“I’d trust Jack with my life. He’s sincere, ethical, and true-blue. Don’t forget, I’ve known him since he was a lad. He won’t write about the fakes, or talk about them, or any of the real paintings either, not unless he has your permission. But knowing you, how smart you are, I’m sure you’ve extracted a promise from him to keep everything to himself.”
“I have. I happen to trust him, too. I agree he has integrity. Anyway, he doesn’t need to use any of the new stuff he gathered today to complete his profile of me. He’s got plenty of material.”
A warm look crossed Carlton’s face. “Jack and Kyle were great kids. They’ve turned out to be winners. Peter brought them up very well. I always liked him. He was a good man.”
“And Jack’s mother? What was she like?” Annette probed, riddled with curiosity about Jack.
“A nice woman, and good to Kyle, her stepson. But to be honest it was Peter who had the most influence on the boys, and it shows. They’ve made a success of their lives.” Carlton lifted the Degas from against the wall as he spoke, and over his shoulder he said, “Now let’s take a dekko at the Graham Sutherland watercolors. And then we’ll go and join Marguerite and Jack, and have that special cocktail of mine.”
“I’m wondering something,” Marguerite announced all of a sudden, about half an hour later. She looked straight at Annette and asked, “Why didn’t Sir Alec tell anyone about the hidden room? Or leave a letter to be opened after his death? Or put something in his will about it? After all, he’d stored valuable paintings in that priest hole.”
“I’ve been wondering that myself,” Annette replied. “The only thing I can come up with is that he didn’t expect to die when he did. Apparently he was in good health when he had the heart attack, which in the end proved to be fatal. He was only about sixty-nine, seventy at the most, and that’s not old today.”
“No, it’s not.” Marguerite took a sip of her drink. “Nevertheless, he could have put something in his will as a protection, in my opinion. It seems a bit irresponsible that he didn’t.”
“That’s true. Except a lot of people don’t want to face their own mortality, or can’t. They just want to avoid thinking about dying,” Annette pointed out.
Carlton exclaimed, “But in this instance there were those priceless paintings to consider! Why on earth didn’t he think of them?”
“I’m not sure he was thinking, at least not rationally,” Annette murmured. After taking a sip of her cosmopolitan, Carlton’s famous cocktail, she continued, “From what I’ve heard about Sir Alec, he’d grown rather strange by then. Even a little weird perhaps. That might account for his carelessness in regard to the provenance of a painting. As well as bills, receipts, that kind of thing.”
She stared at the famous restorer, a man she trusted and who had been her good friend for many years. “For all I know, the Degas could be real. Because I’m troubled by it doesn’t mean it is a fake. I could be totally mistaken. Only provenance speaks the truth. Alec Delaware knew that. Yet he left a mess behind him, and that’s not like the businessman he once was. Somehow it’s out of character. To me it is, anyway.”
Jack looked across at Annette. “I would love to know what Mrs. Joules knows, wouldn’t you?”
Annette nodded.
Marguerite asked, “Who’s Mrs. Joules?”
“The housekeeper at Knowle Court,” Jack replied. “An odd woman, actually. Both Annette and I thought she was the Mrs. Danvers type.”
“Do you mean the Mrs. Danvers from Rebecca?” Marguerite threw him a quizzical look.
“I do indeed.”
“Why do you think she knows something?” Carlton interjected.
“I made a simple deduction,” Jack said. “When you’ve worked for a man for many years, lived in the same house, you know everything there is to know about the man, the family, and the house. Mrs. Joules started as a parlor maid, climbed the domestic ladder to become the housekeeper. She’s got to be stuffed with information.”
Annette said, “I find it hard to believe she didn’t know about the priest hole.”
“If she did know, why wouldn’t she have told Christopher?” Jack had a puzzled look on his face.
“Maybe she knew there were some fakes hidden in there. Perhaps she didn’t want that to become known.” Annette paused for a moment, looking reflective, then said, “There’s a lot of loyalty involved. I think Mrs. Joules is the kind of woman who would want to protect Sir Alec’s reputation.”
“Buying a fake doesn’t reflect on a person’s character, does it?” Carlton ventured, then, as an afterthought, added, “I guess it reflects on his judgment, though.”
“I suppose that’s true,” Annette agreed. “But this is all speculation. Anyway, it doesn’t really matter anymore, since the priest hole was discovered and everything is now out in the open.”
“Only too true,” Jack said. Turning to Carlton, he picked up his drink. “Here’s to you, Carlton. This is the best cosmo I’ve ever had.”
“What’s your secret?” Annette asked.
“Shaken not stirred.” Carlton winked at her.
“I’m glad you’re both staying to dinner.” Marguerite looked from Jack to Annette. “I’ve made blanquette de veau, and even though I say it myself, it’s delicious. I’ve never had one better anywhere in the world.”
Jack stared at Annette, frowning.
Annette ignored the look he gave her. She said, “Oh. I hadn’t realized you were inviting us to dinner as well as drinks, Carlton.”
“Oh, yes. Didn’t I make myself clear?”
Annette shook her head, now threw Jack a baffled glance.
Marguerite stood up. “I’d better go and check the veal stew.” She hurried out of the living room.
Carlton said, “The two of you can’t leave, you know. She’s made enough food for ten. And anyway, she’ll be hurt if you go.”
“Of course we’ll stay for dinner,” Jack reassured him, aware of the worry in the older man’s eyes, the disappointed expression on his face. “And since we’re staying for dinner, I think it’s safe to have another cosmo. If I may, please.”
Carlton sprang to his feet, hurried across to the drinks table. “My pleasure, Jack, coming right up. And how about you, my darling girl?”
“I’d love one, even though I do think it’s a very lethal drink.” Out of the corner of her eye she saw that Jack was smiling at her. There was a wicked glint in his eyes. He’s lethal, too, she thought. The most dangerous man I’ve ever met. Sudden panic invaded her. She was afraid of him, afraid of being alone with him later. Afraid of herself and what might happen between them. She was now fully aware of how he felt about her; danger lurked between them.
She shivered when she eventually looked across the room at him, caught a glimpse of the expression on his face. It was full of yearning. For her. Alarmed, she averted her face. And the panic took hold again.
Thirty
“I want to say something.” Annette peered at Jack in the darkness of the car. “Explain something to you.”
“What is it? You sound worried. And go ahead, I’m listening.” He swiveled in the car seat so that he was looking at her. They were sitting in the Aston Martin parked outside Carlton’s house and Jack was about to drive her home.
There was a short silence before Annette said, “There mustn’t be any kind of leak about the fakes Chris found yesterday. This must be kept quiet. I’ve got another auction coming up. I can’t have any hint of forgeries in the Delaware collection. It would be ruinous for the auction and for me and my business.”
“I understand that,” Jack answered. “And you must understand you don’t have to worry about me. Not a word will pass my lips. I would never do anything to cause you trouble, Annette, surely you know this.”
“Yes, I do. I just couldn’t help saying it, even though I trust you. I’m afraid the art world is a tricky place. It breeds greed, overweening ambition, cunning, betrayal, double-dealing, rotten, often vicious gossip, a
nd a lot of competitiveness. It’s not a world you know, Jack, and I just wanted you to be aware that the slightest hint of forgery would spread like wildfire.”
“Please don’t give it another thought. I’m like a graveyard, and anyway, I don’t really know anybody in the art business, except for Margaret Mellor, and she’s your friend. So whom would I tell? However, what about Christopher Delaware? I’ve only met him a couple of times, but he seems awfully young and inexperienced. And he shoots from the hip.”
“I’m well aware of his shortcomings. Before we left, after lunch, I warned him not to discuss anything with anybody. And as far as Jim is concerned, he knows to keep his mouth shut. Also, he’s a good influence on Master Delaware.”
“I couldn’t believe it when Chris came into the library with you and blurted out that he’d found what amounted to a lot of fakes. I don’t blame you for being furious with him.”
“He won’t do that again, I can assure you.”
“You made it very plain to him that he’d been foolish, thank God.”
“I’ve also made him understand that if he talks out of turn he’ll lose money. That’s my big stick.”
Jack looked surprised. “He’s hardly broke. Quite the contrary, in fact, after the sale of the Rembrandt.”
“True. But he loves money. Anyway, I’m sure he’ll keep his trap shut. He’d better.”
Jack laughed.
She said, “What is it?”
“You sounded very tough for a split second.”
“I have to be tough with some of my clients. And believe me, a few of them can be extremely tough with me. I’m in a big-money business.”
Jack turned on the ignition and the car slid forward. As he drove down the street, he said, “Do you mind if I stop for a moment at my father’s house? I promised Kyle I’d drop in every day whilst he’s away, to make sure everything’s all right.”
“No, that’s fine.”
A few seconds later he came to a standstill in front of the big old house he had grown up in, and braked. Turning off the ignition, he put the key in his pocket and got out. He walked around to her side of the car and opened the door. “Come on.”
Annette seemed startled, and exclaimed, “I’ll wait here for you, Jack. I don’t mind, really.”
“No, no, please come inside. It’s better. I have to check a couple of things, and Kyle thinks I should turn off the boiler in the basement. I prefer you to wait inside.” He helped her out, and as they went up the short path he said, with a laugh, “You’ll like the atmosphere here. It’s totally the opposite of Knowle Court.”
She did not respond. Panic had flared inside her again.
Jack let go of her arm to open the door. When they stepped inside together, he turned on the hall light, closed the door behind them, and led her into the middle of the floor. Looking at her and smiling, he said, “Can you feel it? The warm, loving atmosphere? It still lingers here, don’t you think? The happy feeling my parents created. Well, at least I feel it.” When she did not respond, he peered at her. “Don’t you?”
“I do,” she said at last, and forced a smile.
“I’ll only be a moment. I’ve just got to run down to the basement and deal with the boiler.” He strode off, and she walked through the arched doorway into the living room. Tall French doors opened onto the garden, and the room was bathed in moonlight. She stepped up to the French doors and looked out, saw the huge full moon, radiant in the ink-black sky. It was a beautiful night, and even though it was still only the middle of April, it was mild.
Moving away from the glass doors, she walked into the center of the room, glancing around. She realized that the antiques were really good. Two lovely old chests, a secretary against one wall, and a pair of chairs with carved wooden backs were all of excellent quality. So much for his mother’s old junk shop; it probably wasn’t that at all. Perhaps he had been teasing her.
She heard his step in the hall, and suddenly he was walking into the living room, coming toward her. Slowly Annette turned around.
Their eyes met and held, and she took several steps in his direction and then stopped in her tracks. Her heart was racing.
He came to a standstill at last, stood staring at her, his light-gray eyes searching her face, his expression questioning. She wanted to look away, found she could not. It seemed to her that she was mesmerized by him.
They moved closer to each other at exactly the same moment, came into each other’s arms. Jack held her close, stroked her hair, his heart clattering against hers.
They clung to each other for a long moment, and then he bent his head, found her mouth with his. They kissed as passionately as they had in the car earlier that day. But now they went on kissing and she did not pull away. She felt weak at the knees, and in need of his arms to support her.
Finally they drew apart, stared at each other, looking slightly shell-shocked. He said quietly, “You see, it is the same for you as it is for me. Don’t deny it.”
“I won’t. . . . It’s true.”
Jack moved closer once more, put his arms around her, and held her as tightly as before. Against her hair, he said, “Come upstairs with me . . . to my old room. I want you so much, I want to make love with you.”
“I can’t! Oh, Jack, I can’t. I have to go home. Please try to understand,” she whispered back, the panic spiraling out of control, engulfing her. She was shaking inside.
A deep sigh escaped him. Without releasing his hold on her, he went on whispering, “Yes, I know that, but let me hold you just a moment or two longer. Please. I can’t let you go just yet.”
They lingered there together, standing in the middle of the room in the moonlight, clinging to each other almost desperately, and then she broke away from him finally. He did not prevent her; he simply took her hand in his, walked with her into the hall without speaking. Turning off the hall lights, he led her outside.
When they were in the car, he drove off.
Neither of them spoke.
It was not until they were well away from Hampstead Heath and heading in the direction of Belgravia that Jack finally broke the silence.
He said, “Listen, if I finish my profile of you tomorrow, will you have supper with me?”
“I don’t know.”
“But you promised to have dinner with me tonight, and somehow it got sabotaged. So you owe me one, you know.”
She couldn’t help smiling. He sounded so woebegone.
“All right,” she agreed. “I’ll have supper with you. Just call me tomorrow to let me know what time.” She was surprised that her voice sounded so normal, considering how disturbed she was.
“I will,” he answered, his voice as level as hers even though he was flustered, his emotions in a turmoil.
They talked only intermittently as he headed toward Eaton Square. Once they arrived there, he insisted on helping her with her two shopping bags of documents from Knowle Court. He carried them into her building, accompanied her in the lift, entered the front hall of her flat, and deposited them.
“See you,” he muttered, squeezing her arm, and left.
After closing the front door of the flat behind him, Annette sat down in one of the hall chairs, leaned back, and closed her eyes. She was shaking inside, still panic-stricken.
Jack had the most extraordinary effect on her. She trembled when he touched her, was overwhelmed with desire when he kissed her, and she was totally amazed at herself for responding the way she did. Passion had almost always eluded her; she had never felt like this before. Well, only once, long ago.
Suddenly she wondered how she had managed to keep her hands off him at Carlton’s house earlier. Sheer willpower, she decided. She knew he had faced the same dilemma.
Every time Marguerite and Carlton went to the kitchen together to check on the food, Jack had leapt up, rushed over to her to kiss her cheek, touch her shoulder, or simply stare at her, his longing for her etched on his face. He was in love with her, she realized that.
r /> Eventually she roused herself, got up, took the two shopping bags, and carried them into the dining room. Later she would spread the papers out on the table, hoping to make sense of them. Perhaps she would even find the missing provenance for the Degas ballet dancer. She somehow doubted that.
She went from the dining room to her office, turned on the desk lamp, and looked at the answering machine. Nothing. Groping around in her shoulder bag for her mobile, she flipped it open to check her messages. There were none. The only two people who would call her were Marius and Laurie. Neither had.
Her next destination was the dressing room, where she took off her clothes, put on a nightgown and silk robe, then hurried into the adjoining bedroom, turning on the lights as she did. After placing her mobile on the bedside table, she lay down, endeavoring to relax.
Jack Chalmers was truly in her life now. And she wanted him there. But she was frightened of what might happen between them. And the consequences of a liaison with him. No, there couldn’t be any kind of relationship. That wasn’t possible. She mustn’t let him get any closer. She mustn’t sleep with him. If she did she would be lost. His forever.
There was no future for them. Marius would never let her go. And if she left him, if she ran away with Jack, he would pursue her, punish her, and betray her secrets. She had always understood Marius could be a very dangerous adversary.
Annette’s mother had once told her that a secret was only a secret as long as only one person knew it. When a second person had knowledge of it, then it was no longer a secret at all.
Her mother. The lovely Claire. But not so lovely when she died. An alcoholic and a drug addict. Annette shivered involuntarily, and she pulled the robe tighter around her.
Timothy Findas sprang into her head, and she shivered again at the thought of him. He had been her mother’s true downfall, her supplier of drugs and booze. . . .
The landline shrilling next to her on the bedside table cut into her thoughts, and she picked it up. “Hello?”