Authors: Dayna Rubin
Chapter Eleven
Sensual and Deeply Expressive
“It’s time for us to go Natanya.” Philippe had been reclining on the black suede chair, listening to music in the family room while Natanya consumed endless cups of coffee, having tossed and turned the night before, leaving her exhausted instead of rested.
“So it is.” Natanya replied.
Neither of them had moved. The music still played softly, the cup of coffee still sat motionless in front of her. Not that she actually expected it to move, but with everything that had happened, she couldn’t be sure. Natanya wondered for a moment if he had actually said anything at all.
“Did you say we were leaving?” Natanya looked at him this time so that she could actually see him speak.
“Yes.”
Natanya cut her eyes from left to right, and then back at Philippe, who continued to view her from under his beret, which was partially tilted covering his face. She thought it gave him a bit of a European look, one that seemed to give him that extra bit of panache that beguiled most of the women around him.
Natanya pushed her chair back from the table, padded over to Philippe’s chair and climbed in on top of him. Curving her body within the contours of his, and tucking her chin into the curve of his neck, she drew comfort from him.
Philippe entwined a long strand of her dark hair around his fingers as he tilted her head back to look into her hazel eyes, lined ever so lightly and delicately fringed with mascara.
Dipping his head down, he paused for a moment, then kissed her. It began lightly then increased in tempo, unleashing his pent up anxiety over the impending transaction.
“We should be in imminent danger all the time if this is the reaction I get.” Natanya pulled back from Philippe to look at him quizzically, then snuggled back into his embrace.
“Are we going to try this again?” Philippe nuzzled her ear.
“What are we trying exactly?” Natanya succumbed to the dizzy intensity created by his kiss, finding his mouth and beginning a long, slow, lazy kiss.
Philippe pushed her away this time chuckling. “Now that could put us both in danger… A bit reckless of you, knowing we need to be at our drop off point in precisely one hour.”
“Me!” Natanya proclaimed. “I didn’t do anything!”
“I wouldn’t call that nothing.” Philippe’s brown eyes deepened as he gazed at Natanya. He playfully pushed her out of the chair, then fell to the floor beside her, nimbly jumping up to gallantly reach down for her, pulling her up to stand beside him.
He wrapped one arm around her, then lifted her hand with the other and twirled her around the room. “Our chariot awaits.”
“Speaking of chariots…where did you acquire that SUV anyway?”
Philippe twirled Natanya away from him, then brought her back to him in a quick retraction. “Questions my dear, will only complicate matters.”
Spinning Natanya away from him, he led her to the front door, where she slipped on her shoes and retrieved her purse and the bag containing the Vermeer. Then he took one last look around the apartment before reaching for the light switch on the wall to extinguish the glistening chandelier hanging in the vestibule. Pulling the locked door shut behind them, he continued to hold Natanya’s hand as they strolled down the hall.
Reaching the elevator, they found the doors closing, its occupants heading down to the lobby. Mrs. Orbis peeked through the quickly reducing space, and then swung her bag forward to stop the doors form closing, much to the irritation of the other occupants.
“It’s that nice man Philippe Rousseau with his girlfriend…” Mrs. Orbis said to the group who seemed to sigh in unison. “I’m sorry dear; I seem to have forgotten your name.”
Natanya sighed, “That’s all right, quite understandable…” Smiling at Philippe, who turned away from her in feigned embarrassment, Natanya acknowledged the group of women in the elevator with a nod of her head, “Natanya. Natanya Bennett. So nice to meet all of you.” Natanya stated. She exchanged an amused glance with Philippe, as if to say she knew they all had crushes on him.
One of the other older women took a hold of Natanya’s hand, then patted it and asked her quite seriously, “And where do you work dear?”
“Oh, well, yes…I work at Signature Art Conservatory.”
“Ahum…that’s good dear. Not too far I hope?”
“No, it’s very close. In fact, I usually take the train.” Natanya offered, looking around the elevator needlessly as every woman’s eye was glued to Philippe.
The elevator stopped, the doors swooshed open, but they remained, looking expectantly at Philippe.
“Ladies, I do believe you have a swim aerobics class to attend.” Philippe reached forward to hold the doors open, waiting until each of them had exited, then once in the lobby, turned and waved.
“I’m not sure if I should be impressed or totally creeped out that you know they have swim aerobics class…” Natanya laughed as they proceeded to the garage through another set of doors.
The security guards in the garage were also valets upon request, but seemed to spend most of their time watching the tiny television mounted within the small air-conditioned glass enclosure. The door was propped open, and one of the guards was trying to position a fan for the maximum amount of performance.
As Philippe and Natanya walked past the valet station, the newscaster’s voice from the television drifted to them.
An investigation into a previously authenticated work of art from the 17th century has led authorities to label the painting as a forgery. The National Gallery in Washington D.C. is not disputing this information, although no one from the museum will corroborate the information. An unidentified source says that the original painting was switched with the fake at Signature Art Conservatory. We are outside the building awaiting further news. The last known restorer of record to have worked on the Vermeer was said to be a Natanya Bennett, but we have not been able to confirm that information. The newly appointed Director of The National Gallery has declined comment, although an employee of the Gallery has come forward, he does not wish to be indentified at this time…let’s hear what he has to say…”
Philippe hastily propelled Natanya forward to the SUV, opened the passenger door, then literally pushed her into the seat and closed the door behind her. He rushed to the driver’s door, started the engine, and then maneuvered the vehicle out of the garage.
Natanya reached for the radio, but Philippe grasped her hand, holding it until they had reached the streets of D.C.
“We’re not going to wait and watch as they dissect our every movement up to the point of the discovery of the forged Vermeer. We’re not going to do it Nat.”
Natanya raised her hand to cover her face as they drove, turning away from the window. “What if someone recognizes me? This is terrible!” Natanya released a tormented moan.
“I knew you hadn’t exactly come to terms with our commitment, so I took precautions.”
“What kind of precautions?” Natanya sniffed, still turned away from the side window with her hand covering her face.
“Stop it. You look ridiculous.” Philippe gave her a comical expression as he sighed, then pulled her hand away from her face.
“Sit in the seat the right way and put your seat belt on, I don’t want you flying through the windshield, on top of everything else.”
Natanya frowned at him, but did what she was told. Changing the subject, Natanya asked, “Do you think they’ll be there with the catalogue?” Her voice squeaked, and she cleared her throat, ready to ask again, but Philippe had heard her.
“I do believe they will be there.”
“What makes you so sure?”
“They have their proof. Something tells me this was planned the whole time. A type of insurance, if you will.” Philippe relaxed his grip on the wheel, raised his left knee and leaned on the center console with his right elbow.
“Huh? Well, I guess we didn’t see that coming.” Natanya turned to look out her side window as they were driving on rural roads now.
Natanya glanced at Philippe, “I stand corrected.
I
didn’t see that coming. When did you know?”
“Yesterday.”
They road the rest of the way in silence, both lost in their own thoughts, all of the earlier playfulness extinguished like an unsung birthday cake.
Just as before, Philippe guided the SUV down the steep terrain of the empty creek bed, just under the bridge, and after locating the bag containing ‘Woman Holding a Balance’ By Vermeer, climbed back up the slope to meet their contact.
The sound of the motorcycle did not materialize; instead, a knock on the side window startled Natanya. Natanya gasped finding she was looking into the face of a hooded stranger adorned with aviator sunglasses. Natanya hesitated, appearing not to know whether she should roll down her window, or open the door to speak to him.
Holding up her forefinger to indicate she needed a minute, Natanya attempted to roll down the window, but noticed the keys were not in the ignition, inhibiting her from budging the window.
Raising her eyes to look back out the window, the figure that had once stood with his face nearly pressed to the glass was gone.
Natanya’s hands flew to her chest, and then to her throat, feeling the familiar restriction as she looked out the front windows, then the driver’s window, and finally the back window. Not finding the hooded stranger anywhere near the car, she turned to face forward, quickly re-checking the front window and then again the passenger window.
Her breathe released in short bursts. She tried to remind herself to breathe out and breathe in; Natanya grasped the door handle, turned it and with shaky legs stood next to the vehicle.
The door is still open…I should close it.
Natanya hesitated as she looked around her. Biting her lip, she chose to keep the door ajar, just in case she should need to get in again quickly. Seeing the embankment, she walked with exaggerated purpose toward it, her confidence returning as she tried to think of their contacts as ordinary people, just like herself. They have an object they want to exchange with her object. She pushed aside the fact that one of the objects was priceless, while the other object, the one they had to offer, was worth upwards of twenty to fifty million.
Listening for signs that Philippe may be up above interacting with the hooded stranger who had presented himself at the car, Natanya stopped.
Not hearing anything, she continued, her high-heeled sandaled feet crunched into the gravel as she walked, her sundress swayed with her movements until she reached the surface.
Realizing she had forgotten her sunglasses, she momentarily turned back to their car, which is when she saw them. A larger SUV, one with darkened windows throughout to match its shiny black exterior parked on the side of the road, about a third of the mile back toward town.
She turned around, and walked toward them. As she approached, she could hear a random ticking, she assumed it was from an over heated engine, and placing her hand over her eyes to shield herself from the glare, she tried to look for any sign of Philippe.
Not seeing him, she continued toward the vehicle, trying to think of a song she could hum to herself to keep her mind occupied until she reached them. She jumped when she heard the engine of the Navigator come to life. The engine roared as the driver revved the gas pedal.
Loosing her nerve, Natanya’s heels seemed to sink into the gravel, and didn’t appear ready to move. The large SUV did seem to be moving. She wasn’t completely sure, but then she could hear the snapping of twigs and the gravel crunching as it rolled. Suddenly it seemed to leap toward her, the wheels spitting up gravel and the reflection of the afternoon sun glinting off its surface as it steadily approached.
Within seconds, it was next to her, menacingly rolling forward, then back, as if toying with her to say that whichever way she moved, it would be there.
The back door popped open, eliciting another gasp from Natanya, who meant to step back, but remained motionless.
Philippe was tossed out unceremoniously; he rolled along the edge of the road until he came to a stop along the border of weeds.
Running to Philippe to make sure he was all right, Natanya heard the SUV power past her in the direction of the bridge. Not caring whether they stayed or left, she knelt by Philippe, scraping her knees on the stray rocks within the tall strands of weeds.
Philippe moaned for a moment, but then rolled toward her. Natanya had gripped his shoulder, about to shake him to see if he was alive, when she saw that he was smiling. Philippe handed her what appeared to be a small, tightly wrapped package.
“Go ahead, take it. Open it. I want to see if they actually gave us the real thing.”
Natanya gave him a long measured look, and then took the package from his extended hand. As she grasped the package, she took in the swelling of his lip and how his glasses seemed oddly bent in at the bridge. The blood dripping from a cut on his cheek told her the full story.
“Yeah…I ah, wasn’t as serious about the matter as they thought I should be.” Philippe sat up, took his glasses off to push them in at the bridge, and then placed them back onto his face.