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t, I promised myself that from then on I was going to do only what I wanted.”“A half million.”“I’d been obeying commands for too long. Many of them didn’t make sense, but it was my job to follow them anyhow. Finally I was determined to be my own boss. The trouble is, I needed money and I broke my promise to myself. The man who hired me saw things differently than I did. He kept finding fault with my work and refused to pay me.”“That wouldn’t happen this time.” Potter’s tie had red, blue, and green stripes, the banner for an Ivy League club that would never have asked Malone to join and to which he would never have wanted to belong.“It didn’t happen then, either,” Malone said. “Believe me, I convinced the man to pay.”“I meant that this time no one would find fault with your work. You’re too famous now. Six hundred thousand.”“That’s more than any of my paintings has ever sold for.”“My employer knows that.”“Why? Why is it worth so much to him?”“He values the unique.”“Just for me to do a private portrait?”“No. This commission involves two portraits. One of the subject’s face. The other full length. Nude.”“Nude? Can I assume your employer is not the subject of the portraits?”Malone was making a joke, but Potter evidently didn’t have a sense of humor. “His wife. Mr. Bellasar doesn’t allow even his photograph to be taken.”“Bellasar?”“Derek Bellasar. Is the name familiar to you?”“Not at all. Should it be?”“Mr. Bellasar is very powerful.”“Yes, I’m sure he reminds himself of that every morning.”“I beg your pardon?”“How did you know I was here?”The abrupt change of subject caused a shadow of confusion to glide behind Potter’s glasses. He raised his brow in what passed for a frown. “It’s hardly a secret. The Manhattan gallery that r