The Mistress

by Danielle Steel

“You’re disgusting to work with, by the way.” She pointed to the cigarette. “And the plot thickens.”

  “How’s that?”

  “I don’t know how it happened or how he pulled it off, or if she even knows about it. But he’s in love with the girl.”

  “What girl?” Steve looked confused.

  “The one on the boat. Stanislas’s mistress.” Steve whistled.

  “Well, that’s interesting. I wonder if Stanislas knows.”

  “My guess is he does.”

  “How did you figure that out?”

  “Luca painted a portrait of her, and she has it. Guys like Stanislas always know. And then they strike. She could be in deep shit. Guys like him are never good sports about what they consider ‘betrayals.’ They have very simplistic rules.”

  “I’d say sleeping with another man could be called a betrayal.”

  “I didn’t say she slept with him. I said Luca is in love with her. That’s different. But it could be bad news for her.”

  “Did he tell you he’s in love with her?”

  “Of course not.”

  “Jesus, these people are complicated. You have to be as twisted as they are to figure it out.”

  “That’s what they pay us for,” she said, smiling at him.

  —

  Gabriel and Maylis came back from Florence a week after the robbery, and things started to settle down. The art theft details in several cities were working on it, but no leads had turned up, and no sign of the paintings. And on Gabriel’s advice, Theo opened the restaurant again, in order to maintain an air of normalcy, although they had security guards in the house now, and two at night.

  Maylis settled Gabriel at the studio with her, and Theo was relieved to see him looking as well as he did. He shared his theories about Vladimir’s involvement in the art theft with him, because he wouldn’t sell him the painting he wanted, and Gabriel confirmed that it would be hard to pin it on him, even impossible. But nothing could convince Theo he wasn’t part of it in some way. And he wondered if the paintings were on the boat. It would be the perfect place to conceal them. But the police had told Theo point-blank that there was no justification to get a search warrant on Stanislas, and even Athena thought it was unlikely that he was actually responsible for it. He didn’t have an adequate motive for it, except for a temper tantrum that Theo wouldn’t sell him the painting he wanted. And she didn’t think Vladimir was crazy enough to steal it along with eleven others. Only a madman would do that. Or a major criminal. Theo thought he was both and had said so to the police.

  The only thing that consoled Maylis from the tragedy of losing twelve of Lorenzo’s paintings was worrying about Gabriel and taking care of him. Theo was still running the restaurant for her, because she didn’t want to leave Gabriel alone at night, and he didn’t need a nurse. He was recovering well, and she was lavishing affection on him, and deeply grateful that he had survived. Their relationship had blossomed since his heart attack, and nearly losing him, and Marie-Claude’s harsh speech to her, which even Theo thought had been warranted. Gabriel’s heart attack was a turning point for them all.

  Theo was working with the insurance company and their investigators every day. But they had discovered no more than the police. And even Athena and Steve had hit a slump. While they pondered the little information they had, and continued interrogating the employees, Princess Marina sailed away. Athena was slightly bothered by it, but Vladimir wasn’t a suspect and there wasn’t a shred of evidence to tie him to the crime.

  Vladimir had suggested a trip to Croatia to Natasha, and she liked the idea, and a few days in Venice on the way back. They were planning to be gone for the rest of June. They had no reason to stick around Antibes, and Vladimir got restless if they stayed at any anchorage for too long.

  The cruise to Croatia was peaceful and relaxing, but once there, their trips ashore were boring and less interesting than Natasha was used to, and she found the people unfriendly. There was something sad about it, the scars of the war were still evident in some places, and Natasha was anxious to get to Venice. They decided to head back earlier than planned, and cut farther out to sea than usual. They passed a small battered freighter one day that hailed them and showed signs of distress. It was flying under the Turkish flag, which didn’t seem unusual, and the yacht crew was about to put a tender in the water to help them, when the security guards came to tell Vladimir that they were sure the freighter was manned by pirates, and they were at risk to be boarded. They had been watching closely with binoculars and had seen that the crew members on the freighter’s deck were armed. When the guards warned Vladimir, Natasha was standing nearby and heard what they’d said. She looked frightened as Vladimir turned to her with a stern expression. Nothing like it had ever happened while Natasha was onboard, and she was terrified.

  “Go down to the safe room immediately,” he said to her, and he spoke to the bodyguards, and told them to distribute the guns they had onboard. They raised the tender back up. Natasha hurried down the stairs, and she heard gunshots outside, as she ran past the room where the security guards were handing out automatic weapons to the crew.

  The door to the gun room was standing wide open, as they handed out the weapons. She glanced in as she ran past, and suddenly she saw them, a dozen wrapped paintings standing in the corner of the room. She didn’t have time to look carefully, but she suspected instantly what they were, especially since there were twelve of them. She was sure Lorenzo Luca’s paintings were onboard. Vladimir had stolen them, or had someone do it. Natasha’s eyes flew open wider as she realized what she’d seen, and then she ran to the safe room, as Vladimir had told her to do, and locked herself in. There was food and water, a small refrigerator, a communications system, and a toilet and a sink in a separate room. The door to the safe room was armored and bulletproof, and there were no portholes or windows. It had been designed to keep them safe in the event of an attack or a kidnapping attempt, or an act of piracy like the one they suspected was about to occur.

  There was a narrow bed, and she lay down on it, with her heart pounding as she thought of the twelve carefully wrapped paintings in the gun room. Vladimir called her on the radio system in the safe room a little while later, and told her everything was all right. The incident had been avoided. They had left the freighter far behind them, and were moving at full speed. They hadn’t been boarded, but he said he wanted her to stay in the safe room for a while. He didn’t sound concerned, and said he’d come for her soon. All she could think of was what she knew was in the gun room. She was certain they were the missing paintings, otherwise what were twelve wrapped paintings doing concealed in a locked room? She couldn’t believe he would do a thing like that, but he had. And she had no idea why. To own them? To sell them? To possess them? To punish the Lucas in some way? To get even with Theo for doing the portrait of her? It made no sense to her, and she wondered if she was responsible for it by accepting the portrait from Theo, if that had angered Vladimir so he was seeking revenge. But that wasn’t adequate justification for Vladimir to steal twelve paintings of enormous value. He had eventually told her that he had tried to buy one the night he went to dinner there without her, and he was angry that they had insisted the one he wanted wasn’t for sale. But to steal twelve of them as vengeance for their not selling him a painting he wanted was insane. It made her wonder what he was capable of. She felt sorry for Theo and his mother, but there was nothing she could do about it. She couldn’t tell anyone, or Vladimir might go to prison. And if she did tell someone, he would know that she had given him away. It would be the ultimate betrayal, and there was no telling what he would do to her then. But she didn’t want the Lucas to lose their paintings either. She felt as though her whole existence were at stake, and she wasn’t willing to risk everything for twelve paintings. But if she didn’t speak up, she was as guilty as he was for the theft, if they were indeed the Lucas’ paintings. Her head was spinning when Vladimir came for her two hours later. She was p
ale and shaken, which could have been her reaction to the danger they’d been in. It was her visceral response to what she’d seen and what it told her about him.

  “What happened?” she asked him, worried.

  “They were pirates. They’re around here and there. Fortunately our men caught on to it quickly, before they had a chance to board us. And we were too fast for them. They’re far behind us now. We reported it to the authorities. They’ll keep an eye out for them. They weren’t Turks. They looked more like Romanians, or a motley crew of some kind. It was bold of them to try and board us.” She nodded, frightened by the incident, and even more so by what she’d seen in the gun room. Her life was unraveling, or could be. And she was well aware that the pirates could have killed them.

  “I heard shooting,” she said, still looking nervous.

  “Just warning shots, so we’d cut our engines. No one was hurt,” he reassured her. Vladimir seemed calm about it, although he had acted quickly the minute he’d been warned of what was about to happen.

  “Did we shoot anyone?” Natasha asked in a whisper as she followed him upstairs.

  “No,” he laughed. “Do you want me to go back and shoot them?” he asked as he put his arms around her, and held her for a moment to calm her, but he was thinking about what the head security guard had just told him, that he had seen Natasha look into the gun room as she ran by, and he was certain she’d seen the paintings wrapped up in the corner. He thought Vladimir should know. But Vladimir wasn’t convinced that she knew what they were, in the panic of the moment, about to be boarded by pirates. And if she had seen them, Vladimir felt sure she would ask him about it. She had an innocent, unsuspicious nature, and she hadn’t said a word. He trusted her. But she was intelligent and might wonder about it later, whether she mentioned it or not. She had changed everything by looking into the room, and she now represented an important risk. There was no telling when or if she’d figure out what she’d seen.

  They were sailing closer to shore by then, in touch with the local coast guard, heading toward Venice at considerable speed. And as he looked at her asleep in their bed that night, he told himself that she would never suspect him of anything, or even whose paintings they were. It would never dawn on her to accuse him of an art theft. He was sure that she would never imagine that he had done it to punish the Lucas for not selling him the painting he wanted. It was time they learned a lesson. He hadn’t decided what to do with the paintings yet. But he liked knowing that now they were his. It was an extraordinary feeling of power, taking what he wanted. No one could tell him they weren’t for sale, or that he couldn’t have them. He allowed no one to make the rules for him, or to control him. He paid handsomely for what he wanted. Or took it, if denied.

  They reached Venice two days later, after a vigilant trip. They had doubled the men on watch and stayed alert, and all the officers, security guards, and deckhands remained armed, just in case the freighter had been in collusion with another boat that would cross their path, but none appeared. And those who were armed remained in full view on deck. They didn’t put the weapons away until just before they reached Venice, and then they locked them in the gun room again. Natasha was on deck with Vladimir, admiring Venice when they did. She was nowhere near the gun room that time.

  Natasha was relieved to be in a civilized place again. Their close encounter with the pirates had unnerved her. To calm her, Vladimir went shopping with her in Venice. They visited several churches and the local sights, and had dinner at Harry’s Bar, and he took her on a gondola ride and kissed her under the Bridge of Sighs. And then they got back on their boat and headed back to France.

  Natasha was quiet on the trip, trying to decide what she should do. There was no doubt in her mind what was in the gun room, and who it belonged to. The only thing she didn’t know was how it had gotten there. And she didn’t know who to tell or if she should. She never questioned Vladimir about it. She didn’t dare. And he was more loving to her than ever, which made her decision harder.

  She still had Theo’s number on a piece of paper in her wallet, but she knew that if she called him, it could be traced to her phone or whatever phone she used, and somehow Vladimir might find out. She didn’t want anything bad to happen to him, but she wanted Theo and his mother to get their paintings back. They didn’t deserve to have this happen. What Vladimir had done was wrong. She was sure he had done it. And she hated knowing, and the burden it put on her now. There was no denying what she had seen. She had much to think about. And she didn’t notice Vladimir observing her.

  “Are you all right?” Vladimir asked her when they reached the Mediterranean again. She seemed troubled and he wasn’t sure why.

  “I didn’t like what happened,” she said about the pirates, looking worried. “What if they had come onboard? They would have killed us,” she said. She made it clear that they had frightened her badly. It had happened to others before, though mostly in more troubled countries and dangerous waters. It had startled him too, and had been an unexpected, inconvenient episode. And he was upset that the gun room had been left open, and that Natasha had happened by at the wrong time, with the paintings hidden there in plain sight. They were wrapped but clearly didn’t belong there. But she still hadn’t mentioned them to him. The pirates concerned her more. He wondered if she’d seen the paintings at all in her terror, but the head of security was sure she had, and said she had paused for an instant once she saw them. Vladimir wasn’t convinced. It wasn’t like her to be secretive with him, and she hadn’t said a word.

  “That’s why we have guns onboard,” he said in a soothing tone, “in case of incidents like that.” But he could see that she was still distressed. She didn’t seem to relax again until they were back at anchor off Antibes. They had been gone for three weeks. Even telling her he’d gotten the Monet at auction didn’t distract her, or even seem to please her.

  —

  Maylis was working alternate nights with Theo at the restaurant by then, to give him some relief, and Gabriel was feeling well again and going for long walks every day. It had been such a stressful time for Theo that his mother tried to give him a break.

  And one of Athena’s fellow officers told her when the boat was back. She mentioned it to Steve the next day.

  “We don’t have any reason to go and see him again,” Steve reminded her. “None of the evidence points to him.” It didn’t point to anyone yet. And there was no sign of the twelve missing paintings. All their informants had come up dry, which Athena thought was strange. And all the employees of the restaurant had been thoroughly investigated. No one on the task force, or even at the insurance company, thought it was an inside job. But clearly whoever had done it were professionals, and had high-tech methods.

  “I wouldn’t mind talking to his lady friend,” she said, thoughtfully. “If he’ll let me.” She had a feeling that he wouldn’t want her to, which explained why he’d sent Natasha away last time.

  “I don’t know what that’s going to get you. She didn’t steal them. Why would she?” Steve said, thinking that for once Athena was looking in the wrong direction.

  “Maybe she knows something.” But even Athena knew she was clutching at straws. She saw the boat the next day when she drove through Antibes, and noticed a helicopter taking off from the aft helipad, and wondered if Vladimir was on it. It was worth a shot. If she could get her alone, maybe they’d connect. She looked at Steve and sprang to life. “Get us a boat. We’re going visiting.”

  “Now?” He was tired, they’d had a long day, and they were shooting blanks.

  “Yes, now!”

  Half an hour later they were in a police boat and back at the loading dock of Princess Marina, as Athena flashed her most winning smile at the crew and asked for Vladimir again. She wanted to hear what they’d say. One of the deckhands told her that he’d just left. Athena looked disappointed and then asked if Natasha was there. Theo had mentioned her name to her. They said they weren’t sure and went to ask. And
a moment later Steve and Athena were on their way upstairs again. Natasha looked nervous when she saw them, and didn’t know what Vladimir would say about her talking to them. But she couldn’t refuse to speak to the police either, or thought she couldn’t. She was frightened by their visit and what it might mean. What if they knew something, and accused her of being an accomplice, since the paintings were on the boat and so was she? What if they arrested her and she went to prison? The thought of it was horrifying. She hadn’t decided yet what to do about what she had seen in the gun room, whom she should tell, or if she owed it to Vladimir to stay silent. And what it could mean for her if she didn’t. She didn’t dare contact Theo, but she could imagine how distressed he was, with twelve of his father’s paintings gone.

  Athena moved into the conversation gently, as she sat with Natasha on the upper deck, and asked her about the portrait Theo had done of her and if she liked it.

  “It’s very pretty,” she said, smiling. “He’s a very good artist.” Athena nodded agreement, hoping she’d relax. She could see how nervous Natasha was, and she wasn’t sure why. Maybe she wasn’t allowed to talk to anyone without Vladimir present. He seemed to keep her in seclusion. Athena asked her then how well she knew Theo. “Not at all,” she said quickly. “I’ve only seen him a few times, at the restaurant the first time we went, when he delivered a painting here, and when he brought me the portrait, and I ran into him once at an art fair in London. I didn’t know he was Lorenzo Luca’s son until I saw the portrait and his bio at an art opening I went to in Paris.” She didn’t mention their one lunch in Paris and didn’t want Vladimir to find out.

  “You’re not friends, then?” Natasha shook her head and then looked worried.

  “Did he say we are?” She looked surprised.

  “No, he didn’t,” Athena said honestly. She didn’t want to lie to her and scare her off totally. She didn’t know why, but she had the feeling Natasha knew something, but she couldn’t figure out what. She would have given a week’s pay to read her mind. “He seems like a nice guy, though. He’s very upset about his father’s paintings, as you can imagine. It’s pretty shocking to lose twelve of them at once.” Especially to the tune of a hundred million dollars.