Trying to delete his toxic thoughts, he grabbed a glass of champagne and calculated how soon he could make his escape.
As soon as they reappeared he’d offer his congratulations and leave.
He needed to remember to say what was expected of him—Congratulations, so pleased for you, I hope you’ll be happy—not what he was instinctively driven to say: Are you both insane?
He paused, his eye caught by a display of jewellery: intricate silver artfully placed on silk the colour of a Mediterranean sky. The design was eye-catching and original, and the historian in him recognised the nod to shapes and styles used in Bronze Age Greece.
A woman approached and sent him a smile, her intention unmistakable.
Alec turned away without returning the smile.
He didn’t care if she thought him rude. Better to be rude now than have to extract himself later.
Another legacy of his marriage was his aversion to over-polished, high-maintenance women. His relationship with Selina had been six months of sex followed by an elaborate wedding and then two years of bitter arguments that had culminated in an acrimonious divorce.
At her insistence he’d attended two sessions of marriage guidance counselling, ostensibly to ‘learn about himself’. What he’d learned was that he didn’t like his wife any more than she liked him.
He’d also learned that he was better off alone.
He was too selfish to make a commitment to a woman.
He liked his life too much to sacrifice it for a relationship.
He glanced across the gallery again. The door remained closed, so he moved on. No doubt they were locked in a romantic moment, promising to love each other for ever.
With time to kill, he prowled around the gallery. He knew Skylar worked in a variety of mediums, but it was only as he studied the pieces on exhibit that he reluctantly began to appreciate the range and extent of her talent.
He paused by a large painting, recognising the rocky coastline of Puffin Island. He was no expert, but even he could see the composition was good. She’d captured the feel of the island perfectly—the sweep of sandy bay, the movement of the sea and the threatening hint of a storm in the sky. Looking at it, he could almost feel the salty spray on his face and hear the plaintive call of the gulls.
He felt a pang of longing for his cottage on the wild north coast of Puffin Island. In a week he’d be going back there, and he’d be staying for a month. Long enough, he hoped, to finish a draft of his book. He was looking forward to the solitude.
The painting had a red sticker, which meant that someone had bought it.
Good choice, he thought, and then he saw the tall, elegant pot in a dazzling shade of cerulean blue placed under a spotlight against a whitewashed wall.
Instantly he was transported to Greece. He could almost feel the heat and smell the scent of wild thyme and jasmine.
Of all the pieces in the room, this was the one he would have chosen to take home. He could see at a glance that its inspiration was a combination of Greek mythology and early Minoan ceramics. Skylar had artfully combined the old with the new and created a piece of startling beauty.
The crowd thinned a little more, but there was still no sign of Skylar.
A movement in the street caught his eye and he saw a tall, dark-haired man stepping into a waiting car.
Recognising him, Alec frowned. Why would Richard Everson be leaving alone?
He waited for Skylar to come running after him, wearing that skin-tight silver dress and a megawatt smile, but the car pulled away with only one passenger.
Ignoring the voice inside him that reminded him it was none of his business, he moved silently across the gallery towards the door he’d seen her enter.
He tapped lightly, received no answer and opened it anyway.
The room was empty.
It was clearly a storeroom. There were paintings against the wall, a table stacked with boxes, and—
A body.
Shit.