The Mistress(14)

“Everything has a price.” They both jumped at the sound of the voice behind them, and turned to see Vladimir standing in the doorway, with the same expression of annoyance on his face. He didn’t like things he couldn’t buy. “Shall we go back to the table?” he asked Natasha, which was more a command than a question. She smiled pleasantly at Theo and walked back outside, as he followed her with his eyes. He saw that they had a cheese course, and ordered dessert, and after that Vladimir lit one of his cigars, as she smiled at him. He had just told her that she was even more beautiful than the art.

Maylis frowned when she saw Theo watching Natasha. She walked to where he was standing quietly. Most of the guests had left, and only a few tables were still occupied with people enjoying the last of the evening, after a splendid meal.

“Don’t do that to yourself,” Maylis said to him, looking worried. “She’s like a painting in a museum. You can’t have her.” He remembered what Vladimir had said about everything having a price. “Besides, you can’t afford her.”

“No, I can’t,” Theo said, as he smiled at his mother. “She’s pretty to look at, though.”

“From the distance,” his mother reminded him. “Women like that are dangerous. They break your heart. She’s not like the women you know. For her, this is a job.”

“You think she’s a hooker?” He looked surprised, and Maylis shook her head.

“Far from it. She’s his mistress. It’s written all over her. Her dress cost more than one of your paintings. Her bracelet and earrings are worth one of your father’s. It’s a profession, belonging to a man as rich and powerful as he is.”

“I suppose it is. I’ve seen his boat. It’s hard to imagine anyone having that kind of money…and a woman like her.” There was longing in Theo’s voice as he said it, and not about the boat.

“You have to be as rich as he is to have a girl like her, although I have to admit, she looks better than most. It must be a lonely life. He owns her. That’s how it works.” Thinking about it made him feel sick. His mother talked about her as though she were a slave, or an object he had bought. Everything had a price, or that was how Vladimir saw it. Even the girl with him.

They left a little while later. Vladimir paid in cash and gave the waiter an enormous tip, equal to half the bill, as though money meant nothing to him. And Maylis thanked them with a warm smile for coming. Theo was in the kitchen then, talking to the chef, and trying not to think of the girl who had left with Vladimir. He wondered if his mother was right, and if Vladimir felt he owned her. It was a frightening thing to say about another human being, and as he thought about her, he knew he had to paint her. It was the only way he could get close to her, or see into her soul, to paint her, and make her his.

He was still thinking about her when he left the restaurant, tossed his suit jacket into the backseat of his car, pulled off his tie, and called Chloe. He had a sudden longing to see her, but she didn’t sound happy when she answered. It was nearly one in the morning by then, and she had been asleep.

“Do you still want company?” he asked in a voice raw with desire, and she sounded instantly incensed.

“For a booty call? No, I don’t. You finish working for your mother and want to get laid on the way home?”

“Don’t be stupid, Chloe. You said you wanted to see me. I just finished work.”

“Call me tomorrow, and we’ll talk about it.” And with that, she hung up, and he drove home. His mother was right—he was crazy to be fascinated by the girl he’d seen at the restaurant that night. She was someone’s mistress, it had nothing to do with him. And he wouldn’t have known what to do with a woman like her, although she had been so easy to talk to, with her gentle voice, when he followed her inside when she went to look at the art again.

He walked into his house, and tossed the car keys onto the kitchen table, sorry that Chloe hadn’t let him come over. He had no idea why, but he had never felt so alone in his life. He went into his studio and pulled out one of the blank canvases he had leaning against a wall, and all he could see as he looked at it was Natasha’s face, begging to be painted.

—

Natasha and Vladimir had reached the dock in Antibes by then, where the tender was waiting to take them back to the boat.

“I have a visitor coming tonight,” he said quietly, as the tender sliced through the water at high speed. The sea was flat, and the moon was high, casting light over the water. She didn’t ask him who the visitor would be, but she knew it was someone important, if he was coming late at night. “I have to read some papers before our meeting, and I don’t want to keep you up. I’ll stay in my office until he arrives.” She knew from what he said that it was someone who didn’t want to be observed meeting with him. They were usually very important men, who had dealings with him. She was used to it. She would hear them arrive on his helicopter, and then leave again before dawn.

Vladimir walked her to their bedroom, put his arms around her, and kissed her with a slow smile.

“Thank you for a lovely evening,” she said. She had liked the restaurant and the art, and her time with him, before he went back to work.

“It’s a silly place with none of the paintings for sale.” She could see that it had bothered him, but they’d had a good time anyway. He kissed her again, and left her in the cabin. He had work to do. And just as she fell asleep, she heard the helicopter land, and knew that Vladimir’s visitor had arrived. She was sound asleep by the time the Russian president got out of the helicopter and walked to where Vladimir was standing, waiting for him, and shook his hand, with bodyguards lining the deck. Vladimir and his visitor walked down a flight of stairs to Vladimir’s soundproof, bulletproof office. They had work to do that night, and a deal to sign by morning.