out a long sigh. ‘I’ll be glad when spring comes; it’s been a dreary, weary winter.’
‘We’ll go somewhere warm soon. In the spring. We’ll make plans,’ Annette assured her, love echoing in her voice for her only relative. Well, there was their brother, Anthony, but he was long gone from their lives. Who knew where he was, and their parents were dead. They only had each other. She’s enough, Annette thought. She has such a big heart and so much to give. She’s strong and determined and filled with compassion for others; then there’s her bravery and courage, and her selflessness. Yes, she’s enough. She might be petite and delicate but she packs a wallop. Also, Laurie was her good right hand, a brilliant researcher and an integral part of her art business.
‘Here we are,’ Annette exclaimed a moment or two later.
Annette now came to a stop in front of a dark green front door, turned the wheelchair around, backed up the two steps, pulling the wheelchair after her. Once she was on the top step, she rang the intercom bell which had the brass nameplate engraved with the name Remmington next to it.
‘It’s us,’ she answered when Marius’s disembodied voice echoed down to them.
There was a loud buzz and a click; Annette pushed the door open, and Laurie took control of her chair again once they were in the hall of the building. She headed straight for the lift. A few seconds later they were on the landing, where Marius was standing at the open door of the flat.
Beaming at Laurie, he leaned over her, kissed her cheek. ‘Hello, sweetheart,’ he said warmly. ‘Let’s get you in front of the fire. Your face looks pinched.’
‘It’s lovely to see you, Marius,’ Laurie responded, removing her gloves and scarf, shrugging herself out of her coat. After pulling the coat out from under her sister, Annette went to hang it up.
Marius said, ‘We’ll go into the living room, darling.’
‘Good idea. I’ll be with you in a moment.’
Laurie loved this large, beautifully proportioned room, overlooking Eaton Square, with its tall windows and a white marble fireplace at one end. The colour scheme was a mixture of yellows, which gave it a sunny feeling whatever the weather outside, and the accent colours were blue and white. A fire was burning brightly in the hearth and the scent of flowers was fragrant on the air. There were bowls filled with blooms scattered about, but Laurie knew Annette always used Ken Turner’s scented candles throughout the flat to get the proper effect she wanted.
Once she had positioned herself near the fire, Marius went to the drinks table nearby, took a bottle of Dom Perignon out of the silver ice bucket. As he popped the cork, he looked at Laurie, said, ‘You’re a naughty girl, not coming to my sixtieth, you know. I was very disappointed.’
Before she could answer, Annette came hurrying in with a plate of canapés. ‘Marius, don’t chastise her! I’ve done that already!’
‘Well, of course you have,’ he remarked with a cheerful laugh, then asked, ‘So, who wants a glass of bubbly? Both of you, I hope. Certainly I’m going to have one.’
‘Can’t wait,’ Laurie answered, beginning to thaw out in front of the blazing fire. She was filled with happiness to be with them; she adored Annette and loved Marius, who had never been anything but very kind to her.
‘I’ll have one too,’ Annette said, and went and sat on the sofa. As Marius poured the champagne, she asked, ‘What time’s your plane this afternoon?’
He glanced across at her, still pouring the wine. ‘I had a bit of luck a short while ago. Jimmy Musgrave has offered me a lift on his private jet.’
‘Who’s Jimmy Musgrave?’ Annette asked, a brow lifting. ‘Do I know him?’
‘No, you haven’t met him yet because he’s been in Los Angeles. He’s a new client of mine, came to me through one of my Hollywood contacts. He called to tell me he was flying to Barcelona later today and couldn’t see me next week. I said, what a coincidence, so am I. And he was quick to invite me to fly with him. He said he’d like my company, that we could “talk art", was the way he put it. To answer your question, I have to be at the airport at five.’
‘That was a lucky break.’ Annette accepted the flute of champagne from him and smiled. ‘It should be nice in Barcelona this weekend; you’ll be able to get a bit of sun.’
Walking over to Laurie, he handed her the glass, then sat down in the chair next to her. ‘I doubt it,’ he murmured, addressing Annette. ‘I really do need to spend some time with the director of the Picasso Museum, and I want to do a good long walk through, to refresh my memory.’
‘How’s the book coming along?’ Laurie asked, referring to the one Marius was writing about the painter.
‘Rather better than I expected. It’s odd, Laurie, it just started to take off in the last six months or so. I’ve done more work in that time than I did the whole of the previous year. I think Picasso really comes alive on the pages at last. And by the way, ladies, I’ve decided to dedicate this book to the two of you – my very special muses.’
‘How lovely,’ Laurie cried, and raising her glass she said, ‘Here’s to your new book, Marius, and thank you for the dedication to us.’
Annette said, ‘That’s nice of you, darling; yes, thank you, thank you very much.’
A small silence fell between them; the three of them sat back, sipping their champagne, relaxing, enjoying being together in this beautiful room in front of the blazing fire on this cold day.
It was Marius who broke the silence when he asked, ‘Are you still planning to drive down to Kent tomorrow? To review Christopher’s paintings?’
‘Yes. I must make some decisions. In fact, he must, too. I’ve got to start making my plans for the next auction.’
‘You’ve never actually said what else there is in his late uncle’s collection.’ Marius gave her a very direct, penetrating look. ‘Either there’s something really special or absolutely nothing at all. Come on, sweetheart, spill the beans.’
Annette shook her head. ‘No, no, I’m not keeping secrets from you, if that’s what you’re suggesting,’ she instantly shot back, a frown knotting her brow. ‘And actually, I did tell you there were a couple of Impressionists, and also an important piece of sculpture. As for paintings, there’s a Cassatt and a Degas, and I did tell you.’
Catching the nuance of irritation in her voice, he said, in a placating tone, ‘Come to think of it, that you did, I’d just forgotten. In fact, didn’t you say there was a Giacometti sculpture in the collection also?’
‘I did, and I know it’s valuable. Oh, and there’s a Cézanne. I admire his work, you know. For some reason it’s really dirty, therefore it must be cleaned. I can’t imagine what that uncle of Christopher’s was like. A careless man, I suppose, at least when it came to taking care of his art collection. Imagine neglecting a Rembrandt and a Cézanne. He didn’t even have the collection catalogued, at least as far as I know. And Christopher doesn’t know very much more than I do. Apparently he wasn’t close to his uncle, hardly knew him, but since there was no other heir, he inherited the collection.’
‘Everything else as well,’ Laurie murmured. ‘I read about it in the papers. There was some sort of really sad incident in his life, and he became a recluse, as well as being something of an eccentric anyway – the uncle I mean.’
Marius, thoughtful, said slowly, ‘I believe it was a broken engagement, or a divorce; there was a woman involved, some tragedy, if I remember correctly. I think you and I read the same newspaper stories, Laurie.’ He glanced at his wife. ‘Don’t you know any of the family background?’
‘Not much. Christopher has never told me anything. He’s rather shy, reticent.’
‘Ho, ho, that’s what you think, is it! Well, he’s certainly not too shy to ogle you. He’s