The Mistress(72)

“I doubt it,” Theo said, looking pensive and remembering what Natasha had said about her life there when they had lunch. He was a million miles away as he thought about her. He knew the address of the Paris apartment, but had no phone number for her. She had never given it to him, and she hadn’t contacted him.

“You really think he dumped her?”

“So they say. The crew was pretty shocked. They’d been together for eight years and they said she’s a nice woman. He just told her it was over, left her on the quai, got in the tender, went back to the boat, and never looked back. Those guys are cold. They’d just as soon kill you as look at you. I don’t like the type.”

“Neither do I,” he agreed. “Thank you for telling me.”

“Maybe he knew about it and it scared him, or woke him up. I don’t think he’s anxious to go to prison. And if he even thought she said something to me, he knew he couldn’t trust her anymore. And girls like her see a lot of what happens around those guys. He can’t afford a woman who talks to the police.” Theo nodded agreement again, and a little while later Athena stood up, wished him luck, and left. She stopped in at the office on her way home, and Steve was still there. He was surprised to see her.

“That was quick. No fun and games?” He had assumed she’d be there for hours if Theo went for her, or if she made a move on him.

“No fun and games. I sacrificed myself to young love.” That was why she had gone to see him. If he was in love with Natasha, as she suspected, he had a right to know what she had done for him, and the price she might have paid for doing it. Athena had told him all she knew. The rest was up to him. The information she had shared was a gift.

—

Theo sat thinking about Natasha for a long time that night, wondering what he should do about what he had learned: that Natasha had informed on Vladimir, and that she was no longer on the boat and was possibly in Paris, and that Vladimir had ended his relationship with her. He hoped she was all right.

He tossed and turned in bed, wondering if he should go to Paris and try to see her. But if she wanted contact with him, she would have called, and she hadn’t. Or maybe she was too embarrassed, or in need. He barely slept all night, and had almost decided to go to Paris when his mother called him in the morning. She had slipped on the last step on the staircase in the studio, and sprained her ankle. She had just been to the emergency room, and asked him if he could cover for her for a week. She was truly sorry and apologetic, but she was in pain and couldn’t get around. The doctor had given her crutches.

“Sure, Maman.” He could always go to Paris in a week, and he was used to running the restaurant now, after her long stay in Italy with Gabriel. And he didn’t mind it as much as he used to. “Do you need anything?”

“No, Gabriel is waiting on me hand and foot.”

And Theo had made a decision by then. As soon as his mother was back at the restaurant, he was going to fly to Paris to see Natasha, and thank her for what she’d done. He had no delusions that something would start between them now, even if she and Vladimir were no longer together. He understood more about her life now, and how unsuited she was to be with “regular” people. Whether it was Vladimir or someone else, she lived in a rarefied world, and Theo was sure she would find another man like him, or perhaps already had. But hopefully a kinder one this time, and a less dangerous man than Vladimir. He hoped so for her sake. And he just wanted a chance to thank her for having the guts to speak up to the police. It was the most generous and courageous thing anyone had ever done for him. And there was no way of knowing if her informing on Vladimir had forced his hand and made him bring the paintings back. Either way, Theo wanted to thank her. He owed her that at least.





Chapter 15


Natasha’s last week in the apartment on Avenue Montaigne was a whirlwind of activity, and left little room for emotion. She packed up what she was taking with her. She had bags of new linens scattered among the boxes, and had Ludmilla wash them before she left, so she wouldn’t have to do it in a washing machine shared with the entire building, since there was none in the new apartment.

She had all the furniture from IKEA she needed, and she and Dimitri were going to put it together. The auction houses picked up everything she was selling as promised, the day before she left. She had so much that they took it out on racks, and it filled an entire truck. She wasn’t sorry to see almost her entire wardrobe go. The Birkins were in their original Hermès boxes, and there were stacks of them in the truck, and cartons of unworn designer shoes.

And on the day she moved, she rented a van again to move her suitcases, a few boxes, and her portrait. Dimitri, her new handyman, came to help her carry it and load it in the van. She thanked Ludmilla and shook her hand, and gave her a handsome tip for her help in the past few weeks. She was pleased with the amount Natasha gave her. And Natasha saw the concierge as she was leaving and thanked her too. She left no forwarding address. She wasn’t expecting any mail. She never got any. She had no relatives or friends, and the limited communication she had was by email. She knew her credit card tied to Vladimir’s account had been canceled. She got a new one from her bank with a small limit on it, unlike the unlimited credit cards Vladimir had given her.

And when she got to the new apartment, Dimitri got to work putting all her IKEA furniture together: the bed, a chest of drawers, some closets where she could hang clothes, a desk. She had bought bright, fun, contemporary furniture, and the apartment looked cheerful, as she hung her portrait over the fireplace herself.