of the black evening suit he wore. ‘We both know what my second one was,’ he added tauntingly. ‘And I haven’t changed my mind about that one.’
Her impatience increased. ‘You have no idea what you’re talking about,’ she snapped, annoyed that an evening she had thought would at least be pleasantly enjoyable had turned into a complete farce.
‘OK.’ He held up his hands defensively. ‘Whatever you say. I don’t feel like arguing with you on the subject again just now, anyway.’
She looked at him curiously. ‘You aren’t enjoying the party?’
‘The party is just fine.’ He shrugged disinterestedly. ‘As parties go,’ he added in a bored voice. ‘But as far as meeting The Unicorn goes, it seems to have been a waste of my time.’ He sighed heavily.
The Unicorn. Eve had known the last time they spoke to which ‘legend’ he referred, of course, and in this case The Unicorn was an artist of ethereal beauty, who had come to the notice of the general public a little over three years ago, the paintings now collector’s pieces, every one worth thousands rather than hundreds. And what added to the interest in the artist was the anonymity of the signature at the bottom of all the paintings; very few people were actually in on the secret of the real identity of The Unicorn.
Obviously Adam had come to the party this evening intending to be added to their number. And Sophy had encouraged him to believe that could happen.
‘After wandering around myself for a while—which was how I first came to speak to you,’ he said drily, ‘I started to follow Sophy and Patrick around instead,’ he muttered, obviously far from happy. ‘No one they’ve talked to here could possibly be The Unicorn.’
Eve’s brows arched at his complete certainty. ‘No?’
‘No.’ Adam sighed, the laughter that had been so apparent in him earlier in the evening having faded as he became disillusioned as to his success in finding the person he had come here specifically to see.
‘You sound very certain,’ she prompted lightly, one of those privileged few who did know the identity of the artist, and their desire for privacy. She also knew that the artist was here at the party …
‘I am.’ Adam nodded firmly. ‘The Unicorn is someone who sees the world with a beauty and innocence it couldn’t hope to achieve; most of the people here can’t see past the end of their noses!’ he dismissed with unmistakable disgust.
Eve had to smile at his scorn for these people, who were, after all, just trying to enjoy themselves. ‘You could be completely wrong about your artist, you know. Maybe The Unicorn is someone who paints the world the way he has cynically decided other people would like to see it, not the way he really sees it.’ She couldn’t resist teasing him.
He didn’t look amused, more as if she had struck him. ‘It couldn’t be.’ He shook his head disbelievingly. ‘No,’ he said again, as if trying to convince himself, ‘I’ve dreamt of the moment I would meet The Unicorn …’ he added flatly, his frown pained.
‘You might not even like him if you met him,’ she frowned, moved by the intensity of his emotion; The Unicorn’s paintings obviously meant a lot to him. ‘You could be disillusioned,’ she said slowly. ‘Disappointed.’
‘I—I couldn’t be.’ Adam shook his head. ‘Artists paint from the heart, the soul,’ he insisted, the uncertainty still darkening his eyes.
She shrugged. ‘Some of them just paint for the money.’
‘Not The Unicorn.’ He sounded more firm.
Eve could see that, although she had shaken him slightly with the things she had said, his belief in the artist was complete.
‘You’re right,’ she told him softly. Annoying as this man had been to her all evening, she couldn’t bear for the disillusionment in his eyes to continue a moment longer. ‘The Unicorn doesn’t paint for the money.’
His expression instantly brightened, and he moved a step closer to her. ‘You know who he is!’ he pounced with restrained excitement.
Eve instantly regretted her lapse, looking around the room searchingly for Paul, panic welling up inside her; he would be most displeased if he knew she had revealed even this much to a complete stranger. Especially one that had already irritated him so much!
Narrowed brown eyes moved questioningly over the pale distress of her face, Adam’s head turning as he followed the direction of her frantic gaze.
His loud swallow could be clearly heard. ‘Hell, no …’ he groaned, as if in pain.
Eve turned back to him sharply. ‘What is it?’ she gasped nervously.
He had the look of someone who had just been punched in the stomach and was still reeling from the blow. ‘You were right,’ he said weakly. ‘It would have been better if I’d never tried to find out who The Unicorn was.’
She blinked, paling even more. ‘You know who it is?’ She swallowed hard.
He nodded. ‘And I’ve only spoken to the other man once, briefly, but I disliked him before I even met him,’ he said dully.
Eve continued to look at him frowningly for several dazed seconds before his complete meaning became clear to her. And then she realised that he thought Paul was The Unicorn.
When, in actual fact, she was …
‘DELICIOUSLY wicked of me, wasn’t it, darling?’ Sophy said with undisguised glee, her movements graceful as she strolled around Eve’s studio; the mid-afternoon sunshine, as it shone through the huge window overhead, highlighting the brightness of her hair. ‘I would have given anything to have seen Paul’s face when he rejoined you, and Adam asked him outright if he was The Unicorn!’
Eve hadn’t found it in the least amusing at the time, and she didn’t particularly find it so now; Paul had made his displeasure at being taken for the artist more than plain on several occasions since the incident. However, Adam couldn’t exactly be blamed for making the mistake; it had been generally accepted for some time that the artist had to be a man, and she had admitted to knowing the artist.
She grimaced now. ‘You should have seen Adam’s face when Paul replied, “Good heavens, no!” and walked off.’ Dragging her along at his side!
Sophy made a face. ‘The trouble with Paul is that he’s a damned snob.’
Eve gave a rueful smile, having long ago given up trying to curb Sophy’s acid tongue where Paul was concerned; simply ignoring her where possible. ‘He’s a respectable lawyer who likes to be thought of as such,’ she corrected chidingly.
The other woman shrugged. ‘As I said, he’s a damned snob. The mistake wouldn’t have been made at all if he wasn’t so damned adamant about keeping your identity a secret,’ she added disgustedly, her make-up as perfect in the clear light of day as it had been at the party two evenings ago.
Eve sighed, having heard
