architect and interior decorators have done well,’ she offered quietly, and caught her mother’s warm smile.
‘I agree.’ Liliana indicated the wide glass-panelled walls, the planned lay-out. ‘It’s quite something.’
Ilana cast a quick glance at the mingling guests. ‘A good crowd.’
‘Who would refuse Jean-Marc’s invitation?’
The effusive family patriarch was something of a legend in the art field, possessed of a shrewd mind and an almost unfailing instinct for the success of an artist’s work.
Many of his patrons had made a small fortune from his advice, and the opening of new premises was a cause célèbre.
‘Come take a look,’ Liliana bade as she drew Ilana forward.
‘You’ve seen something you like.’
Her mother chuckled. ‘How can you tell?’
She offered an answering laugh. ‘The gleam in your eyes.’
‘I’ll aim for solemn interest in the hope Jean-Marc will negotiate the price.’
Together they moved slowly, pausing to speak to a friend, smile at an acquaintance, until Liliana stopped in front of an exquisite landscape, all trees and sky and almost alive. A lifelike vision in oils, each detail seemingly applied with a master’s stroke.
‘You’re going to buy it.’ A statement, rather than a query, and Ilana could picture the perfect location in her mother’s home.
‘Yes,’ Liliana conceded with a faint smile. ‘The formal dining room.’
The colours would blend beautifully, and she said so.
‘My thoughts, exactly.’ Liliana glanced up as Jean-Paul appeared at her side.
‘Is that a yes, Liliana?’
‘Definitely.’ Her mother waited a bit. ‘With a little negotiation.’
‘I’m sure my father will be amenable.’
A promised five-per-cent discount was offered on the invitation for each purchase…whether Liliana could bargain further was debatable.
A discreet reserved sticker was attached…to be replaced with sold when the purchase became a done deal.
There were other paintings, beautifully showcased, featuring many categories…some impossibly bold, extrovert in the extreme with great slashes of colour and without any definition.
Traditional, a young child’s face with huge sad eyes and a single tear. An incredible seascape, with wild, turbulent, white-tipped angry waves depicted in such detail one could almost sense the salt-spray stinging the skin.
A modern piece depicting the agony of war in a riveting portrayal too close to home.
Emotion, sadness, joy. They were all exigent, portrayed on canvas.
Ilana exchanged an empty flute for one filled with champagne, and filched another three canapés from a proffered tray.
‘I should go talk with Jean-Marc.’
‘Sure. Catch you soon.’ She’d wander a little, savour the light, fizzing bubbles, and maybe something would catch her eye.
It did, but not in the way she wanted it to. The painting held a haunting quality, dark and far too stark for anyone’s peace of mind.
‘Interesting,’ a deep, familiar male voice offered, and she stood still, wondering why her self-defence mechanism had failed to alert Xandro Caramanis’ presence.
Then it kicked in with a vengeance, and sensation scudded down her spine, sending little licks of flame from somewhere deep inside. They touched her central nervous system and sped rapidly through her body, warming her skin.
‘Tell me,’ Xandro drawled, ‘what you see.’
He was standing close, within touching distance, and she had the feeling if she leaned back fractionally her shoulders would bump against his chest.
It would be so easy to take a slight step forward…but then he’d know, and she couldn’t bear him to guess the effect he had on her.
‘Too much.’
Why hadn’t she expected him to be here tonight? Xandro Caramanis represented serious money…very serious money.
Naturally he would have received a coveted invitation.
He moved to her side. ‘A painful memory, do you think? Or a warning?’
‘Perhaps both?’
‘Not exactly comfortable viewing.’
‘No.’
His height and breadth of shoulder made her think of a warrior…and wondered if the male body beneath the fine tailoring hid powerful musculature.
Somehow artificial enhancement and Xandro Caramanis just didn’t mesh.
The thought did nothing for her peace of mind.
She should excuse herself and move away. To remain attempting idle conversation didn’t appeal. Besides, she didn’t need the added tension.
Ilana turned slightly towards him, and immediately wished she hadn’t.
His facial features were compelling, with arresting bone sculpture, an intensely sexual mouth and dark eyes that saw too much.
‘You look tired.’
‘How kind of you to care,’ she managed with intended facetiousness.
‘Does it bother you that I might?’
‘Not in the least.’
His soft laughter was barely audible. ‘Have dinner with me.’
She thought of the banana she’d hastily peeled and eaten as she rode the lift down to the basement car park, and the few gulps of bottled water, followed by orange juice, champagne and exotic canapés. Hardly an adequate meal.
Where was the harm in light, careless banter in a room filled with guests? ‘Will it damage your ego if I refuse?’
His mouth curved into a musing smile. ‘I’ll accept a raincheck.’
‘I wasn’t aware I’d requested one.’
‘Next week,’ Xandro continued as if she hadn’t spoken.
‘I’ll be in touch.’
‘When you’ve checked your social diary?’
He regarded her steadily. ‘Name an evening.’
Instinct
