"Indeed." I clasp hands with Bald Willy.
Willy gives a pompous bow. "William Teniford the Fourth, and you are?"
"Paul de Gaulle."
Urakov grimaces as the Englishman shakes his hand. "Urakov Tarasovich."
"A pleasure." Willy's eyes are overly eager. "This is the first time I've been fortunate to win a bid."
"Congratulations."
Willy leans forward, perhaps expecting more than the terse reply. "Which piece will you be taking home?"
Urakov clears his throat. The loud, grumbly sound silences poor Willy. Fortunately, the auctioneer arrives, cutting off further discussion about who bought what.
The tall, thin, balding man glances at the three of us with confusion. "I was only expecting two."
There is no way to avoid association with Urakov, and the Russian will not walk out without his motherland's property firmly in his hands.
"He's with me."
The auctioneer cocks his head, wise enough not to ask too many questions. "As you wish." He turns and gestures to a door at the front of the room.
Urakov clears his throat, but Willy speaks into that silence. "If you don't mind, I'd rather not step away from my purchase."
"Of course." The auctioneer directs his next words to me. "Would you like to wait in our lounge while your purchase is crated?"
"No. I'll wait with the painting."
"One moment, please." He excuses himself, speaks to one of the attendants, and returns with two locked boxes.
Willy grabs the one offered and swipes his phone over the lock. I take the other. Before Willy can engage me in ponderousconversation, I stride to the bar, order whiskey, and only then open the box to retrieve my and Vivianne's cell phones. Urakov joins me and asks for a vodka pour, which leaves William Teniford to occupy himself alone.
A few minutes later, four men arrive. Two go toDr. Gachet, and the others go to a larger but insignificant piece.
"Gentlemen," the auctioneer says, "if you will follow me."
Willy follows the men as they cart off his newest acquisition. Urakov and I bracket the two men holdingDr. Gachetand follow them through the doorway.
My cell phone buzzes. A text from an unknown number.
She's mine.
Only one person could have sent it. Gritting my teeth, I respond.
Nicholas.
Do you know what day this is?
It's Saturday, but that is not the answer Nicholas wants. I rack my brain, wondering what significance this day holds for him.
Don't mess with me…brother.
Although not born of blood, we bonded deeply as brothers. We loved each other fiercely. Defended the other when attacked. We shared secrets and painful truths. And we fought like devils over the same women, even the one who finally came between us and destroyed our fraternal bond.
Love turned to hate on the cusp of a single moment.
Merde. I know this day. Ten years to the day, sweet Catherine died. Now Nicholas has Vivianne.
