“Hello, everyone,” Elizabeth Kenyon said cheerfully. “I do hope you're enjoying yourselves.” Her hazel eyes were bright with the glow of success.
Elizabeth Kenyon's gallery was one of the most important on the West Coast, and everyone knew it. She catered to wealthy collectors whose only goal was to be considered at the vanguard of the contemporary art movement.
Elizabeth, herself, was important both socially and in the art world. She could make or break an artist, and she had done both frequently. She had a reputation for being able to cow clients into buying anything she told them was collectible, and she had broken the creative spirits of artists whose works she deemed retrograde.
Mattie admired Elizabeth Kenyon enormously. Although Mattie, herself, had a different taste in art and knew she was much too soft-hearted for her own good when it came to dealing with artists and clients, she respected Elizabeth's success. Someday, Mattie sincerely hoped, Sharpe Reaction would be in the same league as Elizabeth Kenyon's gallery.
“Good evening, Elizabeth,” Emery said with another gracious inclination of his head. “Fantastic bash, as always.”
“Thank you, Emery. You know how thrilled I am that you were able to attend. Your presence is always an asset at this sort of thing.” She turned to Mattie. “Who is your friend, Matilda, my dear?”
“Hugh Abbott,” Mattie said.
“Mattie's fiancé,” Hugh drawled, sliding Mattie a mildly disgusted glance as he completed the introduction. The warning gleam in his eyes made it clear he was getting tired of having to explain his status in Mattie's life.
“Abbott. Abbott. Abbott. Now, where have I…? Oh, yes.” Elizabeth's eyes brightened. “Weren't you the one from Ariel's Elemental period?”
“Excuse me,” Emery Blackwell said, drawing himself up and reaching for another glass of champagne. “I believe this is where I came in. I think I shall go mingle. See you later, Mattie. Elizabeth.” He ignored Hugh, who, in turn, ignored him.
“Later, Emery,” Mattie said, raising her glass in a small farewell.
Elizabeth frowned at Emery's retreating back. “I'm afraid dear Emery has not only become rather passé, but he doesn't handle his liquor as well these days as he used to. I rather wish he had not bothered to attend tonight. But I suppose he couldn't resist. In spite of the divorce, he still feels a sort of paternal interest in Ariel's success.”
“Well, he was a major influence on her early work,” Mattie said, feeling obliged to defend Emery. “And he introduced her to all the right people back at the beginning. That certainly didn't hurt.”
“Nonsense. She already knew most of the right people through her own family connections.” Elizabeth smiled at Hugh. “How long will you be staying in Seattle, Hugh?”
Hugh caught Mattie's eye. “As long as it takes.”
“I see.” Elizabeth looked momentarily blank at the oblique answer. Then she nodded to both of them and moved off through the crowd.
“Matilda, dear, how are you?” said a new voice at Mattie's elbow. “I just spoke to your sister a few minutes ago. She tells me your parents couldn't be here tonight.”
“Hello, Mrs. Eberly. Good to see you again. Ariel's right. Mom and Dad are both busy. Mom's teaching in an artists-in-residence program at a private college back East this spring, and Dad went with her. He wants to finish his book on the Modern-Postmodern continuum and thought this would be a good opportunity to do it. Do you know Hugh Abbott?”
The elderly woman turned to Hugh. “Abbott. No, I don't believe I do.” Her bright eyes widened. “Unless, of course, you're the one from Ariel's—”
“Don't say it,” Hugh advised with a wry smile. “If I hear about Ariel's Elemental period one more time tonight, I think I'm going to be sick all over a tray of canapés.”
“Well, it wasn't one of her best periods, was it?” Mrs. Eberly said, patting his hand consolingly. “But that's not to say you should feel personally responsible for it, my boy. After all, some good did come out of it.”
“Yeah. She broke off the engagement. I've been feeling grateful for months.”
“That wasn't quite what I meant,” Mrs. Eberly murmured. “What is this rumor I hear about you and Matilda, here, being engaged?”
“It's a fact,” Hugh said roughly. “Not a rumor.”
“Where did you hear that, Mrs. Eberly?” Mattie asked.
“Gossip, my dear. You know how it is. I pride myself on being something of a sponge when it comes to gossip. I soak it up wherever I go. Can't imagine you married to someone who wears boots and jeans, but, then, they always say opposites attract.”
“Mattie and I actually have quite a bit in common,” Hugh said.
Mattie smiled brilliantly up at him. “Such as?”
“You want a list?” he asked with soft menace.
“That would be fascinating.” Mattie deliberately turned back to Mrs. Eberly, who was watching the scene with a fascinated gleam in her shrewd brown eyes. “By the way, Mrs. Eberly, I've got another one of Lingart's red pieces in the gallery, if you're interested.”
“Thank you, Matilda. Hold on to it for me, will you? I do believe he's starting to move into his yellow period. There won't be too many more reds, I'm afraid. And I do so want to corner the market.”
“It's yours,” Mattie promised. “But if you think the Lingart painting is good, just wait until you see what I brought back with me from the islands.”
“You mean besides this fine specimen of machismo?” Mrs. Eberly gave Hugh a smiling glance.
“Much more collectible, I assure you,” Mattie said. “The artist's name is Taggert. Silk Taggert. I'm planning an opening for his work a week from Friday.”
“Count on me, dear. I love everything you've ever sold me.” She swept the art that was hanging around Elizabeth Kenyon's gallery with a single raking glance. “I realize this sort of thing is very avant-garde and quite the in thing. Quite formidable in its own way. But the sad truth is, I really don't want it hanging in my home, if you know what I mean. I don't enjoy looking at it. When I buy something for my own home, I want to just love looking at it every time I walk into the room.”
“You're in good company, Mrs. Eberly. The Medicis and the Borgias and a few other notable art collectors from the past had the same idea about art collecting.”
Hugh frowned and started to make a comment, but at that particular moment the crowd parted to reveal Ariel sweeping down on them. Her exotic emerald eyes were on her sister.
“Mattie, I can't believe this thing about you and Hugh.” Ariel gave her sister a delicate hug of greeting while she narrowed her eyes at Hugh. “What in the world do you think you're doing?”
“Well, I—”
“Never mind,” Ariel said briskly, stepping back, “we'll discuss it later. This isn't the time or the place. I understand you've been talking to Flynn. I want to discuss that little matter with you, also. I'll drop by the gallery tomorrow sometime.”
“Fine,” Mattie said quietly.
A group of moneyed-looking people moved up to commandeer Ariel's attention. She turned to them at once and moved off toward one of the paintings from her Exploratory period.
Elizabeth Kenyon materialized beside Mattie again. “Mattie, dear, would you do me an enormous favor?” she whispered.
“What's that?”
“Get Blackwell into a cab or something. He's becoming a bit obnoxious. I don't want him upsetting any of the clients. I swear, I'll be forever in your debt if you'll get him out of here for me.”
Mattie groaned, glancing across the crowded room to where Emery Blackwell was in serious danger of dumping the contents of his glass into the cleavage of a Wagnerian lady of middling years. “All right, Liz. But, remember, you owe me.”
“Thank you, dear.” She smiled as she turned away, her hard eyes straying once more toward Hugh. “You always did have a way of picking up the bits and pieces Ariel leaves behind in her wake, didn't you, Mattie?”
Mattie gritted her teeth
and went toward Emery. She was vaguely aware that Hugh was following her through the throng.
“There you are, Emery,” she said when she reached his side. “I've been looking for you.” Mattie deftly removed the glass from his hand. “There's someone just dying to meet you.” She flashed the large woman a placating smile. “Will you excuse us? Emery is always in such demand.”
“Of course,” the woman said, looking vaguely disappointed.
“Mattie, my love, you arrived just in the nick of time,” Emery murmured as she led him away. “I do believe I was about to make a descent down an extremely treacherous precipice without benefit of proper climbing apparatus. Haven't seen a woman built along those lines in a good ten or fifteen years.” Emery cast a last, wistful glance at the massive bosom he was forsaking. “They just don't make them like that anymore.”
“Oh, I don't know about that,” Hugh said easily. “I've got some calendars back in my office that have pictures of females built like that.”
“You would,” Emery agreed.
Mattie sighed. “Emery, you're getting drunk and you always get obnoxious when you drink.”
“Kind of you to notice. I do try. Where are we going?”
“You're going home in a cab,” Mattie said as she steered him toward the door.
“I've got a better idea. Why don't we go get a bite to eat? Just you and me, of course. Leave the Elemental creature behind.”
Hugh crowded close as he followed the pair out the door. “Forget it, Blackwell. Mattie and I already have plans.”
“Pity,” Emery said.
“Hey, Mattie,” Flynn called, hurrying toward the three, who were halfway through the door. “Leaving already?”
“Afraid so,” Mattie said.
“Don't think it hasn't been fun,” Hugh growled.
“Look, I'll get those canvases to you as soon as possible, Mattie.” Flynn followed them all out onto the sidewalk and stood waiting with them until a cruising cab pulled into the passenger loading zone.
“That'll be great, Flynn. But, like I said, Ariel is not going to approve.”
“Don't worry about it.” Flynn opened the cab door and ushered Blackwell inside.
Mattie slid in beside Emery.
“Where the hell are you going?” Hugh demanded as he watched Mattie get into the cab.
“Home. I think I've had enough champagne and soggy canapés tonight. Want to come along? We're on Emery's way.”
Hugh glared at her in frustration and then got into the backseat of the cab beside her.
“You three have a nice evening,” Flynn said casually, bending down to say good-bye.
“Shit,” said Hugh.
“My sentiments exactly,” Emery Blackwell intoned as the cab pulled away from the curb.
“You shouldn't have been there tonight, Emery,” Mattie admonished. “You promised me you would stay up at your place on Whidbey Island until you got the second book of the Byron St. Cyr series completed.”
“Now, don't scold, Mattie, my love. I deserve a break. I swear on my honor as an aging scholar who has sold his soul to the devil of commercial fiction, I will head straight back to Whidbey tomorrow. I just couldn't resist attending that opening tonight.” He looked across Mattie at Hugh, who was filling up a large chunk of the cab. “What about you, Abbott?”
“What about me?”
“Don't you feel a certain perverse pleasure in seeing your influence in Ariel's work? A little claim to artistic immortality, eh?”
“Bull.”
“Succinctly put. A man of few words. Well, as for myself, all I can say is, I'll take my moments of fame when and where I can. All glory is fleeting. Do you know I actually had to explain to a couple of people in that gallery just who I was, Mattie? A humbling experience.”
“Don't worry, there will be a whole new level of fame waiting for you when you emerge as the mysterious author of the best-selling Byron St. Cyr series,” Mattie said gently. “Stop feeling sorry for yourself and start looking forward to the day you get to sign autographs at the mall.”
“Dear Lord,” Emery moaned. “What a fate. Autographs at the mall. I have truly made a devil's bargain, Mattie Sharpe. And it's all your doing.”
“Your first book will be out in the stores in a couple of weeks, Emery, and you're going to feel much different when you see it selling like hotcakes. Trust me.”
“My future is in your hands, Mattie, love.”
Ten minutes later the cab pulled up in front of the restored early-nineteenth-century building in Pioneer Square that housed Mattie's large loft apartment. Mattie and Hugh climbed out, and after a bit of quiet nudging, Hugh reluctantly paid the fare, including enough to cover the cost of getting Emery Blackwell to his Capitol Hill residence.
The cab departed with Emery sitting regally in the backseat. Mattie dug out her keys and opened the security door of her building.
“What an evening,” Hugh muttered as he punched the elevator call in the hallway.
“A little different from the Hellfire on a Saturday night, isn't it?” Mattie observed.
“Give me the Hellfire anytime.”
“You'd better get used to evenings like this one, Hugh,” Mattie told him sweetly. “I go to several openings a month and hold a lot myself during the year for my own artists. I'm sure you'll want to accompany me to each and every one. After all, you intend to be a part of my life here in Seattle, don't you?”
“For as long as it takes,” Hugh said grimly.
CHAPTER
Ten
That night it occurred to Hugh for the first time that things were not going to go as smoothly or as easily as he had anticipated.
He sprawled on Mattie's black leather couch amid a tangle of sheets, his hands folded behind his head. It was nearly two in the morning, but the view through the high, curving windows that lined Mattie's huge studio was neon-bright. The glow of city lights at night always irritated Hugh. He preferred the velvet, flower-scented darkness of an island night. If he closed his eyes, he could conjure up a mental image of pale moonlight falling like cream on the sea.
Seeing Mattie in her world tonight had been more of a shock than it should have been. After all, he knew what she did for a living; knew her sister and something about the family. Why had it been surprising to see Mattie looking so at home amid that crowd at the gallery? he wondered.
A part of him knew the answer. He had not wanted to admit that she was a part of that world. For the past several months he had been remembering the night of passion followed by her soft plea to take her with him back to the islands. Take me with you, Hugh. I love you so much. Please take me with you. And for the past week he'd had her out there on his territory, where he made the rules and where he felt comfortable.
When he had arrived here in Seattle with her three days ago and moved into her glossy apartment, he had been confident of his ability to convince her to move to St. Gabriel within a matter of days. He had been so certain that all he needed was a little time to overcome the feminine pique she felt because of his past engagement to Ariel.
Now things were looking a lot more complicated than they had appeared from St. Gabe. A new sense of uncertainty was gnawing at his insides.
And after two nights he was already damn tired of sleeping on the couch.
Hugh tossed aside the covers of his makeshift bed and got to his feet. He crossed the red and gray carpet that designated what he thought of as the living room area of the huge studio and padded over the gleaming wooden floors to the windows. He stood there for a long while watching a late-night ferry crossing Elliott Bay.
Still restless, he wandered over to the kitchen area and rummaged around in the shadows until he found the sack of oat bran muffins Mattie had bought for breakfast. He pulled one out and took a bite. He didn't think he was ever going to become a big fan of oat bran, but he'd eaten worse things in his life. Paul Cormier's sun-dried tomatoes, for instance.
That recollection brought back a lot of ot
her memories, some of them unpleasant. But most of all it brought back the image of the gaping red hole in Cormier's chest.
Hugh had never had a lot of friends. Cormier had been one of the few. Truth was, for a while there, Cormier had been more than a friend. He'd been almost a father in some ways back in the early years, when Hugh had still been searching for himself and a way to test his own young manhood. From Paul he had learned a lot of the important things, like how to have pride in himself, how to live by a code of honor. And how to survive.
Hugh was suddenly, acutely aware of his deep loneliness. The sensation came more and more frequently of late. The only time it was ever really banished was when he was making love to Mattie.
A soft sound from above made him turn and look up at the open loft-style bedroom that jutted out over the living area. The loft had a shiny red metal railing around it. Mattie's bed was lost in the shadows behind the railing.
Mattie was the one who could banish the loneliness.
Hugh came to a decision. He put down the half-finished oat bran muffin and walked over to the narrow spiral staircase. Silently he climbed up the wrought-iron steps to Mattie's bedroom aerie.
Tonight at the gallery he had experienced genuine uneasiness as he had watched Flynn Grafton and Emery Blackwell hover around Mattie as if they had a prior claim on her.
This was not a sure thing he had going with Mattie, after all. He could lose her, Hugh thought, and he knew of only one way to reassert his own claim on her. He needed some reassurance. He had to know she still wanted him physically, even if she was trying to talk herself out of wanting him as a husband.
He had to know that on some level, at least, she was still his, the way she had been since their first night together all those months ago.
Mattie was still wide awake when she sensed Hugh's presence near the bed. She had been unable to sleep since she had climbed the stairs to her little fortress in the sky two hours ago.
Some part of her had known this would happen, if not tonight, then tomorrow night or the next. Soon. The inevitable could not be postponed for long. The attraction between herself and Hugh ran too deep, and the fear that she might still be in love with him was too strong to ignore. She turned slowly to see him standing beside the bed, wearing only his briefs.