What bothered him the most were the glimpses he caught of the paintings hanging on the yellow walls. There were a number of them. Not framed reproductions or posters. Lillian bought originals, apparently. A real bad sign. She obviously cared enough about art to have formed her own opinions.
From where he stood in the doorway, he could not get a good look at any of the pictures but he got an impression of strong light and dark, edgy shadows. He thought back to the conversation in the café, the part where she had detailed her job history working mostly in museums and art galleries.
A sense of deep gloom settled on him. He could no longer deny the evidence of his own eyes. Lillian was into art big-time.
“Thank you for the drink and for dinner,” she said politely.
He pulled his attention back from the ominous scene inside her apartment. Realized that she was watching him closely, maybe reading his mind.
“Sure,” he said. “My pleasure.”
She gripped the door with one hand, preparing to close it. A speculative expression crossed her face. “You know, when you think about it-”
“Forget it,” he said.
“Forget what?”
“You aren’t going to get away with calling that dinner we just had my sixth date. I’m not letting Private Arrangements off the hook that easily.”
Her mouth tightened. “You have been a difficult client from day one, Madison.”
“People say stuff like that to me all the time. I try not to take it personally.”
chapter 3
Lillian watched Octavia Brightwell’s expressive face while she examined the painting. Rapt attention radiated from the gallery owner.
Octavia stood in the center of the studio, her red hair aglow in the strong light cast by the ceiling fixtures. Her slender frame was taut with concentration; she seemed lost somewhere inside the picture propped in front of her.
Or maybe she hated the painting and didn’t know how to deliver the bad news, Lillian thought.
She berated herself for the negative thinking. She considered herself to be a positive, glass-half-full kind of person under most circumstances, but when it came to her art she knew she was vulnerable.
Octavia was the first and, thus far, the only person from the art world who had seen her work. Until recently, she had allowed only the members of her family and a very few close friends to view the paintings.
She had always drawn and painted. She could not remember a time when she had not kept a sketchbook close at hand. She had been fascinated with watercolors and acrylics and pastels since childhood. She picked up her brushes as easily as other people picked up a knife and fork. Her family considered her painting as nothing more than a hobby but she knew the truth. It was as necessary to her as food and water and fresh air.
She had been born into a family of financial wizards and entrepreneurs. It was not that art was not respected in the Harte clan. Some of the members of her family actively collected it. But they treated it as they would any other investment. Hartes did not establish careers as artists. She’d dreamed her dreams of becoming an artist but she’d kept them to herself.
Until now.
The time had come to turn her dreams into reality. She could feel it. She was ready. Something inside her had changed. She sensed new dimensions in her work, new layers that had not been there in the past.
She was sure of her decision to try her hand at painting full time, but she did not know if her work had a market. She had enough Harte business instincts to understand that in the real world, art was a commodity like any other. If there was no consumer demand for her work, there was no possibility of making her living as an artist.
The route to financial success as an artist required the support and savvy marketing of a respected dealer. The decision to show her paintings to Octavia Brightwell first had been based entirely on intuition.
Octavia owned and operated an influential gallery, Bright Visions, here in Portland. She had also opened a branch in Eclipse Bay.
“Well?” Lillian prompted when she could no longer stand the suspense. “What do you think?”
“What do I think?” Octavia appeared to have trouble dragging her gaze away from the painting. “I think it’s absolutely extraordinary, just like the others in yourBetween Midnight and Dawn series.”
Something inside Lillian relaxed a little. “Good. Great. Thanks.”
Octavia turned back to the painting. “I’m pulling out all the stops for your upcoming show. I want maximum impact.”
“I don’t know how to thank you, Octavia.”
“Don’t bother. We’re both in this thing together. I have a feeling that it isn’t just your career that will take off when I hang your work in my gallery. Mine is going to get a real shot in the arm as well.”
Lillian laughed. “Sounds good to me. I’ll leave you to do your job. I’m off to Eclipse Bay on Wednesday.”
“You’re really going to do it? You’re going to close down Private Arrangements?”
“Yes, but keep it to yourself for a while.” Lillian folded her arms and studied the paintings that lined the studio wall. “I’m still working on figuring out how to break it to the family gently.”
“I suppose it will come as a shock.”
“Well, it won’t be quite as much of a blow as it was when Nick announced that he was leaving Harte Investments to write mysteries full time. After all, my grandfather had counted on him taking over the company when my father retires. But no one is going to be real thrilled when I announce that I intend to paint full time. Hartes don’t become artists. They’re businesspeople.”
Half an hour later, the laptop under her arm, the hood of her rain cloak pulled low over her face, Lillian walked quickly through the misty rain toward the building that housed the offices of Private Arrangements. Her thoughts were on the conversation with Octavia. She did not see the big man until he stepped right into her path.
“You’re Lillian Harte, aren’t you?” he said fiercely.
The anger in his voice made her mouth go dry. She came to a halt in the middle of the busy sidewalk, fervently grateful for the fact that she was surrounded by a large number of people.
The man looming in front of her appeared to be in his mid-forties, big, heavily built with blunt features and thinning, short-cropped hair. She could not see his eyes. They were concealed behind a pair of dark sunglasses. Not real useful on a cloudy, rainy day, she reflected, but they certainly added a note of menacing drama.
“Do I know you?” she asked cautiously.
“No.” His heavy jaw jerked. “But I know you, lady. You’re the matchmaker, aren’t you?”
She clutched the laptop very tightly. “How do you know that?”
His mouth twisted. “I’ve been watching you for the past couple of days.”
A blast of stark fear left her palms damp. “Youfollowed me? You had no right to do that. I’ll report you to the police.”
“I didn’t do anything illegal.” He looked disgusted. “I just wanted to be sure.”
“Sure of what?”
“Sure you were the woman who runs that matchmaking outfit, Private Arrangements.”
“Why do you care who I am?”
He moved in closer. “You’re the one who took Heather away from me. You hooked her up with someone else, didn’t you? I called her a couple of days ago. Thought I’d give her another chance, y’know? That’s when she told me that she planned to marry this guy you set her up with. She thinks she’s in love. I think you messed with her mind.”
Ice touched Lillian’s spine. “Are you talking about Heather Summers?”
“Heather was with me before you tricked her into thinking I was no good for her. She left me because of you.”
It took everything Lillian had to stand her ground. “Who are you?”