Free Summer's End by Danielle Steel Page B

in her eyes.
“You’ll come tomorrow night? To the vernissage?” His eyes told her that he wanted her to come. She wasn’t sure why.
“I’ll try.”
“Please, Deanna. I’d like that.” He touched her arm briefly, and then with a last appreciative smile around the room, he stepped outside the studio and loped down the stairs. “I’ll find my way out. See you tomorrow!” His words faded as she sank into the comfortable white chair and looked around the room. There were four or five canvases of Pilar, but none of Marc. For one totally frantic moment she couldn’t remember his face.

6
Deanna parked the dark blue Jaguar across from the gallery and slowly crossed the street. She still wasn’t sure if she should go, if it was wise. If it made sense. What if Kim were there? It would make her feel foolish. What if … but then she thought of his eyes and pushed open the heavy glass door.
There were two black-jacketed bartenders standing nearby, alternately pouring Scotch and champagne, and a pretty young woman was greeting the guests, who all looked either well heeled or artistic. Deanna saw quickly that it was the show of an older man’s work. He stood surrounded by his friends, looking victorious and proud. The paintings were well displayed and had the flavor of Van Gogh. And then she saw Ben. He was standing at the far corner of the room, looking very handsome in a navy blue pin-striped suit. His eyes followed her inside and she saw him smile and gracefully extricate himself from the group where he stood. He was standing next to her in a moment.
“So you came, did you? I’m glad.” They stood there for a moment, looking at each other, and she felt herself smile. It was a smile she couldn’t have repressed. She was happy to see him again. “Champagne?”
“Thank you.” She accepted a glass from the extended hand of one of the bartenders, and Ben took her gently by the elbow.
“There’s something I want to show you in my office.”
“Etchings?” She felt herself blush. “How horrible, I shouldn’t have said that.”
“Why not?” He was laughing too. “But no, it’s a tiny Renoir I bought last night.”
“My God, where did you get it?” She was following him down a long beige-carpeted hall.
“I bought it from a private collection. A wonderful old man. He says he never liked it. Thank God. I got it at an incredible price.” He unlocked his office door and stepped rapidly inside. There, propped against the far wall, was a lovely delicate nude in the distinctive style that needed no glance at the signature. “Isn’t she pretty?” He eyed the painting like a new child of whom he was unbearably proud, and Deanna smiled at the light in his eyes.
“She’s wonderful.”
“Thank you.” He looked at Deanna very hard then, as though there was something more he wanted to say, but he didn’t. Instead, he looked around with a smile that invited her to do the same. There was another Andrew Wyeth above his desk, this one well known.
“I like that one too. But not as well as the other.”
“Neither do I.” Their thoughts went instantly back to Carmel. The silence was interrupted by a knock on the door. The young woman who had been greeting guests at the entrance was beckoning to Ben from the hall. “Hi, Sally. What’s up? Oh, this is Deanna Duras; she’s going to be one of our new artists.”
Sally’s eyes instantly opened wide. She approached with a handshake and a smile. “What good news.”
“Now wait a minute!” Deanna glanced at Ben with an embarrassed smile. “I never said that.”
“No, but I’m hoping you will. Sally, tell her how wonderful we are, how we never cheat our artists, never hang paintings the wrong way ’round, never paint mustaches on nudes.”
Deanna was laughing now and shaking her head. “In that case, this isn’t the gallery for me. I’ve always wanted to see a mustache on one of my nudes and haven’t had the courage to do it myself.”
“Let us do it for you.”