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"Who’s that?" Clara asked, pointing to the distinguished man beside Gamache

"François Marois"

Clara’s eyes widened and she looked around the crowded room Why was there no stampede to speak to the prominent art dealer? Why was Ar to Monsieur Marois? If these vernissages were for one thing it wasn’t to celebrate the artist It was to network And there was no greater catch than François Marois Then she realized few in the room probably even kneho he was

"As you know, he als and he thought your works were fabulous"

"Really?"

Even allowing for the translation from "art" fabulous to "normal people" fabulous, it was a compliment

"François knows everyone with money and taste," said the curator "This really is a coup If he likes your works, you’re made" The curator peeredto Probably some professor of art history"

Before Clara could say the man wasn’t a professor she saw Marois turn from the portrait to Armand Gamache A look of shock on his face

Clara wondered what he’d just seen And what itClara in the opposite direction "André Castonguay over there’s another catch" Across the rooure on the Québec art scene Where François Marois was private and retiring, André Castonguay was ever-present, the éer than Marois, slightly taller, slightly heavier, Monsieur Castonguay was surrounded by rings of people The inner circle wasout froallery owners and critics And finally, in the outer circle, were the artists

They were the satellites and André Castonguay the sun

"Let me introduce you"

"Fabulous," said Clara In her head she translated that "fabulous" into what she really meant Oh merde

"Is it possible?" François Marois asked, searching Chief Inspector Ga slightly he nodded

Marois turned back to the portrait

The din in the gallery was aluests crowded into the vernissage

But François Marois had eyes for only one face The disappointed elderly woman on the wall So full of censure and despair