Page 97 of Eternal Surrender

“How’d you hear about this place?” asked James.

“Well—”

“You know. . .” Lola viewed the small Virago hanging just in front of her. “The way I look at art is, if I can do something like that, why pay thousands?”

“You paint?” I asked.

“No.”

I gave a polite smile but suspected it was more of a grimace. “There’s several other Virago pieces you might like.” I gestured to my left. “And over there, we have a Trousseau. See how he captures light on the canvas?”

Lola took another sip. “It’s not exactly the Tate, is it?”

“That’s because Leiden is a private gallery,” I said.

“And the Tate doesn’t have a Trousseau!” Marcus appeared out of nowhere.

Lola seemed captivated with him and was subtly drinking in his shocking titian hair.

“This is Marcus,” I said. “Marcus, may I introduce James and Lola.”

“We have sculptures in the back.” Marcus glanced my way for permission. “They’re not on display to the public yet.” He bestowed a spark of intrigue. “Fancy a peek?”

“Are we allowed?” Lola asked.

“This is William’s gallery,” Marcus said. “So yes.”

“Oh god, I’m sorry,” Lola said.

“No offense taken.” I gestured to the waiter to top off her drink.

Lola held out her glass, her cheeks blushing. James squinted at Marcus as though checking him out.

“Has the inspector settled in yet?” I asked, knowing how James would react.

He turned to Lola. “Why don’t you go check out the sculptures?”

Sucking the Champagne off her lips, she headed off with Marcus. I gave a discreet warning he was to behave, but Marcus ignored me and reached for her hand, guiding her away.

My attention was back on James. “Lola and Ingrid don’t know about each other?”

“Lola’s just a colleague.” James peered over my shoulder.

When I saw the frosted pink smudge near James’s left ear, I suppressed my amusement. “So how long will Ingrid be in London?” I asked.

“She’s consulting on a case here.” He frowned when Lola disappeared from view. “Who’s that fellow?”

“Marcus.”

“Can he be trusted?”

“Absolutely,” I lied. “So you and Lola?”

“We’re just colleagues. We had dinner together to discuss a case.” He cleared his throat.

“I understand.”

“No really, Lola and I, we just. . . share the same chambers.” Suddenly, he seemed focused on getting the attention of a waiter. “Work-wise, of course.”