Chasing Cezanne Read Free Page B

that seemed to retain some of the sunlight from her native Barbados. When asked about her background, it sometimes amused her to describe herself as a purebred quadroon and to watch the polite nods of incomprehension that usually followed. She thought that getting to know Andre might be interesting, if he ever stayed in town long enough.
    â€œWell?” He was looking at her, half smiling, hopeful.
    She shrugged, waving a hand at the unattended desk. “Both the girls are out today. Mary’s got the flu, Dana’s got jury duty. I’m stuck here.” Even after her dozen years in New York, Lucy’s voice retained the sweet lilt of the West Indies. “Another time?”
    â€œAnother time.”
    Lucy moved a stack of portfolios off the couch, making room for the two of them to sit. “Tell me about the job. It wouldn’t involve my favorite editor, would it?”
    A mutual antipathy had grown up between Lucy and Camilla. It had started when Camilla had been overhearddescribing Lucy as “that quaint little girl with ruched hair,” and had grown steadily worse with further acquaintance. Camilla found Lucy distinctly lacking in respect and far too demanding on behalf of her clients. Lucy found Camilla arrogant and pretentious. For the sake of business, they managed to maintain a precarious, icy politeness.
    Andre sat next to Lucy on the couch, close enough to catch the scent of her: warm, spiced with citrus. “Lulu, I cannot tell a lie. Camilla wants me to shoot some icons in the south of France. Two or three days. I’m leaving tomorrow.”
    Lucy nodded. “And you didn’t talk about money?” Two very large brown eyes looked at him intently.
    Andre held up both hands, a look of horror on his face. “Me? Never. You’re always telling me not to.”
    â€œThat’s because you’re lousy at it.” She made a note on her pad, sat back, and smiled. “Good. It’s time you had a raise. They’re paying you like a staff photographer, and they’re using you on almost every issue.”
    Andre shrugged. “Keeps me out of mischief.”
    â€œI doubt it.”
    There was a short, awkward silence. Lucy pushed back her hair, exposing the clean, delicate line of her jaw. She turned to smile at him. “I’ll work something out with them. You concentrate on the shots. Is she going to be there?”
    Andre nodded. “Dinner at the Colombe d’Or, sweetie. It’s one of her officially approved restaurants.”
    â€œJust you and Camilla and her hairdresser. How nice.”
    Andre winced. Before he had a chance to reply, thephone rang. Lucy picked it up, listened, frowned, and put her hand over the mouthpiece. “This is going to be a marathon.” She blew him a kiss. “Have a good trip.”

    As the driver pulled away from the Royalton, Camilla reached for the phone, careful of her nails as she punched in the number. It had been a long but constructive lunch, and dear Gianni had been so helpful. She made a mental note to have a box of cigars sent to his hotel.
    â€œYes?” The voice on the other end of the phone sounded preoccupied.
    â€œSweetie, it’s me. It’s all set for Paris. Gianni’s arranged everything. One of the servants is going to show me round the apartment. I can have all day if I want.”
    The voice became more interested. “The paintings will be there? Nothing in storage for the winter? None of them out on loan?”
    â€œEverything’s there. Gianni checked before he left Paris.”
    â€œExcellent. You’ve done very well, my dear. Very well. I’ll see you later.”
    In the richly furnished twilight gloom of his study, Rudolph Holtz replaced the phone carefully, took a sip of green tea from a Meissen cup, and went back to the article he had been reading. It was from the
Chicago Tribune
, datelined London, and described the recovery by Scotland