“Toscana seems to be all the rage back here.”

“I told you you’d do well. I knew it the moment I saw your first painting. I do think we should play up your countess title. It’s much more exciting owning something done by nobility.”

Eliana shook her head. “No.”

Marsha raised one eyebrow.

“Absolutely not.”

Marsha sighed, then conceded with a flourish of her free hand. “You’re too humble, Ellen. You’ve got to learn to flaunt. It’s marketing. But either way, things are going to just keep happening for you. That reminds me. I can’t believe I almost forgot to tell you. Do you know Boyd McCann?”

“No.”

Marsha reached into her purse and brought out a business card. She laid it on the table in front of Eliana. The card was burnt umber, with a large palm leaf in gold foil embossed with the name Boyd McCann and Associates.

“You met him last week.”

“I did?”

“Yeah, he’s a big Salt Lake City interior designer. Does all the Deer Valley, Walker Lane crowd. Only deals with the filthy rich, Hollywood ski bums, my kind of filth. He left me his card the other night. He wants you to do some private commissions.”

“Really?”

“Oh, it gets better. Are you sure you don’t remember him? He was that forty-something guy at the reception, the one with the cute butt and the Mercedes-Benz ragtop?”

Eliana remembered and grimaced slightly. “I remember him. He was the guy with fake hair, too much cologne and wandering hands.”

“And too much money, I might add. Well, he’s newly single. And he noticed more than your art.”

Eliana grinned incredulously. “Marsha . . .”

“Don’t kill the messenger, Ellen. Besides, this is a good thing. You can get a lot of work out of it.”

Just then the waiter walked up and refilled Eliana’s glass with ice water from a carafe. “Is everything okay, ladies?”

Marsha pointed to her bread plate. “What are these?”

He looked at the black pile of olives. “I’m sorry, ma’am. You didn’t want olives, did you? I’ll get you another salad.”

“Don’t bother, I’ve already picked them all out.”

The waiter held his hands out in surrender. “I’m sorry. Dessert’s on me.”

Eliana smiled sympathetically. “Mine’s great, thank you.”

The waiter smiled back at her as he took the bread plate and walked away.

“These waiters are all ski bums. This one’s hit a few too many moguls, if you ask me.” She turned back. “Give Boyd a call, Ellen. He thinks you’re gorgeous. And he’s right, you know. If I had your figure, girl . . .”

Eliana looked at the card but made no move toward it. “I don’t know.”

“Listen, girl, divorce happens. I’ve had three myself. It’s not the end of the world. It’s time you got back on the field and put some points on the board.”

“Points, huh?” Eliana glanced down at her watch. “I better get back over to the gallery.”

“Oh, go on. I’ll get the check. I’m still going to have coffee. And I’ve got a dessert coming. I hope this guy doesn’t expect a big tip.”