Blessing in Disguise

by Danielle Steel

  “I’m just going to pick a booth I like in the front row and set up in it, if you don’t give me a decent one,” he said in a bullying tone, and glanced at the name on her badge too. “And what do you do here?” he asked, his eyes blazing, which made him look even more handsome, although he was being particularly unpleasant.

  “I’m on the committee that assigned the booths,” she said calmly. They had spent weeks on the floor plan, and knew they’d have some problems like this, and were braced for it. She had a sudden idea as she spoke to him. They were trying to keep galleries of the same kind close to each other, so people interested in a particular kind of art, contemporary or modern or eighteenth century, would know where to find it. They had a map of the booths. “We had a cancellation this morning from a gallery in Chicago. The owner had a death in the family, and they’re not coming to the event. We have the work they’re donating, and we’ll incorporate it with another gallery, but they no longer want to set up a booth. Let’s see if it suits you, Mr….Stone.”

  “Collin,” he said, sounding slightly more gracious. “Thank you, Miss McAvoy,” he said, as the two women looked at her gratefully and she led him away to show him the space.

  “Isabelle. It’s not ideal,” she admitted to him before they got there, “but you may like it better than where you were placed.” The event had been set up like an art fair, with less permanence, but with several alleys and long rows of booths. They were auctioning off three hundred pieces of art, like a real art auction, with all the handlers that Christie’s could supply. “I’m very sorry you’re unhappy,” she said more sympathetically than she felt, she just wanted the evening to go well, whatever it took. And he wanted to impress his clients who were flying in for the event.

  “I have some major high flyers coming in from Vegas, as I said. I don’t want to be shoved in a back corner, where you had me.”

  “I completely understand,” she said smoothly as they stopped at the only available booth she had. He frowned as he looked at it, and then back at her.

  “This is all you’ve got?”

  “I’m afraid so. It’s very centrally located.” It was in the middle of the area they were setting up, where two alleys intersected.

  “I’ve got a couple of really big pieces that could work well here,” he said, and suddenly smiled at her. “Thank you for not embarrassing me with my clients. I’m opening in LA in a few months, and after that in Vegas, and I want my clients to be excited about us. We’re going to two major art fairs this year.” She knew that just getting through the red tape of that was a major feat, and this was obviously a major event for him too. It was an opportunity for all the galleries to showcase their work, not just help the hospital. “We’re an up-and-coming young gallery, I hope you’ll be hearing a lot about us in the future,” he said to her enthusiastically.

  “I’m sure I will,” she said politely.

  “Would you like to have a drink later? You just did me a big favor, Isabelle.”

  “I’m glad I could help. It was just luck that they canceled the booth.” If you could consider a death in the family luck, but she didn’t point that out to him. “But I’ll be here tonight until after midnight, probably two or three A.M., I won’t have time for a drink until after this is over,” and she had no desire to have one with him. He was stunningly handsome, with movie star good looks, but he seemed headstrong, arrogant, and difficult.

  “Who are you in real life, when you’re not working at this event?” he asked, and she smiled at the way he put it.

  “I’m an associate at Acker Johnson,” she said, knowing full well that the name of the gallery where she worked had enormous prestige and always impressed people. It was nice being able to say she was an associate after four years there. It had a distinguished ring.

  “The serious stuff,” he acknowledged and she nodded. “You’re young to be an associate, aren’t you?”

  “I’m older than I look,” but clearly not much, she had her long blond hair loose down her back and was wearing jeans and a sweatshirt. She was twenty-five and admittedly the youngest associate at the gallery. But she had earned the position through diligence, long hours, and hard work.

  “Collin Stone.” He shook her hand properly, impressing his name on her again. “This is quite an event.”

  “For a very good cause,” she said demurely.

  “Do you have a personal interest in it?” He wasn’t afraid to ask questions, and was curious about her. She was a very pretty young woman.

  “My mother died of breast cancer when I was three. I never really knew her. That was a long time ago, and there have been a lot of improvements in treatments since then, but I don’t want other little girls to lose their mothers. She was only thirty-three when she died.”

  “My mother had it but beat it five years ago. So you’re right, treatments are better now, and effective. Thank you again for improving my booth.”

  “Happy to help. See you tomorrow night,” she said, although she knew she probably wouldn’t. The event would be a zoo, and the only people she expected to see there were her colleagues and the gallery’s clients at the two tables the gallery had taken. Theirs were platinum tables too, like Collin Stone’s clients from Las Vegas.

  “Good luck with the event.” He flashed her a smile.

  “Thank you for donating work for us to sell.” She waved and walked away as she answered a call on her walkie-talkie. One of the two women was calling to inquire how it had worked out with him. “It’s fine. He’s happy. I gave him the booth that just freed up.”

  “Thank God for you. He looks like a saint, but acts like a devil.”

  “He’s just full of himself and wants to look good to his clients flying in from LA and Vegas. We’re going to have all kinds here tomorrow night.”

  She managed to get a break at dinnertime, and took a cab to the gallery to check the messages on her desk, before going back to Lincoln Center for the rest of the night, to watch the booths get finished. As soon as she walked into her office, she saw two dozen long-stemmed roses in a vase on her desk and thought they might be from Putnam to wish her luck, since he had been so supportive and proud of what she was doing.

  She opened the card, expecting to see his name, and instead the card read, “Thanks for helping me out. You’re an angel. Good luck! Collin Stone.” It was a nice gesture, although the two women who had put up with his arguments before she got there deserved them more than she did. She jotted down some notes, called two of her best clients who had just gotten to town, grabbed a yogurt and a piece of fruit from the fridge in the gallery kitchen, and rushed back to Lincoln Center to lend a hand wherever she could.

  As she expected, she got home at two A.M. Maeve was asleep on the second twin bed in Theo’s room, snoring softly. She kissed Theo and tucked her in and tiptoed into her own room, in the pleasant apartment Putnam had provided for them the last four years. The apartment was cozy more than handsome, and Isabelle had added enough touches to make it feel like a home and not just an apartment. She fell into her own bed as soon as she took her clothes off and was asleep in five minutes.

  * * *

  —

  The day of the event was predictably insane, but considering all the moving parts they were dealing with, everything went smoothly. She was there on time to help greet the guests as they came in, in glittering evening gowns with lots of jewels. All of the New York social set was there, along with heavy hitters from the art world. And she looked quietly elegant in her plain black dress with the string of pearls Putnam had given her when Theo was born. He had called to wish her luck that morning, knowing she’d be too busy to talk after that, and he made her promise to send all the newspaper clippings about the event. He had given her permission to buy a painting for him if she saw anything she thought he’d like, up to twenty-five thousand dollars, since it was a charitable event, and she than
ked him profusely. She had already seen one or two that were his taste by artists he liked, and she said she’d be pleased to bid on them for him.

  They had sponsors for the event, and had already received sizable donations from people who weren’t able to attend. She was sure they’d make their goal, and probably do even better. She greeted whoever she knew in the crowd, although there were many people she didn’t recognize, clients of other galleries and socialites she had never met. She was wearing a badge that identified her as a committee member, and directed people to the booths they were looking for when they asked her. She was observing the scene when Collin Stone walked past her, and stopped as soon as he saw her.

  “Thank you for the lovely roses,” she said when he approached. “I really don’t deserve them.”

  “Yes, you do. I’d rather take you to dinner. I’m flying back to LA in two days. How about dinner tomorrow?”

  “I’ll be dead on my feet by then. I’ve been here every night for a week. Maybe next time.” She didn’t want to encourage him. He was handsome, but pushy and arrogant.

  “I don’t come to New York that often,” he said, looking innocent and incapable of making the kind of scene he’d made the day before. He was a man who expected to get what he wanted, and wouldn’t take no for an answer. “I’ll call you tomorrow and see how you feel.” He looked dashing in black tie, in an impeccably tailored dinner jacket, which made her wonder how Putnam would look in evening clothes. Undoubtedly aristocratic and handsome. There was something very LA about Collin Stone. He was well dressed, perfectly groomed, and had a great haircut. He had shining dark hair and dark eyes, and stood just a little too close when he talked to her, as though they already had an intimate relationship. Isabelle hadn’t dated in the five years since she’d met Putnam and had been a student before that, dating boys her own age. She didn’t feel ready for Collin, nor interested. She guessed him to be in his mid or late thirties. She was just happy to be out, enjoying a glamorous evening and watching people, she didn’t need to pick up an art dealer from LA, no matter how charming he was. He was a powerhouse, and she felt out of her league when she was with him. He looked like someone who dated a lot, maybe movie stars or starlets. She was just a gallery associate, whose nights out consisted of pizza with her four-year-old daughter. She was sure Collin would have been bored to extinction by her and her real life.

  She saw him sitting at one of the platinum tables with his guests when the auction began, and she noticed that they looked a lot like he did, slick and racy. The women all had amazing figures poured into skintight shimmering dresses with big hair and flashy jewels. The men looked rich and older, and very LA compared to the crowd from New York. The people at his second table looked even showier, and she guessed they were his guests from Las Vegas. Then she got distracted by the auction.

  She bid on a painting for Putnam, for eighteen thousand dollars, under his limit, and attributed the purchase to Putnam Armstrong. The showstopper of the evening was a painting that sold for five hundred thousand dollars, donated by a gallery in Palm Beach. It had an impeccable provenance from an important collector who had owned it before, and was a recent acquisition for the gallery that donated it. The proceeds from the auction came to seven million dollars and the evening was a huge success. Isabelle noticed that only one of the pieces Collin’s gallery had donated sold in the auction, and went for ten thousand dollars. It was by an unknown artist, and Collin looked pleased. He invited her to dance almost as soon as the band started, and she didn’t want to be rude and decline, so she walked onto the floor with him, and he swept her around expertly as he congratulated her on the success of the evening.

  “It was a huge team effort,” she said modestly. “I was only a tiny cog in the machine.”

  “Don’t be so humble,” he said, looking down at her as though he knew her better than he did. “Do you have a husband here somewhere?” he asked and she shook her head, wishing she had had the sense to nod instead. There was something about Collin Stone that unnerved her. He was so forceful and direct, and wasn’t afraid to go after what he wanted. He was the opposite of Putnam, who was so gentlemanly and subtle, everything that Collin wasn’t. But there was no denying that Collin had a certain powerful charm of his own, like a heady fragrance, along with his good looks and sex appeal.

  “I’m divorced,” she said, lying to him, as she did to everyone, to explain Theo.

  He looked surprised at that. “You must have been very young when you married.”

  “I was twenty. I spent my junior year abroad, in France. My ex-husband lives there. I have a four-year-old daughter.” He was even more surprised at that. She didn’t look old enough to have all those encumbrances, an ex-husband and a child.

  “You’re lucky. I’ve been looking for the right woman to settle down with since I turned thirty. No luck so far. I’m thirty-five. I want a wife and kids. I think I may have set the bar too high, I’m hoping to find the perfect mother for my children. You might just be it,” he said glibly as he smiled down at her, and she had no idea how to respond to anything so direct and intimate, even if he was just kidding. But he looked like he meant it. “I have a great nose for people. You’re a very special woman, Isabelle. I knew it from the first moment I saw you.” He wanted to sweep her off her feet, and she was trying to keep them planted firmly on the ground.

  “How do you know I’m not an axe murderer?” she teased him.

  “You don’t look strong enough to pick up an axe, let alone swing it. You’ll have to shoot me with a very small pistol, not chop me up in little pieces. And you’re not a widow, so you obviously didn’t kill your ex-husband.”

  “No, I didn’t. We’ve stayed very close, for my daughter’s sake.”

  “That’s what I mean. You’re an unusual woman and a nice person.” He seemed sincere, and she felt dazed when he led her back to the table and returned to his guests. Two of them had bought very expensive paintings, and Collin had paid two hundred thousand dollars for the tables, so she knew he must be doing well. They’d known that some of the paintings sold that night wouldn’t be paid for or collected, and were just show-off gestures by the people who bid on them. But almost every sale they’d made had been bona fide, and the bidders had shown up with their credit cards right after the auction. A major part of what they’d spent would be tax deductible.

  She wasn’t on the breakdown committee, so she didn’t have to stay to see the dismantling of the event, and went home at a reasonable hour, exhausted but thrilled with the results. She was in her office early the next morning to catch up, when Collin called to remind her of his invitation to dinner. “La Grenouille at eight o’clock?” he asked, trying to tempt her with one of the best restaurants in New York.

  “I really can’t, my sitter is exhausted, and I promised her she could go home tonight.”

  “Chinese takeout then? I want to meet your daughter.” He was clearly a full-service date, willing to meet the children. She knew Putnam would have shied away at that, but Collin flinched at nothing. There was something very bold about him, which was at the same time frightening and appealing, and he made it difficult to turn him down. He was so insistent that she finally agreed to let him come to dinner, and said she would cook.

  “That defeats the whole point. I want to spoil you, Isabelle. I know how hard you’ve been working on last night’s event.”

  “Fine. Then bring pizza. Theo will love you.”

  “That’s better.” He sounded pleased.

  When Collin showed up at the apartment, he was wearing a well-cut dark suit that looked Italian, and a white shirt with no tie, and quickly took off his coat and rolled up his sleeves. He was carrying two pizza boxes and another package, from which emerged a tin of caviar on ice with all the fixings, a bottle of champagne for them, and an ice cream cake that looked like a clown for Theo. She clapped her hands the minute she saw it, and broke
through her usual reserve to smile broadly at him, after Isabelle had introduced them. It made her slightly nervous to have him suddenly in the heart of her private life, and meeting Theo, but he chatted easily with her, as though children were no mystery to him. He read her a story, while Isabelle set the table and put out dinner. And Theo was enjoying the attention.

  The conversation during the meal was easy and light, and he stayed while she put Theo to bed. Then they sat on the couch and drank champagne, while he commented on the rave reviews they’d had in the press for the breast cancer event.

  “You were a star last night,” he said, smiling gently at her, and seemed more low key than he had when she’d first met him. His private side seemed much less strident than when he was in the guise of art dealer trying to impress his clients. “How did you get into the art world?” he asked her.

  “I grew up around it, and my father used to be a curator at the Boston Museum of Fine Arts.”

  “Is that where you grew up? In Boston?”

  “Only until I was five. Then we moved to Newport, Rhode Island. I lived there until I graduated from college, and then I came here to find a job.”

  “Very fancy,” he commented about Newport, but she didn’t want to give him the wrong impression, and her apartment wasn’t showy or luxurious.

  “Not as fancy as it sounds.” She didn’t want to tell him about the Vanderbilt estate or her father’s job. Collin had a way of walking into private spaces and exploring whatever he wanted, and he seemed like someone who had no secrets of his own. Everything about him was wide open. “What about you? How did you get into selling contemporary art?” She deflected the conversation back to him.