Love and Splendor: The Coltrane Saga, Book 5 (21 page)

She fell silent, placing a hand over her mouth, then exclaimed shamefully, “Oh, I’m sorry. I have no right to make fun. He loved her, or thought he did, and now they’re both dead, and I’m wrong to ridicule. It’s just that, at the time, Briana and I were just curious little girls, playing a game of spying on grown-ups.”

Drake ignored her confession. “Did he ever mention her name?”

Dani thought a moment. “No, not that I recall.”

He did not realize he had been holding his breath until it came out in a sudden rush. Then, gesturing toward the painting, he quietly stated, “I want to buy that painting, Dani. Name your price, I’ll pay it.”

Dani frowned. “It’s not for sale.” Then, “Why do you want it so badly?”

“Memories of Russia,” he said, smiling. “Good memories. I should think it would hold bad memories for you.”

She shook her head. “I’m putting the past behind me. To sell something I’m fond of because it might remind me of something unpleasant would be hiding from the past…and that’s wrong.”

Above the front door, the little silver bell jingled.

They turned, then Dani whispered, “It’s
Madame
Mebane,” and left him to walk toward her customer, softly calling a cheery greeting.

Drake turned his attention to the painting of the Alexandrovsky Palace once more, allowing his consciousness to be attacked and besieged with provoking contemplations.

Paris, circa 1881.

The time his mother had reportedly lived in Paris.

Count deBonnett had had an affair with a woman who died, in Paris, around 1881.

The time his mother had died…in Paris.

The Count’s paramour was said to have had eyes as blue as a robin’s egg.

The same could be said about the color of his mother’s eyes.

The Countess deBonnett had referred to her husband’s love as an anarchist…a revolutionary.

A fair, accurate description of his mother’s political doctrine.

It was becoming clear why the Count had in his possession the painting of the Alexandrovsky Palace and why he had hidden it along with his other valuable works. In all probability, he had not known the secret, or the significance—only that it had been entrusted to his care by the woman he had loved

Who had to be Annine Mikhailonov…his mother.

His hands clenched and unclenched at his sides, eyes narrowing with the immensity of his determination.

He had to have that painting!

The sound of Dani’s voice penetrated his concentration as she spoke with her customer about the grouse
minaudières
.

He acknowledged that he found Dani to be the loveliest and most exciting woman he had ever met. With her zest for life, it was exhilarating just to be around her. Never did they seem to be at a loss for something to talk about, which was certainly a pleasant change from the giggling, empty-headed fluffs he normally encountered. Dani was refreshing, invigorating. He cared for her as a person and as a friend, did not regard her as someone to bed, to savor and enjoy until satiated before moving on to yet another. She was different, and he knew, somehow, that they would never be bored with each others.

Perhaps, he mused with a mixture of bitterness and sadness, when the mystery was solved, the Fabergé egg returned to the reigning Czar, Alexander III, to prove his father’s innocence of revolutionary activities, then, and only then, could he deal with his distrust of women…and be freed from the bitter memories of his mother’s deceit and abandonment.

But until that time came, Drake knew he could not commit himself to Dani or any woman. Nothing was more important to him than the painting, and nothing—or no one—must stand in his way of getting it.

Chapter Fifteen

Madame
Mebane bought the doves, then requested to see the much talked-about “Monaco Find”. Drake stood aside as Dani obliged.
Madame
was properly impressed but not really interested in paintings. A Meissen teapot, in the Japanese Imari style, caught her fancy. This time, there was a friendly discussion over price, but
Madame
made the purchase and finally left, pleased with the results of her afternoon shopping jaunt.

When the door closed behind her, Dani sighed, but with happiness. “Sorry about the interruption, but I am running a business, you know.”

“And doing quite well,” Drake amiably pointed out. Then he stepped forward to place his hands upon her shoulders. “I want to be alone with you, Dani. Truly alone. Come to my apartment tonight and have dinner with me. I know a wonderful chef who’ll cook for us and then send his waiters over to serve us. How does that sound?”

“Lovely,” she admitted, “but have you already forgotten that unpleasant little scene with my father? If he found out I went alone to your apartment, he’d be furious.”

“Must you tell him? If he asks, say we’re going out for dinner.”

She did not like lying but reminded herself that her father’s old-fashioned values left her no choice. “I would love to have dinner with you,” she told him brightly.

“Wonderful,” he murmured, gathering her close against him, then lowering his lips to hers.

Cyril had seen enough. He had stood outside the shop for almost two hours, waiting for Drakar to leave. He had seen him arrive and enter only seconds before him, so he had decided to spy rather than burst in and risk annoying Dani as he had once before.

Then, when she had hung the
CLOSED
sign on her door, he had crept forward to peer in the window just in time to see them disappear out the back way. He had already suspected Drakar’s basket contained food for a picnic. So he had hurried to the rear of the building and crouched behind stacks of garbage cans to peer through a tiny hole in the brick wall.

And he had seen more than enough!

Cyril decided he would just have to risk Dani’s ire, because, by God, he could stand back no longer. He knew Drakar was after the painting, and he knew why, and he would be damned if that Russian scamp was going to beat him out on both counts—the painting
and
Dani!

Cyril opened the door and walked in. “Good day!” he announced coldly, loudly. “Far be it from me to be accused of spying again.”

Dani and Drake had sprung apart at the sound of the bell above the door, and Drake regarded Cyril with controlled rage. “Are you a customer, Arpel?”

“A connoisseur,
monsieur
,” Cyril fired back acidly. “I purchase art for my patrons. I understand you are a collector of a different sort.” He raised his head ever so slightly, sniffed with disdain as his gaze swept over Drake contemptuously.

Drake stiffened but, with an amused smile, said, “Perhaps since you seem so interested in my business, we should arrange to discuss it at a time when there is not a lady present.”

Cyril raised an eyebrow, emitted a nervous laugh of incredulity. “Sir, are you alluding to an
affaire d‘honneur?
”

Drake shrugged. “Who can say what the future holds?”

Dani stepped between them. “Stop it, the two of you. There’s no need for this.”

Cyril glared at Drake but spoke to Dani.
“I
came here to inspect your shop merchandise. Can
he
claim to have had the same purpose?”

Drake shook his head, as though confronted by a fool not worthy of his time or attention. “Dani, I bid you good day. I’ll call for you at seven.”

Then, without so much as a glance in Cyril’s direction, he turned and walked out of the shop.

At once, Dani whirled on Cyril, who promptly threw up his hands in surrender and cried in defense, “I’m a customer! I walked into your shop and announced my presence so I’d not be accused of spying like last time. It’s not my fault if Drakar resents customers coming into your shop!”

Dani sighed. What was the use? He was being childish…and also jealous, but there was no point in accusing him of that. “All right, all right. We’ll just forget it. Now,” she said with exaggerated cheer, “how may I help you?”

Cyril was relieved. She was going to let it pass. Quickly, he began to recite the story he’d made up. “I have a patron who has heard about the paintings you found in Monaco, and he’s interested in purchasing the entire group so he can display them in his private collection as the Monaco Find.

“After all,” he rushed to point out, “all of Paris, and perhaps much of France, has heard about the discovery of those paintings. Interest is keen. It would be quite advantageous to possess
all
the paintings you found in one, complete collection.”

Dani nodded. That certainly made sense. She turned to where the paintings were displayed, pursed her lips thoughtfully. Then her eyes fell upon the unrefined painting of the Russian palace. “I don’t want to sell that one.”

Cyril moaned inwardly. Why was she being so stubborn about one crude little painting? She did not know the secret behind it, and he doubted Drakar had told her but maybe he was working on her emotionally, telling her that the painting reminded him of his boyhood home, or some such nostalgic melodramatics intended to engender her compassion and sympathy.

“But my patron insists on purchasing the
entire
collection,” he repeated emphatically.

“Well, that’s just too bad. He can’t have the entire collection. I don’t want to sell the little one.

“Besides,” she added, somewhat wistfully as she looked at the painting once more, “it’s overshadowed by the others, and I find that rather pathetic.”

Cyril slapped his forehead in frustration. “You don’t understand. By itself, that wretched little painting is worthless. With the others, as part of a
collection,
it becomes valuable. And,” he pointed out accusingly, “you’re going to cheat me out of a handsome commission.”

Dam was unmoved. “Your profits aren’t my concern, Cyril, and need I remind you I didn’t open this shop merely for personal gain? It’s a hobby, and if I don’t make any money, I won’t starve, so I can afford to keep anything that strikes my fancy, and that little painting,
wretched
though you call it, happens to strike my fancy. I won’t sell it.”

Cyril saw the way her brown eyes began to flash with sparkles of topaz and knew he was pressing; he decided, for the moment, to back away. “Very well,” he sighed. “it’s your prerogative.”

Dani thought that perhaps she was being foolish to keep the painting when its value was only as part of the whole collection. Yet, there was still that strange, nagging little feeling that made her
want
to keep it—or, she reluctantly acknowledged to herself, maybe Drake had something to do with it. He did seem to have an affinity for the work. Perhaps, subconsciously, she was keeping it for him, and
that,
most certainly, was a supposition she would dwell upon in depth in the future.

Exasperated, she repeated, “It just isn’t for sale, Cyril. I can’t understand all the furor over it, anyway. I can understand Drake wanting it, for sentimental reasons, but a collector? It seems strange.” She shook her head.

So, Cyril silently fumed, Drakar
was
using pathos. Well, by God and everything holy, so could he!

Stepping closer to the painting, he chuckled softly. “I suppose this would evoke some memories for him. After all, it must be a terrible thing to be banished from your homeland…” He hesitated only long enough for his words to be absorbed, but not long enough for Dani to question. “It brings back memories for me, too, like the first time I saw Mathilde Kschessinskaya dance.”

Dani was properly impressed. “You saw her? Oh, I’m envious. Drake says he’s seen her dance too.”

Again, a sardonic chuckle. “Of course he has. He was once a close friend of the Czar’s son, Nicholas, and they went many times together to see the Imperial Ballet in Saint Petersburg. Did he also tell you that Nicholas is said to be madly in love with the prima ballerina?”

Dani was at once ignited with interest. “No, he didn’t, and please tell me everything you know about her.” She sat down on a velvet settee, patted the place beside her.

Cyril was pleased with himself; he knew Dani liked being treated to intimate tidbits concerning her idol. He proceeded to relate the gossip of the. Russian court but did not admit it had come to him by way of some of his patrons. Let her believe he was a privileged insider.

He told how Nicholas had first met Mathilde Kschessinskaya in the spring of 1890 when the entire imperial family attended the graduation performance of the Imperial Ballet School, and, afterward, the supper. “That summer she was selected to join the troupe which danced for the officers at Krasnoe Selo, where Nicholas was on duty with the Guards. He saw her every day, and it’s said they’ve been having a romance ever since.”

He lowered his voice conspiratorially. “It’s rumored they have secret rendezvous on the banks of the Neva, and not long ago, it’s said he gave her a gold bracelet set with diamonds and sapphires.”

Dani sighed. “A French prima ballerina and the next Czar of Russia. It’s like a fairy tale, isn’t it?”

“Not really.” Cyril was quick to disagree. “They say the younger sister of Grand Duchess Elizabeth, the wife of Nicholas’s uncle, Grand Duke Serge, is interested in him. She’s a German princess, Alexandra Feodorovna of Hesse, and he is also seeing her.”