A Fine Imitation Read Online Free PDF Page A

followed Bea out.

Vera awoke to find Arthur’s side of the bed cold and smooth. When he got home after she went to bed, he would usually sleep in one of the spare rooms rather than disturb her. She found him at the table in the dining room, dressed for work in a tweed suit. When she saw him like that, with his broad shoulders and black curls, she thought how formidable he must look to any rival. Like a nobleman visiting from the age of chivalry. He turned his ice-blue eyes from his newspaper to her when she entered.
    “Good morning,” he said. His mahogany-dark voice commanded attention, even in the noisiest room.
    “Good morning, dear. Long night?” Vera settled into the chair next to him and pulled her dressing gown tighter over her chest.
    “Very long. Negotiating contracts with the Wilhelm group.”
    “I hope you at least ate a little something.”
    He smiled, but quickly turned his attention back to the financial page. “I did, thank you.”
    “I worry about you being out so late.” She leaned in, hoping to catch his gaze again. “That’s the third night this week. And tomorrow you’re off to Chicago…when does your train leave? I could go down to the station with you, we could have a little lunch before you go.”
    “I wouldn’t think of it. Interrupting your schedule like that.”
    She reached for a piece of toast and took a small bite of the corner. “It’s no trouble.”
    He turned the page. “I have some notes to review for the meeting. Some other time.”
    She did not want to risk being a nuisance by pressing him. They ate the rest of the meal in silence, except for the brush of the paper on the table and the rattle of china. After his second cup of coffee, Arthur excused himself, kissing her lightly on the top of her head before going. The cool tang of his aftershave hovered above her long after he had departed. Vera closed her eyes and took a deep breath, enjoying the tingle of the scent in her nose.
    After the driver took Arthur to work, he returned for Vera. Her schedule had been open that morning, allowing her to get the gallery visit for her mother out of the way before lunch with the ladies. She gave George the directions, and he maneuvered the Packard into the flow of traffic.
    When they arrived, Vera almost missed the entrance to the gallery. The door was narrow with no awning, wedged between a large bank and a restaurant patio. She was within two feet of the entrance before she could see the small black sign. The white lettering read M. FLEMING: FINE ART , the only clue that she was in the correct place. Though she knew the signage must have been temporary while Fleming was setting up shop, the place had an air of exclusivity. One had to know the gallery was there to find it.
    She pushed the door open to reveal a long room with shining hardwood floors and a few framed paintings on the right-hand wall. The smell of lacquer and the gleaming white walls gave the old building a fresh, renovated feel. A pretty, dark-haired woman sat behind a desk against the left wall, and she stood when Vera entered. A quick shock pinched Vera’s nerves. She wanted to turn and walk right back through the door, but she stood still, willing herself to look calm. The woman looked just past Vera’s shoulder, her eyes indifferent.
    “May I help you?” she asked.
    “I’m looking for Mr. Fleming,” Vera said, her voice measured. “Is he in?”
    “He is. May I tell him who’s here?”
    Vera waited a beat. “Mrs. Arthur Bellington. I’m here on behalf of my mother.”
    The woman cocked an eyebrow. “Of course. Please, make yourself comfortable.” She crossed the long room to a door in the back wall and disappeared.
    But Vera now felt deeply uncomfortable, a slow heaviness settling in the pit of her stomach. She distracted herself by examining the room. A handful of sculptures stood in a tight crowd in the corner, as though they were deep in conversation. Vera stepped closer to one of the paintings, a