“Raoul whispered, sipping his brandy. “Truly, an American classic. Look at that fog, so real.” He stood between Morgan and Felicity, gathered around her new painting. It hung at eye level against the rose colored living room wall of her California apartment. She had placed it in a plain cherry wood frame which offset the darkness of the subject. A small lamp hung above it, creating a spot light for the star. “Absolutely delicious,” Felicity said. “Can you blame me?” Morgan looked hard, but only ...saw a small girl on a farm, looking sad. This was classic art? He hesitated to admit he just didn’t get it. “I understand the temptation, ma chère,” Raoul smiled, “but was it not a miscalculation? Surely with patience you could have gotten a lead to the paintings you want from this De Camp, eh? Now, he would not speak to you, except perhaps with a gun.” “You could be right, lover, but I simply couldn’t leave such a prize.” Felicity sipped her Bailey’s Irish Creme and moved to the sofa to get the long view.MoreLessRead More Read Less
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