” Rafe laughed;
He rested his hand lightly against her waist as they went in to the dining room.
Two hours later Javier pulled the blankets up round Beatriz’s chin and kissed her gently on the forehead. Sitting on the edge of the colourful bed covered with an assortment of fluffy toys he watched his daughter’s sleeping face. Almost four months had passed since he had brought her to the Island to live with him. After Charlotte’s death he had left her with his parents in Spain; he had barely been capable of looking after himself let alone a two year old child. He had visited whenever he could. It had been Hera who had suggested he bring her to the Island to live and it had been the best thing he had done for years. She filled him with happiness and it was good for her to have the company of other children.
Moving quietly into his adjoining bedroom he went through the usual motions of getting ready for bed then stretched out between the cool sheets trying to relax his body. He felt tense and wired up. He was stuck with babysitting Cassia Mathrafal and he was sure she wasn’t going to make life easy for him. The sooner he could send her packing back to her very dubious lifestyle the better.
He turned restlessly onto his stomach and buried his head in the pillow. He could hear Cassia’s voice in his head singing to young Rose and the image of her face, gentle and tender flashed into his mind; so different from her usual wary combative glare. Rafe had certainly made her laugh; he had watched the two of them together all through dinner as that low hum inside him seemed to grow louder and louder.
Javier threw himself onto his back again and stared up at the ceiling as he touched his hand to his mouth. Sweet and rich like wine; he had no idea why he had taken her wrist and closed up those wounds, tasting her blood. It had felt as though he was being drawn across the room to her side without any conscious thought. The scent of her filled his senses every time she was near him; exotic and sensuous like frankincense.
With an exasperated curse he got out of bed, switched on a lamp and uncapping the bottle of single malt sitting on the chest of drawers poured himself a generous measure. His eyes fell on the framed photograph of Charlotte and he picked it up and stood looking at it as he sipped.
He felt guilty; as though he was being unfaithful. Cassia was not his type, she was not. If he shut his eyes he c
ould see her standing in LaSalle’s study; tall and long legged in her black clothes and biker boots with those flashing deep blue eyes and silky raven black hair sweeping down past her waist. She reminded him of the heroine from LaSalle’s son’s favourite film about the tomb raider. Yes, she would have been perfect for that role. Yet he sensed a vulnerability and softness about her that she hid behind an outward show that was all aggressive sharp edges and attitude.
Javier sighed and returned the photograph to its place, running his forefinger gently over Charlotte’s image. No, Cassia was definitely not his type and it was obvious he wasn’t her type either. She was awkward, prickly and skittish around him whereas she’d laughed and flirted with Rafe as though she’d known him for years. She had obviously fallen for his brand of worldly urbane sophisticated charm. Tossing back the last of the whisky he got back into bed where sleep eluded him for hours until he finally fell into a restless troubled doze.
CHAPTER 8
Cassia sat moodily on the bottom step of the great staircase waiting for Beatriz. She had only exchanged a few words with Javier after dinner; he was going to accompany her to London to meet up with one of her contacts. She wished she could go on her own but she had given LaSalle her word. Reluctantly she admitted to herself that it would be a sensible precaution to have Javier as back-up but she had lied to LaSalle and she didn’t know how Javier would react when he found her out.
She had broken one of the Ancient Laws; a law specifically written to protect their kind. Cassia sighed, it was hard to believe that she was stuck here but it wasn’t as though there was any pressing need for her to be doing anything else. Money was fine at the moment, that job she had done three months ago in Florence had netted her a cool quarter of a million dollars.
The truth was she didn’t need to steal paintings anymore; she and Flavia were wealthy thanks to the jobs she had done over the last century. No, nowadays she took on the very few jobs she did simply for the challenge. She had lost her focus and she was drifting, planning and executing increasingly complicated thefts filled up an empty space in her life. It was so different for Flavia. She travelled all over the place enchanting audiences with her beautiful voice and the way she could hold a gathering spellbound when she told her stories and legends. Cassia was happy to support her, do the admin, bank the comparatively small payments she received and carry her instruments and bags. She was proud of what Flavia had accomplished.
Perhaps she should spend more time trying to build a better relationship with her mother. Even as she thought this Cassia dismissed the idea; she had always been closer to her father, it was Flavia who was her mother’s favourite. In addition, her mother had always hated what she did even when it had put food on the table and paid the bills. She had a son now with her second consort and she was very happy. No, Cassia decided, best to leave well alone.
She felt herself sliding further into gloom and jumped as a hand tapped her on the shoulder;
“Miss Mathrafal, are you day dreaming? I called you twice from the top of the stairs and you were very far away.”
Cassia smiled as Beatriz came round and stood in front of her, a large sketchpad tucked under her arm.
“I’m sorry Beatriz. You’re right, I was miles away. Now, if you and I are going to get along do you think you could call me Cassia? I always feel I’m in trouble when people call me Miss Mathrafal.”
Beatriz laughed, “I know what you mean; when Papa gets cross with me he always calls me Beatriz Isabella Carlotta de Seville, just like that!”
She did such a good impression of Javier that Cassia started laughing too. Beatriz glanced up the stairs then leaned forward urgently;
“Soon they’ll all be coming down for breakfast. If we hurry we’ll get to look at the sunflower painting in peace. Come on.”
Turning, she hurried across the hall and Cassia jumped to her feet and followed her. They entered a large cheerful room filled with the fragrance of fresh coffee percolating on a large dresser and the mouth-watering aroma of newly baked bread and croissants but all Cassia saw was the painting that had pride of place on one of the walls. She restrained herself, waiting until Beatriz took her hand and led her across the room till they were standing right in front of it.
“Now Cassia, that’s my favourite painting in the whole house. Can you see why?”
Cassia found it hard to speak. Her heart was hammering with excitement and tears of joy pricked at her eyes. She was always like this when she came face to face with a painting she loved. She cleared her throat and was surprised that she managed to sound so calm;
“Tournesols. That’s French for sunflowers Beatriz as I’m sure you know. This is without doubt one of the first series he did in Arles. A very, very good one indeed. I thought I’d seen all the Arles sunflower paintings but obviously not. Sunflowers you see, made him feel happy. He painted this and the other sunflower paintings to decorate the studio he was going to share with his friend, another great artist called Paul Gauguin. “Nothing but big flowers” he was reported to have said.”
“Well it makes me feel happy. I love it. Do you see how it fills the room with golden light? That must be what the sun is like.”
Cassia looked down. Beatriz’s lovely face was rapt as she looked up at the painting and Cassia knew at once that here was a kindred spirit.
“You have the heart of an artist Beatriz. Do you know how this painting came to be here?”
“Oh, Ysabeau had it before she was joined to LaSalle and came to live here. She’s got loads of paintings. She sells some of them sometimes, secretly, and gives all the money to poor children. Philippe told me. This year she sold a Picasso.”
Cassia was stunned. The whole art world had been humming with speculation a few months ago when a small hitherto unknown Picasso had been put up for auction by an anonymous owner. It had gone for over sixty million pounds. She had watched the proceedings with excitement, wondering who the seller could be. My God, it came from right here, from this house. Oh, if only she could get a look at Ysabeau’s paintings, what other treasures might there be?
Dragging herself away she turned to Beatriz and pulled out a chair.
“Show me your work. I see you brought your sketchbook.”
Shyly Beatriz handed her the book, her expression anxious;
“They’re nothing like the sunflowers Cassia. They’re things and people I see every day; nothing exciting.”
Cassia looked slowly through the book. The child had huge talent; the natural eye of an artist and a sensitive and fluid style. There were trees, flowers and bits of landscape but what really drew Cassia’s eyes were the sketches of people. Beatriz seemed to capture the very essence of her subjects. She turned a page as the child murmured;
“There is Papa. I’m pleased with that one.”
She should be, thought Cassia. There was that face that looked as though it belonged to a renaissance prince instead of a warrior. She had captured his sensitive mouth, untidy hair and the slight sadness hidden in his eyes. She looked up at Beatriz;
“You are indeed an artist. You must draw and draw and you will get better and better. That’s what all the great artists did.”
The child blushed, a broad smile lighting up her eyes; not Javier’s smile thought Cassia, probably her mother’s. There was the sound of footsteps in the hall then Javier looked in;
“There’s my beautiful girl. I see you’ve been sharing your favourite painting with Cassia.”
Beatriz beamed as she hugged her father;
“Yes, she knew loads about it and she looked at my drawings and says I’m an artist too. Papa, are you leaving again? You’re all dressed up.”
He was, thought Cassia admiringly as he dropped to one knee to talk to Beatriz. He was obviously ready for their evening ahead in London and had dressed formally as she had advised. She wasn’t sure she had seen anyone look that good in a tuxedo before; every woman in the place would be checking him out when they got to Harry’s.
B
eatriz reached out with a delicate feminine gesture and straightened his bow tie then brushed down the lapels of his jacket;
“Is Cassia going too? We were just talking, you haven’t had breakfast.”
“I’m afraid so Bee. We’ll grab a coffee and a quick bite. I’m sure Cassia will want to change. I’ll bring her back later.”
Beatriz turned to Cassia;
“Promise you’ll come back. I could draw you. Are you going to put on a dress?”
“I promise Beatriz.” Cassia looked down at herself then at Javier; “I had better put on a dress hadn’t I? I can’t have your dad all dressed up and me looking like this.”
Damn it all, she would have to take Javier to her place in Bloomsbury so she could change clothes. She had never taken anyone there before, not even Flavia. Beatriz gave her father a quick hug and, picking up her sketchbook and a warm pain au chocolat turned to leave;
“See you later. We can talk about paintings. There are more you know.” The door shut behind her and they heard her rapid footsteps crossing the marble hall.
“She likes you,” Javier poured Cassia some coffee and passed her a basket of fresh rolls. Cassia noticed the slight shadows under his eyes, as though he hadn’t slept well. She sipped her coffee but turned down the rolls, she was too tense to eat.
“I like her back. She’s very talented Javier and has the heart and eye of an artist. You should encourage her as much as you can.”
He smiled; “It’s good to see her so animated. After her mother died she grew up with my parents, always in the company of adults. She rarely mixed with other children till she came here; I worry sometimes that she is too serious.”
Cassia fiddled nervously with her coffee cup;
“How did her mother die Javier? You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to.”
Javier finished his coffee and walked over to the windows as the shutters rolled up with a low rumble. The sun had set.
“She was blown up by a terrorist bomb in a Cairo restaurant. Thirty others died alongside her. There was barely anything left of them. I should have been there too; we were meeting for dinner but I was working and had got delayed.”
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