Danielle Steel - 44 Charles Street

“That would work,” Francesca said again, gratefully. “I was getting worried.” He could see that she was, and he was sorry it was so difficult for her. He had suspected that Marya leaving would put an additional burden on her, and didn’t realize how heavy. Francesca lived with very little to spare. And Chris wanted to help her. He would be by splitting the mortgage payment with her, although it doubled his rent, but he’d have use of the whole house now. And they were going to be living there like a couple with a child, not just four roommates. “I’ve got some other ideas about how to make things easier for you,” he said simply. “Maybe we can talk about that another time.” She nodded, wondering what they were. But for now he had solved her problem, and she was deeply grateful.

Marya asked her if she was going to be okay, when they cooked dinner together that night. “I feel terrible leaving you in the lurch on such short notice, but Charles-Edouard kind of sprang it on me a few weeks ago, and I didn’t agree to it till last week. Will you be all right here?”

“I will now,” Francesca said, looking relieved. “Chris is going to help me.”

“I was hoping he would. What are your plans now, the two of you?”

“No plans for the moment.” Francesca smiled at her. “We’re just going to live here and hope for the best and see how it works out.” Marya hoped they would get married eventually, and Francesca was hoping the same for her. Charles-Edouard wanted to marry her as soon as his divorce came through. The dissolution papers were going to court in a few weeks, to be stamped by the judge, and then he’d be free. But Marya was in no hurry. Nor was Francesca. She’d been avoiding marriage all her life, and didn’t want to change her mind about it now, no matter how much she loved Chris, and she did. “I don’t want to be like my mother.” She had said that to Marya before, and to Chris.

“You couldn’t be in a million years,” Marya reassured her. “She’s a completely different woman than you are. I like her, but you’re just not playing in the same league she is.” Marya saw Thalia for what she was, a frivolous, spoiled, selfish, superficial woman, even if she was amusing, and a bit of a caricature of herself. But Marya respected Francesca profoundly, and loved her, like a daughter or a niece. “Even if you got married ten times, you wouldn’t be anything like her.”

“I’d rather not risk it. I wonder if she’ll ever find another victim. She’s been shopping for number six for years. You’d think she’d get tired of it and forget it, but she never will. She’ll want to get married again when she’s ninety.” They both laughed and suspected it was true.

She and Chris talked about their plans for the house that night. She was wondering when they should tell Ian.

“Do you think he’ll be upset if you move upstairs with me?” She looked worried, and Chris kissed her.

“Stop worrying. He’ll be thrilled to have his own playroom. I’m going to get him a big TV so he can watch movies. And we’ll just be up one flight of stairs.” They were both excited about finally sharing a bedroom. It was becoming a real life, not just a romance.

They had a lot to think about and to talk about, and Francesca reminded him that the following weekend they were going to Miami for Art Basel. It was one of the finest art fairs in the world, second only to the one held in Basel, Switzerland, in June. And there were a dozen other smaller art fairs being held in Miami that weekend too. Francesca could hardly wait, and Chris was coming with her. She was still shaken by Marya moving to Paris, and especially so soon, but they had a lot to look forward to, and their life together was just beginning.

He wanted her to come to Boston to be with his family for Christmas. Francesca had said she would, and Ian wanted her to, but the thought of it scared her to death. What if they hated her or thought she wasn’t good enough for him? She was just a little art dealer in the West Village, and the daughter of a famous artist. His family was chock full of important people.

“They’re going to love you. I promise,” Chris reassured her. She decided to postpone worrying about it till after Miami. Between Marya leaving, switching the house around when she left, Christmas with his family, and the art fair in Miami in less than a week, December was going to be busy.

Chapter 20

MARYA AND CHARLES-Edouard had agreed to baby-sit for Ian, when Chris and Francesca left for Miami for the weekend. She could hardly wait to see the different art fairs. There was Scope and Red Dot, and fourteen others, along with Art Basel, which was the finest in the world. The work that was exhibited there would sell for a fortune. Her father’s dealer had a booth, her father and Avery went every year, and she had promised to call them. Francesca and Chris were staying at the Delano, and when Chris saw it, he loved it. Each of the elevators was lit up in a different color, and the rooms had been designed by Philippe Starck. The weather was balmy and warm when they arrived, and Chris was dying to spend some time at the pool. Francesca wanted to go straight to the fair and get started. They’d be seeing more art in the next few days than most people saw in years.

Art Basel was at the Convention Center in Miami Beach in an enormous hall, and the others were at the Ice Palace and scattered around the city in different locations. Some of the smaller fairs had taken over hotels, and each room was rented by a different dealer. And there were parties in a dozen locations, in discos and hotels and restaurants. Francesca had received a stack of invitations. It was Chris’s introduction into the serious art world, by total immersion. He was excited about sharing it with her, and willingly put himself in her hands. But he stopped her before they left the room, and they wound up in bed for half an hour. It was a nice way to start the trip. They showered, changed, and went out.

They caught a cab at the hotel, and went to the Convention Center. There was a separate building for younger artists and more avant-garde work. Francesca’s dream was to show at one of the smaller fairs in Miami one day. She was planning to apply to Red Dot the following year, but didn’t feel she was ready for it yet. And she expected to spend several years on the waiting list. Getting into art fairs was extremely political, and often depended on who you knew. She had a great in through her father, but she hadn’t traded on it yet. She would if she absolutely had to.

“I’m never afraid to grovel for my artists,” she said to Chris, and he laughed as they got out of the cab at the huge hall. She had a pass from her father’s dealer to get in, and a few minutes later they were walking down the aisles, stopping at each booth to check out the art. Chris was amazed at what they saw. There were an infinite number of traditional dealers, selling important paintings. He saw three Picassos in less than five minutes, at astronomical prices. He saw a Matisse, a Chagall, two de Koonings, a Pollock, and two of her father’s paintings were exhibited by his dealer. One had a red dot next to it, which meant it was already sold. The other had a white dot, which meant it was on hold for a client. You had to have a big budget to buy there.

“Where does all this stuff come from?” Chris said in amazement. He had never seen so much art in his life, and the high caliber of the artists shown there was impressive.

“Europe, the States, Hong Kong.” Dealers from all over the world were showing there, and had flown in from everywhere. There were also a vast number of avant-garde galleries that were showing art that was intended to shock. There were video installations, conceptual art, and in one booth a huge mound of sand on the floor. It was selling for a hundred thousand dollars, and installed by the artist, who was well known.