JAVIER (8 page)

“You left my car in a London street Javier. My new
Porsche. Thankfully the boys on the clean-up team got it back to my garage.
They had a spare key.”

This was about a car? That reminded her;

“Did they find my bike in the alleyway? A black Honda?
Javier shot it up and made me crash.”

Javier gave a bark of laughter;

“Unbelievable! You had just assaulted me as I recall.”

“Now now children.” Rafe purred; “I’ll get someone to
have a look Cassia. If it’s still there I’ll ask them to get it repaired and
park it in my garage. Now, may I take you in to dinner?” He took her arm and
slipped it through his own.

Cassia turned to look for Flavia, her mouth dropping
open as she saw her laughing softly and shyly at something the man holding both
her hands was saying. Her sister was holding hands with Chronus the Empath!
Casting a frantic worried look at Javier she allowed Rafe to lead her out of
the study.

As they emerged back into the hallway a girl of about
ten hurtled down the stairs;

“Papa! Papa! Rosa said you were here!”

Javier ran to meet her and as she neared the bottom of
the staircase the child simply launched herself into the air straight at him.
They were both laughing as he caught her and spun her round and round as they
chatted to each other in rapid Spanish. His love for his daughter was written
so plainly on his face it made Cassia’s heart ache afresh with longing for her
own father. Unhooking her arm from Rafe’s she moved closer prompted by a sudden
desire to watch the two of them together.

As Javier put his daughter down she kept hold of his
hand and looked up at Cassia with her father’s golden brown eyes;

“Papa, quien es ella?”

“In English mi tesoro; this is Miss Mathrafal. She is
helping us with some work for a few days. Cassia, this is my daughter Beatriz.”

Cassia dropped to one knee and solemnly offered her
hand.  The girl was beautiful and she noticed with a pang of conscience that
her thick wavy hair was a rich chestnut colour. She’d got that from her mother.

“How do you do Beatriz?”

“Are you a warrior like Papa?”  Cassia’s hand was
shaken with dignity.

“No, I’m more interested in art.” She ignored Javier’s
stifled snort of laughter,

“Oh, then you’ll like it here. There are lots of
beautiful paintings; my favourite is the sunflower picture that hangs in the
breakfast room.”

Cassia felt her breath freeze;

“Sunflower picture? Why do you like that one?”  Surely
not, it couldn’t be.

“I’ve only seen the sun in movies obviously but it
makes the room feel filled with light and warmth. It’s a very happy picture and
that is strange because the painter was a sad man who had his ear cut off. Did
you know that?” Beatriz related happily in her lovely, soft Spanish accented
English.

“I’d love to see it Beatriz.” Oh, she certainly would,
a possibly hitherto unknown Van Gogh? It was a dream come true. That Chagall up
there and a Van Gogh…what else might there be?

“Well, if you’re staying, you’ll see it at breakfast.
Would you like to see my sketchpad too?”

“You are an artist? Yes, I would love to see it.”
Cassia looked up as Javier bent to his daughter;

“Run along now Bee, Rosa will be wondering where you
are, it is past your bed time.”

Beatriz hugged him then smiled up at Cassia, a wide
infectious smile.

“See you at breakfast. Come down early, before
everyone crowds in. I had better hurry upstairs, I escaped from Rosa.”

She started to dash off then came back and dropped a
small old-fashioned curtsey;

“It was nice to meet you Miss Mathrafal. She’s very
pretty Papa, don’t forget my bedtime kiss.” then she ran back upstairs, turning
at the top to give her father a wave.

“She’s gorgeous Javier. Are there lots of children
here?”

Javier was still smiling and his eyes shone.  Cassia
experienced an unsettling yearning sensation in the pit of her stomach.

“A few, four others living in the chateau itself and a
further four who live with their parents on the Island; they are all educated
together.”

“Is the Island big, are there many people living
here?” she had heard accounts of the Comte de LaSalle’s fortress island but had
no idea about its size.

“Yes, quite big and very beautiful. We have a thriving
community here, Vampire and Half-blood.” Javier stopped as Rafe joined them
again.

“Coming Cassia?”

“I need to check on Flavia.” Cassia glanced anxiously
towards the study then froze as her sister came out on Chronus’s arm. One look
at the Empath’s face was enough to confirm that he had joined the list of men
smitten by Flavia’s delicate fragile beauty. Good luck to him, thought Cassia
savagely, Flavia had never fallen for any of them.

“Looks like Chronus is taking good care of her.” Rafe
laughed;

He rested his hand lightly against her waist as they
went in to the dining room.

Two hours later Javier pulled the blankets up round
Beatriz’s chin and kissed her gently on the forehead. Sitting on the edge of
the colourful bed covered with an assortment of fluffy toys he watched his
daughter’s sleeping face. Almost four months had passed since he had brought
her to the Island to live with him. After Charlotte’s death he had left her with
his parents in Spain; he had barely been capable of looking after himself let
alone a two year old child. He had visited whenever he could. It had been Hera
who had suggested he bring her to the Island to live and it had been the best
thing he had done for years. She filled him with happiness and it was good for
her to have the company of other children.

Moving quietly into his adjoining bedroom he went
through the usual motions of getting ready for bed then stretched out between
the cool sheets trying to relax his body. He felt tense and wired up. He was
stuck with babysitting Cassia Mathrafal and he was sure she wasn’t going to
make life easy for him.  The sooner he could send her packing back to her very
dubious lifestyle the better.

He turned restlessly onto his stomach and buried his
head in the pillow. He could hear Cassia’s voice in his head singing to young
Rose and the image of her face, gentle and tender flashed into his mind; so
different from her usual wary combative glare. Rafe had certainly made her
laugh; he had watched the two of them together all through dinner as that low
hum inside him seemed to grow louder and louder.

Javier threw himself onto his back again and stared up
at the ceiling as he touched his hand to his mouth. Sweet and rich like wine;
he had no idea why he had taken her wrist and closed up those wounds, tasting
her blood. It had felt as though he was being drawn across the room to her side
without any conscious thought. The scent of her filled his senses every time
she was near him; exotic and sensuous like frankincense.

With an exasperated curse he got out of bed, switched
on a lamp and uncapping the bottle of single malt sitting on the chest of
drawers poured himself a generous measure. His eyes fell on the framed
photograph of Charlotte and he picked it up and stood looking at it as he
sipped.

He felt guilty; as though he was being unfaithful.
Cassia was not his type, she was not. If he shut his eyes he could see her
standing in LaSalle’s study; tall and long legged in her black clothes and
biker boots with those flashing deep blue eyes and silky raven black hair
sweeping down past her waist. She reminded him of the heroine from LaSalle’s
son’s favourite film about the tomb raider.  Yes, she would have been perfect
for that role. Yet he sensed a vulnerability and softness about her that she
hid behind an outward show that was all aggressive sharp edges and attitude.

Javier sighed and returned the photograph to its
place, running his forefinger gently over Charlotte’s image. No, Cassia was
definitely not his type and it was obvious he wasn’t her type either. She was
awkward, prickly and skittish around him whereas she’d laughed and flirted with
Rafe as though she’d known him for years. She had obviously fallen for his
brand of worldly urbane sophisticated charm. Tossing back the last of the
whisky he got back into bed where sleep eluded him for hours until he finally
fell into a restless troubled doze.

CHAPTER 8

Cassia sat moodily on the bottom step of the great
staircase waiting for Beatriz. She had only exchanged a few words with Javier
after dinner; he was going to accompany her to London to meet up with one of
her contacts. She wished she could go on her own but she had given LaSalle her
word. Reluctantly she admitted to herself that it would be a sensible
precaution to have Javier as back-up but she had lied to LaSalle and she didn’t
know how Javier would react when he found her out.

She had broken one of the Ancient Laws; a law
specifically written to protect their kind. Cassia sighed, it was hard to
believe that she was stuck here but it wasn’t as though there was any pressing
need for her to be doing anything else. Money was fine at the moment, that job
she had done three months ago in Florence had netted her a cool quarter of a
million dollars.

The truth was she didn’t need to steal paintings
anymore; she and Flavia were wealthy thanks to the jobs she had done over the
last century. No, nowadays she took on the very few jobs she did simply for the
challenge. She had lost her focus and she was drifting, planning and executing
increasingly complicated thefts filled up an empty space in her life. It was so
different for Flavia.  She travelled all over the place enchanting audiences
with her beautiful voice and the way she could hold a gathering spellbound when
she told her stories and legends. Cassia was happy to support her, do the
admin, bank the comparatively small payments she received and carry her
instruments and bags. She was proud of what Flavia had accomplished.

Perhaps she should spend more time trying to build a
better relationship with her mother. Even as she thought this Cassia dismissed
the idea; she had always been closer to her father, it was Flavia who was her
mother’s favourite. In addition, her mother had always hated what she did even
when it had put food on the table and paid the bills. She had a son now with
her second consort and she was very happy. No, Cassia decided, best to leave
well alone.

She felt herself sliding further into gloom and jumped
as a hand tapped her on the shoulder;

“Miss Mathrafal, are you day dreaming? I called you
twice from the top of the stairs and you were very far away.”

Cassia smiled as Beatriz came round and stood in front
of her, a large sketchpad tucked under her arm.

“I’m sorry Beatriz. You’re right, I was miles away.
Now, if you and I are going to get along do you think you could call me Cassia?
I always feel I’m in trouble when people call me Miss Mathrafal.”

Beatriz laughed, “I know what you mean; when Papa gets
cross with me he always calls me Beatriz Isabella Carlotta de Seville, just
like that!”

She did such a good impression of Javier that Cassia
started laughing too. Beatriz glanced up the stairs then leaned forward
urgently;

“Soon they’ll all be coming down for breakfast. If we
hurry we’ll get to look at the sunflower painting in peace. Come on.”

Turning, she hurried across the hall and Cassia jumped
to her feet and followed her. They entered a large cheerful room filled with
the fragrance of fresh coffee percolating on a large dresser and the
mouth-watering aroma of newly baked bread and croissants but all Cassia saw was
the painting that had pride of place on one of the walls. She restrained
herself, waiting until Beatriz took her hand and led her across the room till
they were standing right in front of it.

“Now Cassia, that’s my favourite painting in the whole
house. Can you see why?”

Cassia found it hard to speak. Her heart was hammering
with excitement and tears of joy pricked at her eyes. She was always like this
when she came face to face with a painting she loved. She cleared her throat
and was surprised that she managed to sound so calm;

“Tournesols. That’s French for sunflowers Beatriz as
I’m sure you know. This is without doubt one of the first series he did in
Arles. A very, very good one indeed. I thought I’d seen all the Arles sunflower
paintings but obviously not. Sunflowers you see, made him feel happy. He
painted this and the other sunflower paintings to decorate the studio he was
going to share with his friend, another great artist called Paul Gauguin.
“Nothing but big flowers” he was reported to have said.”

“Well it makes me feel happy. I love it. Do you see
how it fills the room with golden light? That must be what the sun is like.”

Cassia looked down. Beatriz’s lovely face was rapt as
she looked up at the painting and Cassia knew at once that here was a kindred
spirit.

“You have the heart of an artist Beatriz. Do you know
how this painting came to be here?”

“Oh, Ysabeau had it before she was joined to LaSalle
and came to live here. She’s got loads of paintings. She sells some of them
sometimes, secretly, and gives all the money to poor children. Philippe told
me. This year she sold a Picasso.”

Cassia was stunned. The whole art world had been
humming with speculation a few months ago when a small hitherto unknown Picasso
had been put up for auction by an anonymous owner. It had gone for over sixty
million pounds. She had watched the proceedings with excitement, wondering who
the seller could be. My God, it came from right here, from this house. Oh, if
only she could get a look at Ysabeau’s paintings, what other treasures might
there be?

Dragging herself away she turned to Beatriz and pulled
out a chair.

“Show me your work. I see you brought your
sketchbook.”

Shyly Beatriz handed her the book, her expression
anxious;

“They’re nothing like the sunflowers Cassia. They’re
things and people I see every day; nothing exciting.”

Cassia looked slowly through the book. The child had
huge talent; the natural eye of an artist and a sensitive and fluid style.
There were trees, flowers and bits of landscape but what really drew Cassia’s
eyes were the sketches of people. Beatriz seemed to capture the very essence of
her subjects. She turned a page as the child murmured;

“There is Papa. I’m pleased with that one.”

She should be, thought Cassia.  There was that face
that looked as though it belonged to a renaissance prince instead of a warrior.
She had captured his sensitive mouth, untidy hair and the slight sadness hidden
in his eyes. She looked up at Beatriz;

“You are indeed an artist. You must draw and draw and
you will get better and better. That’s what all the great artists did.”

The child blushed, a broad smile lighting up her eyes;
not Javier’s smile thought Cassia, probably her mother’s. There was the sound
of footsteps in the hall then Javier looked in;

“There’s my beautiful girl. I see you’ve been sharing
your favourite painting with Cassia.”

Beatriz beamed as she hugged her father;

“Yes, she knew loads about it and she looked at my
drawings and says I’m an artist too. Papa, are you leaving again?  You’re all
dressed up.”

He was, thought Cassia admiringly as he dropped to one
knee to talk to Beatriz. He was obviously ready for their evening ahead in
London and had dressed formally as she had advised. She wasn’t sure she had
seen anyone look that good in a tuxedo before; every woman in the place would
be checking him out when they got to Harry’s.

Beatriz reached out with a delicate feminine gesture
and straightened his bow tie then brushed down the lapels of his jacket;

“Is Cassia going too? We were just talking, you
haven’t had breakfast.”

“I’m afraid so Bee. We’ll grab a coffee and a quick
bite. I’m sure Cassia will want to change. I’ll bring her back later.”

Beatriz turned to Cassia;

“Promise you’ll come back. I could draw you. Are you
going to put on a dress?”

“I promise Beatriz.” Cassia looked down at herself
then at Javier; “I had better put on a dress hadn’t I? I can’t have your dad
all dressed up and me looking like this.”

Damn it all, she would have to take Javier to her
place in Bloomsbury so she could change clothes.  She had never taken anyone
there before, not even Flavia. Beatriz gave her father a quick hug and, picking
up her sketchbook and a warm pain au chocolat turned to leave;

“See you later. We can talk about paintings. There are
more you know.” The door shut behind her and they heard her rapid footsteps
crossing the marble hall.

“She likes you,” Javier poured Cassia some coffee and
passed her a basket of fresh rolls. Cassia noticed the slight shadows under his
eyes, as though he hadn’t slept well. She sipped her coffee but turned down the
rolls, she was too tense to eat.

“I like her back. She’s very talented Javier and has
the heart and eye of an artist. You should encourage her as much as you can.”

He smiled; “It’s good to see her so animated. After
her mother died she grew up with my parents, always in the company of adults.
She rarely mixed with other children till she came here; I worry sometimes that
she is too serious.”

Cassia fiddled nervously with her coffee cup;

“How did her mother die Javier? You don’t have to tell
me if you don’t want to.”

Javier finished his coffee and walked over to the
windows as the shutters rolled up with a low rumble. The sun had set.

“She was blown up by a terrorist bomb in a Cairo
restaurant. Thirty others died alongside her. There was barely anything left of
them. I should have been there too; we were meeting for dinner but I was
working and had got delayed.”

Cassia watched as he stared out at the last flushes of
red streaking across the sky, his back straight and rigid;

“I’m so sorry Javier. It was lucky for Beatriz though
that you were late, she may have lost both her parents otherwise.”

Javier turned and smiled bleakly;

“I suppose so. It did not feel lucky at the time. Now,
are you ready to go? I will follow your lead tonight in everything but security
issues. Is that clear?”

Cassia nodded as she followed him outdoors ready to
shift. Something was up with him. He was distant and formal as though he had
withdrawn into himself. How was he going to react later in the evening once the
truth of her relationship with Harry was exposed?

“Where are you taking us? I hope you realize you are
only the second person I have ever allowed to be in control when I travel
through space…apart from my parents when I was a child that is…” Javier
grumbled as he grasped her round the waist and pulled her close. Cassia cleared
her mind as she concentrated; the other person must have been Charlotte. They
hadn’t moved, she was distracted. Summoning all the power in her mind she
visualized the co-ordinates and their destination then felt a flash of relief
as they slid between dimensions.

They came to a halt in the daintily proportioned
living room of her mews house in London’s Bloomsbury.  Cassia jumped away from
Javier and rapidly disarmed the sophisticated alarm system she had installed.
She stepped back right into him; he had come up behind her and was peering over
her shoulder;

“Hm, very advanced. Have you got something to hide
here Cass? Where are we anyway?”

Cassia dodged round him;

“I just like my privacy that’s all. It would take
someone as good as me to break into this place. You’re in Bloomsbury Javier; I
bought this little place in the nineteen sixties. It was terribly fashionable.”

Javier wandered round the living room and looked into
the neat kitchen;

“Is this what they call bijou?” he dwarfed the place,
Cassia thought, watching him prowl around.

“It’s big enough for me. Living and dining room
combined down here and the kitchen and a large bedroom, bathroom and box room
upstairs. It’s a mews house Javier, they’re all bijou. I’ve also got a garage,
very rare in London I can tell you.  Look, I’ll get you a drink while I go
upstairs and change. I’ll drive us to Harry’s in my car, that’s what I normally
do. Best to blend in completely. There’s a TV if you’re bored, I’ll be as quick
as I can.”

Javier accepted the drink she handed him and settled
down on the comfortable sofa. Idly he picked up the remote control and flicked
through the TV channels till he came to the news. He watched half-heartedly as
his mind wandered. It would be a miracle if she was quick, in his experience
women took ages getting into evening clothes. He sipped his drink and smiled;
it was a rare single malt whisky, not his favourite but an excellent one; her
favourite perhaps.

He heard the shower go on upstairs and had a sudden
image of Cassia standing under the water with her head tipped back as soap suds
slid slowly down…oh hell! Shaking his head to get rid of the picture Javier
jumped to his feet and carefully examined the room. It was expensively
furnished with stylish yet functional and comfortable pieces in a style
reminiscent of nineteen thirties Art Deco. The bookcase was crammed with books
about art and art history. On a table stood an old fashioned record player and
a stack of records; mostly operas and songs popular in the nineteen thirties
and forties. He wondered if she liked to dance; it had been a very long time
since he had held a woman in his arms and danced to something slow and
romantic.