Page 193 of Secrets Beneath the Waves
We move slowly through the private gallery, my heels tapping softly on the polished flooring as I admire the paintings in their gilded frames that hang on the wall. It’s hard to imagine how many people have walked this same path admiring the beauty of the centuries-old canvases with their rich oils and delicate brushwork. I want to let myself get lost in it, but I can’t afford to be distracted tonight.
“So, tell me, Samantha,” Graham says, “are you an art fan?”
“How can you live in Paris and not be a fan?” I say, surprised at his question. “Art, history, architecture… I’ve always been a bit obsessed with all of it.”
“What first fueled your interest?”
“I was ten years old when I visited the Louvre for the first time, and I was absolutely mesmerized by everything. My parents actually lost me in the halls, and we ended up being one of the last ones out.”
“Ten years old and already an art connoisseur.”
I let out a soft chuckle. “What about you?”
“My grandmother was an artist, actually. Not on par with the artists here, of course, but in her own right. She was a local artist from the East Coast. She painted mainly landscapes, particularly of the sea. Some of her favorites and mine were of lighthouses.”
“Wow. I’d love to see her work.”
“She’s the one who inspired me to want to be a lighthouse keeper for a while. Somehow I thought it would be adventurous, keeping ships safe from the rocks. Now I realize I would have been bored out of my mind. But the sea still invigorates me.”
I laugh, glad that the awkwardness I was afraid might linger between us seems to have vanished.
“Sounds like she was a wonderful woman.”
“She was. She died about five years ago, but my parents have a number of her paintings in their house and there’s some up inthe town library as well as a local art store. She always inspired me.”
“What did she think about your career choice?”
“She died while I was still in the military, but I think she would’ve been proud of me. My grandfather served in the Army, as did my older brother. A bit of a family tradition, I guess.”
“I have no doubt she’d be proud of you.”
He glances over at the bar. “Can I get you a drink?”
“I’d love a Citronade Maison. Thank you.”
I decide it won’t hurt if I enjoy a few of the offerings of the evening, and grab a mini quiche from one of the servers. I mean, how often do I get invited to a private function after hours at the Louvre? A young woman who looks like she’s barely twenty walks up next to me and takes an appetizer.
“Are you as nervous as I am?” she asks.
“First time at one of these?”
She nods. “Hoping to connect for a job, but if I’m honest, I feel so inadequate. This isn’t exactly your typical recruiting party.”
“No, it’s not.” I shoot her a smile. “But I’m sure you’ll be fine. If your résumé is anything like your dress, you’ll blow them away.”
She looks down at her midnight-blue gown shimmering under the lights and laughs. “Thank you. But I’m sorry. I shouldn’t be dumping on you.”
“Don’t worry about it. Are you targeting anyone specifically?” I ask, looking around the crowded room.
“James Mallory. He’s standing over there surrounded by a circle of admirers, all hoping to catch his eye.” She frowns. “He’s a former cybersecurity advisor with Interpol. Rumor has it he’s looking for several individuals for a specialized international AI surveillance project I think I’d be perfect for.”
“Can I give you some advice?” I ask.
“Of course.”
“It’s not a project youthinkyou’d be perfect for. It’s one youwouldbe perfect for. There’s a difference, and you need to believe it for them to see it.”
She lets out a soft laugh. “I think I need to keep you by my side tonight.”
