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She glanced at Giancarlo. Back when they first planned the exhibition, he’d told her the exhibition would be at least until mid-November and possibly longer, depending on the response, but she knew he’d received inquiries about the use of the gallery all the time.
Giancarlo smiled warmly at the monsignor. “I would be honored if you were to attend the gallery, and I can arrange for a private showing at any time, if you so wish. It will be there until the end of next month.”
“That’s most kind of you,” said the monsignor. “Perhaps it will be possible.”
Paloma gave the monsignor a beatific smile. “You are good to spare a thought for Giancarlo’s gallery, and you know we will accommodate you in any way possible.”
Kate witnessed the exchange, translating the words slowly in her sluggish brain. It seemed benign enough, but instinct told her there was something subtle Paloma communicated to the monsignor. Perhaps it was the momentary trace of smugness on Paloma’s face. She looked at Giancarlo again, studying his expression, but could find nothing there. She sighed inwardly. She was in no fit state to dissect this now, and if it was some unconscious transgression she’d made, she’d just have to make more of an effort with Paloma.
She reached up and fingered one of the pearl earrings she wore. They matched the pearl necklace around her neck. Timeless, classic, and expensive. Another gift from Giancarlo and one that Kate thought would have been a safe choice for today as well as a subtle signal to Paloma of Giancarlo’s deep feelings for Kate.
The gesture caught Paloma’s attention briefly as her eyes flicked toward Kate, but there was no other sign she’d noticed. Kate turned her attention back to the risotto. It was best to let the others carry on the conversation.
Thankfully, the meal held no more barbs, subtle or otherwise, and Kate’s tension eased as they rose from the table. The monsignor said his goodbyes so that it only remained for Giancarlo and Kate to do the same. Soon, she’d be back at Giancarlo’s apartment, where she could retreat to the comfort of her small studio, or at least attempt a short nap.
“Come through to the blue room,” said Paloma. “There are one or two things I wanted to discuss.”
Giancarlo looked surprised, but not alarmed. The tension that had been easing inside Kate started to rise again. They followed Paloma to the small private salon at the far end of the hall. Kate had been to this room only a few times and still found it almost as intimidating as the elaborate furnished dining room they’d just vacated. Though the space was smaller, the furniture was antique, with two facing sofas covered in expensive watered silk, an eighteenth-century maple escritoire, an occasional table containing a Chinese vase that undoubtedly was from a dynasty that made it expensive, and a few seventeenth-century paintings that were most likely contemporaries of Artemisia Gentileschi, a woman painter, and one of Kate’s particular favorite artists of the time period.
Kate took a seat on the sofa beside Giancarlo, Paloma taking the sofa opposite them. She picked up a magazine on the small table next to her.
“I see you were inGraziaagain, Giancarlo,” said Paloma, flipping through it.
Giancarlo shrugged. “It was the sale of that painting.”
“Yes, it was good for the auction house and you.” She stopped at a page in the magazine and held it out to him. “However, this photograph of the two of you attending the Bertoli gala was not so positive. The caption suggests that you’d both had too much champagne, and I must say the photograph only supports that idea. And Katerina’s gown…” Paloma gave a mew of distaste. “Giancarlo, you know better than to drink excessive amounts of champagne at events like these. For this exact reason. The family name is much too important.”
Kate peered at the photograph over Giancarlo’s shoulder and cringed inwardly. It wasn’t the most flattering of shots, she had to admit. Her Valentino halter dress, while a lovely shade of deep blue, had been much too daring for Kate, and this photograph proved it. In the course of wearing the ridiculously high Manolo Blahnik shoes she’d stupidly selected because she’d been in a rush, she’d stumbled at the gala and her dress had shifted, revealing far too much of Kate’s left breast for her liking. And Giancarlo, startled by her stumble, had managed to spill his drink on his Armani suit before he slipped his arm around her to steady her. It had been that moment the photographer had captured. A moment now a permanent and public reminder that Kate knew would follow her around for some time.
“Oh, Mamma,” said Giancarlo, in a soothing tone. “You know these things are never how they appear. Kate merely tripped and I assisted her. It was nothing.”
“Though it may have been ‘nothing,’ as you say, it now had become ‘something.’” Paloma turned her gaze to Kate. “And the gown? It’s clear that you have no understanding how a gown like that must be worn.” Paloma closed her eyes for a moment. “I’ll send Bibi to you. She can explain how to prevent such occurrences in gowns of that type.”
“That’s most kind of you,” said Kate, conscious she was flushing hard. Though she stumbled over the words, she tried to infuse them with firmness. “But really, it’s not necessary. It was the shoes and nothing more.”
“Yes,” said Paloma. “Those shoes. An unfortunate choice. Perhaps Bibi could help you there, as well.”
Giancarlo reached for Kate’s hand and squeezed it. “It’s very generous of you to offer Bibi’s services, Mamma. Any guidance you would give Kate will be invaluable.” He stood, pulling Kate up with him. “Now if there’s nothing else, we have to go. I have to get back to the gallery.”
Paloma gave a small nod of acknowledgment and offered up her cheek for a kiss. Giancarlo leaned over and kissed her on alternate cheeks the requisite three times. For Kate, Paloma reserved a brief handshake.
Seven
The noise surrounded Kate, nearly stifling her with its intensity. A babel of sound in a language that Kate could hardly make sense of in the midst of the dull roar. The heavy heat of all the bodies pressed into what now seemed a small exhibition space spoke to Kate not of success, but a school of lemmings gathering for a jump: urgent, tense, and filled with expectation.
Kate sipped from her wine glass, hardly tasting its contents. The action gave her something to do other than stare at the people who milled around this very crowded room, and it also allowed her a breathing space from speaking to the numerous people who approached Giancarlo and in turn, her, after the introductions were made. The occasional flash of a photographer taking shots of people as they arrived could be seen to the right, in the reception area. The people now crammed into the exhibition space seemed more intent on meeting and speaking with each other than looking at the walls that housed her exhibition. Not that they would be able to see it if they bothered to look toward it. Though the images had script written on them, the little cards to the bottom right had a title, and the catalog gave the description, the art was something that should be taken in its entirety, both as individual pieces and as a whole.
She was conscious of the beads of sweat that gathered on her upper lip and trickled between her breasts. She only hoped that no traces of sweat were evident anywhere on the very expensive Dior dress she wore. Giancarlo had bought it on the advice of his mother, especially for the event. The chiffon draped effect with ribbon banding and straps exuded a suggestion of Renaissance mixed with classical Roman undertones. The suggestion was enhanced by her artfully styled auburn cascading curls and braids that seemingly escaped a cunningly woven ribbon. Antique Renaissance earrings from Paloma’s personal collection adorned her ears along with a matching necklace at her throat, all of which seemed to accentuate the paleness of her skin. The jewels, priceless and irreplaceable, were an extra burden of responsibility Kate could do without tonight, but Paloma had insisted.
A balding, middle-aged man in an expensive navy suit approached Giancarlo, giving Kate a sidelong glance. The two exchanged greetings in rapid Italian and made a few comments that caused them both to laugh. Kate gave a smile that she hoped was appreciative. The heat was giving her a headache and causing her concentration to slip.
The man turned to her and Giancarlo introduced him. Kate nodded and held out her hand, but the man leaned forward and gave her the customary three kisses on alternate cheeks, taking her by surprise. Though there had been a few of those from people she knew were friends of Giancarlo’s. She didn’t recognize this man, and his name hadn’t registered with her.
He placed his hands on her shoulders, looked into her eyes, and spoke. She tried to concentrate and managed to make out that he was praising her work. His eyes, however, seemed to hold more than appreciation for just her work, and she gave him an uncomfortable smile.
“Grazie,” Kate said.
She felt Giancarlo slip an arm around her waist protectively, but the words he spoke and the tone he used were friendly. He must dine with them soon, were Giancarlo’s closing words. She echoed his statement with a nod, though her eyes were focused over the man’s shoulder. He departed soon after, and Kate gave a sigh of relief. Before she could ask Giancarlo about the man, he was greeting someone else and falling into another easy conversation.
