Chapter Four
Joy Awen put down the phone and stared into space.
The call had been from Cassandra Moúsa and Joy knew exactly who Cassandra was. She had seen enough of her in the papers to know that she would more than likely get Juniper off—even if he was guilty.
What could have been a complete disaster was now working in her favor. Joy couldn’t have asked for a better opportunity to launch an unknown artist onto New York’s elite collectors.
Joy sighed as she remembered the first time she had met Avgustin Juniper. It was at a party. Juniper was drunk, and somehow they had ended up sharing the same cab. Joy had seen something in him that made her curious enough to go up to his apartment. Of course Juniper hadn’t known who she was. She was just a woman he had met that he found vaguely attractive.
“I have wodka,” he had said throwing open the door after fumbling drunkenly for several minutes with the lock.
“I think maybe you’ve had enough to drink.” Joy had laughed.
She was about to leave, but then Juniper turned on the lights and she saw the studio. Most of the canvases were covered with old gray sheets and as Juniper went into his small kitchen to fetch them both drinks, Joy gave in to her curiosity and lifted the sheet up from the nearest canvas.
That was when she saw a painting of girl lying semi-clad on a chaise. The art was severely flawed. It was raw, sloppy, but so completely unspoiled that Joy knew immediately that Juniper was something new.
He returned with a glass of vodka, neat—not even any ice—and so she sipped it gingerly. She had found the drink to be surprisingly nice. A revelation because whiskey was her usual tipple.
“Good quality,” Juniper said, thick-tongued. “None of dot cheap European crop. Dis is d’genuine article.”
Joy looked him over. He was charming in a kind of unkempt way. Eccentric to the point of genius and it was obvious that he really didn’t know how good he was. She also found the accent sexy. She knew it would appeal to some of the wealthy frustrated women she often sold to. And it would make some of the business people feel like they were being very cosmopolitan.
She had pulled him to her and kissed him full on the lips. A few weeks later, this was exactly what Annabel Linton would do, in that very same room.
Juniper had responded as any red-blooded male would do and Joy let him lead her to his bedroom.
He stripped her. She was under no illusions about her figure, she was overly skinny, somewhat emaciated, despite the fact that she ate regular high-calorie meals. Her metabolism didn’t allow her to put on weight. And her breasts were the size of a twelve-year-old girl’s who hadn’t quite started puberty. Even so, she was striking and well-groomed. Her mouse-brown hair was nice when she let it down from the severe bun she always wore.
Plus, Joy loved sex, and she gave herself to it with enthusiasm.
Juniper was a rough, clumsy lover but she had enjoyed it. It was, after all, what she had been looking for when she had leaped into the cab with him in the first place. Vigorous sex with no strings: the best kind.
She had stayed the night and in the morning, while Juniper slept off his hangover, Joy looked at more of the canvases, particularly the one that currently stood on the easel. It was of a very young and naturally beautiful girl. She had the figure that Joy had always craved, slender but with curves, and her natural breasts were full and ripe.
Behind the sheets she had found more of the same girl, some portraits, some dressed as a goddess or other renaissance beauty. The poses and situations Juniper had chosen were somewhat clichéd but Joy liked the execution of them. There was a flow in the brush strokes that showed passion.
She had glanced over to the bedroom door, half expecting Juniper to find her looking at his art, but he was sleeping soundly. She wanted to know who the model was—why she inspired Juniper so much. After all, these pictures were clearly his best and contained the most detail as though they somehow deserved more care than all of the others. It was then that she decided to tell Juniper who she was.
Exhibitions in her gallery were coveted. Joy rarely gave space to unknowns because, first and foremost, she wanted to make money, but she had an overwhelming urge to help Juniper. She had taken him coffee and sat down on the edge of the bed and began talking nonstop as he pulled himself up into a sitting position.
“I love your art. You have real talent but it’s unfocused.”
Then she explained who she was and what she wanted to do for him. “I hope you realize what an honor this is, Avgustin. I don’t open my doors to just any artist and I will only do so if you listen to my advice. This makes me your art editor. There are some changes I’d like you to make to some of the paintings. There are too many of the same girl, and so you need to get in some new models, keep the bodies but substitute the faces with someone new. Otherwise there will be too much of the same thing.”
Avgustin was shocked, he didn’t touch the coffee and instead had demanded more vodka.
“No vodka,” Joy had said. “You have work to do.”
It hadn’t taken Joy long to persuade Juniper to do what she asked. He had, like all artists, wanted recognition, and now he had found it. With her help, he might even make some money too.
Back in the present, Joy blinked and looked down at her desk. It wasn’t much to ask but she was a little uncomfortable about promoting Juniper now that he was accused of murder. She was a businesswoman though, and she knew that this terrible tragedy was just the kind of publicity that would ensure a success for the exhibition. Already the private collectors were asking for a painting of the dead girl. It was somewhat distasteful, but Joy had decided to find the altered paintings and have them restored back to their original state. Juniper probably wouldn’t like it, but the contract he had signed with her gave her more authority than he realized.
She wondered at her own motives. She had been a little jealous when she had seen Annabel lovingly recreated on canvas. At the time, she hadn’t known whether the girl was important to Juniper or if she was even a real model. But it soon became obvious that real or imagined she had been his inspiration. All of the greats had them, and Joy understood that, but she had tried to control Juniper and had, in the process, almost destroyed the art that would make him truly famous. All except one that is. She had seen the new portrait on Juniper’s easel and she had known then, that this one was to be Juniper’s finest piece.
It brought her back to her conversation with Cassandra Moúsa.
“The portrait is unfinished,” Cassandra had said. “But I can persuade Avgustin to complete it.”
“He must be in a terrible state,” Joy said. “How do you propose to do that?”
“Leave it to me. If you find a private buyer that is willing to pay the price, Avgustin will do it. Money always talks in the end.”
“I have buyers. There … could be … an auction?”
“A private one,” Cassandra said. “If the press got hold of this, it might seem … offensive.”
Joy agreed to complete privacy. She didn’t want her reputation sullied any more than Cassandra did, plus she knew the collectors who would want this piece. One of whom she had sold several portraits to. He was particularly fond of Picasso, but Juniper’s fine art would appeal to him just the same with this kind of history.
Joy flicked through her contacts book and found the numbers of several potential, and discreet, buyers. Then she picked up her phone and began to dial. This one was a wealthy businessman.
An hour later she had set up an auction date and time with five different, prudent, buyers.