Page 3 of The Chase
The stench of toxic smoke in my clothes. My hair. My skin. My doll lost to the flames.
Stubbornly, I shook my head, not wanting to remember anything more about that night. “There was always this sense we were protectingMadame Roseby hiding her away.”
Now it was time to step away.
Let it all go. And move on.
“You okay?” came Clara’s reassurance.
I nodded to let her know I was.
It was behind me now, all that grief of dealing with the complex issues of my father’s estate and those endless meetings with softly spoken solicitors where coffee was my only friend. And those journalists who’d begged for a scoop on what plans I had to take the Leighton family legacy into the twenty-first century.
I had no real plans for anything, not really.
Other than settling into my new career. Moving on felt cathartic.
Clara tutted. “Dreadful thing.”
Shaken back into the room, I asked, “What is?”
“No one’s reckless enough to steal from a gallery. Not with all this.” She peered up at one of the discreet cameras.
She was referring to that theft in Chelsea: a portrait by Henry Raeburn had been stolen from a private estate.
“You’re right,” I agreed.
She patted my arm. “You’ll sleep better knowing she’s here.”
“You don’t think it’s connected to what happened in France, do you?”
Rumors had reached the community that some of the wealthiest families in Paris had suffered at the hands of an art thief and that news had set the city’s private dealers and their customers on edge.
“Let’s get some bubbly.” Clara led me back down the hallway. “You have some hobnobbing to do with these art-loving crazies.”
“Thank you for being here.”
“Wouldn’t miss it.”
I forced myself not to look back.
Making our way down the hallway, we continued to admire the collection, pausing here and there until I sensed Clara’s restlessness.
“That’s a nice blouse,” she said. “Gold brings out your eyes.”
I tugged on my pencil skirt. “Marks and Spencer.”
“I thought you were going to say some posh designer. You’re getting close to that birthday.”
Which was Clara’s tactful way of saying my inheritance would kick in on the eve of my twenty-third birthday. Pride had turned my thoughts away from it but these rising costs of living in London had me rethinking that. The idea of having to decide what to do with fifteen million pounds made me nervous. That decision wouldn’t come until next year and I still had time to nudge that thought far away.
A wave of guilt settled in my gut that my inheritance came from my father’s will. I spun round to face Clara. “I got the job!”
“What? Why didn’t you call me?”
“I wanted to tell you in person.”
“Oh, darling, that’s wonderful!”
