Page 217 of To Catch a Sub

You think you can catch me this time? You’re good, Landon.

But I’m better.

Adieu,

Colette

FORTY-SEVEN

Three weeks later

Beautiful, masked people in expensive clothes and more expensive jewelry moved slowly through the gallery, some stopping to study the paintings. There was haunting, mysterious music floating through the air, courtesy of a duo of musicians, one playing the cello, the other the upright bass.

The gala was being held in the Rijks Museum, a must-visit when in Amsterdam, which was saying a lot, given the plethora of world-class museums in the city.

It was evening, but not yet late, and though the museum had closed hours ago, those with the very hard to come by tickets to the event had the privilege of milling through the museum’s two most famous galleries—the Gallery of Honour and Night Watch—after hours.

The Gallery of Honour was in itself a work of art. Long and airy, the art displayed here—sixteenth and seventeenth century paintings by Dutch masters—was hung in a series of large alcoves that branched off the long central gallery. It felt like she was standing in the nave of a medieval church, except instead of small alcoves holding statues of saints, here the alcoves were room-sized with glass ceilings designed to let in natural light that would show the paintings to their best advantage.

Above each alcove entrance was an arch with a mural representing the skills and trades each Dutch province had been famous for when construction began in 1876.

Though Colette had been to this museum several times, the meanings of the large murals, and the construction start date, weren’t something she remembered.

Sofie had reminded her.

Sofie was very excited.

Colette raised her champagne glass to her mouth, hiding her smile and tipping her head, one hand sliding under her carefully arranged hair which was pulled to one side and fell in waves to her shoulder, to fiddle with her ear piece.

“Did you know that they did an in-depth study of The Night Watch, and built a glass chamber right here in the gallery so researchers could work, but the public could watch?” Sofie’s voice was clear in her ear, her excitement infectious. Normally she was more reserved, so seeing—or rather hearing—her excited was fun. The Night Watch was one of Rembrandt’s seminal paintings, and the namesake of the second smaller gallery room open as part of the gala.

“Remember, try not to look like you’re talking to yourself,” Colette replied, knowing the communication piece in her ear would carry her voice to Sofie.

“Oh, right. I’m sorry.” Sofie made a sad little noise. “I should have just stayed in my studio.”

“No, I’m glad to have you.”

In the weeks since Colette had walked away from Landon, she’d tried something she hadn’t ever done before—she’d deliberately tried to make a friend. Friendship required honesty and trust, and besides Landon, there was only one other person in the world who she both trusted, and who knew at least a little bit about her.

Her forger, Sophie.

The benches Colette remembered lining the “nave” of the gallery of honor were gone, replaced with round cocktail tables and a long narrow oval bar with two bartenders in the middle moving briskly to serve expensive alcohol to guests.

The theme of the evening was “Hidden Masterpieces.” A pedestal in the center of each alcove held a “hidden masterpiece” that had been loaned to the museum specifically for this event.

The optional mask option for the black-tie dress code, was a nod to the “hidden” part of the theme, and most of the elegantly dressed people who milled around her either wore masks, or carried masks on sticks.

Sofie had designed Colette’s mask—a simple half-mask hand painted with black and white diamond checks, two black diamonds carefully positioned around the eye holes. The white diamonds had been painted with a special reflective white paint that looked fine under normal lighting, but on video and in photos would blind the camera. It was similar to the fabric used to foil paparazzi, except this was Sophie’s own custom blend.

Colette’s gown was black and white to complement the mask. In a nod to traditional Venetian Carnival attire—which usually mimicked the fashions of the late sixteenth century—the bodice of the dress was stiff, fitted black velvet in a tapered V-shape with an arched neckline. The bottom luckily wasn’t a farthingale, but draped white satin. The skirt was gathered at the front of her right hip, exposing most of her right leg and the delicate black heels she’d purchased during a trip to P.C. Hooftstraat—Amsterdam’s luxury shopping street.

The most striking part of her outfit was the large brooch pinned to the top center of the bodice. From the waist up, her look was reminiscent of portraits of Elizabeth the First when she was still the illegitimate princess, and Eleonore of Habsburg. Made of white-gold, and shaped like a Maltese Cross, the brooch had a large white pearl in the middle.

Strung pearls looped from the brooch to the edges of the bodice, and then over her arms and around her back. She’d had a bad moment looking at the long strand of pearls. Sofie had noticed, and with pins in her mouth asked Colette what was wrong. As Sofie finished pinning the decorative pearls in place Colette told her an abbreviated tale of what had happened with Damien.

Colette had nearly cried when Sofie said, “I wondered why you hadn’t contacted me!”

It turns out that even before Landon, there would have been someone in the world who’d miss her.