Marked Masters (14 page)

For five decades, Sebastian's paintings and
prints had graced art galleries and museums and been used to raise
money for a variety of causes, mostly connected with improving the
lives of children. His earlier works centered around portraits,
although he had also ventured into landscapes, particularly those
concerning the Normandy region of France and the Tuscany region of
Italy. Paparazzi had searched all over Europe for him to no avail.
It was believed he lived a reclusive existence, continuing to
paint, though no one had proof one way or the other.

We approached the painting. About three
paces away, we both stopped and stared. The foreground held a
lovingly cared for lily pond and the land around it. In the
distance a house appeared deserted, waiting for its owners to
return home. As with all of Sebastian's work, it looked as though
the painting somehow glowed with a vibrant light. Hundreds of
critics and art fans had speculated on how he achieved that effect
in his work, and hundreds had been frustrated. Equally frustrated
were all the artists who attempted to duplicate his style.

We remained silent and appreciated the
painting.

"Beautiful," I breathed, awed by the variety
of feelings Sebastian's art always produced. I may have seen his
work already that day at the Browning, but one could never see too
much of sheer genius. "I don't think I know this piece."

He dragged his gaze away from the painting
with what appeared to be difficulty. "It's never been displayed.
It's always been in the hands of a private collector."

"It looks like it's from Sebastian's earlier
period."

"It is. Probably painted over thirty years
ago."

"Is this the possession you recently
recovered?" I asked, playing along, continuing to stare at the
brushstrokes.

I could almost feel the cruelty in his
smile. "Oh, no. I acquired this many years ago from the original
collector."

Reluctantly, I turned away from the painting
and looked at him. The debonair playboy good looks definitely had a
sadistic, sinister slant. Or maybe it was the focused lighting.

Fun time was over. Time to go. I didn't know
what Tony B was up to and didn't want to find out in this precise
minute.

"Thank you for allowing me to see such a
master. I'm afraid I'll have to be going. Duty calls as usual. I
have a plane to catch, but I'm sure we'll run into each other again
soon."

"While I appreciate your diligence and haste
to get back to work, I'm afraid that will be impossible just now."
I took off walking back to his office, heading for the exit out.
With impeccable manners, he waited for me to precede him into the
office. However, at his words I bristled and stopped walking.

"I'm not sure I understand," I prevaricated.
I needed to keep the situation from escalating.

He reached out and took my right hand. I
used every ounce of self-control I possessed not to jerk away from
him. He said, "I told you it was fortuitous you appeared when you
did. I heard you were coming to Miami and hoped we would run into
each other."

I was puzzled and knew my face showed it. He
smiled. "I don't mean to sound so mysterious. I have something else
to show you. Come back into the room with the Sebastian. There's
another connecting room we can access inside. I have a painting you
wrote a piece about several years ago, and I've been waiting for a
chance to get you and the painting together ever since I read
it."

Periodically, when something caught my
interest and I wanted the public aware of an injustice, especially
those injustices I could physically do nothing about, I gathered
research and wrote op-ed pieces for the
New York Times
or
the UK's
Guardian
. Unsure as to which article he was
referencing, I asked, "You've got a painting I wrote about?"

"Yes. I had heard you were coming to Miami,
and I wanted to share it with you so you could see it did indeed
still exist."

How did he know I was coming to Miami? "Talk
to Max about my itinerary? Or do you have another mole in
Beacham?"

He laughed. "Oh, nothing so clandestine,
believe me. I ran into him in Baltimore Wednesday afternoon, and he
asked if I was still interested in investing in the Browning. I
told him I already had. That's when he told me you were in Orlando
for a short time and headed to Miami in the morning. With that
information, I made it a point to do everything in my power to see
you today. I find it necessary to take this chance opportunity when
we're both in the same city to correct a little misinformation you
seem to have. Misinformation that appears to have upset you. Far be
it from me to cause distress to a woman as beautiful as you,
Laurel. Your passionate plea for the loss to the world of such
important artwork piqued my interest as well as melted my
heart."

Interesting and creepy. "Is there a reason
we can't do this another time? As I said, I'm a bit tied up at the
moment, but I'll be in Miami for several days—maybe—"

Who knew at this point?

"I apologize if this is an inopportune
moment, but since you're here now, I feel I must insist upon the
right to take advantage of your presence."

I had no doubt the Danger Twins were
standing sentry on the other side of the door. Maybe if I reminded
him of the risk. I pulled my hand free and said, "I don't want to
sound ungrateful, but continuing to hold me against my will is a
federal offense, Tony B. A felony. You've always been so careful to
keep your hands clean. Can't we please do this the next time I'm in
town? The weather is turning a little ugly, and I want to get to
the airport before I miss my flight."

He retrieved his glass from the desk and
savored a long sip, his pleasure at the taste of the liquor
obvious. Everything he did had a sensual feel to it.
Ick.

"I didn't plan the day this way. You're
without wheels, and I had a car available to bring you here.
Nothing that could be considered kidnapping."

Except, of course, that I rode in the
trunk.

He continued. "Unfortunately, your actions
preempted my plans." He took another sip, his eyes never leaving
mine.

I preempted his plans? Of course. I felt
thunderstruck. "You're the one who took the Mercedes!"

He smiled. "I've watched you for years,
Laurel. I've known Max a long time. We've often talked about our
sleeping beauty, referring of course to you. You maintain such a
cool businesslike front, but when you're writing about what you
perceive as an affront to the world of art, your words contain so
much passion. It's an interesting dichotomy, is it not?"

I tried but couldn't stifle a small sense of
betrayal. Max had talked to this letch about me? More than a few
times? Up to this point, I had considered myself not Tony B's
type—he'd never even hinted he found me attractive, although he was
well known as the worst kind of womanizer—so why was he coming out
with this now? Something didn't fit. Would Max really discuss me
with him? He knew how my grandfather felt about Tony B.

My shoulders straightened even more. I'd had
enough. Time to take a stand. "I'm not sure I understand where all
this is going, and frankly, I don't care. I've never had a high
opinion of you, but now what small good opinion I did have has
tanked. I'm leaving."

I headed toward the door, keeping my ears
peeled for any movement from his direction. I reached for the knob
as a knock sounded. Tony B reached around me and opened the door,
his hand gently grasping my elbow to move me out of the way. I
hadn't even heard him come up behind me.

It was Danger Twin number one. "Can I be of
any help, sir?"

"No," Tony B answered. "We're on our way to
look at the second grouping now."

Danger Twin number one closed the door, and
I heard it lock. Tony B grasped my elbow again and pulled me back
toward the room housing the Sebastian. "You really do want to see
this."

I really didn't but recognized a power play
when I experienced one and hoped if I cooperated, I would either be
released or find a way to free myself.

"I have been looking forward to this ever
since I heard you were coming to Miami." He seemed to have an
honest grin on his face for the first time. We crossed the room,
and he led me through another door into total darkness.

"Wait just a minute—"

"No worries, Laurel. I don't want to ruin
the surprise." He let go of my arm. After a soft click, three
lights came on across the opposite wall, illuminating three
portraits.

I stared as a light bulb went off in my
head. Of course! Sebastian's
Juliana
, Weaver's
Greensleeves
, and Gilmaier's
Retribution
.
The
Portrait of Three.

I tore my gaze away from the pictures and
stared at Tony B. He stared right back at me, his expression
triumphant. He broke the thick silence.

"I had to show you. After I read your
article, I felt as though you understood exactly what I felt when
these first came into my possession. They are magical, are they
not?"

My gaze returned to the three. Painted at
different times in history, the artworks had been loaned to a
museum as part of a retrospective on the changing faces of women.
The three came to the museum from the same source, a company named
The White Pelican. Their owner had insisted the three be displayed
together, and I could see why. Each portrait, while emphasizing its
own merits, also complemented the one next to it. The
Juliana
, a larger piece, tied the others together and was
mounted on the wall between them.

They had been stolen a little over fifteen
years ago, on the opening night of the exhibition from La Galleria
del Giardino della Vita in Florence, Italy. At that time, the
privately owned museum specialized in exploring topics related to
all things human and had just begun to make a name for itself, when
the art was stolen. The owner of the museum, as well as the owner
of The White Pelican and all the other donors, were investigated,
as was every guest attending opening night, but no connection was
found and no arrest ever made. After the theft, the portraits
became known as
The Portrait of Three.

While art theft is fairly common, and
everyone was insured, for the next year a string of bad luck seemed
to follow the museum owner, Andrea Tessaro. He eventually killed
himself, creating more speculation that the owner knew more than he
let on. Again, nothing was proven.

My interest? I'd been twelve and attending
the opening with my grandfather. Bored with the speeches and
toasts, I'd wandered off and found myself in front of the exhibit
of the three, fascinated by the works. I fell madly in love with
Juliana
and wished with every fiber of my being I could be
her. The painting revealed a woman in love, emphasizing her beauty,
her love, her humor, her extraordinary light. The darkness
portrayed in the other two paintings, one a woman of sadness and
loss, and the other, a woman caught up in anger and revenge,
provided a trio of women's emotions from the high to the low.

Enraptured by the paintings, I'd highly
resented the intrusion when a young male voice asked me what I was
doing there. He insisted I return to the main salon until the
ribbon cutting that signaled the opening of the exhibit. Of course,
I argued and told the tall young man to go away. As our voices
rose, a security guard arrived and escorted us back to the salon,
me dragging my feet and staring back at
Juliana
longingly.
The boy triumphant and smirking.

The pictures must have disappeared
immediately after we were removed from the hall by the guard. The
obnoxious boy and I were the only ones at the opening to see the
exhibit before it was stolen. A huge loss to the world of art.

Stolen paintings often never surface again
for public viewing. Instead, they disappear into private
collections, often for generations. While insurers compensate those
affected by theft, they do nothing to restore the art to the
rightful owners.

In that one night, all chance for anyone to
enjoy the three masterpieces in their perfect state together
disappeared as though the paintings never existed. Singular photos
of the works never compared to the display I witnessed of the three
all as one setting, in their true form. These priceless paintings,
secreted in this hidden room of Tony B's office, were exactly as I
remembered. Especially the
Juliana.
No childhood perspective
had colored my memories. I wished my grandfather could be there. We
discussed many times the ramifications of stolen art, and I'd tried
so many times to explain to him the magic of that exhibit in the
gallery setting—in their perfect showcase. My eyes grew damp. I
ignored the tears and spoke, "If you read my article, then you know
how I feel about stolen art."

"Of course I do," he returned softly. "I
didn't steal this exhibit. I acquired it much later. However,
you're missing the point. I didn't focus on that aspect of your
article. I focused on the obvious passion you had for this trio of
paintings. You must have been a child when you saw them, yet it
made a lifelong impression on you. I knew after reading I had to
let you see them again."

"I could report this to the authorities," I
insisted.

He laughed. "You could. But one never knows
when something bad is going to happen to a friend. I have many
connections, Laurel. Also, if you did report to the authorities,
I'd know and would simply remove the paintings. In fact, I may have
them destroyed if the pressure is strong enough."

I closed my eyes against the certainty in
his voice. I wouldn't risk the paintings, and he knew it.

"Would you like to remain in this room for a
few more minutes?"

I nodded. He brought over a chair and left
the room. I heard the door lock behind him.