The Mistress(59)
“What happened?” she asked him, worried.
“They were pirates. They’re around here and there. Fortunately our men caught on to it quickly, before they had a chance to board us. And we were too fast for them. They’re far behind us now. We reported it to the authorities. They’ll keep an eye out for them. They weren’t Turks. They looked more like Romanians, or a motley crew of some kind. It was bold of them to try and board us.” She nodded, frightened by the incident, and even more so by what she’d seen in the gun room. Her life was unraveling, or could be. And she was well aware that the pirates could have killed them.
“I heard shooting,” she said, still looking nervous.
“Just warning shots, so we’d cut our engines. No one was hurt,” he reassured her. Vladimir seemed calm about it, although he had acted quickly the minute he’d been warned of what was about to happen.
“Did we shoot anyone?” Natasha asked in a whisper as she followed him upstairs.
“No,” he laughed. “Do you want me to go back and shoot them?” he asked as he put his arms around her, and held her for a moment to calm her, but he was thinking about what the head security guard had just told him, that he had seen Natasha look into the gun room as she ran by, and he was certain she’d seen the paintings wrapped up in the corner. He thought Vladimir should know. But Vladimir wasn’t convinced that she knew what they were, in the panic of the moment, about to be boarded by pirates. And if she had seen them, Vladimir felt sure she would ask him about it. She had an innocent, unsuspicious nature, and she hadn’t said a word. He trusted her. But she was intelligent and might wonder about it later, whether she mentioned it or not. She had changed everything by looking into the room, and she now represented an important risk. There was no telling when or if she’d figure out what she’d seen.
They were sailing closer to shore by then, in touch with the local coast guard, heading toward Venice at considerable speed. And as he looked at her asleep in their bed that night, he told himself that she would never suspect him of anything, or even whose paintings they were. It would never dawn on her to accuse him of an art theft. He was sure that she would never imagine that he had done it to punish the Lucas for not selling him the painting he wanted. It was time they learned a lesson. He hadn’t decided what to do with the paintings yet. But he liked knowing that now they were his. It was an extraordinary feeling of power, taking what he wanted. No one could tell him they weren’t for sale, or that he couldn’t have them. He allowed no one to make the rules for him, or to control him. He paid handsomely for what he wanted. Or took it, if denied.
They reached Venice two days later, after a vigilant trip. They had doubled the men on watch and stayed alert, and all the officers, security guards, and deckhands remained armed, just in case the freighter had been in collusion with another boat that would cross their path, but none appeared. And those who were armed remained in full view on deck. They didn’t put the weapons away until just before they reached Venice, and then they locked them in the gun room again. Natasha was on deck with Vladimir, admiring Venice when they did. She was nowhere near the gun room that time.
Natasha was relieved to be in a civilized place again. Their close encounter with the pirates had unnerved her. To calm her, Vladimir went shopping with her in Venice. They visited several churches and the local sights, and had dinner at Harry’s Bar, and he took her on a gondola ride and kissed her under the Bridge of Sighs. And then they got back on their boat and headed back to France.
Natasha was quiet on the trip, trying to decide what she should do. There was no doubt in her mind what was in the gun room, and who it belonged to. The only thing she didn’t know was how it had gotten there. And she didn’t know who to tell or if she should. She never questioned Vladimir about it. She didn’t dare. And he was more loving to her than ever, which made her decision harder.
She still had Theo’s number on a piece of paper in her wallet, but she knew that if she called him, it could be traced to her phone or whatever phone she used, and somehow Vladimir might find out. She didn’t want anything bad to happen to him, but she wanted Theo and his mother to get their paintings back. They didn’t deserve to have this happen. What Vladimir had done was wrong. She was sure he had done it. And she hated knowing, and the burden it put on her now. There was no denying what she had seen. She had much to think about. And she didn’t notice Vladimir observing her.
“Are you all right?” Vladimir asked her when they reached the Mediterranean again. She seemed troubled and he wasn’t sure why.
“I didn’t like what happened,” she said about the pirates, looking worried. “What if they had come onboard? They would have killed us,” she said. She made it clear that they had frightened her badly. It had happened to others before, though mostly in more troubled countries and dangerous waters. It had startled him too, and had been an unexpected, inconvenient episode. And he was upset that the gun room had been left open, and that Natasha had happened by at the wrong time, with the paintings hidden there in plain sight. They were wrapped but clearly didn’t belong there. But she still hadn’t mentioned them to him. The pirates concerned her more. He wondered if she’d seen the paintings at all in her terror, but the head of security was sure she had, and said she had paused for an instant once she saw them. Vladimir wasn’t convinced. It wasn’t like her to be secretive with him, and she hadn’t said a word.