“I’ll confirm to you as soon as we get the funds in the account, but I don’t think there will be a problem. Stanislas must be made of money,” Gabriel said, still amazed at the price he had paid for Lorenzo’s work. But clearly when he wanted something, Vladimir was willing to go to any lengths to get it.
“It looks that way,” Theo said, sounding a little grim. Even the incredible sale didn’t make him like the man any better. Everything about him was distasteful to Theo. He was all about possessing what he wanted, people, industries, and things. Theo wondered how the beautiful young woman felt, being one of his possessions. He hated the thought of it, she had such gentle eyes in her lovely face, and he had liked talking to her. He would like to catch a glimpse of her on the boat when he delivered the painting, but doubted he would. And he would be treated like a delivery boy, and dismissed the moment the painting left his hands. He expected it. They had no way of knowing he was Lorenzo’s son, and he didn’t want them to. It was none of their business, and would have been out of character for Theo to introduce himself that way. He never did.
Theo was on the dock just below the Eden Roc at the H?tel du Cap, promptly at five. The painting had been carefully wrapped in art paper, then in a soft fabric, and after that in bubble wrap and a heavy plastic wrapping to protect it on the trip to the boat. Theo was holding it as the tender approached. The sailors from Princess Marina saw him immediately, carefully took the painting from him, helped him jump aboard, covered the wrapped painting with a tarp, and then they took off at high speed across the water toward the yacht. He was asked to wait in a holding area, with the painting. Then the purser came to meet him with a security guard, and led him into an elevator. They treated him respectfully, but his mission was simple and clear: to hand over the painting to a designated person, whose identity he didn’t know. And at that price, it would only be Stanislas himself, who wanted the pleasure of receiving what he now owned and had paid a fortune for.
Theo stepped out on a deck high up in the boat and saw an enormous bar, and a woman seated on a couch in shorts and a T-shirt. Her long blond hair was piled on top of her head, informally, and Vladimir was nowhere to be seen, as Natasha stood up and walked toward him on bare feet.
“Thank you for bringing the painting.” She smiled easily at him, and recognized him from the restaurant the night before, even without his suit. He was wearing shorts and a T-shirt too, and had left his shoes downstairs in a basket when he came aboard the boat. “Vladimir said someone would deliver it. It was nice of you to come.” He noticed her Russian accent again, but her French was excellent. She had no idea what Vladimir had paid for it, and how normal it was that someone would carry it to the boat. She assumed Theo was the ma?tre d’ at the restaurant, acting as messenger and delivery boy now. She took the painting from him officially, handed it to the security guard, and told him to lock it in Mr. Stanislas’s office, per Vladimir’s instructions. He had sent an email advising them of delivery instructions. She was polite to Theo, and turned to him with a warm smile. “I guess Vladimir was right when he said that everything has a price,” she said with a shy glance at Theo. “He usually is.”
“Not everything. But in this case, selling it was the right thing to do for all concerned,” Theo said seriously. Vladimir hadn’t bested them, or taken advantage of them, he had offered a fantastic price and a very good deal, and Theo was cognizant of it, whether he liked the man or not.
“He’s very pleased,” she said quietly. “And the painting is beautiful.” She remembered it perfectly from the night before, and had known which one Vladimir wanted.
“Where will you hang it?” Theo asked her, wondering if they would take it to Russia, London, or somewhere else. He liked knowing where his father’s paintings went, the rare times they were sold. The one purchased at Christie’s seven years before had gone to an important collector in Brazil.
“Probably on the boat,” she answered. “All our favorite art is here. The apartment in Moscow is very modern and stark. We have some Jackson Pollocks there, and Calders. And Old Masters in London. We don’t have much in the house in St. Jean Cap-Ferrat yet, and we seldom use it. We keep the art we love best on the boat, so we see it more often.” And it was more secure there under constant surveillance.
And then she thought of something, and guessed it might be nice for him. “Would you like a tour of the boat, as long as you’re here?” If it meant leaving her presence, and roaming the huge yacht with a deckhand or even an officer, he didn’t want to. He would rather talk to her for a few more minutes, especially since Vladimir was obviously not there, or he would have received the painting himself. He was about to decline the offer, when she suggested taking him around herself. She looked like a young girl as she led him inside the boat, and down the grand staircase. Theo followed her in fascination. She was far more intriguing than the boat, and completely unaware of how taken with her he was.
He couldn’t keep his eyes off her as she took him through the engine room, the galley, the food-freezing units, the spa, the enormous gym fully equipped with every kind of machine, and the ballet studio with an exercise barre. There was a hair salon, a racquetball court, outdoor and indoor swimming pools, a huge hot tub, a bar in some form on every floor, a dining room that would seat forty people, and an outdoor dining room just as large that they used every day. There were leather floors and walls that had been installed by Hermès, incredible wood paneling, gorgeous furniture, and mind-boggling art. He counted six Picassos on their tour, and now his father’s work would be part of their permanent collection, and Theo was proud of that.