Chapter Eleven #2
Clearly, that was an A-plus answer in Anastasia’s book. Before long, they were laughing and chattering like old friends. I quickly lost the plot as they discussed artists, movements, and paintings the way some people talked about sports teams, players, and incredible plays.
“If you could commission any artist from any era to paint any subject, what would it be?” Anastasia asked next.
Mina laughed. “Well, seven-year-old me would ask Franz Marc to paint a unicorn or a pegasus.”
Anastasia flashed an indulgent smile. “What would you ask for today?”
Mina thought it over, gazing out the window. “Does it have to be a famous artist?”
Our hostess shook her head.
Mina cleared her throat, but her voice was still a little husky when she spoke.
“I would ask my father to paint a family picnic at my grandmother’s house. And I would like to stand beside him and talk while he worked.”
Anastasia sat quietly, picking up on Mina’s bittersweet tone. A lump formed in my throat, because she’d brought me to that picnic spot not too long ago and shared the memories that made it so special.
Your grandmother’s house, huh? I threw the tease into Mina’s mind to lighten the moment.
Should I have said chateau? she shot back while sipping her tea.
No one would think you snobby, I pointed out. Not in this neighborhood.
“Your father was an artist?” Anastasia asked.
“He was an art historian, but he painted in his spare time.” Mina flashed a sentimental smile, then turned the question back on Ana. “What painting would you commission, and by which artist?”
Ana smiled slyly. “I wouldn’t have to. I already have the painting I would wish for.”
Mina bit her lip, then quietly ventured, “I would love to see it.”
She hit exactly the right tone, not too pushy or eager. Just another passionate art lover, like Anastasia.
Anastasia waved to the cakes and sandwiches. “Please, help yourself first.”
Was that a yes or a no to seeing the painting?
Mina might have been burning with the same question, but neither of us had eaten for hours, and she tore into a triangular cucumber sandwich, then devoured a second one. Tuna.
Saliva pooled in my mouth, but neither Anastasia nor Mina took mercy. I sighed.
Eventually, Anastasia folded her napkin daintily and got down to business.
“Lovely chatting with you. Truly. But I did ask Gordon for an expert to help me with my painting.”
I winced. It would kill Mina if this fell apart before she could see the mystery painting. Even if it didn’t prove to be anything much, her curiosity was definitely piqued. It was like leaving a dragon to stare at a locked treasure chest. Torture, in a word.
Mina nodded. “I understand. But since you were, er…careful about sharing the details of your painting…”
I held back a snort. That was putting it mildly.
“…Gordon didn’t know which expert to contact,” Mina continued. “So he asked me to make a preliminary assessment. That will allow him to be equally discreet when it comes to engaging a respected expert to authenticate your piece.”
“Oh, it’s authentic. I guarantee it. But my late husband taught me to always ask myself, how do I know whether a person is trustworthy?”
Mina flashed a tight smile. “I ask myself that all the time.”
I tensed. Did that mean me?
Then Mina added, “But even more important is whether I can trust my own judgment, I think.”
Anastasia shrugged. “Two sides of the same coin. So, tell me. How do you decide about someone?”
Mina thought it over. “I think of a person’s deeds instead of their words. I think of the little things…”
My mind sped away, desperately trying to catalogue everything I’d ever said or done around Mina.
Her sky-blue eyes slipped to mine, then jerked back to her hostess. “I tell myself not to trust my heart, but sometimes, I can’t help it.”
My soul warmed, and Mina flushed a little. And, damn. Her skin took on a glimmer, especially around the neck. Was that the sign of a moonlight mark, as I feared?
Anastasia refilled her teacup. “Are you saying I should trust you?”
Mina shook her head. “I’m saying you should make your own decision.”
Anastasia stirred her tea for a while, then turned to me. “And what about you?”
I blinked. “Me?”
She nodded. “What do you think? Can I trust this woman?”
Ha. Easy answer.
I nodded. “Her only fault is her honesty.”
Anastasia chuckled. “And you? Any faults?”
I shuffled a little. “Too many to list, ma’am.”
She laughed outright. “I like him.” She turned back to Mina. “And I like you.” With that, she stood. “Come. Let me show you my painting.”
“How is honesty a fault?” Mina muttered as Anastasia led us to the upper story of her maisonette.
I munched down the sandwiches I’d snagged off the tray before following her, using that as an excuse not to answer.
“It’s here, in my study.” Anastasia led the way into one of three rooms at the front of the building.
I wondered, not for the first time, what rich people studied.
Light poured in from two large windows, while a third window, between them, remained curtained.
Paintings hung frame-to-frame on the side walls, though a couple of gaps showed.
Anastasia had recently sold some of her artwork.
I was sure of it. And now, she’d contacted Gordon about selling her greatest masterpiece?
I wondered what it was. How much it was worth. Why she wasn’t selling the rest first if this was her favorite.
“Have a seat. It’s best viewed from here.” Anastasia sat on the sofa that faced the windows and patted the space beside her. Mina joined her.
“Will you do the honors?” Anastasia asked me, gesturing to the curtain over the middle window.
I stepped over, looking for the drawstring that would open the curtains. They stirred, and I caught a glimpse of blue paint on canvas. So, that wasn’t a window behind there, but a painting. A big one, with portrait, not landscape orientation.
Taking hold of the drawstring, I looked at Anastasia. When she nodded, I pulled, revealing the painting.
Mina’s eyes went wide, and she covered her mouth in shock.
I glanced at the painting, then back at her. What?
A tear slipped out of her eye. Then another and another.
I cocked my head at the painting. Was it that bad or that good?
Anastasia patted her hand. “It really is something, isn’t it?”
Mina nodded, speechless.
I frowned. The painting was bold. Colorful. But truthfully, a little basic. A couple of horses, some mountains, and a rainbow. I wouldn’t cry over that. Hell, I wouldn’t even sniffle.
But Mina stared at the painting with tears running down both cheeks.