The Secret Heiress (12 page)

“Ready to go?” he asked.

“Yes,” Ariadne said, although she would have liked to explore the studio further.

Matt locked the door behind them, and they returned to the Jeep. He placed the small box in the backseat, then started the engine and backed out of the parking space.

“That was fascinating,” Ariadne said. “I had no idea of what actually goes on in there.”

“You only saw a little bit,” Matt said. “It’s a very busy place. There are experts who teach students, and there’s always more work than they can handle. People send art from all over the world here to have it repaired or restored.”

“So that’s what you’re doing with all of the statues and things I saw in your studio?”

“Yes. Soldering, welding, gluing, carving. You name it. Repairing cracks, making parts to replace missing pieces. All sorts of things.” He drove through the parking lot and around the Clark Institute to the main road, stopping at the red light. A light snow had begun to fall. Matt turned and looked at Ariadne. “So, it’s the weekend. You have big plans for tonight?”

“Well . . . no,” Ariadne confessed.

The light changed, and Matt took a left. “You don’t?” he asked. “I know I’m being nosy, but I—”

“No. It’s okay,” Ariadne said. “I had plans tonight, but they got canceled.”

“So you were looking forward to . . . whatever it was?”

“Yes and no,” she said.

He glanced at her with a puzzled expression. “That makes perfect sense,” he said with a laugh.

“I know it sounds lame,” Ariadne sighed.
I might as well tell him the truth,
she thought, even if he was almost a stranger. “I was invited out for my birthday, but my date called and canceled.”

“It’s your birthday?” Matt said.

She nodded.

“Then we’ve got to celebrate.” He slowed behind a dump truck loaded with gravel. “What do you say? You can’t go back to the dorm and stay in tonight.”

“Oh, I don’t know. . . .” Ariadne hesitated. “I didn’t mean to get you involved in something that—”

“You didn’t,” he broke in. “I asked, didn’t I? Besides, it gives me a good excuse to go out, too.” He glanced at her and smiled. “See? It’s best all around, isn’t it? So you can’t refuse.”

“I . . .” Ariadne didn’t know what to say, but she did know that she liked the idea of going out with Matt. “Okay,” she said at last.

“Terrific,” Matt said. “Now, what if I drop you off at the dorm? I’ve got to shower and change. Then I can pick you up. Say, in two hours? How’s that?”

“That’s fine.” She realized she didn’t know what he had in mind. “Where are we going? I just need to know what to wear.”

“To a good restaurant I know,” he said. “Not real fancy but nice.”

“Okay.” Two hours would allow her enough time to change into something a little more . . . attractive and inviting.

 

They drove south on Route 7 through the still-falling snow. The two-lane road was practically empty of traffic, and the snow seemed to close all around the warm, cozy interior of the Jeep. When they reached Great Barrington, Matt headed for Railroad Avenue. “I’ll try to park close to the restaurant,” he said, “so you won’t freeze on the way inside.”

“I’ll be fine,” Ariadne said. “I’m used to it.”

He parked in a municipal lot, then opened the door for her.

The restaurant was only a short walk, and he took her arm when they went inside. He’d called to make reservations, and it was a good thing. The room was crowded with diners, as he’d suspected it would be on a Friday night.

“Do you want to hang up your coat?”

“Yes,” Ariadne said. He helped her out of it, then hung it up after she’d shoved her long woolen neck scarf and watch cap in the pockets. When he took off his own, Ariadne could see that he wore an expensive sport jacket with a tasteful silk tie. The restaurant was abuzz with conversation but not too loud, and she could hear soft music in the background.

“Welcome to Verdura,” the maître d’ said. He took Matt’s name, then led them to a table in the center of the big dining room. They ordered drinks, Ariadne a chardonnay and Matt a pinot grigio. He looked at her appreciatively across the table. Her long blond hair shone in the candlelight, and her big dark eyes appeared at ease as she took in the room. The pumpkin-colored cowl-necked sweater she wore was perfect with her slightly olive-complected skin, he thought.

“You look beautiful,” he said.

“Thank you,” she said, slightly embarrassed. In the past she’d been told that she was pretty, though she didn’t put a lot of effort into it. “And you look great in your tie and all,” she replied.

“It’s the light,” he quipped.

The waiter brought their drinks and set them down.

Ariadne smiled. “The lighting
is
beautiful,” she replied. “All of the candles and the fireplace. The pictures on the walls.” She was curious about how he could afford to bring her to such an expensive restaurant. Regardless of what his position was at the Clark, this must be a splurge.

“I’m glad you like it.” He lifted his wineglass. “Happy birthday, Ariadne.”

She lifted hers and touched his. “Thank you.” She took a sip of the wine. “This is very good.”

“So is mine,” Matt said, swirling the liquid in the glass.

“These people don’t look like the college crowd,” she said, her eyes scanning the room again. The majority of the women were beautifully dressed and coiffed, and the men wore suits or sport jackets.
It’s like a sea of expensive cashmere,
she thought, idly fingering the sweater she wore, a Christmas gift from her parents.

“A lot of the crowd is from New York City,” he said. “People with weekend houses up here. This time of year, they come up to ski.”

“It sounds like a pretty good life to me.” Ariadne smiled. “In northwestern Connecticut, where I grew up, there are a lot of New York City people. Some of them very rich and a few even famous. Weekenders. But I didn’t know any of them. In fact, I hardly ever even
saw
any of them. They only socialize with each other in their big houses. They eat in the few really expensive restaurants the locals can’t afford, if they go out, and shop in little specialty places.”

“It’s pretty much the same around here, I think,” Matt said, taking a sip of his wine.

“It’s odd. They come up here to get away from it all, and end up seeing the same people they see in the city.”

Matt nodded. “Birds of a feather.”

“It’s fun to be one of those birds tonight,” Ariadne said mischievously, “and I really appreciate your bringing me here.”

“It’s your birthday,” he said, shrugging. “It’s the least I could do. Now, are you ready to have a look at the menu? They have northern Italian cuisine here.”

They opened their large menus, and Ariadne quickly noted the column of prices. They were quite high, as she’d suspected they would be, and she wondered again if this was a big splurge for Matt. She decided she should be careful about what she ordered for his sake.

Matt closed his menu and set it down.

“You’ve already decided?” she asked.

He nodded. “No doubt in my mind. What about you? What appeals to you on this special day?”

“I’m not sure. . . .” Ariadne’s voice trailed off as she continued to study the menu.

Matt watched her intently, certain that she was going to choose the least expensive items on the menu. “What if I order for us both?” he asked.

Ariadne looked quizzically at him.

“It’s done a lot in Europe,” he said, spreading his hands in a defensive gesture. “But maybe you think it’s sexist, huh?”

Ariadne didn’t hesitate a moment. “I think it
could
be, but I don’t think in this case it is. In fact, I think it’s a great idea.”

“Good. I think you’ll really like it.”

The waiter appeared, and they listened as he reeled off the list of specials.

“Thanks,” Matt said. “I think we’ll pass on the specials tonight. We’ll have the endive and baby arugula salad with the white-truffle-infused olive oil, goat cheese, and walnuts to start, and the chateaubriand for two.” He looked at Ariadne. “How do you like your meat?”

“Rare or medium rare usually,” she said.

“Rare,” he said.

“Very good.”

“And a bottle of the Barbera d’Asti Bersano.”

“An excellent choice,” the waiter said.

“Are you an oenophile?” Ariadne asked when he left.

“Not really,” Matt replied. “Like everything else in life, it seems the more I learn about wine, the more I discover I don’t know.”

“I know what you mean,” she said. “That’s what I’ve found out in my studies. The further I go, the more I find out that I don’t know.”

“Do you enjoy your college work?”

“Oh, yes,” Ariadne said. “I guess it’s what suits me best. I’m naturally drawn to business and finance. I love studying the different markets and trading, the ins and outs of buyouts and takeovers, management techniques, all kinds of things like that.”

“I’m impressed,” he said. “You’re one of the few women I’ve ever met who really enjoy that sort of thing. I bet your classes are mostly men.”

“You’d be surprised,” Ariadne said. “There are a lot of women in economics now, and a lot of women going on to work on MBAs.”

“Do you know what you want to do when you graduate?”

“I’m not totally certain, but I think I want to go into corporate business management. The trading floors—nearly all of them—are dominated by men. Besides, I’m interested more in the big picture. You know, the direction companies are heading in. Strategic planning. That kind of thing.”

“Wow,” he said. “I really am impressed. It’s great to hear somebody who has enthusiasm for what they’re doing.”

“What you’re doing is really creative,” Ariadne said. “I can’t even imagine being able to draw or paint or sculpt. It’s a whole different world, and I find it daunting.”

“But you obviously find it interesting,” he said. “The first time we talked, you were at the college museum. Then today I ran into you by chance at the Clark Institute. You must love soaking up art.”

“Hmmm . . . yes,” she said dreamily. “There’s so much beauty. It takes me outside myself into another world.”

“Do you have any favorites at the Clark?”

“Oh, yes. The Sargent painting of the lady with the big hat. I should know the name of it. . . .”

“I know the one,” he said. “A lot of people think it’s the best painting in the museum.”

“Really? I didn’t know that.” She took a sip of her wine, then set the glass down. “What made you decide to be a sculptor?” she asked.

“I hope to be a sculptor someday,” he said. “In the meantime I have to make a living. But to answer your question, I guess it’s just like with you. I naturally gravitated toward drawing and sculpture. When I was a little kid, I was always drawing. Making models, too. You know, from kits. Later on, I started carving. It was just an urge that I can’t really explain.”

“Did you study art in school?”

“Yes, among other things.”

“And you decided to come back to school?”

“Something like that,” he said evasively.

“So you’ve been working?”

“Yes, that, too.” He shifted in his seat somewhat uncomfortably, Ariadne thought. “But let’s not talk about me,” he continued after a moment. “I’m pretty boring.”

With his dark eyes and sensuous lips, he smiled at her. She remembered how she’d thought that he looked like a man who spent a lot of time outdoors, and her initial impression was confirmed. He was somewhat sun-and windburned, and his slightly curly dark hair, even now in the restaurant, looked as if it had been disturbed by the wind.

“I don’t think you’re boring at all,” she said.

“That’s nice of you to say.”

The waiter served their appetizers. Ariadne looked down at her plate and sighed with pleasure. The salad had been elegantly arranged and looked very appetizing. They began eating with relish.

“The truffle flavor is delicious,” Ariadne said. “So . . . earthy.”

“I love it, too,” Matt said.

They talked about food as they ate, discovering that they were both adventurous eaters, willing to try almost anything. When the chateaubriand was served, Ariadne almost swooned over its buttery texture and the cognac sauce drizzled over it.

“This is so wonderful,” she said. She took a sip of the deep garnet wine. “This will be a birthday dinner to remember.”

“I’m glad,” Matt said, very pleased. “What were you planning to do, by the way?”

She frowned at the thought of Kurt. “Oh, someone had asked me out to celebrate, but then canceled to go skiing instead.”

“On your birthday?” Matt looked at her incredulously. The culprit must be the arrogant jerk he’d seen pick her up at the college museum.

She nodded. “Pretty dismal, isn’t it?” she said with a light laugh.

He sensed that despite her laughter she was hurt. Who wouldn’t be? “I hope you didn’t think of this . . .
person
. . . as a close friend.”

Any number of obscenities could have been substituted for
person,
the way he’d said the word, Ariadne thought. “Well, actually, I was beginning to suspect that this . . .
person
. . . as you say—” She smiled, letting him know that she appreciated the way he’d used the word. “Anyway, this jerk wasn’t a real friend, and this was all the proof that I needed. So I’m not going to see him again.”

“Good for you,” Matt said. He looked at her thoughtfully. “Will you miss him? I mean, were you emotionally involved?”

“Kurt’s just not very mature, and he’s a long way from wanting to commit to anybody.”

“And you do?”

“I—I don’t know,” she said, startled by his directness. “I guess that’s a fair question since I just said he wasn’t, but I don’t really know. I suppose, if the right person came along.” She paused, nervously fingering her napkin. “But that hasn’t happened. I’ve never been . . . well . . . that involved with anyone.”