myriad of devious paths they’d employed in amassing enormous wealth and influence.
Perhaps Sargasso was just as nefarious. If he had fifteen million dollars at his disposal, or a backer like the Japanese billionaire businessman, Moto, he could quietly buy up select items and offer them for sale just as quietly. Many collectors were pathologically secretive and didn’t even display the works they owned, preferring to keep them locked away in storerooms or cellars. Florence was home to many people like this, and they would make ideal customers for someone who preferred to conduct business outside the usual channels.
Caterina shook her head. She could never understand this hiding away of beautiful art that was meant to be appreciated and shared. Unless, of course, it was stolen or obtained in some other illegal way; then, of course, you couldn’t show it to anyone. Well, you could if you wanted to go to jail. Over the years, she’d been approached to participate in schemes of this nature but had always refused. It wasn’t her way to be dishonest. It was better to be a not-so-rich art dealer than a serpente nell’erba , or snake in the grass, as the Americans would say. She spun the letter opener on her desk, like a needle on a game of chance.
Just then her assistant, who’d been working in the tiny back room, entered the main gallery.
“ Ciao . I heard your visitors leave a few minutes ago. Do you have time to look at these papers now?” She placed a neat stack of invoices in front of her boss.
“ Yes, Fredericka, thank you. Now’s fine.”
“ Bene . Then I’m going to call Massimo to ask when the repairs to that frame he’s working on will be done.” She moved quickly back toward her small office. “He’s taking forever to fix it. Perhaps I’ll just go check on him myself.”
“ Wait just a moment, will you?” Caterina wondered why this usually calm girl seemed as nervous as a caged tiger. She had an idea, and perhaps Fredericka could help. “If you don’t mind, I’d like to ask you something.”
The young woman stopped abruptly and looked startled. “Ummm, of course.” She recovered her composure.
A native of Siena, Fredericka Bellabocca was tall and curvy with long black hair, mysterious black eyes, and a beautiful mouth as her name implied. A modern day strega , a striking witch with captivating powers.
Caterina had not failed to notice how men flocked around Fredericka, intrigued by her innate sensuality. Of course, Caterina realized that the girl was aware of her own power and usually had several men vying for her attention at once. Caterina smiled to herself. Traveling on behalf of the gallery, Fredericka dealt with private clients, museums, galleries, and craftsmen and knew many of the people in the business, especially the younger ones who so often fell prey to her charms. Her English was flawless, as were her French and Japanese, a definite plus in the international art world.
The perfect assistant. Caterina thought about how to phrase her question. She didn’t want to tell her assistant more than she had to or set her speculating. “I wonder if you’ve heard anything about a new dealer I may have missed who’s set up shop in Florence in the last year or two.” Caterina was assuming Sargasso had needed time to change his appearance and acquire the appropriate credentials. “He’s young, perhaps a bit older than you. If anyone might know him,” she added teasingly, “I thought it would be you, especially since I hear he’s tall and very nice looking …”
Caterina stopped abruptly. Fredericka had gone white as a ghost and was swaying on her feet. “Fredericka! What is it? What’s wrong? Here, sit down,” she gestured toward a chair.
Placing her hand on the edge of Caterina’s desk, the woman waved her off. “Nothing. It’s nothing. My stomach. I think the provolone I ate at lunch didn’t agree with me.” She
Perhaps Sargasso was just as nefarious. If he had fifteen million dollars at his disposal, or a backer like the Japanese billionaire businessman, Moto, he could quietly buy up select items and offer them for sale just as quietly. Many collectors were pathologically secretive and didn’t even display the works they owned, preferring to keep them locked away in storerooms or cellars. Florence was home to many people like this, and they would make ideal customers for someone who preferred to conduct business outside the usual channels.
Caterina shook her head. She could never understand this hiding away of beautiful art that was meant to be appreciated and shared. Unless, of course, it was stolen or obtained in some other illegal way; then, of course, you couldn’t show it to anyone. Well, you could if you wanted to go to jail. Over the years, she’d been approached to participate in schemes of this nature but had always refused. It wasn’t her way to be dishonest. It was better to be a not-so-rich art dealer than a serpente nell’erba , or snake in the grass, as the Americans would say. She spun the letter opener on her desk, like a needle on a game of chance.
Just then her assistant, who’d been working in the tiny back room, entered the main gallery.
“ Ciao . I heard your visitors leave a few minutes ago. Do you have time to look at these papers now?” She placed a neat stack of invoices in front of her boss.
“ Yes, Fredericka, thank you. Now’s fine.”
“ Bene . Then I’m going to call Massimo to ask when the repairs to that frame he’s working on will be done.” She moved quickly back toward her small office. “He’s taking forever to fix it. Perhaps I’ll just go check on him myself.”
“ Wait just a moment, will you?” Caterina wondered why this usually calm girl seemed as nervous as a caged tiger. She had an idea, and perhaps Fredericka could help. “If you don’t mind, I’d like to ask you something.”
The young woman stopped abruptly and looked startled. “Ummm, of course.” She recovered her composure.
A native of Siena, Fredericka Bellabocca was tall and curvy with long black hair, mysterious black eyes, and a beautiful mouth as her name implied. A modern day strega , a striking witch with captivating powers.
Caterina had not failed to notice how men flocked around Fredericka, intrigued by her innate sensuality. Of course, Caterina realized that the girl was aware of her own power and usually had several men vying for her attention at once. Caterina smiled to herself. Traveling on behalf of the gallery, Fredericka dealt with private clients, museums, galleries, and craftsmen and knew many of the people in the business, especially the younger ones who so often fell prey to her charms. Her English was flawless, as were her French and Japanese, a definite plus in the international art world.
The perfect assistant. Caterina thought about how to phrase her question. She didn’t want to tell her assistant more than she had to or set her speculating. “I wonder if you’ve heard anything about a new dealer I may have missed who’s set up shop in Florence in the last year or two.” Caterina was assuming Sargasso had needed time to change his appearance and acquire the appropriate credentials. “He’s young, perhaps a bit older than you. If anyone might know him,” she added teasingly, “I thought it would be you, especially since I hear he’s tall and very nice looking …”
Caterina stopped abruptly. Fredericka had gone white as a ghost and was swaying on her feet. “Fredericka! What is it? What’s wrong? Here, sit down,” she gestured toward a chair.
Placing her hand on the edge of Caterina’s desk, the woman waved her off. “Nothing. It’s nothing. My stomach. I think the provolone I ate at lunch didn’t agree with me.” She
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