Silver Linings

I hang. I'm very commercially oriented. That means I can't use your experimental work.”
    “I know, I know. But I've got a series in mind that would be perfect for Sharpe Reaction clients.”
    “Ariel will have a fit,” Mattie warned gently. “She'll probably try to strangle us both. You know what she thinks about the kind of stuff I sell.”
    Flynn smiled wryly. “Yeah. Commercial schlock. Don't worry about Ariel. I'll handle her. This is between you and me.”
    “If you say so. Flynn, you know I'll be glad to look at anything you bring me. You really have a great talent. Ariel's quite right about that. You're just undiscovered, that's all. Unlike her.”
    “I'll tell you something, Mattie. Undiscovered talent is about as useful as feathers on a hog. Look, why don't I bring some canvases by in a few days?” He broke off and glanced toward the door. “Ah, there she is. About time she got here. Who's that with her?”
    Mattie turned her head to follow his glance. Her stomach clenched with a sick feeling that could only be jealousy. She fought to control it. “That,” she told Flynn, “is Hugh Abbott. Ariel was once engaged to him.”
    “Oh, yeah. The guy from her Elemental period, right?”
    “Right.”
    “That was really a dead-end direction for her,” Flynn said, dismissing Hugh with ease.
    “Yes, I thought the same thing at the time.” Mattie watched her sister descend like a queen on the gathering.
    Ariel was especially striking tonight. But, then, her sister always looked dramatic. Her lustrous black hair, translucent white skin, and exotic green eyes lent themselves quite naturally to drama of all kinds.
    Ariel applied the same intuitive sense of design to her clothes as she did to her art. She had favored black for years, ever since her Early Dark period. It still suited her, although her painting had become much more colorful. Tonight she was riveting in a totally black strapless gown and black high-heeled sandals.
    Her jewelry consisted of only a pair of jet earrings that dangled to her shoulders. Her sleek black hair was parted in the middle and worn in a shining wedge that gave her finely chiseled features the air of an Egyptian princess.
    The only touches of color on Ariel were her scarlet mouth and her startling green eyes.
    Mattie thought wistfully of the little red satin sarong she had brought back with her from the islands. It would have made quite a splash here tonight. But, of course, it would have been totally inappropriate, she told herself firmly. The conservative gray business suit and pastel silk blouse she had on was what she always wore to this sort of function. Only the artist was supposed to look exotic or outrageous.
    She saw Hugh scanning the room with an impatient glance. He was wearing the one jacket he owned, a rather battered-looking navy blue blazer over a white shirt and his usual pair of jeans. He also had on his boots. There was no tie.
    His eyes met hers, and she smiled wryly. He started toward her, leaving Ariel amid a circle of admires.
    “How well do you know this guy?” Flynn asked, helping himself to another canapé.
    “Why do you ask?”
    “Because he looks annoyed.”
    “That's his usual expression.” Mattie locked her smile in place as Hugh came to a halt in front of her and glanced pointedly at Flynn.
    “Hello, Hugh,” Mattie said. “I don't believe you've met Flynn Grafton. A wonderful artist. He married Ariel about six months ago.”
    Hugh nodded brusquely and shook the hand Flynn offered. “Congratulations,” he said crisply.
    “Thanks. I hear you're the guy from Ariel's Elemental period.”
    Hugh's expression got darker. “That's not exactly how I think of it.”
    “Hey, don't be embarrassed. I can see why you wouldn't want to be associated with that particular time frame in her work. I mean, we all know it was a useless digression when taken in the total context of her art, but the stuff she did during that period is very collectible. People are paying a fortune for it simply because it was such an odd detour, professionally speaking.”
    “Is that right?” Hugh muttered.
    “Personally, I've always kind of liked some of the stuff from that period. There's a certain rough-edged, primitive quality to it. Rather like early Ashton or Clyde Harding.”
    Hugh's mouth was a humorless line. “Look, do you mind if I talk to Mattie for a few minutes? In private?”
    “No, no, take your time,” Flynn said. “I'll see how Ariel's doing.