“I demanded they explain themselves and react professionally. When they realized it was I, as opposed to the person they had assumed I was, they began babbling most chaotically.”
His drink was delivered. Mr. Wilde took a tentative sip as if to reassure himself it was safe to down. Satisfied, he took a grateful swallow.
“It appears there was a previous encounter with a person resembling myself which was quite distasteful. The vulgarian had demanded information from them they had no intention of divulging, since it was none of his affair, at which point he became frighteningly demonstrative.
“I had noted some disarray when I entered, though, in truth, the shop has always struck me as a poor excuse for a proper art gallery. Ah, you are looking increasingly anxious. Forgive me, I do tend to get verbose when I’m upset.” He dabbed his damp face and swallowed another draft of stout.
“I’m sure you wish me to- how does one put it?- jump to the chase.” He gave a nod of understanding and continued. “I retrieved my pictures. That dreadful proprietor very tattily said ‘good riddance,’ and hurried me out.”
Wilde looked concerned. “I could have sworn that I had left a drawing of a female nude, very Ingres-like, of which I was quite proud, but he insisted I had done no such thing.” He shrugged. “And he could have been correct. I tend not to pay too much attention to the ‘provenance’ of my drawings.” He chuckled at his joke. “Simply placing them in appreciative hands is more than adequate satisfaction.”
Amanda felt the hairs at the base of her somewhat disheveled French twist rise. “And whose ‘appreciative hands’ would that be, Mr. Wilde?”
“Why the professor’s, of course. He does have the most discerning eye.”
Amanda’s heart sank even farther. The professor did seem to be getting in deeper and deeper.
Chapter 14
MARC WAS angry.
And Amanda couldn’t really blame him.
He was angry she had tried the foolish impersonation stunt alone, angry she had wandered around the streets after encountering the big guy, and angry she had come up with such a loony idea as the posing session without consulting him.
Except, they both agreed, her plan for the private session was exactly what needed to happen. They could get the four suspects together and put on the pressure to find out which one was the bad guy, before the yet undiscovered bad guy decided to do somebody in.
Amanda looked around at the crowd of people in Washington Square, hurrying from one place to another. NYU students, all ages, backpack laden, business men and women rushing to take off for the weekend, the unkempt homeless and groups of people just hanging out.
Marc was expounding earnestly-had been for many minutes, Amanda noted distractedly-occasionally shoving his horn rims back up his nose.
His contacts must be bothering him.
There seemed to be nothing left of the lamplight-dappled moments she and “Antonio” had spent strolling the same walks a few evenings ago. That Antonio was gone.
That Amanda was gone, too.
Amanda chewed on her lower lip. Which wasn’t doing her subtle Makeover-by-Cissy look much good.
“Marc, I’m not listening to you.” She stopped him mid-reprimand. She plopped down on a nearby park bench, dislodging a sprawling street person, whose first reaction was to protest but at the cross look from Amanda decided he might get the worse of the confrontation.
Marc looked as startled at her action as did the mumbling pile of rags that shuffled off into the crowd. Amanda turned the same determined look on her slack-jawed companion.
“I have listened to you rant ever since you got here. Thank you for your concern, but I am perfectly capable of taking care of myself in this city. I told you I saw that large, ugly man leave Pinks. Both Mr. Wilde and I kept an eye out. He was gone.” She waved her hand, dismissing the danger.
“I called and you had left no message on your machine about how to get in touch in case of an emergency. I put Mr. Wilde in a cab; there were people everywhere. The park was only a few blocks away. It made perfectly good sense to me to leave SoHo and come here to try and phone you again. There was no reason for you to get hysterical.” She crossed her hands brusquely and snapped her head away. The slouch hat slid over one eye.
She could feel Marc stiffen, hovering above her, and she could almost feel the added heat from his reddening cheeks. He didn’t like being crossed either.
“I was concerned about you.” The words could barely force themselves through his clenched teeth. “And guys do not get hysterical.” He sat down next to her. She turned her head farther away. The slouch hat slouched over both eyes.
“Damn!” Amanda grabbed the limp felt and punched it into her lap, reeling in the flowing lime silk. She whirled her body to face her tormentor full face.
His tense jaw relaxed and the deep rust of fury faded from his cheeks. His gray-blue eyes softened. Her chin trembled.
“This is not going to work out.” She stiffened her back and tried not to concentrate on the way his glasses subtly enhanced the large, evening-sky blue irises. How could she not trust him with her life? His look was so direct, so honest.
“Yeah. I know.”
So maddening! How could he know what she was referring to? It could be the case she meant. How could he assume she was talking about what they both knew they were both thinking about.
He put his arm around her and gently pulled her close. His other large hand rested lightly on her small tight fists twisting Cissy’s delicate silk into an unredeemable knot in her lap.
“Ace, somebody may be lying dead somewhere in London, whose identity this guy has taken. I just don’t want anything…”
“And they may not, too, be lying dead… anybody… anywhere. You said the man at the insurance firm wasn’t certain. There’s no body, right? You always think the worst.” She would not be mollified by his strength, his concern, his willingness to be badgered the way he had badgered her.
“And you always think the best. You must have had a great childhood.” He was being grumpy and self-pitying and it shocked Amanda to realize how wrong he was.
She had always considered it a lousy childhood. No Mom. Almost non-existent Dad. Annoying little brothers. The teen-age years had been hell. And yet. Somehow she had turned out okay. It wasn’t Mom’s fault she died. Dad did the best he knew how. Now that he had gotten his brood through the worst part and they were becoming self-sufficient, he was even beginning to loosen up a bit.
Her brothers had stuck to the straight and narrow. With Amanda doing some psychological cattle-prodding to see to it that they did. They had turned out fine, had met some fine Pittsburgh girls, and were ready to settle down to being solid citizens. Bed-rock of the country. She was proud of them.
“What if I just not let you out of my sight until this case is closed?” Marc was being serious.
“Marc…”
His face shifted to chagrin. “Yeah, yeah, I know, Ace. You’re a big girl. What you did today was dumb but very helpful. More pieces to the puzzle. Nothing fits yet, but we’re getting more choices.” He leaned back, appraising her from tousled top to scuffed toe.
“And Cissy did a knock-out job, I can imagine.” He grinned as Amanda frowned, clutching at her barely together hair-do and tugged at her short skirt realizing there was no possible way to cover the shredded hose.
She slapped the exhausted slouch hat on her head, the twisted fabric dangling, and pulled the felt sides down, turning it into a disheveled bonnet. She made a face not unlike the annoyed, dislocated street person and then, changing attitude, raised her eyebrows haughtily and slumped languidly.
“Eet has been a deeficult dayee. But at the time, I was most effectif. He ees guarding my treasure weeth his life.” Her eyes flashed with Garbo-esque passion.