MasterStroke (12 page)

They were gorgeous indeed, the colours luscious, bright and deeply warm. The women, and those portrayed were mainly women, were of the physical type revered by the movement – strong featured, ethereally beautiful, with masses of hair, jet black or coppery red for dramatic appeal, long and flowing or bound and braided in an idealised Medieval style.

Some of the women looked to have been represented in several of the works, Sandrine searched her memory for the models so often used by these artists; she knew only the most famous. She recognised Elizabeth Siddal, a long-time muse and lover of artist Dante Rossetti, who had appeared in hundreds of his works. She had died at the age of thirty-three from laudanum poisoning. There was also Jane Morris, whose hair was as dark as Siddal’s had been fiery, and became Rossetti’s mistress despite the inconvenience of being married to the acclaimed artist and textile designer, William Morris, at the time.

The Pre-Raphaelites, Sandrine remembered, may have been a small group but they were indiscriminate in terms of trading lovers and muses. Their many loves and resulting scandals gave them a very modern flavour.

These were amazing works. Sandrine particularly loved the sketches and drawings, some of which were most likely studies for major paintings. Faces, serene in repose or dramatically vivid, were minutely detailed. Here was the artist’s deep well of creativity and skill fully fathomed, dashed off in an instant and cast aside, before the later luxury of being translated into oils which could be repainted, corrected, and enhanced over and over until deemed satisfactory. The drawings were snapshots of ideas, details of a thousand different moods: a face in profile, a long graceful neck stretched like a swan, a baleful glance, an elegant nose, slim fingers on pale hands, the geometric tumble of wild hair.

Sandrine lingered over these images for more than an hour. Here were seeds from which sprouted some of the most iconic of the Pre-Raphaelite masterpieces, paintings which for the most part she had only ever seen in art history books. But she was able to touch these works, examine them in close detail, and for that she considered them priceless.

If they were genuine, and Marcus would not have lavished the expense of secure courier delivery on them if they weren’t, then they were probably worth serious money, maybe a few thousand dollars for each of the lithographs from the best- known artists, upwards to the tens of thousands and above for the sketches, pastels and watercolours.

Finally, she gathered up the prints, put them back inside their original folders and carried them into the safe. The heavy safe door shut and locked, she returned to the front of the shop. Across the street, in an illegal parking spot, was a dark late model sedan. If Sandrine had been paying more attention, she may have wondered if this was the same one that followed her to work that morning.

Chapter Fifteen

Jack called it a picnic basket. It looked more like a suitcase albeit one of woven cane. Sandrine didn’t think she’d ever seen a bigger example. It held fine china plates, cups and saucers, beautifully delicate wine glasses, linen napkins, a red checked tablecloth, cutlery and just about everything you could possibly need to eat in style outdoors.

Takeout containers held roast chicken, cold meats, a couple of salads, and cheeses. There was a squat loaf of sourdough bread, a bottle of Beaujolais and another of sparkling mineral water.

Sandrine was impressed with Jack’s organisation. He had planned ahead to a remarkable degree. As he pulled the car into traffic outside her apartment building, she noticed the sparkle in his eyes.

“Where are we going?” she asked.

“Top secret. A scenic spot where we can have a relaxed day, just the two of us. I can’t say any more.”

She settled back in the soft leather seat, peace settling over her like a cashmere blanket. She enjoyed surprises and loved picnics even more. The thought of a day spent in Jack’s company was just too good to be true. As if in answer to her thoughts, he reached across and laid his hand on hers, squeezing softly. Sandrine was in something closely approaching heaven.

It took only a few blocks of the lighter-than-normal traffic before the mood changed. She noticed Jack was alternating his attention between the road ahead and the rear vision mirror. His brow was furrowed and his expression darkened slightly.

“What’s wrong?”

“Looks like we’ve picked up a tail.”

She began to swing around in her seat to look out the back window.

Jack squeezed her hand tighter.

“Please don’t,” he said levelly. “If my hunch is correct, let’s not warn them.”

The almost matter-of-factness of Jack’s attitude was designed to allay any concern she might have but it was starting to do the exact opposite. Sandrine was transported back to the morning in the store when the three Russians had arrived unannounced and just how frightened she had felt in their presence. These were dangerous men, intimidating by their physical presence alone, and she didn’t really know anything about them. That Jack hadn’t said too much concerning them only heightened her concerns; she was sure he was holding back to make her feel less insecure.

Could it be them?
she wondered.
What do they want? Why are they doing this?
Sandrine was in the dark as far as their intentions were concerned and was helpless to do anything about it. The confusion she felt spiked her fear to another level.
There’s nothing you can do, so just relax
, a tiny voice of reason whispered.
Jack is here and he’s smarter, tougher, more resourceful. If anybody is capable of saving the day, it’ll be him.

As they navigated the city streets, the tiny voice gave up and was replaced by a silent cold terror. She found herself clutching the leather seat until her fingers ached. Her teeth were already clenched tightly and she dare not relax them in case they chattered. It was best, she thought, that she give at least some semblance of coping. Jack had enough on his plate without worrying about her falling apart, she reasoned.

After about fifteen minutes, it was apparent that Jack had been right about being followed.

“It’s a dark late model Mercedes. Can’t see the plates. Looks like three in the car, big guys, too, by the look of it,” Jack said, his voice deeper and a little heavier than usual. In normal circumstances, the bass notes of his masculine voice would have had her bubbling with anticipation. But he couldn’t hide the hesitation and Sandrine’s spine went cold with fear.

“It’s the Russians, isn’t it?” she asked. Her worst fears had been confirmed.

“Seems like it.”

“Are you going to try to lose them?”

“That would be dangerous. And I’d rather not let them know we know.”

“What will we do then?”

“May have to put the picnic on hold for today. We can probably shake them off without alerting them but it’ll mean a detour.”

The day, once sparkling with possibility, had suddenly veered into something straight out of a Hollywood movie. She imagined them speeding down narrow alleyways, taking sharp turns, doubling back then doubling back again. But Jack was doing none of this. He was driving sedately, a little slower than usual, staying in the same lane, signalling long before he turned a corner, making sure there was plenty of time to get through traffic lights.

“I’m being extra careful,” he explained. “I don’t want to lose them by accident although they appear pretty efficient. They’re hanging back two or three car lengths, not drawing attention to themselves. They’re pros all right.”

On the edge of the CBD, they turned onto a freeway. The traffic was light. They settled into the slow lane and ambled along. A steady stream of cars overtook them and Sandrine turned her head to watch them. Many were filled with families or couples and she was struck by the realisation these strangers were ordinary people on their way to do ordinary things on their weekend.

Going hiking in the mountains or to the market, visiting friends and family, all the things people did without a moment’s thought about the consequences. Innocent decisions, like Jack’s idea of having a picnic. She’d been looking forward to it for days; she lay in bed at night and woke in the mornings thinking about it, letting her mind wander and, as it invariably did, ended up in fantasies of Jack’s rugged muscular body naked in the open air. Sandrine responded to it without even thinking, it aroused her enormously. And now that day had arrived and the arousal had turned to a crippling fear.

A white SUV drew up next to Sandrine’s window. It sat a little lower than Jack’s car so she had an angled view inside. A man was driving. He looked to be in his mid-30s with blonde hair and soft features. The woman in the passenger seat next to him was around the same age and had her hair pulled back in the ponytail. She was talking animatedly on her cell phone and was laughing and happy.

Strapped into the back seats was a toddler, about three years of age, wearing a striped red-and-white t-shirt. He was staring directly at Sandrine.

They locked eyes. He appeared quite serious, even stern in the way that young boys more mature than their years can do; Sandrine’s mind was somewhere else, gazing straight through him. He waved a pudgy little hand. It faltered and eventually stopped after Sandrine failed to respond. His head tipped slightly to one side and a puzzled expression crossed his features. A small tremor twitched his lower lip.

With a start, Sandrine threw off her funk and, although she felt anything but cheery, she waved back. Wide-eyed, the child grinned hugely and began waving so enthusiastically his whole body shook. The car accelerated slowly ahead. Then, in a burst of speed, was soon out of sight.

She watched it go, aware that her spirits had been buoyed ever so slightly by this random encounter. There was something about the unabashed innocence of the little boy that touched her. Although fear gripped her heart in a vice-like hold, the sharp edges had melted off. A lightness akin to hope was fighting to the surface. She kept the child’s face in her memory like a totem of good luck. It may well be, she considered, that at some time in the future, if things got really dark, she could call upon the image to make her feel better. She eased back into her seat and watched Jack’s intense concentration and thanked the stars that he was there with her. Without him, she didn’t know what she would do.

After a couple of minutes, they took the next exit. Sandrine recognised the general direction in which they were heading but it was only when the South-West Mall, one of the biggest in the city, came into view that she had an inkling of their destination.

“Is this a good time to be shopping?” she asked.

“It’s a very good time to be shopping. Couldn’t be better, as a matter of fact.”

It was close to noon and weekend traffic was building on the approaches to the mall. Jack entered one of the underground parking garages, joining a long line of cars, went down two levels and found a parking spot close to a pedestrian walkway.

“When we get out, please don’t look at the other car,” he warned. “They’ve parked in the next row across, about six cars down. They have a direct view of us.”

Sandrine wasn’t aware of how tense she was until Jack came up beside her, hugged her in a bear-like grip and guided her towards the escalators.

“Relax, beautiful girl. Make it look like you’re having a great time.”

“Easy for you to say,” she replied earnestly.

As they rode up towards the ground floor entrance to the mall, Jack turned her towards him and kissed her lightly on the forehead. A large florid man who, despite the chill in the air, was wearing cargo shorts and an overly garish Hawaiian shirt, pushed past them.

“Get a room,” he growled.

“Not a bad idea,” Jack whispered in Sandrine’s ear. “But not quite yet. Two of them are following us. Must have left one in the car in case we double back.”

They emerged in the centre of the mall. It spanned several floors above them. A fountain was off to one side. Around it, escalators led to the upper floors. There was quite a crowd already, people of all ages and types with masses of shopping bags. Clots of teenagers wandered aimlessly, constantly checking their cell phones as much as they did their reflections in the shop windows.

Sandrine had shopped at this mall before and remembered it was anchored at either end by department stores. Smaller specialty shops, restaurants, cafes and a food court lay in between. At the centre, on the ground floor, was a massive ice skating arena that operated all year round.

A chill spread through her. This was getting serious. She was scared. She couldn’t see how they were going to get away from the Russians.

“Where to?”

Jack ostentatiously checked his watch.

“Must be time for a movie,” he said.

Sandrine stopped dead.
You must be kidding
.

Jack grabbed her elbow and propelled her towards another escalator, heading upwards.

“Not at all. It’s the best place to disappear for a few hours.”

“I don’t even know what’s on,” she said in all seriousness.

Jack gave her another kiss on the forehead and, throwing his head back, laughed out loud.

“You’re so cute when you’re perplexed,” he said.

“I don’t understand.”

“Just follow my lead. And look entertained.”

They wandered the floors at a leisured pace, joining the flow of shoppers, occasionally dropping out to look in shop windows, ostensibly checking displays. The mall was filled with people dressed casually in jeans and light shirts in the artificially tropical temperature, carrying their winter coats, others in smart slacks or dresses. Some snacked as they walked or drank sodas from huge containers of soft drinks. There were few sombre faces. It was the weekend and the feeling of escape from the stresses of the working week was palpable. It was their time, no appointments, no meetings, nowhere to be but communing together in that one unifying 21
^st
century leisure activity – shopping.

Jack snorted. It could almost have been a laugh.

“Dawn of the Dead,” he said cryptically. Sandrine looked at him as if he was deranged.