Flirting With Forever by Gwyn Cready (new books to read TXT) 📕

Cam’s head whipped around. Packard was in the back

—smiling!

“You can say anything you damned wel please,”

Packard cal ed. “Just keep those paintings coming.”

The room fil ed with applause.

“Wel , now,” Bal said. “I guess there’s no delaying it.

That two-point-one’s gotta go at some point.”

He grabbed the silk cord. Cam closed her eyes.

There was a hush in the room. The hush of awe and something more. Surprise? Then a gasp. Cam slitted an eye.

“Now, I know you were expecting a Van Dyck.” Bal

“Now, I know you were expecting a Van Dyck.” Bal stood not in front of the disputed Van Dyck, but the painting of Cam Mertons had brought to her loft. “I started thinking

’bout it, though, and I thought, pfft, Van Dycks are a dime a dozen. They’re yesterday’s news. What this museum needs is a painting a damned sight prettier—there, I said it again

—than the one old Anthony did. This one’s a Peter Lely, folks, the royal portraitist to Charles the Second, and see if you don’t think the same thing I do: He musta known one of Campbel Stratford’s distant relatives.”

The room was stone silent. Cam was terrified. It was so apparently not a Lely, wel , not a seventeenth-century Lely, not with her on the front of it. Then, in a random spot in the room, a person started clapping. Then half a dozen other guests began clapping as wel , and then the room fil ed with thunderous applause.

A pair of strong arms slid around her waist, and Peter whispered into her ear, “I thought this might help.”

She turned and flung her arms around him. “Thank you.”

Packard strode up to shake Bal ’s hand. He hopped on the stage.

“This museum has always been able to count on Woodson Bal ,” Packard said. “And today is no exception.

Woodson has informed me that in addition to this gorgeous Lely, he wil also be putting a fantastic new work on view here soon. Massive in scope, revolutionary in vision, this is a piece you’l be hearing more about in the news on Monday. It’s exciting. It’s never been seen by the viewing public. It represents a stunning new discovery by the art world. And you, ladies and gentlemen—and board members,” he added significantly, “wil be the first people to experience Wednesday Afternoons.”

Cam looked at Peter.

“Er, a bit of a negotiation to make the Van Dyck switch possible,” Peter whispered. “Hope you don’t mind. At least your debut wil be on home ground.”

The guests were stil applauding. Packard had the room in the palm of his hand.

“But for now, enjoy the Lely,” he said, “and before I send you back to your browsing, I want to say thank you once again to an arts patron who knows how to make a difference. Woodson Bal , everyone.”

The room exploded in a roof-lifting cheer.

57

A throng of guests surrounded Cam to congratulate her, and when she final y broke loose, Peter was gone. She fol owed the happy crowd down the hal , trying to spot him, but no matter how she strained her head, she couldn’t see him.

She felt a tug at her sleeve. “Peter,” she said and turned.

“Not Peter.”

It was Anastasia. She looked like she’d been crying.

Cam put a hand on her instinctively. “What is it?”

“Nothing.” She shook her head. “Nothing. Listen, do you have a minute?”

Cam nodded and led her to a quiet hal next to the freight elevator. “What’s up?”

“I need to talk to you about the Peter Lely painting. I know it’s not real.”

Cam felt her stomach tighten. The game was over. If Anastasia, the museum’s European art curator, was going to chal enge it, the painting wouldn’t stand.

“I know it’s not real,” she said, “but I’m not going to say anything.”

Cam didn’t know what to say. She could hardly believe what she was hearing. “But … ?”

“I know al about it. I know how you got it, and I know who did it.”

She couldn’t mean she knew about Peter and the Afterlife. “What do you mean?”

“I mean, I know Peter or Rusty or whatever your friend’s name is painted it.”

Cam breathed a sigh of relief. “Then why are you going to keep quiet?”

“I know you don’t think I have the best interests of this museum in mind most days, but I’d like to think that I’m a little better than that. If Bal wants to give the painting, and Packard wants to accept it, that’s good for the museum.

You heard the people out there. They