I take a few photos of it, then I clean up the mess I made last night, dress quickly, and get on my bike. When I get into work, Larry is not in yet, so I open all the doors to remove the lingering smell of turpentine. It is strange that Larry should run an art gallery when he doesn’t like the odor of turpentine. Once I’ve dusted the surfaces in the showroom, and run the vacuum cleaner around the carpet, I change into the white shirt and black knee-length skirt that serves as my work attire.
By the time Larry comes in at half-past ten the air is filled with the aroma of freshly brewed coffee. Larry is a serious, bespectacled man, who looks like a younger version of Bill Gates.
“Good morning,” he greets formally, as he takes his leather gloves off.
“Hiya,” I greet, as I watch him unwrap the thick scarf from around his neck. He doesn’t like the cold much. While he hangs up his thick puffer jacket inside the cupboard, I start to fill his coffee mug. Wearing a yellow sweater, a striped black and white shirt; and a pair of brown slacks he approaches me. I hold the mug out to him.
“Thanks,” he says, and starts to turn away.
“Someone called Rocco Rossetti—”
The name is like magic, he whirls around to face me, his eyes shining with anticipation.
“Came into the shop last night while I was working out back,” I continue. “He indicated that he wanted to buy Miranda Taking a Bath. He says to put it away for him, and someone will come and pick it up on Thursday. Uh… he also left a cash deposit. A thousand dollars.”
Larry looks at me in disbelief. “The Count left a deposit! Are you sure that was him?”
I feel my face growing warm. “Um… yeah. He didn’t say he was a Count though.”
“Describe him.”
“Uh, blond, very handsome, beautifully dressed, good—”
He raises his hand to indicate I should stop babbling, and I shut my mouth with a snap.
For a moment he says nothing, then he smiles approvingly. “Well done, Autumn. There should be a nice commission for you in there.”
I grin widely. I’ve never had the chance to sell anything or earn any commission before. I’m just the minion and everybody usually asks to speak directly to Larry before they make a purchase.
“I guess I’ll finally be able to pay you back for all the paints,” I say.
He frowns. “Ah, no. Don’t do that. They were presents. It’s not often I see someone so talented and genuinely eager to paint and it gave me pleasure to encourage that passion.” He glances at his watch. “I’ve got to make some phone calls. Take the sold painting out of the window and replace it with…,” He pauses as he considers which painting would do best in the shop window. “One of Jerry’s, um… how about The Final Crucifixion?”
“Great choice,” I confirm.
He smiles then starts sprinting up the stairs to his office, only to stop halfway, and turn to me. “I’m catching up with my accounts today so I will have to work right through lunch. Will you pop out to Franks later and get me a ham sandwich?”
I nod. “Sure.”
He disappears out of sight and I hear his footsteps go to his office. I’ll have to wait until this evening to ask him about the mysterious Count Rossetti, but for the moment I can do some research of my own.
I reach for my phone and google Count Rocco Rossetti. I noticed last night he wore no wedding ring, so he must at least be in the list of ‘Most Eligible’ bachelors that magazines like to compile. I expect to find a trove of info, but after trying various spellings of his name, I come up with nothing.
Not one single entry, which is really, really odd considering he is titled, rich, and breathtakingly handsome.
Chapter 6
Autumn
Turns out Larry doesn’t know much about the Count either. He has come in a few times and bought some of Larry’s best pieces. The payment is sent from a numbered account in Switzerland, and there is no delivery address because he always gets someone to pick up the paintings.
Thursday comes by and a tall, thin man in a black suit comes to pick up the painting. He waits politely as I bring the securely wrapped painting out from the back. Then he thanks me and exits the shop. I stand at the door and watch curiously as he carefully puts it into the trunk of one of those narrow three wheel vehicles. Larry comes to stand behind me.
“Strange, isn’t it?” he murmurs.
“Yes, very strange,” I reply.
“I think the Count lives up the mountain, don’t you?”
I turn to look at Larry. “Really? Someone lives up there?”
“Well, that’s the rumor I heard when I moved here five years ago. Apparently, there’s a huge sandstone mansion up there.”