Page 84 of Flirting with Forever

“Because I’ve seen her wearing it almost every day for the past four years. It was your mother’s.”

“Nothing personal, but I think you’re imagining things. In any case, though, if it is Cam, it’s not a Peter Lely.” Anastasia frowned. “The technique… It just looks so much like a Peter Lely.”

Jacket snorted. “Maybe it is, just a different Peter Lely. Did I tell you that this Rusty guy told me his real name was Peter Lely.”

“He did?”

“Yeah, that day he was here. I didn’t tell you?”

“No.”

“And what’s even weirder is what the guy who brought the painting here said.”

“Yeah?”

“Apparently he was trying to give it to Cam, and he said to her, ‘Sentiment aside, do you have any idea how much a Lely is worth in today’s market?’”

“He said that?”

“Yeah.”

“And what did Cam say?”

Jacket sighed. “‘Not enough to tempt me a second time.’ She didn’t want it. The guy left it next to the front door, which is when I took a snap of it. And it’s a good thing I did because it was gone an hour later.”

Well, the answer to how much it would be worth, Anastasia knew, was more than a million dollars—that is, if it were a real, undiscovered Lely. The question now was, what the hell was it really, and more important, what were Cam and the associate up to?

“So now Peter-slash-Rusty sits over in Orbis there across the street every afternoon.” Jacket jerked his thumb toward Washington Road.

Anastasia peered down into the lighted streetscape. Orbis Coffee Shop was directly across from the building. “How do you know?”

“Well, the associate headed there after he met with Cam, so, just to find out, I went down to look. And there they were. That’s how I figured out he was working with the guy. Then I started to check. He—Rusty, Peter, whatever his name is—is there every day. Just like clockwork. Jesus, I’d swear to God he and Cam were having an affair, but I don’t know how since I’m here all day and she’s at work.”

“Poor Jacket. Infidelity is such a trial.”

Jacket didn’t reply, and the look in his eyes, still locked on the portrait, suggested he hadn’t heard.

“‘Not enough to tempt me a second time,’” he said. “That goddamn well means there was a first.”

Thirty-six

“Wow, you’re in early.”

Jeanne flipped on the overhead light. Cam did not usually make it to the museum before nine or nine thirty, but ever since she’d switched the Van Dyck book to a Lely book, it was like she’d been working off some sort of cross-century caffeinated rocket fuel, appearing in the office before sunrise, shooting off emails in the middle of the night, and generally being even more of a pain in the ass than usual. Of course, it didn’t help that the gala was tomorrow and the board meeting to decide the new director the day after that. Jeanne prayed Cam would be chosen. That way Jeanne could ramp down to only helping run one of the biggest art museums between New York and Chicago instead of helping run the museum and serving as gopher on all this Lely crap.

Jeanne said, “Are we supposed to be reviewing the interpretive stuff?” One of Cam’s jobs for the exhibition was ensuring every piece of art was properly notated and, whenever possible, put into context.

“Done.”

“And the insurance riders?”

“Done.”

“And the docent guide?”

“Reviewed and approved.”

“What about your Van Dyck? No promotion, you know, without that little two-point-one-million-dollar line item on your résumé.”