The Mistress

by Danielle Steel

  —

  By mid-July, Maylis was back at the restaurant full-time, Gabriel was feeling well and going for long walks every day, and Theo had been released from his duties and was back in his studio. They had heightened security at the restaurant, and Maylis was still shaken by what had happened. The return of the paintings, and the way it had been accomplished, seemed like a miracle to all of them.

  When Theo asked her, Maylis said that Vladimir and Natasha hadn’t been back to the restaurant. He was still convinced that he had been involved in the art theft, because they wouldn’t sell him the painting he wanted, and as some kind of sick revenge. But at least whoever had taken them had given them back, after giving everyone a hell of a scare, and the police details involved had done a lot of work for nothing. Neither their informants nor their police work had turned up who the culprits were.

  Maylis said she’d heard from one of their other Russian clients that Vladimir had taken his boat to Greece for the rest of the summer. Theo was relieved and didn’t want to run into him again, although he thought of Natasha at times. He was looking at his unfinished portrait of her one day, and knew what he had to do with it. He put it back on the easel, and painted over it, so it became a blank canvas again. He had painted one portrait of her, and that was enough. His obsession with her was over, and he was free at last. She had chosen the life that suited her, and he was no part of it and never would be. She was a rich man’s dolly, which worked for her, and Theo had his own life to lead and needed to get on with it. He had been thinking of calling Inez again, although he wasn’t sure it was the right thing to do, their life goals really weren’t the same. She wanted a husband and more children, and he couldn’t see himself getting there for a long time, if ever. For now, his art was more important to him, so he didn’t call her, which seemed the cleaner thing to do. And with the art theft, he had missed going to the fair in London, so he hadn’t seen Emma again. He still laughed when he thought of her, and the good time they’d had, although a strong dose of her on a regular basis would have been too much for him. And for now, there was no one else, and he didn’t mind.

  Marc came by the day he painted over Natasha’s portrait, and he told him what he’d done. Marc was impressed and silent about it for a moment, as Theo explained that it was a kind of liberation, and he opened a bottle of wine for them. They spent the afternoon drinking and talking about the strangeness of women, and the ones that had gotten away. Marc was relieved to hear that he was over his obsession, although neither of them had a woman in his life at the moment. Theo said he was happier that way for now, and concentrating on his work. He was thrilled not to be working at the restaurant.

  “What about the girl who works at the gallery in Cannes? She was good looking, though a little square,” Marc commented.

  “More than a little,” Theo said, on his second glass of wine, referring to Inez. “She’s not for me, and I’m not the kind of man she wants.”

  “Maybe we’ll be lonely bachelor artists forever,” Marc said mournfully. He had just broken up with another girlfriend who had taken the little money he had. They always did. “Maybe you can’t have a love life if you’re a serious artist,” he said pensively, and Theo laughed.

  “My father had four major mistresses and two wives, and eight kids. I’d say you can have women in your life, and art. You just need the right one.”

  “That’s the problem. They’re so damn hard to find,” Marc said mournfully. Theo nodded in agreement, and they continued to drink until they finished the wine. It was the first day he had taken off in weeks, and it was nice to spend time with his friend. They admitted to being drunk by the end of the afternoon, and decided to go to the beach in Antibes and go swimming instead of working for a change. And they took the bus because they’d been drinking. By the time they left the beach, Marc had picked up a girl, and he went home with her. Theo went home alone. He was thinking about Natasha and wished her well, and then he went to bed and slept off the wine. He was glad that he no longer dreamed of her, and hadn’t in a while. He hoped he wouldn’t again. He needed to let Natasha go, into the mists of memory, where she belonged.

  —

  Once the paintings were returned, Athena and Steve were assigned to another case immediately, a major burglary in St. Jean Cap-Ferrat, where all the servants had been tied up and held hostage while the family was away. They had been released unharmed, but ten million dollars’ worth of jewels had disappeared, and a million in cash from the safe. Athena was sure it was an inside job, and she was right. They solved the case quickly, and the butler and cook were taken into custody and charged with the crime. It was another notch on her belt in her long history of successful arrests.

  It had been three weeks since the paintings had been returned by then, and she told Steve one afternoon that she was going to St. Paul de Vence to see Theo. She wanted to have one last conversation with him and had never got the chance because of the burglary in Cap-Ferrat.

  “You’re going without me?” She nodded, and he laughed. “I know what that’s about. Some fun and games with a local artist?”

  “Don’t be such an idiot. This is work.”

  “Tell that to someone else.” He knew her better.

  “What do you think I’m going to do? Rape him at gunpoint?” She grinned, and he laughed.

  “Probably. Don’t leave any marks.”

  “You’re disgusting.”

  “Coming from you, I take that as a compliment,” Steve teased her.

  She drove to St. Paul de Vence, and Steve did paperwork at his desk for the rest of the afternoon. They had a mountain of work to catch up on. And Athena had called Theo and asked if she could come by.

  He was pleased to see her when she got to his house. She wore a plain white skirt and a blouse, nothing too sexy or alluring. She was actually there on business, to tie up the loose ends. There were some things he didn’t know that she wanted to tell him. It made no difference now, but in all fairness she thought she should.

  He offered her wine when she arrived, but she declined. Contrary to what her partner believed, she wasn’t there to put the make on him, although she wouldn’t have minded if he did, now that the case was closed, but she hadn’t gotten that kind of vibe from him. He was a straightforward guy, and their dealings had been strictly police business. And she still felt in her fairly reliable gut that he was in love with Natasha. The portrait he had painted of her gave him away.

  They sat at his kitchen table over coffee, and she looked at him seriously for a minute.

  “It doesn’t change anything now, but we had an informant in the end.” He looked surprised by what she said, and waited to hear the rest. “I went out to see Stanislas’s girlfriend, Natasha, on the pretext of seeing him. I wanted to get a feeling for if she knew anything. I had a sixth sense that she did. We talked for a while, and she seemed very uncomfortable and a little off. Apparently, they were almost boarded by pirates off Croatia. And Stanislas ordered them to take out the guns. They keep AK-47s on the boat, and the crew know how to use them. That’s a very self-sufficient little ship,” she said wryly. “She was telling me about that, and we were getting nowhere, so we got up to leave, and I followed her downstairs. We didn’t take the elevator, and I realized afterward that there are surveillance cameras in it, and she didn’t want anyone to see what she did. She turned to me halfway down the stairs and whispered that the paintings were in the gun room, and she’d seen them. That was all she said. I tried like hell to get a warrant to search the boat, but my superiors said I didn’t have enough to go on. I wouldn’t identify my source, which made it tougher. I was afraid of what Stanislas would do to her if he found out. I don’t trust the guy, and if he went to prison because of her, God knows what he would do. I wasn’t willing to take the chance with her life. I’ve made that mistake with informants when I was younger. It doesn’t turn out well. I always protect my sources now.”

  “She’d seen them?” He looked shocked, referring to
the paintings.

  “If they were in the gun room, which they keep locked, maybe she was around when they were handing out the weapons to defend themselves against pirates. Anyway, I never got the warrant, and they told me to forget it. And then the paintings came back mysteriously. I don’t know if he knew she had told me, if someone saw her, or he suspected she had talked after I’d been there. If he knew she saw the paintings, that might have done it for him. We’ll never know, and we can’t pin the theft on him. Anyway, you got them back, possibly because she told me. I just don’t know. But I thought you should be aware that she had the guts to tell me. That was a very brave thing for her to do. She could have been risking her life.”

  “Is she all right?” Theo looked worried. “Has anyone seen her since then?” What if he had killed her, or was holding her prisoner on the boat, or was torturing her? Theo’s imagination was running rampant after what Athena had said.

  “I don’t know much. The boat’s not here, and rumor has it that he took it to Greece for the rest of the summer, which is plausible. I can check if you want, but I don’t think it matters. My partner had drinks with a couple of the deckhands from Princess Marina before they left, and they said it’s very hush-hush, but Stanislas dumped her the day after you got your paintings back. The same day technically. They came back to you between two and four in the morning, and he dumped her at dinnertime right on the quai. He was supposedly taking her out to dinner, and he just told her it was over, and sent her back to Paris to pack up her stuff. If he did suspect her, she’s lucky he let her go, and didn’t do something worse to her. The boat pulled out a few days later, so he’s not with her. I don’t know where she is now, or where she’d go. Maybe back to Russia.”

  “I doubt it,” Theo said, looking pensive and remembering what Natasha had said about her life there when they had lunch. He was a million miles away as he thought about her. He knew the address of the Paris apartment, but had no phone number for her. She had never given it to him, and she hadn’t contacted him.

  “You really think he dumped her?”

  “So they say. The crew was pretty shocked. They’d been together for eight years and they said she’s a nice woman. He just told her it was over, left her on the quai, got in the tender, went back to the boat, and never looked back. Those guys are cold. They’d just as soon kill you as look at you. I don’t like the type.”

  “Neither do I,” he agreed. “Thank you for telling me.”

  “Maybe he knew about it and it scared him, or woke him up. I don’t think he’s anxious to go to prison. And if he even thought she said something to me, he knew he couldn’t trust her anymore. And girls like her see a lot of what happens around those guys. He can’t afford a woman who talks to the police.” Theo nodded agreement again, and a little while later Athena stood up, wished him luck, and left. She stopped in at the office on her way home, and Steve was still there. He was surprised to see her.

  “That was quick. No fun and games?” He had assumed she’d be there for hours if Theo went for her, or if she made a move on him.

  “No fun and games. I sacrificed myself to young love.” That was why she had gone to see him. If he was in love with Natasha, as she suspected, he had a right to know what she had done for him, and the price she might have paid for doing it. Athena had told him all she knew. The rest was up to him. The information she had shared was a gift.

  —

  Theo sat thinking about Natasha for a long time that night, wondering what he should do about what he had learned: that Natasha had informed on Vladimir, and that she was no longer on the boat and was possibly in Paris, and that Vladimir had ended his relationship with her. He hoped she was all right.

  He tossed and turned in bed, wondering if he should go to Paris and try to see her. But if she wanted contact with him, she would have called, and she hadn’t. Or maybe she was too embarrassed, or in need. He barely slept all night, and had almost decided to go to Paris when his mother called him in the morning. She had slipped on the last step on the staircase in the studio, and sprained her ankle. She had just been to the emergency room, and asked him if he could cover for her for a week. She was truly sorry and apologetic, but she was in pain and couldn’t get around. The doctor had given her crutches.

  “Sure, Maman.” He could always go to Paris in a week, and he was used to running the restaurant now, after her long stay in Italy with Gabriel. And he didn’t mind it as much as he used to. “Do you need anything?”

  “No, Gabriel is waiting on me hand and foot.”

  And Theo had made a decision by then. As soon as his mother was back at the restaurant, he was going to fly to Paris to see Natasha, and thank her for what she’d done. He had no delusions that something would start between them now, even if she and Vladimir were no longer together. He understood more about her life now, and how unsuited she was to be with “regular” people. Whether it was Vladimir or someone else, she lived in a rarefied world, and Theo was sure she would find another man like him, or perhaps already had. But hopefully a kinder one this time, and a less dangerous man than Vladimir. He hoped so for her sake. And he just wanted a chance to thank her for having the guts to speak up to the police. It was the most generous and courageous thing anyone had ever done for him. And there was no way of knowing if her informing on Vladimir had forced his hand and made him bring the paintings back. Either way, Theo wanted to thank her. He owed her that at least.

  Chapter 15

  Natasha’s last week in the apartment on Avenue Montaigne was a whirlwind of activity, and left little room for emotion. She packed up what she was taking with her. She had bags of new linens scattered among the boxes, and had Ludmilla wash them before she left, so she wouldn’t have to do it in a washing machine shared with the entire building, since there was none in the new apartment.

  She had all the furniture from IKEA she needed, and she and Dimitri were going to put it together. The auction houses picked up everything she was selling as promised, the day before she left. She had so much that they took it out on racks, and it filled an entire truck. She wasn’t sorry to see almost her entire wardrobe go. The Birkins were in their original Hermès boxes, and there were stacks of them in the truck, and cartons of unworn designer shoes.

  And on the day she moved, she rented a van again to move her suitcases, a few boxes, and her portrait. Dimitri, her new handyman, came to help her carry it and load it in the van. She thanked Ludmilla and shook her hand, and gave her a handsome tip for her help in the past few weeks. She was pleased with the amount Natasha gave her. And Natasha saw the concierge as she was leaving and thanked her too. She left no forwarding address. She wasn’t expecting any mail. She never got any. She had no relatives or friends, and the limited communication she had was by email. She knew her credit card tied to Vladimir’s account had been canceled. She got a new one from her bank with a small limit on it, unlike the unlimited credit cards Vladimir had given her.

  And when she got to the new apartment, Dimitri got to work putting all her IKEA furniture together: the bed, a chest of drawers, some closets where she could hang clothes, a desk. She had bought bright, fun, contemporary furniture, and the apartment looked cheerful, as she hung her portrait over the fireplace herself.

  She and Dimitri conversed in Russian, and they worked late into the night until everything was done. And when it was, she thought it looked terrific. She had bought flowers and gotten a couple of vases, and she set a vase of bright flowers on the coffee table. The apartment was warm and inviting, and she had even bought rugs she liked. Lamps, two big comfortable chairs, and a very good-looking leather couch. It would be a nice apartment to come home to at night. He charged her a ridiculously small amount to put it all together, and she thanked him and gave him a big tip.

  It had taken her a month to get everything organized, but she had done it, and she felt as though she had severed all ties with her past. She hadn’t heard from Vladimir and didn’t expect to. She had never contacted Yuri
again and had no intention of doing so. She had a home and enough money in the bank to live on for a while, and when her things sold in the fall, she would have more. She still needed to look for a job, but she knew she couldn’t until the fall. Everyone was on vacation in the summer, in either July or August, and most of the galleries were closed. And she was thinking of signing up for an art history course at the École du Louvre. She felt as though she had been reborn as a new person. All vestiges of her past life were gone, except a few clothes.

  And as she looked around her new apartment on her first night in it, she felt like she was home. She didn’t need to live on Avenue Montaigne, or on a five-hundred-foot yacht, or in a legendary villa in St. Jean Cap-Ferrat, or a house in London. She had all she needed, and everything in it was hers. Every now and then she’d feel anxious for a few minutes, but then she’d remind herself that she could take care of herself, and that what she didn’t know how to do yet, she would learn.

  —

  It took Maylis a week longer than she’d hoped to get back on her feet again with her sprained ankle. And as soon as she did, and was back at the restaurant, Theo booked a flight the next day to Paris. The story was almost over for him, but he still wanted to thank Natasha. And he wanted to do it in person. It was the first week in August by then, and Paris was dead. Shops and restaurants were closed, there was almost no one on the streets. There was no traffic. The weather was hot, and it looked like a ghost town, as he walked down Avenue Montaigne to number fifteen. He hadn’t told his mother where he was going. And he hadn’t told her about Natasha informing on Vladimir, he thought the fewer people who knew, the better for her. He didn’t want to do anything to put her at risk any further, just to thank her.