“In that case, I'm flattered. I can think of worse places to pitch a tent than Portofino. Are the three of you traveling together?” she asked Charlie, intrigued by the three attractive men. They were an interesting-looking lot. Gray looked in fact exactly as an artist should, she thought Adam looked like an actor, and Charlie looked as though he owned or ran a bank. She loved guessing about what people did. In some ways she wasn't far off the mark. There was something theatrical and intense about Adam, it would have been easy to imagine him onstage. Charlie looked extremely proper, even in T-shirt and jeans and Hermès loafers without socks. They didn't look like three playboys to her. They had an aura about them that suggested they were men of substance. She found Gray easiest to talk to, because he had opened the conversation first. She had been listening to their conversation, and liked what he said about the local architecture and art. Other than his one mistake about the date of the
Her dinner partners had paid the check and were ready to leave by then, and the whole group stood up. Sylvia followed suit, and as she walked around the table, all three of her new American friends noticed that she had great legs. Her friends glanced at the group at the table behind them then, and Sylvia made polite introductions as though she knew Gray and his friends better than she did.
“Are you going back to the hotel?” Adam asked Sylvia. The French girl had been looking at him, and he decided the man she was with had to be her father, since she was flirting openly with Adam, and showed no obvious interest in anyone else.
“Eventually. We're going to walk around for a while. The shops are open till eleven, unfortunately. I do too much damage when I come here every year. I can never resist,” Sylvia answered.
“Would you like to have a drink later?” Gray asked, getting up his courage. He wasn't pursuing her, but he liked his new friend. She was easy and open and warm, and he wanted to talk to her more about the local art.
“Why don't you all come up to the Splendido?” she suggested. “We seem to spend half the night in the bar. I'm sure we'll still be there at whatever hour.”
“We'll be there,” Charlie confirmed, as she hurried off to join her friends.
“Score!” Adam said, as soon as she was out of earshot, and Gray shook his head.
“I don't think so. She just wanted to talk about art,” Gray corrected, and Adam shook his head.
“Not you—me, dummy. Did you see that French girl at the other end of the table? She's with some old fart I thought was her husband, but I don't think he is. She was giving me hot eyes.”
“Oh, for chrissake,” Gray said, rolling his eyes. “You just got some last night. You're obsessed!”
“Yes, I am. She's very pretty.”
“Sylvia Reynolds?” Gray looked surprised, she didn't look like Adam's type. She was about twice the age of what he usually liked. She was more in Gray's range, although he had no romantic interest in her, just artistic, and she was a good connection for him to have. She was an extremely important woman in the New York art world. Charlie said he hadn't recognized her at first, but was now fully aware of who she was.
“No, the young one,” Adam corrected again. “She's a pretty little thing. She looks like a ballerina, but you can never tell in Europe. Every time I see a cute young thing, it turns out she's in medical school, or law school, or studying to be an engineer or a rocket scientist.”
“Well, you'd better behave yourself. She could be Sylvia's daughter, for all you know.” Although that wouldn't have stopped Adam. When it came to women, he was fearless, and without conscience or re-morse—to a point, of course. But he thought everyone was fair game unless they were married. There he drew the line, but nowhere else.
