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  “If I do look smart, I am quite sure you thought that I could not really be an artist because they inevitably wear some sort of fancy dress!”

  “That is just what Robin said, but at the same time he said many of them dress like artists because they want to be thought one and not because they are one!”

  Vincent laughed.

  “That is a typical Sir Robin remark. One day you will have to put them all in a book and publish it!”

  Alena held up her hands in horror.

  “Don’t suggest anything else for me to do as I have only just started on the house. Thanks to you the drawing room looks passable, but there are so many other rooms.”

  “We will do them all in good time, Alena, but my portrait of you comes first.”

  Alena did not argue with him.

  She was very much looking forward to having her portrait painted –

  Or rather, if she was honest with herself, to being with Vincent while he painted her.

  This morning, whilst out shopping, she had found him interesting on a great number of subjects besides art.

  Because he had travelled widely with his father, he told her endless stories about other countries, and he kept her laughing with his quiet but sharp wit.

  Robin had finished the cheese and drained his glass of the last drop of claret.

  “We will have coffee in the study,” he instructed Burley, as he rose from the table.

  Alena followed him as he walked to the door.

  As they made their way down the passage towards the study, he slipped his arm through hers and exclaimed,

  “I have more good news for you, Alena, and I am sure you will think I have been very clever.”

  “I always think so, Robin.”

  He smiled as he opened the door of the study and closed it behind them.

  “I have had a most exciting morning,” he breathed.

  He strode across the room to stand in front of the mantelpiece.

  “What has happened?” Alena asked quizzically.

  “I went over to the American Embassy to tell the Ambassador that you and I would be delighted to dine with him tonight.”

  “You did not tell me he had invited us.”

  “I forgot. It was just a casual invitation if we were not doing anything else.”

  “I would rather like to see the Embassy – ”

  “You are not just going to see the Embassy, you are going to meet the man you will marry!”

  Alena stiffened.

  “You are not serious, Robin?”

  “I am very serious. The Ambassador was telling me all about him and as he did so, I realised he is exactly the man we are looking for.”

  “What do you mean? Please tell me.”

  “The Ambassador said the party tonight is being given for a Mr. Finberg – Chuck, as he is usually called. I am not sure about his original nationality, but now he is an American and determined, the Ambassador said, to make himself one of the most influential figures in New York.”

  Alena was thinking that Robin could not really be serious.

  How could he choose a husband for her who neither of them had even seen?”

  “What I have learnt, Alena is that the one ambition Chuck Finberg really has is to make his house, which is on Fifth Avenue, the most distinctive and most outstanding home in the whole of New York.”

  “That cannot be so difficult if he can afford it.”

  “Afford it! He is a multi-millionaire not only with oil but every other commodity you can possibly think of!”

  He saw his sister look somewhat incredulous.

  “The Ambassador admires him greatly. He says Finberg will doubtless end up as President one day or in some other distinguished post where everyone will appreciate him.”

  Robin paused and obviously expected his sister to comment.

  After a moment Alena enquired slowly,

  “How old is this paragon?”

  Robin shrugged his shoulders.

  “He may be any age from the way they talked about him, but, as he has acquired so much and is so enormously rich, he must, I reckon, be getting on for forty.”

  Alena gave a cry.

  “Forty! But of course I cannot marry a man who is as old as that. He is nearly old enough to be my father!”

  “He may well be young enough for you, but it’s not his age that matters, but what he is worth.”

  Alena drew in her breath.

  “I have no wish to marry a man just for his money.”

  Robin was still for a moment and then he asked,

  “Have you thought of the alternative?”

  It was an impossible question to answer.

  “Please, please Robin, don’t make such plans too quickly. I know that our money will not last for ever and that we both have to be sensible, but to be honest I have no wish to marry an American.”

  “I can understand what you are feeling, old girl, but to be frank beggars cannot be choosers! You and I have embarked on this wild adventure and you cannot back out on me now.”

  “I only hope,” murmured Alena, “that Mr. Finberg does not want to marry me.”

  Robin walked across the room and back again.

  There was an uncomfortable moment and finally Alena said,

  “I do hope, Robin dear, we are upsetting ourselves unnecessarily. After all, if Mr. Finberg is as rich as you say, there will be a thousand women waiting to fall into his arms as soon as he looks at them. When we meet him, if he is really going to be there tonight, I don’t think he will give me a second glance.”

  “I rather think he will, Alena, as the Ambassador has already told him about our art collection. In fact he is far more anxious to meet us than we are to meet him.”

  “Does he realise he cannot buy the art collection?”

  Robin shrugged his shoulders.

  “I expect like all millionaires he thinks he only has to put his money down. But we will show the pictures to him and your friend Vincent can then copy one or two for him. I don’t suppose the New Yorkers will have any idea whether they are the originals or not.”

  “I think you are going far too fast and anticipating the impossible. I will do my best tonight to be polite and pleasant to Mr. Finberg, but I am already very positive that I have no intention of marrying him.”

  Robin was silent for a moment and then he added,

  “I don’t want to depress you, Alena, but the money we obtained to come to London and open up the house is being spent far quicker than I expected.”

  Alena made an expansive gesture with her hands.

  “I am not surprised, as I know the restoration of the house must be very expensive and the extra items we are buying, like the electrics and the appliances for the kitchen, have been far more than I anticipated.”

  “That was inevitable and, as you know better than anyone else, there is a great deal more still to be done.”

  Robin paused thoughtfully.

  “If you have to choose, Alena, would you prefer to give up Dunstead Hall in the country for ever or this one?”

  “I am not going to answer that question. When we last talked about it, you were going to marry Mary-Lee. In which case there would be no need for us to worry about Mr. Finberg or closing down one of our houses.”

  Robin walked across to the window so that he had his back to his sister and after a while he replied,

  “I have not asked Mary-Lee to marry me because at present she is being courted by a Duke and a Marquis. She asked me yesterday which was the more important.”

  Alena laughed.

  “I think if she is looking as high as that, it’s very unlikely that either of those gentlemen would marry her. You have forgotten, Robin, that in this country aristocracy marry their equals. Rich though she is, I don’t think that Mary-Lee’s ancestry would look so appropriate on a ducal family tree.”

  “That is true, Alena. So maybe I have a chance, but I would find the American twang first thing in the morning somewhat ov
erpowering!”

  “I feel exactly the same – ”

  Robin turned round.

  “Anyway, it’s all in the lap of the Gods, and it’s no use working ourselves into a huge frenzy over something that has not yet happened – so let’s go to the party tonight with open minds.”

  Alena wanted to assert that her mind was already firmly closed – but she thought it might be too contentious to say so.

  “We will certainly take a good look at him, Robin, and make him feel envious about our pictures. With all his millions he is not going to find a collection as good as ours in a thousand years.”

  “I am sure someone has already told him that, but, as you say, it will be amusing to make him envious and teach him, if nothing else, it is something he cannot have however much he wants it!”

  Unexpectedly he walked towards Alena, bent down and kissed her.

  “You have been wonderful so far, Alena, so don’t let me down now. Meet this Chuck Finberg without being prejudiced in any way before you arrive at the Embassy.”

  Alena realised her brother was speaking seriously.

  “I will do my best,” she promised.

  “And who can then ask for more?”

  Robin left the room without closing the door.

  Alena guessed that he had gone to inspect how far the workmen had progressed and if they were carrying out the instructions he had given them.

  She went up to the Picture Gallery to find Vincent, as she felt certain he would be back by now.

  He was there and she saw that he had brought all the paraphernalia of brushes and paints he would need.

  He was moving slowly along the Gallery, as if each picture he looked at would help him decide how he would paint her.

  He turned round when he heard Alena coming.

  “Burley told me that you were with your brother in the study, Alena, and I did not want to disturb you.”

  “We have finished our talk, Vincent, and now are you really going to start painting me?”

  “I have found a place for you to sit near a window and I think the light there is exactly what I require. At the same time I have no wish to bore you.”

  Alena smiled at him.

  “You could never bore me and I so enjoyed all the subjects we talked about this morning.”

  “I never met a woman with such a sharp brain and who invariably asks the right questions.”

  “And what would be the wrong ones, Vincent?”

  “I will tell you exactly. Most women only want to talk about themselves. If you mention anything else, they somehow manage to twist the conversation round to them.”

  Alena was listening and he continued,

  “Or they will tell you by a flicker of their eyelashes that you must pay them a direct compliment, which means that the following words will be about love!”

  Alena giggled.

  “I don’t believe for a moment that all women are like that – and certainly my mother was very different.”

  “Just as you are, Alena.”

  “So what do you want to talk about now, Vincent? When we left off our conversation this morning we were in Russia or was it North Africa?”

  “Now I wish to talk about you.”

  “But you have told me you would find that subject extremely boring.”

  “I said nothing of the sort, Alena, as I think about you, I dream about you, and I am surely not going to miss a chance of talking about you.”

  Alena laughed.

  “A very pretty speech, but I don’t believe a word of it. What I want to tell you is that you must get on with my portrait, as a man has arrived in England whom you may have heard of, called Chuck Finberg.”

  “I have indeed heard of him – ”

  “He wants to buy ancestral pictures for his house in New York and Robin has already suggested that if he fails to buy original masterpieces, you could paint a few copies for him. No Americans would know the difference!”

  “Chuck Finberg,” Vincent mused slowly. “I recall my father talking about him.”

  “He is apparently enormously rich and prepared to buy us up if we will grace his house. As far as I can make out, it’s a kind of Palace where he reigns as King!”

  “Are you suggesting,” Vincent asked quizzically, “that he might want to own you?”

  “I would hope not,” Alena answered quickly.

  At the same time because of what Robin had said to her, she could not help blushing.

  She turned her head rapidly, but she realised that Vincent had seen the colour come into her cheeks.

  He did not say anything.

  He only arranged the canvas he had brought with him on the easel and placed it in front of the seat he had prepared for her at the window.

  It was a low chair and Alena sat down and then, as she turned to look at him, he gave a cry,

  “That’s it! That’s exactly how you should look and the curve of your shoulders is just perfect. Don’t move, for God’s sake, don’t move!”

  He was starting to work and Alena remained still.

  She was glad he had wanted to paint her looking at him rather than looking away.

  She liked the way his hair was brushed back from his high forehead and then noticed for the first time how thin and straight his fingers were.

  In fact it was a hand that might have been attributed to John Singer Sargent whose brilliant paintings of hands was his trademark.

  The time seemed to rush by.

  Although Vincent talked very little whilst he was painting, Alena was a little surprised when Burley came to the Picture Gallery to announce,

  “Sir Robin is downstairs, Miss Alena, and waiting for you to pour out his tea.”

  “Is it tea-time already?”

  “It’s nearly a quarter-to-five, Miss Alena.”

  “Then we must go down at once.”

  She would have risen from her chair, but Vincent halted her.

  “Don’t move for a moment! Just give me time to make quite certain that you sit for me in exactly the same pose tomorrow.”

  His eyes were running over her, Alena thought, as if he had never seen her before.

  Then he smiled.

  “Now you are released and I swear that this is the best day’s work I have ever achieved in my whole life.”

  Alena looked at the canvas and he had done more than she expected.

  Although he had only produced a little preliminary work on her face, she thought it was already very like her.

  “You are not to look,” Vincent protested. “You are not to take any interest in it until I have finished. I do hate people trying to help with their suggestions before I have completed what I intend to do.”

  “I do promise I won’t. Come on, Vincent, and have your tea or Robin will think we are neglecting him.”

  She hurried down the Picture Gallery with Vincent following her.

  He had pulled off the smock he wore when painting and put on his jacket.

  He caught up with Alena on the stairs.

  “I have never had such a happy afternoon and I don’t know how to thank you, Alena.”

  “I enjoyed it too, Vincent.”

  They were halfway down the stairs when Vincent stopped and Alena looked up at him questioningly.

  “Is it the truth?” he murmured. “Do you swear to me it’s the truth?”

  “I enjoyed every moment,” Alena admitted again.

  Vincent did not answer, but his eyes met hers.

  For some reason she did not understand she felt as if her heart had turned a somersault.

  Then there was the sound of Burley or one of the footmen coming into the hall below.

  And they continued to walk down the stairs without speaking.

  *

  That evening, when Alena arrived with her brother at the American Embassy, she was surprised to see how big it was.

  She had visited quite a number of Embassies either with her father or when she had stayed with school friends during the
holidays.

  This one was certainly larger and more impressive than any of those she had seen and then she remembered a little cynically that, of course, it was provided by American dollars and that there had been no need for economy.

  The Ambassador with his attractive wife received them at the doorway of a huge drawing room that appeared to be already filled with people.

  “I am most delighted to welcome you, Sir Robin,” the Ambassador greeted them both, “and my wife has been longing to meet you and your sister.”

  They shook hands and then he and Alena moved away to join the crowd in the room.

  As they did so, a man came towards them and held out his hand to Robin.

  “I was told you were coming tonight, Sir Robin Dunstead,” he said, “and I have been looking forward to meeting you to hear about your magnificent art collection.”

  He spoke with a broad American accent.

  Before he introduced himself, Alena knew exactly who he was.

  He was nothing like as tall as Robin and not at all distinguished in appearance.

  Equally, as he spoke, Alena realised there was strength behind his voice and it made everything he said seem of importance.

  There was a powerful vibration that came from him which was unmistakeable.

  Just like Mary-Lee, Chuck Finberg did not seem to pause to draw breath.

  He talked to Robin about his pictures, his desire to see them and how much he had heard about them.

  He made it very clear that, if any of them were ever for sale, he wanted to be the first to be told – even without seeing what he was buying, he was prepared to bid for the whole collection, whatever the cost.

  Because he was so forceful, it took Robin some time to reply.

  He said that while he would be delighted to show Mr. Finberg his pictures, they were unfortunately not for sale as they were all entailed onto his son and then on for generations to come ad infinitum.

  Chuck was astonished.

  “Are you really telling me, Sir Robin,” he drawled, “that there is no chance of my ever having even one, let alone all of your pictures?”

  “Not unless I am really prepared to go to prison for selling them to you – which I am sure I should find very uncomfortable!”

  “Where there’s a will there’s also a way, Sir Robin, which I know to be one of your country’s mottos and has always been mine.”