Twice Dead - Catherine Coulter [202]
She looked at him for a good, long time, took a small bite of apple pie, and said finally, “You really don’t want to know, Mr. Russo. And I’ve decided that if Dillon trusts you, why, then, I can, too.”
TWELVE
Raleigh Beezler, co-owner of the Beezler-Wexler Gallery of Georgetown, New York City, and Rome, gave Lily the most sorrowful look she’d seen in a very long time, at least as hangdog as Mr. Monk’s at the Eureka museum.
He kissed his fingers toward the paintings. “Ah, Mrs. Frasier, they are so incredible, so unique. No, no, don’t say it. Your brother already told me that they cannot remain here. Yes, I know that and I weep. They must make their way to a museum so the great unwashed masses can stand in their wrinkled walking shorts and gawk at them. But it brings tears to my eyes, clogs my throat, you understand.”
“I understand, Mr. Beezler,” Lily said and patted his arm. “But I truly believe they belong in a museum.”
Savich heard a familiar voice speaking to Dyrlana, the gorgeous twenty-two-year-old gallery facilitator, hired, Raleigh admitted readily, to make the gentlemen customers looser with their wallets. Savich turned and called out, “Hey, Simon, come on back here.”
Lily looked through the open doorway of the vault and watched Simon Russo run the distance to the large gallery vault in under two seconds. He skidded to a stop, sucked in his breath at the display of the eight Sarah Elliott paintings, each lovingly positioned against soft black velvet on eight easels, and said, “Incredible,” and nothing else.
He walked slowly from painting to painting, pausing to look closely at many of them, and said finally, “You remember, Savich, your grandmother gave me The Last Rites for my graduation present. It was my favorite then and I believe it still is. But this one—The Maiden Voyage—it’s magnificent. This is the first time I’ve seen it. Would you look at the play of light on the water, the lace of shadows, like veils. Only Sarah Elliott can achieve that effect.”
“For me,” Lily said, “it’s the people’s faces. I’ve always loved to stare at the expressions, all of them so different from each other, so telling. You know which man owns the ship by the look on his face. And his mother—that look of superior complacency at what he’s achieved, mixed with the love she holds so deeply for her son and the ship he’s built.”
“Yes, but it’s how Sarah Elliott uses light and shadow that puts her head and shoulders above any other modern artist.”
“No, I disagree with you. It’s the people, their faces, you see simply everything in their expressions. You feel like you know them, know what makes them tick.” She saw he would object again and rolled right over him. “But this one has always been my favorite.” She lightly touched her fingertips to the frame on The Swan Song. “I really hate to see it go to a museum.”
“Keep it with you then,” Savich said. “I’ve kept The Soldier’s Watch. The insurance costs a bundle as well as the alarm system, but very few people know about it, and that’s what you’ll have to do. Keep it close and keep it quiet.”
Simon looked up from his study of another painting. “I have The Last Rites hung in a friend’s gallery near my house. I see it nearly every day.”
“That’s an excellent idea,” Raleigh Beezler said and beamed at Lily, seeing hope. “Do you know, Mrs. Frasier, that there is an exquisite town house for sale not two blocks from my very safe, very beautiful, very hassle-free gallery that would accord you every amenity? What do you say I call the broker and you can have a look at it? I understand you’re a cartoonist. There is this one room that is simply filled with light, perfect for you.”
That was well done, Lily thought. She had to admire Mr. Beezler. “And I could leave some of my paintings here, in your gallery, on permanent display?”
“An excellent idea, no?”
“I’d like to see the town house, sir, but the price is very important. I don’t have much money. Perhaps you and I could come to a mutually satisfying financial arrangement. My painting displayed right