Chapter 4 #2
“I’m in search of an art broker to help me acquire a few collection pieces for a townhouse I’m decorating in Metropolitan Hill. La Tempera came highly recommended by my sister.” She looked around the space, taking in the few paintings hung for the upcoming reception.
“Of course it did! I don’t represent clients any longer but .
.. let me get you some information. Acquisitions are a complicated process, but I know the owner can assist you.
It’s her forte, and she’s also très bon at appraisals and consulting.
Unlike others in the biz, she’s willing to travel anywhere for your client’s purchase. ”
“Actually, my fiancé and I are the clients for this particular project, and we know exactly what we want from both a sound investment and from a decorative standpoint. If travel is necessary, all costs will be covered.”
“Excellent. Excellent. Excellent. I’ll be right back. Now, stay. Right. Here,” he said punctuating each word with his index finger.
An ornate, gold-framed floral still-life painting caught her attention on the adjacent wall of the entrance, enticing her examination while waiting for the man’s return.
Similar to the bouquet in the window, the stunning vase of roses, sweet peas, and peonies shone in vibrant pinks and reds, seeming to capture the light coming from the window.
Each detailed petal looked photographed.
The realism, especially the open book on the table astounded her.
She bent to look at the signature, then froze.
“Anne Darcy,” she whispered in wonderment. Mentioning the Darcy name could help her cause.
“It is a beauty, isn’t it?” the man said, coming up behind her.
“Absolutely stunning. It looks like a digital photograph or, I think, what they call photorealism.”
He gasped. “Bite your tongue! That’s like saying Caravaggio painted by numbers! I can absolutely assure you Darcy did not dabble in photorealism. Every magnifico stroke of the paintbrush is original.”
“I meant no offense. Did you know the artist?”
“Unfortunately, no. She passed several years ago, but I think she and I would have been kindred souls. If only I had discovered her for a showing! Today, locating Anne Darcy work is a feat, and when you do find one, they are mucho, mucho expensive to acquire. In all my years, I have only seen two paintings come up for private auction through Sotheby’s. They are simply priceless!”
“Interesting.”
She continued to gaze at the composition through a new set of eyes, knowing this was painted by William’s beloved mother—and worth a mint.
“What does it make you feel?” he asked.
“Oddly joyful, filled with ... tranquility. Like something my grandmother would have in her living room.”
“Bueno! What you are feeling is the artist’s energy. In art, each painting embodies the creator’s spirit. La molto serena, Anne Darcy, I am told, was not of this hectic world.”
No, she was not. “How ... how did the gallery acquire the painting? Through auction?”
“Oh no! It was painted exclusively for the gallery owner. In fact, La Tempera is named after it—and in honor of the artist. It is painted in egg tempera, Darcy’s only medium.”
“Ah, that explains the ethereal look,” she said, thankful William had gone all art teacher on her.
“Why yes! Darcy’s talent with tempera was sheer mastery reminiscent of Renaissance perfection. Her ability to capture light far surpassed most twentieth-century pieces I have seen. Except Wyeth, of course.”
“Of course. I ... um ... is it for sale?” She suddenly—for no reason beyond instinct—thought better of bandying the Darcy name about. It might appear opportunistic.
“Oh, my stars! I daresay you would have to pry this masterpiece from the owner’s cold, dead hands before she would ever part with it. Darcy was her mentor for a few years before the artist’s untimely tragic death.”
“Wow. So, the owner was an artist before buying the gallery and throwing her hat into the world of art buying?”
“Yes. That’s right. The latter I taught her. The former, Anne Darcy, before the owner attended Les Beaux-Arts de Paris.”
“How interesting.”
“She is quite accomplished with an advanced degree in Art History and a comprehensive curating fellowship at MOMA.”
“Wow. Does she still paint?”
He pursed his lips then held out the paperwork.
“I have included the application for services and a relevant Q&A brochure regarding the process of assuring authenticity, appraisals, and provenance research. You can contact Ms. Bennet on her mobile if you have specific questions or would like to arrange a meeting.”
“Bennet? I once knew a Bennet who painted.”
“Wouldn’t that be a small world!” He laughed. “Elizabeth Bennet is the owner. She studied at the School of Visual Arts where Anne Darcy taught.”
Elizabeth! Lizzy? Darcy’s ex! The friggin’ cowgirl! “No. I don’t know her,” she lied.
He looked down at the business card. “Well, Ms. Bingley. I’ll let Elizabeth know to expect your call.
Oh! And I also included two invitations to Gregory Pillson’s Pastels of Light exhibition reception on Saturday night.
It’s bound to be the social event of the Tribeca fine art community.
Please do come. Elizabeth will be present, of course, and I’m sure she would be delighted to tell you all about the painting’s provenance and the medium. ” He smiled widely.
“I’ll try to make it. Thank you. I’m sorry, I didn’t get your name?”
“The one and only, Guy Bernard.”
“Thank you, Mr. Bernard.”
She exited the gallery and stalled in the center of the sidewalk, staring down at the business card clipped to the paperwork in her hand. Shocked to her core, her heart thundered at the unnerving coincidence and how it could upend everything. Everything!
She was gorgeous then, even in a country-bumpkin artsy type of style. She’s probably incredible now! Dammit, he loved his Lizzy sooo damn much. I could never compete with that.
But pages thirty-six and two-hundred-one of the contract clearly state, “Any mention of Elizabeth (Lizzy) Marie Bennet by name or inference will hereby render The Marriage Pact null and void before or after its activation.”
No problem. There was absolutely no way she would ever put her in the path of him.
First off, he was not and never will be emotionally able to revisit his past with the woman who broke him without A) falling for her all over again or B) freaking out.
Secondly, she’d waited too damn long to say, “I, Caroline Bingley, take you Fitzwilliam Darcy to be my lawful wedded husband.”
Still, there was the issue of the painting. William should know about it. It was the right thing to do.
But she needed someone skilled and connected to acquire her future assets, bargainable in divorce court should things eventually fall apart, which she hoped they wouldn’t.
Her heart sank. All her childhood dreams of marrying her brother’s friend could possibly go to shit with the reintroduction of that woman into his life.
That one incredible night she’d spent in her “friend’s” arms had forever changed her.
She loved him then and now loved him more, aching for his reciprocation.
The Marriage Pact was the closest she could get to finally winning him.
After their one-night stand, she’d stepped up her attentions, becoming a better friend to him than she’d ever been.
Successfully replacing the woman he loved and once relied on, she supported him through his parents’ unexpected deaths and his sister’s high school rebellion following Anne’s passing.
Sure, she was a little greedy, but what woman wouldn’t be?
This was the Fitzwilliam Darcy, New York City’s top financier, after all.
The monetary reward for their relationship was as incredible as she always knew it would be, but she wanted the whole shebang, the true treasure chest: his heart, and it had to be organic for it to be truly meaningful.
Thank God she didn’t mention her Darcy to Mr. Bernard!
Closing her eyes, she took a deep breath, then exhaled.
“You’re so close to I do. Think like a Darcy.
What would they do?” She sighed. “Keep your enemies closer. You could do this without either of them knowing. Elizabeth could be married and then all your fears are for nothing ... unless she’s a cheater and then you’re totally screwed.
But, he’s not a cheater ... but he might become one for her!
But he hates her. Still, you can’t take that chance.
” She shoved the paperwork in her bag, then took a cleansing breath. “You got this, Beanz.”