Mark stood, papers in hand. “Corina, welcome back. How was Brighton? We were just talking about when to run your piece on Clive. Maybe before the American premier. Your article on the Brighton premier was excellent.”
“Gigi this is my last minute working for you and Beaumont Media.” Corina got right to it. “I’ll write the interview with Clive from home and have it to you by Friday. However, the rights will remain mine. I’ll be offering the story, with additional pieces of Clive’s life, to other news outlets by next week. So if you want a scoop, which apparently is very important to you, you’d better run his story in this coming SundayPost.”
“Mark, will you excuse us?” Gigi said, her glance on Corina, steely and unwavering.
Mark leaned toward Corina as he passed. “I didn’t know anything about this.”
“I’m not suing if that’s what you’re worried about.”
“Oh, thank heaven.” The door clicking behind Mark sounded like a sigh of relief.
“He’s a peach, isn’t he?” Corina said, arms folded, facing Gigi. “How’d you find out?”
“You know I can’t reveal my sources.”
“So the source keeps his or her privacy while mine and Prince Stephen’s get splashed all over the front page, stirring up the entire Brighton Kingdom?”
“The question is why did I have to get it from a source when you sat not thirty feet from me for the last six months?”
“It was none of your business, Gigi.”
“What? We’re family.”
“No we’re not. Family wouldn’t do to me what you did. Besides, my parents didn’t even know. They found out inyourpaper”
“Nowthatis not my business. That is yours.”
“How did you find out?”
“You can’t ask me that, Corina. Is it not true?”
“It was true.”
“Then I’m sorry, but when the Prince of Brighton marries, in secret, itismy business. It’s the world’s business. It’s what I do.” She smoothed the palm of her hand over a new addition to her office. A marble pelican. “I’m lawyered up, in case you’re wondering.”
“I told you, I’m not suing. I don’t need your money. Why didn’t you tell me the paper was floundering?”
Corina caught the edge of Gigi’s surprise on her expression. “How did you find out?”
“You know I can’t reveal my sources, Gigi.”
“Ah, touché. Your father?”
“I’m leaving now, but I want to say thank you for giving me this job, for bringing me out of my fog. But I do not thank you for running that story. You wonder why I didn’t tell you? Why didn’t you have the decency to talk to me?”
“Turn my back on the scoop of the decade?”
“Good luck with everything, Gigi.” Corina reached for the door. “And you might want to check with your infamous source. The Prince of Brighton is no longer married.”
Hoisting the printer-paper box on her hip as she exited the elevator for her penthouse condo, Corina felt a swirl of sadness and excitement.
Old life passing away, a new life ahead of her. She was pressing on. On the ride down U.S. 1 for home, she had a hankering to talk to Adelaide, reclining in her comforting wisdom.
In the lobby, Captain was on duty and came around his desk to greet her. “A delivery came for you while you were out. I escorted the courier up to your apartment. It was a rather large box and I didn’t want to leave it down here.”
“A large box?” Stephen. He sent her the Pissarro. “A wooden crate? Perhaps containing something like a painting?”
Captain thought a moment. “It was wooden. Square. I suppose it could’ve contained a painting.” Captain popped a smile. “Did you purchase a painting, Miss Del Rey?”
