The Play of Light and Shadow & Writing (3 page)

Though reddening, Gaines smiled and greeted
her with an enthusiastic, “Lexie!”

“
On the other hand,” she continued
relentlessly, “anyone who destroyed it would be doing a service to
people with taste.”

He tried hard to maintain a polite and
amicable facade. “Lexie, I’d like you to meet—”

“
Hello, Alan, nice to see you again,”
she said, glancing at me cursorily before turning her gaze to
Darnell. “You must be the detective.”

Darnell only nodded.

“
This is my stepdaughter, Alexis
Crowell.”

“
Nice to meet you,” Darnell
said.

He wandered around the gallery, glancing at
the tiers of paintings, pedestaled sculptures, and furnishings. The
latter consisted of four padded benches, two paralleling each of
the long walls. He opened the door in the corner. The space beyond
was a utility closet, a little under five feet wide and less than
that in depth. A narrow overhead shelf was empty save for a light
coating of dust. A foot above it, a bare light bulb suspended on a
wire from the ceiling came on automatically when the door was
opened. Beyond its glare was darkness. A lightweight aluminum
seven-foot ladder leaned against a side wall. A hose for the
central vacuum system lay coiled on the floor, a snake with a wide
T-shaped nozzle half-turned toward us like a gaping mouth. A
plastic-handled duster stood in the corner.

“
The ladder is for hanging
paintings?”

Gaines nodded. “And to reach them to dust the
frames, yes.”

Darnell shut the door. Her mouth crooked
contemptuously, Alexis Crowell said: “Find the boogieman?”

“
Behave, Alexis,” Marjorie
ordered.

Alexis turned a punishing glare on her. “I
thought we were on the same side in this, Mother.” Her last word
held the bitter challenge of a loyalty test.

“
It doesn’t require you to make a
scene.”

“
And what’s Bart doing?”

“
I’m just being cautious,” Gaines said
quietly.

“
You’re being ridiculous. If this Paul
Marchand you’re so paranoid about knows the painting is here and
has faked out the police on three continents, how’s
he
”—she jerked her head toward
Darnell—”going to stop him from stealing it?” To Darnell she said:
“Or were you planning to bring in an army?”

He ignored the barb. “You raise a good point.
I made a few transatlantic calls yesterday. If Marchand’s for real,
he’s very good. The French police have no record of anyone by that
name on file.”

“
Marchand is a criminal genius,” Gaines
said insistently. “He’s always managed to elude detection. The only
record of his crimes is Riveau’s journal.”

Alexis gestured dismissively. “Between you
and Carol, we’ve heard it all before.” She looked at Derek, who was
now several yards away in conversation with a smiling, nodding
Marjorie Gaines. “I need to talk to you, Derek.”

“
In a minute. First, I’d like to get a
picture of your mother and Dr. Gaines on either side of the
painting.”

“
I’d rather you didn’t,” Gaines
said.

“
Why? This
is
a special occasion, after all. You should
commemorate it.”

“
Yes. Come on, Barton. It’s your pride
and joy.”

“
You know flashes bleach the paintings,
Marjorie.”

“
Oh, a couple of quick snapshots aren’t
going to hurt them.”

He flapped a hand in disconsolate
resignation. “All right. Make it fast, Derek. And just
one
.”

Grim-faced in contrast to Marjorie’s cheery
countenance, Gaines suffered the photo-taking. Immediately
afterward, Alexis grabbed Derek by the wrist and tugged him toward
the door like a parent urging a recalcitrant child. I excused
myself, too, left the gallery, and went around the corner to a
bathroom. When I emerged a few minutes later, I heard voices coming
from Barton Gaines’s office, the doorway to which was only a few
feet away.

“
....supposed to be here with
me
!” Alexis said.

“
I
am
here with you,” Derek replied patiently. “Who else would I be
here with?”

“
But you had to go out to the pool to
see Carol and the other girls, didn’t you? And what was that with
my mother just now?”

“
I took a picture of Marjorie and your
stepfather, that’s all.”

“
And before that you two were giggling
together. What, are you hitting on
her
, too?”

“
You’re being childish. I simply asked
her permission....”

The eavesdropping to which I admitted a
guilty pleasure might result in my being discovered, so I made my
way quietly back to the gallery. Only Darnell and Gaines
remained.

“
How many people have access to this
room?” Darnell asked.

“
Marjorie and I each have
specially-made keys. They can‘t be duplicated.”

“
Good. That keeps it
simple.”

“
I hope you’re right. Marchand’s
breached some elaborate security systems.”

“
There’s only one way in here and I’ll
be watching it—unless you have any trapdoors or secret panels you
haven’t mentioned.”

Gaines chuckled, the first leavening of his
mood in quite a while. “A man’s home is his castle, but we didn’t
see the need for any when we built the house.”

We headed for the door, preparing to
leave the gallery, when Carol Prentice entered. She had changed
into a black turtleneck, black Capri pants, and soft black
slippers— presumably her “bohemian“ garb. She was followed by a
stout balding man in a well-tailored brown suit. “Dr. Gaines, Mr.
Lakehurst is here—” she began, but the stout man hurried past her
to the easel saying, “I’m sorry, Barton, I can’t wait; I
have
to see it,” and took root,
entranced by
Nomad
.

Gaines nodded at Carol, accepting the
intrusion, and she left.

Gaines introduced Julian Lakehurst as the
owner of a Philadelphia art gallery.

“
You’re the one who suggested the
party,” Darnell said.

“
It’s truly an amazing piece of work,”
Lakehurst whispered, transfixed by the painting, not hearing
Darnell. “The play of light and shadow—the Riveau
trademark.”

“
Yes,” Gaines agreed.

“
The textural effects are breathtaking,
aren’t they?” Lakehurst said to Darnell.

“
Oh yeah, that’s exactly how I’d’ve put
it.”

“
Barton, you’ve got to promise to let
me display it.”

“
We’ll see.”

“
You keep saying that, but I want a
commitment.”

Gaines sighed. “I can’t give you one. If I
decide to display it publicly, you have my word your gallery will
be the site.”

Lakehurst’s expression mixed doubt and
capitulation. “Very well. I suppose it’s the best I can hope for.”
He paused. “And if you ever decide to sell it....”

Gaines laughed. “I just got it
yesterday.”

“
I know a collector who‘d pay
handsomely for it.”

“
Julian, this isn’t the time for this
conversation.”

The art dealer nodded ruefully. “You’re
right. I’m sorry.”

“
Don’t apologize. You’re a businessman;
I understand that. But this
is
a party.” He looked at his watch. “I suppose we should get it
started.”

We wandered out to the hallway, Gaines
locking the door behind us and pocketing the key. Lakehurst excused
himself and headed toward the living room. “I’d better be getting
in there myself,” Gaines said.

“
I’ll be right here,” Darnell told
him.

I followed Gaines. The living room was
beginning to fill with guests. Carol and the art students
circulated among the crowd bearing trays of champagne glasses and
canap
é
s. Their identical
outfits evoked images of beatnik coffee houses from the early
1960’s.

I spent the next twenty minutes chatting with
some university colleagues I hadn’t seen in a while. Predictably,
several wanted to know if the rumors about my interim career were
true. Then they droned on with the latest faculty gossip and
complained about administrative policies, reinforcing the
claustrophobic tedium that had impelled me to take the sabbatical.
While they prattled, my attention wandered. Julian Lakehurst held
forth to a knot of people about Charles Riveau’s rising star in the
art world. Marjorie mingled regally, stopping to say hello to an
individual or group, then moving on to others. Derek, a glass in
one hand and the camera dangling from a strap around his neck,
threaded his way around the room, punctuating the festivities with
occasional flashes as he snapped pictures. Wearing an expression of
bored forbearance, Alexis stood by the mantel, sipped champagne,
talked to a couple of women I knew to be her aunts, and kept a
weather eye on Derek.

Barton Gaines rescued me from the torpor
induced by my colleagues’ chatter, and we moved away from them.
“Another fifteen minutes or so, and I’ll take them to the
gallery.”

“
All right. I think I’ll go see how
Darnell is doing.”

“
You’d better warn him that Derek will
be coming. Marjorie actually promised to let him take some pictures
of the students in the gallery before the rest of the crowd gets
there. He’s quite the charmer, you know.”

I recalled Derek telling Alexis something
about a “permission” when I eavesdropped on them. “I’m sure it’s
harmless,” I said.

He scowled. “Not to the artwork.”

I went back to the corridor outside the
gallery where Darnell stood watch, and explained the immediate
schedule.

“
All right. Do me a favor, Professor?
Keep an eye on things here. I want to talk to the caterer.” He read
my puzzled expression and elaborated: “The Gaineses know all of
their guests. If someone plans to make a play for the painting, he
could be one of the catering crew. It’s far-fetched, but I want to
cover all the bases.”

I had barely taken up a position near the
door after his departure when I heard a British accent intone,
“This way, lovely ladies,” followed by some feminine giggles. Six
women, Carol Prentice and the students, poured into the corridor
followed by an eager Derek Trevor. Behind them strode a smiling
Marjorie Gaines, who unlocked the door.

“
Into the gallery with you now,” Derek
urged her and the others. “We’ll have some kinetic art among the
static.” He winked at me. “One can’t resist the enticing shot, you
know.”

I stood at the doorway and peered in. Derek
posed Marjorie alongside one of the sculptures and ranged the
younger women around her, then stepped back to snap a photograph. I
suddenly became aware of Barton Gaines, saturnine with disapproval,
at my elbow. While we watched, Derek continued to call instructions
to the women and fill the gallery with bursts of light from the
camera’s flash. Marjorie spotted us and sent a playful grin our
way. Gaines smiled back with feigned tolerance, perhaps
overshadowed by mortification. Being in front of the camera
elicited a girlishly unguarded reaction from Marjorie, as if she
reveled in being the focus of attention amidst the artwork her
husband seemed to value more. Gaines sighed and walked a few feet
away to lean against a side wall. I followed.

“
I’m starting to regret having this
party,” he said. “Where’s Darnell?”

When I explained his absence, Gaines said:
“Marjorie’s known Chadwick since before we met. He personally
supervises all of her events. There’s nothing to worry about from
that quarter.”

“
He wants to be thorough.”

Alexis Crowell swept around the corner, a
champagne glass in her hand and a frown on her face, moving
determinedly into the gallery. The frown had metamorphosed into a
glare by the time she emerged a few minutes later.

“
I don’t know who’s worse, you or
Derek,” she said to Gaines.

“
Lexie, I—”

“
I can’t believe you’re allowing this.
If he could get away with it, he’d have them posing naked.” She
swallowed champagne. “This is a circus—with the animals in
charge.”

She vanished back around the corner.

“
Have you and Alexis always been at
loggerheads?” I asked.

“
Sometimes I think Lexie is at
loggerheads with the world.” Gaines sighed. “Occasionally we hold a
civil conversation. Mostly she thinks I married her mother for
money.”

“
You‘re married how long?”

“
Fifteen years. Lexie was thirteen when
her father died.”

“
Have you
ever
gotten along?”

Sadness distorted his smile. “Once in a
while. At the beginning, Lexie opposed our marriage. Later on she
came to accept it, and we’ve had an uneasy truce ever since.” He
bit at his mustache.

I became vaguely aware of Derek’s shooing
Marjorie and the others out of the gallery and briefly glanced away
to watch a bevy of black-clad women boil through the doorway.
Marjorie, still smiling, looked at her husband and tapped her
wristwatch, then followed the women around the corner.