Читать книгу Picture Perfect Christmas - Melanie Schuster - Страница 11

Chastain stood in the middle of the gallery and looked around in amazement. It was humbling and exhilarating at the same time. All of her works were hung and lit to show every detail of her talent. Everything was ready for the opening and so was she. She was feeling more serene than nervous. She had worked hard for this and she was ready for the next level. David had pulled out all the stops for her showing and she was grateful for his efforts.

Studio L was huge. The walls were covered in oyster-white wool flannel and the floors were covered in taupe Berber carpet. The walls were moveable and could be arranged in any manner to better display artwork and there were stainless steel pillars for sculptures and other kinds of work. There were seating areas here and there but not too many; David wanted to encourage the flow of foot traffic. Tall potted trees graced the corners and added a jolt of natural color to the neutral palette of the room. In the high ceiling, there was a combination of pinpoint halogen lights and some hand-sculpted fixtures in stainless steel that were a perfect counterpoint to the carefully arranged display lights.

For the special invitation-only showing, there was a wine bar and a buffet, catered by Melba’s. Any sales from the first week of the showing would go to the continuing restoration of New Orleans, a project that was a passion of Chastain’s. The soft music of a live jazz trio and the quiet hum of David’s highly efficient staff made it all look like a scene in a movie.

She had to stifle a giggle at the thought. David arrived unobtrusively at her side with a flute of sparkling wine. “What, may I ask, is so funny?”

“I was picturing a scene in an Audrey Hepburn movie, only I was the star,” she admitted. “Thanks, but I don’t drink, David. Alcohol has had its way with one too many members of the Thibodaux family, so I leave it alone.”

“And that’s why this is a passionfruit spumante without a drop of alcohol. I told you I pay attention to everything about you,” he said as she took the flute.

“You’re too good to be true, David. Everything looks beautiful, don’t you think?”

“I think you look beautiful,” he replied, caressing her face with his dark eyes. “That ensemble is amazing,” he added.

Chastain smoothed the supple silk fabric over her hip. She was wearing a lustrous gold knee-length dress with a layered drape that began at the right side of the waist. The dress’s strapless bodice fit her perfectly, showing off her tiny waist and the straight skirt had a slit up the back that allowed her to walk easily in her three-inch slingback gold heels. Her necklace was made of amber, citrines and topaz set in gold wire arranged in an abstract pattern, and her matching earrings were twisted wires with citrine and goldstone beads.

“Who’s the designer?” he asked. “There’ll be a lot of reporters here tonight and someone is bound to ask.”

“The dress is vintage Dior. I got it at this fabulous flea market in Paris. And the jewelry is my design,” she said, fingering the smooth stones. “I made it.”

“I told you we should have put some jewelry in the show,” David said. “Women will go wild for that.”

Chastain shrugged. “I don’t have enough pieces yet. I only started making jewelry recently and I’m still experimenting. Besides, I think there’s enough on display, don’t you?”

“I’d say there’s just the right amount. I have a feeling those nudes are going to get a lot of attention,” he said, and they both turned to the centerpiece of the exhibit. Three life-size oil paintings were displayed in the center of the room. They were amazingly lifelike. In fact, the viewer had to get very close to see that they weren’t photographs. All three were of the same model, a man with well-defined muscles who exuded raw sexuality. In one portrait he was bathing, in one he was standing on a balcony and in the third, he was making love to a very lucky woman. The mystery of the pictures was the absence of a clear view of his full face. There was just enough to mesmerize the viewer into a private fantasy about the subject.

“I don’t remember you ever painting nudes before,” David remarked.

“I did quite a few when I was an undergrad,” Chastain said. “You know that drawing figures and painting are required in most art programs. All we did was draw nudes in those classes. There were always a few pervs who tried to audit the class to see the naked models, but they were for art majors only.”

David persisted, “That’s true, of course. But when I saw your work in Paris I don’t remember those. They’re not easy to forget.”

“No one has ever seen them but me. I painted them after I got to Paris and they weren’t for exhibit, they were just for me,” she said demurely.

“After tonight that’s all going to change, sweetheart. Everybody who sees them is going to love them.”

They touched their glasses in a toast and exchanged a brief kiss.

The invitation-only crowd was thoroughly enjoying Chastain’s work. She’d met so many new people and received so many compliments that she couldn’t help but keep a smile on her face. The champagne was flowing and the excellent jazz made the perfect backdrop for conversation. Mona was at her most sociable, meeting and greeting everyone and handing out Chastain’s brochures and business cards. People had approached her with questions about commissioned work and she’d also had many inquiries about her jewelry, once Mona informed several fashionable women that she’d created it. David never strayed too far from her. But he didn’t smother her with attention. He was just there if she needed anything. It was truly the most spectacular night she could remember.

She was about to look for a quiet corner to sit and catch her breath when a large hand clasped her upper arm, firmly but gently. A shivery sensation went down her spine and she heard the last voice she expected to hear that night or any other.

“What in the hell do you think you’re doing, Chastain? Is this your idea of a joke?”

It was Philippe Deveraux, speaking in a tone that she’d never heard before. Philippe had been many things to her in the past, but he’d never been angry and he’d never embarrassed her in public. She was shocked, jerking away from him while she turned to face him.

“How dare you…” Her voice trailed away as she looked up into a face that didn’t belong to the Philippe she’d last known. His long ponytail was gone, replaced by a short, close-cropped haircut. His full beard was now a well-groomed goatee with a mustache and he was wearing a designer suit and expensive leather shoes. She was stunned by the change in him and her face showed it. But she quickly rallied and went right back to telling him off.

“How dare you show up here and get up in my face? What’s wrong with you? How did you get in, anyway? This showing is by invitation only,” she added haughtily.

James Steffney was the gallery’s manager. He looked more like an NFL linebacker than someone who was interested in the pursuit of fine art. He was discreet and professional, but he didn’t play. As soon as he saw the look on Philippe’s face he started toward the couple, ready to protect Chastain at all costs.

“Is everything okay, Chastain?” he asked.

“Just fine, James. This is an old friend from my hometown,” she answered with a smile as she gently tried to get her arm back from Philippe.

James nodded and strolled away, but he didn’t take his eyes off them. Veronica Lewis, the pretty, plump receptionist, went over to James and asked him what was going on. “I have no idea. She says he’s an old friend, but he’s not looking too friendly to me.”

Veronica wrapped one of her natural twists around her finger and looked speculatively at Chastain and Philippe.

“I think you’re right,” she said in a low voice. “And I think I know why. Look at him and look at those paintings. That’s the model in those nudes, James.”

His eyes automatically went from the pictures to Philippe and back again. “You may be on to something,” he said. “I’d be mad, too, if somebody put me on display like a hunk of meat.”

Veronica was too busy looking at Philippe with new eyes to answer him.

Philippe’s anger hadn’t abated. He wasn’t the only one with a temper, though. Chastain was as hot as he was. “I asked you why you were here. Only select invitations were given for tonight’s showing,” she said nastily.

He hadn’t released her arm completely, but instead of clutching her upper arm he’d moved his hand until he was holding hers. With his free hand he reached into his suit coat and pulled out his invitation.

“If you didn’t want me here, you shouldn’t have sent this,” he said in a low voice that nonetheless resonated with fury. “And I can see why you wouldn’t want me here to witness that.” He didn’t bother to glance at the three nudes because he knew as well as she did that he was the model she’d painted so exquisitely.

“If you make a spectacle out of this evening you’ll live to regret it,” she said, barely moving her lips.

“If you don’t take those down right now, you’ll be the one with regrets. I’ll sue you and this gallery and anything else I can think of and it won’t be pretty,” he vowed.

Anyone else would have cowered under the heated rage and Phillipe’s look of pure venom, but Chastain wasn’t having it, not tonight. She was about to go off on him but David suddenly appeared with a glass of water.

“Here you are, sweetheart. You’ve been chatting so much I thought you might be thirsty.”

Chastain relaxed at once. “Thank you, David. This is an old friend, Philippe Deveraux. He surprised me tonight. I had no idea he’d be in New York,” she said with a slight edge to her voice.

David shook hands with Philippe, which caused him to let go of her hand. “Deveraux? You must be related to Chastain’s friend Paris,” he said with his usual calm demeanor.

“I’m her brother,” Philippe replied. Only Chastain, who knew him way too well, could hear the seething undertone in his voice.

“David, I’m going to chat with Philippe for a few minutes. I haven’t talked to Paris in a while and I want to catch up. We’ll be right back,” she promised as she began to lead Philippe to the elevator. Neither of them spoke until the elevator rose past the gallery, at which point Chastain poked him in the chest with her index finger. “You are a total jackass. I hope you know that.”

“And I hope you know you’re in a world of trouble, baby girl.”

“Arrgh!” Chastain growled as the elevator arrived on the third floor. She walked into the apartment and turned to face him. “You overgrown, arrogant, self-centered jerk! What makes you think I’d invite you to anything, much less my first showing in New York?”

Philippe again took out the invitation and the envelope in which it had come and tossed them at her. “This does.”

A sudden barrage of barks came from her bedroom and Chastain turned abruptly to let Lulu out of her crate. Further argument was forestalled as Lulu followed the sound and scent of Philippe into the living room. When Chastain composed herself enough to return she found Philippe sitting on the sofa while Lulu stood in his lap and licked his face fervently.

“I forgot she loves you best,” Chastain said.

“That’s only because I rescued her,” he said between licks.

Chastain looked away from the sentimental reunion and picked up the discarded invitation and its matching envelope. She took one glance at the handwriting and recognized it as Mona’s. I’ll deal with her later. Right now I have to deal with this.

“Look, Philippe, my assistant sent that invitation to you. I knew nothing about it. It wouldn’t have occurred to me to invite you because I knew you wouldn’t come all the way to New York for me,” she began. He cut her off with a sneer.

“It just so happens that I’ve been in New York for the past two months. I’m working up here.”

“You left the law firm?” Chastain blurted out the question without thinking. There were four Deveraux brothers in New Orleans and they practiced law together. Philippe was in environmental law and he was passionate about it.

“No, I didn’t leave the firm. I’m on a presidential committee working with the U.N. to push an international initiative for environmental programs. I’ll be here another couple of months.”

He patted the sofa cushion next to him and Lulu jumped off his lap and sat obediently. She put one paw on his hand and gave him her happiest smile. Chastain softened when she saw the adorable picture they made, but it didn’t last.

“I’m going back downstairs, Chastain. My date is probably wondering where I am. And make sure those pictures come down tonight or you and your friend will find yourselves in the middle of a nasty lawsuit.”

He rose to his full six feet five inches and gave Lulu a final pat before leaving. Chastain was left with a crumpled invitation in her clenched fist and the beginnings of a colossal headache. But if he thinks I’m taking those pictures down he’s got another think coming. The days when I did anything to please Philippe Deveraux are over, done and gone.