But life was much simpler now. Her only worry was financial, but she had even that under control. She had found a tiny gallery on Bridgewater that sold her work-for only a few hundred dollars each canvas-but it was enough money to pay the rent and buy whatever else she might need. She still had some money left from the jade-and-diamond earrings. And she had a safe-deposit box filled with jewelry she could sell in the next months. She would have to sell more when it came time for the baby, and eventually Marc would have to give her something after they went to court.
She smiled to herself as she slid into bed. “Merry Christmas, Baby.” She patted her stomach and lay on her back and for a moment she fought back the thoughts of Pilar. Maybe it would be another girl. But this time how different it would be.
36
It was nine o’clock on a February morning. Ben sat in his office, looking at his new ads. He pressed a buzzer on his desk and waited for Sally to come into the room. When she did, she had an armful of papers, and he looked at her with a scowl.
“What do you think of this stuff, Sally? Does it work or not?”
“Yes.” She hesitated as she looked. “But maybe it’s a little too showy?”
He nodded emphatically and tossed them back on his desk. “That’s exactly what I think. Get Kim Houghton on the phone. I have to see an artist in Sausalito at eleven. See if she’ll meet me at the Sea Urchin around twelve- fifteen.”
“In Sausalito?” Sally asked. He nodded distractedly, and she disappeared. It was almost ten o’clock when she popped her head in the door. “She’ll meet you at the Sea Urchin at twelve-thirty, and she said bring the ads. She’s got another bunch of possibilities to show you and she’ll bring those too.”
“Good.” He looked up at her with a vague smile and sighed at the work on his desk. Sometimes it seemed endless. He had added four new artists to their roster that winter, but he wasn’t really in love with their work. They had been the best of what he had seen, but they weren’t wonderful, they weren’t Deanna Duras. People still asked him about her, and he tried to explain. She had “retired.” Another sigh escaped him as he plunged himself back into his work. He had done that since September, and it had almost worked. Almost. Except late at night and early in the morning. Now he understood how she must feel about Pilar. That feeling that you’ll never touch someone again, or hold them, or hear them, never laugh with them, or be able to tell them a joke and see them smile. He stopped working for a moment and then chased the thoughts away. He was good at it now. He had had five months of practice.
He left the gallery at exactly ten-fifteen. That gave him time to cross the bridge, drive to Sausalito, and park. This at least was an artist he liked, a young man with a wonderful eye for color and a kind of magical flair, but his work was far more modern than Deanna’s, and not nearly as good. He had never made the young man an offer, but he had decided that he finally would. Until then the young artist had been represented by a gallery near where he lived, a small cozy gallery in Sausalito that handled a mountain of very diverse work. Ben had first noticed the artist’s paintings there, buried with some good and some bad, and he knew the young man was getting terrible payment for his work. A hundred and seventy-five was his top price. Ben would up the price to two thousand, right from the start. And he knew he could get it. The artist would be thrilled.
And he was. “Oh, my God. Wait till I tell Marie!” He grinned broadly and pumped Ben’s hand. “My God. We might even be able to afford to eat something decent for a change.” Ben laughed, amused, and they walked slowly to the door. It was a big airy studio in half of what had once been a barn. It was now surrounded by houses and ersatz Victoriana, but it was still a wonderful studio and a nice place to work. “By the way, whatever happened to that girl you handled last summer? Duras?”
“Handled.” It was an interesting choice of words. But he didn’t know. No one did. “We don’t show her work anymore.” Ben said it very calmly. He had said it a hundred times before.
“I know. But do you know who does?”
“No one. She retired.” Ben had the speech down pat. But this time the young man shook his head.
“I don’t think so. Are you sure?”
“Quite. She told me she was retiring when she withdrew her work.” But something in the man’s eyes bothered him. “Why?”
“I could swear I saw one of her pieces at the Seagull the other day. You know, the place that’s been showing my work? I wasn’t sure, and I didn’t have time to ask, but it looked like it. It was a beautiful nude. And they were asking a ridiculous price for it.”
“How much?”
“I heard someone say a hundred and sixty bucks. It’s really a crime for a fine piece like that. You ought to take a look and see if it’s her.”
“I think I will.” He looked at his watch. It was only eleven-thirty. He had enough time before his lunch with Kim.
The two men shook hands again. There was a profusion of thank you’s and smiles. Ben slid into his car and drove a little too quickly down the narrow road. He knew exactly where the gallery was, and he left his car parked on the corner. He wanted to just stroll in and look around, but he didn’t have to. Her painting was prominently displayed near the door. He could see it from where he stood, rooted to the spot on the street. It was indeed her canvas. The young man had been right.
He stood there for a moment, wondering what to do, trying to decide if he should go inside. He was about to walk away, but something drew him into the gallery. He had to get closer to the still life. He had seen her paint it. She had done it on their terrace in early July. Suddenly he felt pulled back into the summer.
“Yes, sir? May I help you?” She was a pretty blonde in sandals and jeans. She wore the usual uniform, T-shirt and pierced ears, her hair held up in the back with a wide leather thong.
“I was just looking at the painting over there.” He pointed to Deanna’s piece.
“It’s a hundred and sixty. Done by a local artist.”
“Local? To San Francisco, I suppose you mean.”
“No. Sausalito.” She was obviously confused, but there was no point arguing.
“Do you have any more of her work?” He was sure that they didn’t. Much to his astonishment, the girl nodded.
“Yes, we do. I think we have two more.”
As it turned out, there were three. One more from the summer, and two of her earlier works, none of them priced over two hundred dollars.
“How did you get these?” He found himself wondering if they had been stolen. If there had only been one, he might have suspected that someone who had bought one from him had been desperate to sell it, but that seemed unlikely, and it was obviously not possible since they seemed to have so much of her work.
The little blonde girl looked surprised by his question. “We have them on consignment from the artist.”
“You do?” Now it was his turn to look stunned. “Why?”
“I’m sorry?” She didn’t understand.
“I mean why here?”
“This is a very reputable gallery!” She looked unhappy at his remark, and he tried to cover his confusion with a smile.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean that. I just… it’s just that I know the artist, and I was surprised to see her work here. I thought she was away… abroad.” He really didn’t know what to say. On the spur of the moment he looked at the blonde girl with another smile. “Never mind. I’ll take them.”
“Which ones?” He was obviously crazy. Or maybe just stoned.
“All of them.”
“All four?” Crazy, not stoned.
“Yes, that’ll be fine.”
“But that’ll be almost eight hundred dollars.”
“Fine. I’ll write a check.” The blonde girl nodded then and walked away. The manager checked with Ben’s bank,
