CHAPTER THIRTY
Sapphire arrived at the address written on the invitation, surprised that there were no other guests milling around, helping themselves to the usual complimentary champagne. There was an air of subdued affluence, hinting that it was a very exclusive exposition.
A woman greeted her warmly, enclosing Sapphire’s hand in both of her own, her fingers all soft skin and glossily shining, pink fingertips. ‘Sapphire Montrose, lovely to meet you at last; you are becoming quietly famous around these parts.’
‘I am?’ She gazed around at the empty room, wondering at the whereabouts of these supposed people who thought she was famous.
She frowned. ‘Have I mistaken the date?’
‘Not at all, my dear. I’m afraid I needed to ask you to come earlier than the rest of the guests. You see, you are exhibiting some of your exquisite paintings here, today.’
Sapphire narrowed her eyes. ‘I am?’
The woman’s laugh echoed throughout the room, bouncing off the blond-wood flooring and the flock wallpaper, the embossed birds of paradise and exotic flowers fairly vibrating with colour. ‘Your cousin Suzie arranged it.’ She passed her mobile phone over to Sapphire. ‘My name is Anna Greenfield-Howes. Call her if you are concerned.’
Sapphire took the phone from the stranger to see her cousin’s number already programmed in, showing up brightly on the display. She passed the phone back. ‘It’s fine. I’m sure she has my best interests at heart.’
‘Good. Here’s my card.’ She flipped open her bag and took out an engraved business card with her photo and her name on the front, which she held out to Sapphire with a flourish. Art Financer and Dealer and lots of long telephone numbers were printed underneath her name.
Sapphire studied it. It seemed Anna Greenfield-Howes had offices in Milan, New York and London and had all sorts of letters after her name, that Sapphire had no clue about, though she presumed they were prestigious.
‘Okay then. What happens next?’ she asked, slightly confused but happy to go along with it.
The woman’s smile reappeared as she passed Sapphire an elegant folder, her manicured nails tapping on the front of it.
‘Here’s your itinerary. Your sponsors will shadow you and your potential customers will show their interest, so be prepared to answer questions about where you get your inspiration, when you changed your artistic style – that kind of thing.’
Sapphire tried not to let her jaw drop. ‘I have sponsors? How come? What on earth is going on here? It sounds like some kind of weird auction.’
‘It’s simply a way of maximising your sales. Your work will be exhibited alongside some of the finest new artists in the world. This has taken a lot of preparation, but as long as you let me take care of everything, you will be recognised for the exceptional artist that you are.’
Sapphire was sceptical. ‘But I only knew about it last week; there must be someone else behind this, surely?’
The woman’s eyes levelled with hers. ‘Yes, that’s true.’ She looked at her watch. ‘Bene.’
Sapphire’s stomach flipped at the single Italian word. ‘This is to do with Marco Cavarelli, isn’t it?’
The beautiful head of Anna Greenfield-Howes tilted to one side, her elaborate curls barely moving. She looked at Sapphire as if the odds of her actually knowing Mr Cavarelli would be slight, and Sapphire thought she detected an implication that she should be extremely grateful for any crumbs of interest from Mr Cavarelli.
Sapphire bristled, her sense of unease deepening. ‘I don’t want to go anywhere near that man.’
‘I don’t know Mr Cavarelli personally, but I would suggest you consider very carefully whether or not to take this opportunity. You might never have this chance again, and believe me, if you are serious about your art you will regret your decision forever.’ Her sharp eyes raked over Sapphire as if she was unworthy of such a proffered gift.
Sapphire stepped inside the main hall to hear a female voice firing off a volley of orders in unmistakable Italian. She shot a quizzical glance back towards this Greenfield-Howes woman, who seemed – Sapphire wasn’t sure why – to be acting as some kind of agent, and she, in response, inclined her head. ‘There’s our host; I’ll introduce you in a minute.’
Sapphire breathed out a sigh of relief as her initial fear that Marco was involved began to fade. She watched an older lady gesticulating as young men did her bidding, the former’s keen eyes missing nothing as the men hoisted paintings on and off walls. The gist of her speech was clear and her importance unmistakable even though she spoke in Italian, which Sapphire barely understood.
Sapphire whirled around, forgetting about Marco for a moment, as she caught a glimpse of a world she hadn’t known existed. She smiled wryly: Italian people, Italian design and Italian speakers – and not a Marco in sight. She would have to get used to hearing Italian without automatically assuming he would be lurking somewhere.
‘Ah, Mrs G. How lovely to see you again.’ Anna Greenfield-Howes greeted the elegantly dressed lady, whose black lace dress and string of glossy pearls at her throat shouted sophistication. ‘Please, may I introduce Sapphire Montrose?’ She turned to Sapphire. ‘Sapphire, Mrs Giovanelli is from one of the great houses of Florence. Her family have a long history of artistic academia, which, combined with great investments, has made her one of the most important art dealers in the world.’
The host inclined her head towards Sapphire. ‘So, this is the talented young lady we have been so looking forward to meeting. Welcome, Sapphire. Maria will show you to a room where you can change.’
‘Change?’
‘An outfit has, I believe, been laid out for you.’
Sapphire’s brow creased in bewilderment; surely that wasn’t normal? She looked down at her perfectly acceptable cream trousers and blue silk top and back up at Mrs Giovanelli, who was indeed dressed as if attending a cocktail party. Anna Greenfield-Howes, too, was clothed in floaty, duck-egg blue chiffon and sky-scraper heels, in keeping – now she came to think of it – with a grand party. As Sapphire dithered, a young woman appeared by her side. Maria, presumably.
‘Okay, fine, show me the way,’ she said, and allowed herself to be led up a winding staircase.
Maria pushed open a door leading off the landing and, instructing Sapphire to return to the downstairs lobby as soon as she was ready, walked her into an opulent room with washed silk ivory festoon blinds and muted gold lamps. Something didn’t seem right and Sapphire’s heart thudded with anxiety as Maria retreated silently, closing the door behind her.
A fitted red dress made from satin, with a thin silver belt, was hooked over the wardrobe door on a hanger, and a pair of silver high-heeled sandals sat snugly in a box surrounded by tissue paper. Once again, thoughts of Marco returned. It was similar to the dress she’d bought in Edinburgh to show him she was not a woman to be ignored. Her heart did a sad little flip at the memory.
She swallowed her thoughts. It was all in the past and she had to think of the future now. She ventured closer, puzzled, and touched the beautiful dress, knowing it would fit her and wondering who cared enough to make sure of it. Why hadn’t Suzie mentioned anything about all of this?
‘It’s so that you stand out from the crowd – not that a dress would make any difference. All very standard for a gallery opening.’ The deep, unmistakable voice resounded in the room and Sapphire whipped around.
Marco, sitting casually in a leather chair, his legs crossed at the ankles, smiled as if it was only yesterday that they’d last spoken.
Sapphire gasped with shock as a mixture of anger and love flooded through her body. ‘Why are you here?’
‘Lovely to see you too, Sapphire, I’ve missed you.’
‘You’ve kidnapped me.’
He laughed, the deep rumble she remembered so well. ‘Always the drama queen.’
‘What else do you call this, then – manoeuvring me into a risky situation, making me dress up for you?’
‘Dress up for you? Good grief, you make me sound like something out of a Liam Neeson thriller. You should be an actress, not an artist.’ He spoke quietly and she stepped closer, noticing that his face was strained, if not downright unhappy.
‘The exhibition starts in one hour. Half a dozen or so of the finest new artists, including you, will be presenting and discussing their art. You have the talent to succeed, so we – your cousin Suzie and I – have procured the services of the renowned Baroness Greenfield-Howes from start to finish, to ensure everything runs as smoothly as it should for you.’
She stared at him, speechless.
‘I’m trying to make amends, Sapphire.’
‘You did this?’ She waved a hand towards the room and the dress. ‘I didn’t ask for your help and I don’t need it.’
‘Sapphire you have an extraordinary gift and I would like to see it nurtured.’
‘Then it’s a shame you didn’t make more of an effort at nurturing while you had the chance.’ She bit her lip as the pain she’d tried so hard to conquer rushed back, knocking the fight out of her. All she’d wanted was his love and loyalty.
Suddenly it all flooded out. ‘You knew about my struggles in life, you knew how hard it was for me to trust anyone – and still you let me fall in love with you. I could have survived on your love alone; instead you threw everything I offered right back at me. You betrayed me.’ She could hear that she sounded pitiful, but she couldn’t help it.
‘I waited for you to call me when you’d cooled down, Sapphire, so I could explain, but you never did. Honestly, too much rides on this exhibition for me to allow you to become upset right now. I just want to help.’
‘Like you helped me in my last career? I don’t need that kind of help, thank you.’
‘That was a misunderstanding.’
‘How on earth is it possible to misunderstand the text you sent me? You made my position quite clear.’
He breathed out heavily. ‘Okay, I panicked because of the photographer in St Martin’s. I tried to put things right. But this is not the time or the place. Stay for the exhibition, greet my guests and let them put a face to the amazing artist that you are.’
Glowering at Marco, she tried to clear her jumbled brain. It was alarming to find herself face to face with him again and her instinct was to run – but her art was all she had left now, and it was so tempting to see how the experts would view her work. He certainly owed her big time for ruining her life. She paused. ‘Very well, but then I’m going home and I’ll have no need to see you again.’
He stood up, and if she didn’t know how ruthless he was, she would swear she saw sorrow in his eyes. ‘Don’t do this to us.’
‘There is no us.’
He took a step towards her. ‘You say that, but I know my face haunts your dreams. Deny it if you can.’
Sapphire took a step backwards to keep her distance. ‘How would you know such a thing?’
‘Because your face haunts my dreams.’
‘Don’t flatter yourself, Mr Cavarelli. It was only ever a fling.’
‘No, it was not.’ His half smile was knowing, as if he could read her thoughts. He took a step closer – was inches away from her. She yearned to lean in to him, to remind herself of his warm body, his singular masculine smell, feel his lips on hers – just one more time.
No, she would not allow her desire to betray her. ‘I’ve moved on, Mr Cavarelli; I don’t need you in my life.’
Marco closed his eyes briefly and when he opened them Sapphire was gratified to see raw pain in them, but her triumph was short-lived when he nodded curtly. ‘So be it.’ He took a step away from her, spinning on his heel.
She faltered. She didn’t want him to leave but he’d already reached the door. ‘Marco?’ she called.
He turned around, his face devoid of emotion as he stared straight at her, waiting, his hand resting on the door-knob.
But no words would come out; she’d spent so long trying to hate him that she didn’t know what to say.
The silence lengthened until Marco, with a tight smile, said, ‘You’re welcome.’ He closed the door behind him, leaving Sapphire, once again, wrong-footed for being ungrateful and rude.