Widow - Anne Stuart [0]
But all that would change. Charlie would be back soon. He should have realized how much he needed her, but Pompasse was not the sort of man to need people. He was accustomed to being the center of the universe, and the thought that someone could actually, willingly leave him still managed to astonish him.
But now that he admitted how much he needed her, it would be simple enough to get her back. And then he would paint once more. He should have taken care of that ugly little detail years ago—he’d allowed sentiment to rule him. But with Charlie back he could start again.
The bells of the city rang out over the noise of the traffic. Two o’clock. He needed a glass of wine to celebrate his new life. He went out into the hallway, heading for the curving marble stairs. There was a bounce in his step, a lightness in his heart. The deed was done, a new life was beginning, and he felt like a young man. He would paint again, and he would live forever.
He was whistling under his breath, but the sound stopped as he halted at the top of the stairs.
And came face-to-face with his murderer.
Also available from MIRA Books and ANNE STUART
SHADOWS AT SUNSET
Watch for ANNE STUART’s
newest novel of romantic suspense
THE WIDOW
ANNE STUART
To my mother, Virginia Stuart,
a writer and a role model who finally gets a book
dedicated to her. It’s long overdue. Thanks, Moo.
Contents
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Prologue
Aristide Pompasse stood in his apartment in Florence, staring out into the street below, well pleased with his life. He was the world’s greatest living artist, and his paintings were worth millions. True, he hadn’t been painting for the last few years. And no wonder—he’d lost his light, his muse, his inspiration.
But all that would change. She would be back soon. He should have realized how much he needed her, but Pompasse was not the sort of man who needed people. He was accustomed to being the center of the universe, and the thought that someone could actually, willingly leave still managed to astonish him.
But now that he admitted how much he wanted her, it would be simple enough to get her back. And then he would paint once more.
He should have taken care of that ugly little detail years ago. It was nothing more than housekeeping. He’d allowed sentiment to rule him. Others might call it vanity, but he knew he wasn’t a vain man. He simply understood that the preservation of his gift was worth any sacrifice. Even if most of those sacrifices were made by others, they were blessed to be part of a greater calling.
It should be almost finished by now. And once Charlie knew what he had done for her she would come back to him and all would be well.
He looked around him, savoring the beauty of the elegant old apartment. Maybe Charlie would be happier here in Florence, rather than at the villa. There were too many memories, too many people there. He would keep her here, away from everyone, keep her all to himself. And she would never try to leave him again.
He turned from the window to stare up at the painting over the marble fireplace in his bedroom. A masterpiece—one of his very best. But with Charlie back he would start again. She was his light, his inspiration, and he’d been arrogant not to admit it. From the first moment he saw her he knew he had to possess her, and as long as he’d held on to her all had been well.
Five years later he still couldn’t quite understand how she could have left him. How anyone could leave him.