The Twelve Crimes of Hannah Smith
Crime 3 - Rites of Passage
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The Twelve Crimes of Hannah Smith is a set of crime stories which will only be available on this website. A new crime will be added bi-monthly. These crime stories will build into a set of twelve which forms the prequel to the feature length crime thriller trilogy The Virtue of Dishonesty, of which the first part is The Dog & The Eagle - to be published only here. In the meantime, why not check out the following published thrillers (which have a romantic side to them as well) -: Dust Jacket The Inspector Fenchurch Mysteries Zac Tremble Investigates Revelation & Exodus The Baker |
Flushed from her dance class, Hannah sat down at one of the tables at her favourite café; the one on the harbourside, and watched the yachts gently sway on the incoming tide. She was “holidaying” in Saint Tropez and feeling quite relaxed; then she did have somewhere in the region of 1.4 million francs.
Unsure of just how dishonest Boehme was, she’d ditched the fake IDs he had obtained for her and had purchased new ones, directly from the associate who worked out of Nice. Not having paid for the ones which Boehme had obtained for her, they represented no loss. This was something she was beginning to understand better; this trading account in crime.
Hannah guessed, rightly, that Boehme both admired her confidence and was jealous of it. Only the threat to expose some of his secrets kept him from giving the names on the fake IDs to his friend at the police headquarters. She didn’t trust him and had dumped the fake IDs, promising herself that she would avoid “go-betweens” in the future; they had the least amount to lose in her opinion. It also reminded her that this was no game. The career - if that was the right word - provided the adrenalin rushes she craved. In some respects, the money was a bonus, especially now.
Hannah’s strengths lay in her impeccable memory and in her confidence. She also saw things which others didn’t, and made acquiring skills and picking up information, habits of a second nature, spending three hours a day scouring the international press. Attended classes and perfected her disguises, the daily pain beurre.
When she got up in the morning, it could very well be that she said, “Today, I am a German student” or “an English teacher” or “a Spanish journalist”, and for the whole day, she would live and breathe the persona.
Rigorous study was resulting in exceptional language skills; she spoke English and French like a native, German and Spanish to an advanced level, and Japanese and Russian to an acceptable level. She could make herself look twenty years older, and looked just as comfortable in haute couture as she did in M&S off the peg. Dancing and working out sought to counteract the terrible habit of smoking twenty cigarettes a day.
Hannah had arrived in Saint Tropez in late August. The season was dying a little and it had been easier to find a room than she had expected. A car allowed her to drive frequently to Nice and occasionally to Toulon and Marseille. Itching to test all of her skills, she had decided that she’d needed a job that sealed her reputation as a professional thief of priceless art treasures.
Her choice of café seat had been deliberate; it gave her full view of the yacht Aristotle, owned by the German industrialist Gerhardt. He was currently hosting a lunch party for some close friends. After half an hour, Hannah left the café and made her way to a gallery in town where she had a “friend”; they took lunch together. The young woman was in Hannah’s dance class and Hannah had made Sophie’s acquaintance pretty quickly after she had found out where Sophie worked.
To Sophie, Hannah was Madeleine or Maddy.
“Sophie; I need your advice.” Hannah opened up the conversation at lunch.
“What is it, Maddy?”
“I want to buy a painting, something of an investment for the future.”
“I have just the painting for you …”
They lunched and all the while, without making it obvious, Hannah pummelled Sophie for information about up and coming artists, local collectors, how the gallery business worked and who was spending the real money. In return, she gave away very little but did an excellent job of turning a few bare facts into a colourful tapestry. Sophie was a little awed by her and sat basking in the glow. They left and went back to the gallery to see the picture which Sophie had suggested might be the ideal investment.
“It is a minor work but that is also reflected in the price. All the major works are being snapped up by the Japanese banks and it won’t be long before the minor works see their value ... in the end, there simply won’t be anything else left to buy.”
Hannah was standing before a Paul Scholar; a minor Impressionist painter from Holland. The piece was a self-portrait and about the size of a large cornflake’s packet.
“His major works have begun to attract a lot of interest. I would say that soon you could not buy this for less than two hundred and fifty thousand francs. At one hundred and fifty thousand francs, it is a real bargain ... and if you promise not to tell anyone, especially the owner, I can tell you that the gentleman moored in the harbour, Gerhardt, is very interested …”
“Is he? It would be a sound investment and I simply adore the Impressionists; I’ll take it!” said Hannah with real joy in her voice; not that the picture was her object because Gerhardt was her quarry this time.
“If I sell it then I’ll earn the commission too.”
“Excellent! Where is Amelia?”
“Marbella, with Godfrey; due back at the weekend.”
“I’ll have the money on Friday; will you still leave it on display?”
“Oh yes; that’s policy. But I can take it down if you prefer.”
“No; leave it on display. Please don’t sell it to anyone else …”
Hannah left the gallery and skipped back to her room to fully hatch the plan. Her research thus far on the industrialist Gerhardt had been very illuminating; a self-made multi-millionaire, German by birth, married and divorced twice; currently wooing a French actress who lived in Saint Tropez. He owned the yacht Aristotle and had an extensive collection of Impressionist paintings, many of which were displayed on the yacht.
“I need an invitation to get aboard,” she said to herself and started to practise her German while she memorised the auction prices of all of the lots in the last three Impressionist sales ... and painted her nails.
Unsure of just how dishonest Boehme was, she’d ditched the fake IDs he had obtained for her and had purchased new ones, directly from the associate who worked out of Nice. Not having paid for the ones which Boehme had obtained for her, they represented no loss. This was something she was beginning to understand better; this trading account in crime.
Hannah guessed, rightly, that Boehme both admired her confidence and was jealous of it. Only the threat to expose some of his secrets kept him from giving the names on the fake IDs to his friend at the police headquarters. She didn’t trust him and had dumped the fake IDs, promising herself that she would avoid “go-betweens” in the future; they had the least amount to lose in her opinion. It also reminded her that this was no game. The career - if that was the right word - provided the adrenalin rushes she craved. In some respects, the money was a bonus, especially now.
Hannah’s strengths lay in her impeccable memory and in her confidence. She also saw things which others didn’t, and made acquiring skills and picking up information, habits of a second nature, spending three hours a day scouring the international press. Attended classes and perfected her disguises, the daily pain beurre.
When she got up in the morning, it could very well be that she said, “Today, I am a German student” or “an English teacher” or “a Spanish journalist”, and for the whole day, she would live and breathe the persona.
Rigorous study was resulting in exceptional language skills; she spoke English and French like a native, German and Spanish to an advanced level, and Japanese and Russian to an acceptable level. She could make herself look twenty years older, and looked just as comfortable in haute couture as she did in M&S off the peg. Dancing and working out sought to counteract the terrible habit of smoking twenty cigarettes a day.
Hannah had arrived in Saint Tropez in late August. The season was dying a little and it had been easier to find a room than she had expected. A car allowed her to drive frequently to Nice and occasionally to Toulon and Marseille. Itching to test all of her skills, she had decided that she’d needed a job that sealed her reputation as a professional thief of priceless art treasures.
Her choice of café seat had been deliberate; it gave her full view of the yacht Aristotle, owned by the German industrialist Gerhardt. He was currently hosting a lunch party for some close friends. After half an hour, Hannah left the café and made her way to a gallery in town where she had a “friend”; they took lunch together. The young woman was in Hannah’s dance class and Hannah had made Sophie’s acquaintance pretty quickly after she had found out where Sophie worked.
To Sophie, Hannah was Madeleine or Maddy.
“Sophie; I need your advice.” Hannah opened up the conversation at lunch.
“What is it, Maddy?”
“I want to buy a painting, something of an investment for the future.”
“I have just the painting for you …”
They lunched and all the while, without making it obvious, Hannah pummelled Sophie for information about up and coming artists, local collectors, how the gallery business worked and who was spending the real money. In return, she gave away very little but did an excellent job of turning a few bare facts into a colourful tapestry. Sophie was a little awed by her and sat basking in the glow. They left and went back to the gallery to see the picture which Sophie had suggested might be the ideal investment.
“It is a minor work but that is also reflected in the price. All the major works are being snapped up by the Japanese banks and it won’t be long before the minor works see their value ... in the end, there simply won’t be anything else left to buy.”
Hannah was standing before a Paul Scholar; a minor Impressionist painter from Holland. The piece was a self-portrait and about the size of a large cornflake’s packet.
“His major works have begun to attract a lot of interest. I would say that soon you could not buy this for less than two hundred and fifty thousand francs. At one hundred and fifty thousand francs, it is a real bargain ... and if you promise not to tell anyone, especially the owner, I can tell you that the gentleman moored in the harbour, Gerhardt, is very interested …”
“Is he? It would be a sound investment and I simply adore the Impressionists; I’ll take it!” said Hannah with real joy in her voice; not that the picture was her object because Gerhardt was her quarry this time.
“If I sell it then I’ll earn the commission too.”
“Excellent! Where is Amelia?”
“Marbella, with Godfrey; due back at the weekend.”
“I’ll have the money on Friday; will you still leave it on display?”
“Oh yes; that’s policy. But I can take it down if you prefer.”
“No; leave it on display. Please don’t sell it to anyone else …”
Hannah left the gallery and skipped back to her room to fully hatch the plan. Her research thus far on the industrialist Gerhardt had been very illuminating; a self-made multi-millionaire, German by birth, married and divorced twice; currently wooing a French actress who lived in Saint Tropez. He owned the yacht Aristotle and had an extensive collection of Impressionist paintings, many of which were displayed on the yacht.
“I need an invitation to get aboard,” she said to herself and started to practise her German while she memorised the auction prices of all of the lots in the last three Impressionist sales ... and painted her nails.
Hannah drove a smart little Alfa Romeo Spider, bearing Liechtenstein plates. She owned the vehicle but under a different name to Maddy or Hannah, and it was registered to an address in Liechtenstein where her bank account was also registered. It had been one of those things which she’d always wanted, the Liechtenstein bank account. The bearer bond from Boehme for eight hundred thousand francs had been deposited in it as soon as she’d had the ID from Eckhart; the ID for a thirty year old Swiss National by the name of Ruth Wald. The car had been a prop at the time but she’d fallen in love with it so had bought it outright.
Two days after the lunch date with Sophie, Hannah dressed up in her chic Saint Tropez outfit - the white linen suit, fuchsia pink headscarf and very dark sunglasses - and drove the car down to the harbourside, timing her arrival with the departure of Gerhardt in his rather ostentatious Maserati. They pranged; a minor scrape which left a mark on her bumper and scratch on his front wing. He got out as did she.
“Mademoiselle; I believe you were at fault,” he said peevishly.
Hannah dropped into her polished German and admonished him for his negligence and even suggested that he might have been eyeing something else rather than his bonnet. He laughed and practically slapped her on the back for her audacity in suggesting anything like it. He was a goat, shall we say and a little uncouth.
“If we call it even, how can I make it back into your good books?” he asked, eyeing her figure without any attempt to hide his lust.
“They say the Aristotle has an interior by Versace; I should like to see that,” she said.
“Then come to dinner this evening …”
“I accept.”
“Come aboard at 7…”
“Thank you! I’m sorry but I have to run; I’m expected on board Lady May for lunch. Amelia has the prettiest Paul Scholar which she wants me to see.”
“You know Amelia?”
“Yes; do you?”
“Not well; I’ve seen the Paul Scholar; a fine example. I was hoping to add it to my collection but the price is a little high for a minor work.”
Hannah rattled off the prices of similar works from the last three auctions by way of establishing her credentials as a collector and suggested that the price could only go up.
“Let me know at dinner what you decided.”
“At 7 then ...”
She sauntered off to the Lady May to accompany Sophie as her guest for lunch and both were expecting Amelia to announce her engagement to Godfrey ... and they were not disappointed.
Hannah confirmed her desire to purchase the Scholar and handed Sophie a cheque for the one hundred and fifty thousand francs.
“Gerhardt invited me to dinner this evening on board the Aristotle; shall I tell him I bought the picture?”
“How did you manage that?”
“He hit my car and felt duty bound to make amends for his carelessness.”
“Perhaps he’ll offer to buy the painting from you. He is due to lunch with Amelia on Monday and she was sure he was going to make an offer for it.”
“Let’s see what happens …” was all Hannah said in reply and they dined on lobster and paid Amelia all the compliments a ten carat engagement ring was duty bound to receive, silently mourning the probable loss of Godfrey’s millions in the next divorce settlement.
Dressed a la mode and looking like she deserved to be wearing an engagement ring of quail egg proportions, Hannah arrived at the Aristotle at ten minutes past seven that evening, and was welcomed aboard by Gerhardt. He was dressed as Captain Birdseye thought Hannah secretly and her silent mirth illuminated her face so that even the goat put a leash on his tongue in the presence of a real beauty. He paid her a rather sweet compliment and she elevated him out of uncouth and into unrefined.
She accepted the glass of champagne which a steward brought on a tray, and they watched the sun sink towards the horizon.
“Did you enjoy your lunch?”
“Immensely and I purchased the Scholar. It is a sure fire winner after the results of the next sale ... I expect to turn a handsome profit by the end of the year.”
“If you sell, please give me first refusal,” he pleaded.
“I agree; but first you owe me a tour of the interior …”
He held out his arm and began his diatribe into the fitting out of the yacht and the cost of everything. Hannah murmured appreciatively in all the right places and memorised every single one of the paintings displayed on the walls. They dined by candlelight, and for the second time that day, she enjoyed lobster!
Two days after the lunch date with Sophie, Hannah dressed up in her chic Saint Tropez outfit - the white linen suit, fuchsia pink headscarf and very dark sunglasses - and drove the car down to the harbourside, timing her arrival with the departure of Gerhardt in his rather ostentatious Maserati. They pranged; a minor scrape which left a mark on her bumper and scratch on his front wing. He got out as did she.
“Mademoiselle; I believe you were at fault,” he said peevishly.
Hannah dropped into her polished German and admonished him for his negligence and even suggested that he might have been eyeing something else rather than his bonnet. He laughed and practically slapped her on the back for her audacity in suggesting anything like it. He was a goat, shall we say and a little uncouth.
“If we call it even, how can I make it back into your good books?” he asked, eyeing her figure without any attempt to hide his lust.
“They say the Aristotle has an interior by Versace; I should like to see that,” she said.
“Then come to dinner this evening …”
“I accept.”
“Come aboard at 7…”
“Thank you! I’m sorry but I have to run; I’m expected on board Lady May for lunch. Amelia has the prettiest Paul Scholar which she wants me to see.”
“You know Amelia?”
“Yes; do you?”
“Not well; I’ve seen the Paul Scholar; a fine example. I was hoping to add it to my collection but the price is a little high for a minor work.”
Hannah rattled off the prices of similar works from the last three auctions by way of establishing her credentials as a collector and suggested that the price could only go up.
“Let me know at dinner what you decided.”
“At 7 then ...”
She sauntered off to the Lady May to accompany Sophie as her guest for lunch and both were expecting Amelia to announce her engagement to Godfrey ... and they were not disappointed.
Hannah confirmed her desire to purchase the Scholar and handed Sophie a cheque for the one hundred and fifty thousand francs.
“Gerhardt invited me to dinner this evening on board the Aristotle; shall I tell him I bought the picture?”
“How did you manage that?”
“He hit my car and felt duty bound to make amends for his carelessness.”
“Perhaps he’ll offer to buy the painting from you. He is due to lunch with Amelia on Monday and she was sure he was going to make an offer for it.”
“Let’s see what happens …” was all Hannah said in reply and they dined on lobster and paid Amelia all the compliments a ten carat engagement ring was duty bound to receive, silently mourning the probable loss of Godfrey’s millions in the next divorce settlement.
Dressed a la mode and looking like she deserved to be wearing an engagement ring of quail egg proportions, Hannah arrived at the Aristotle at ten minutes past seven that evening, and was welcomed aboard by Gerhardt. He was dressed as Captain Birdseye thought Hannah secretly and her silent mirth illuminated her face so that even the goat put a leash on his tongue in the presence of a real beauty. He paid her a rather sweet compliment and she elevated him out of uncouth and into unrefined.
She accepted the glass of champagne which a steward brought on a tray, and they watched the sun sink towards the horizon.
“Did you enjoy your lunch?”
“Immensely and I purchased the Scholar. It is a sure fire winner after the results of the next sale ... I expect to turn a handsome profit by the end of the year.”
“If you sell, please give me first refusal,” he pleaded.
“I agree; but first you owe me a tour of the interior …”
He held out his arm and began his diatribe into the fitting out of the yacht and the cost of everything. Hannah murmured appreciatively in all the right places and memorised every single one of the paintings displayed on the walls. They dined by candlelight, and for the second time that day, she enjoyed lobster!
Hannah spent Sunday thinking very hard; she was at a turning point. Events over the past year had proved to her that she had a gift and, whereas the theft of the Degas had been more opportunistic and largely without an exterior motive, the acquisition of the chalice for Boehme had certainly been pre-meditated once she’d overheard his conversation on the telephone that day.
The name of the prospective employer, which Boehme had given her, along with Eckhart’s, was the name of a very serious criminal and one she knew it would not pay to play games with. If she was to embark on this career, then this man was the type of person she would have to deal with, and it increased the stakes of the games exponentially. Confidence she had in spades, and some experience, but it was beginning to feel like tightrope walking over the Niagara Falls without a safety net.
If she pulled off the job this time, she promised herself a period of retirement. The theft of the Degas had not been reported to the police; the theft of the chalice most certainly had made the headlines. This latest commission, as she liked to call it, would put her on a wanted list for sure. But it would also earn her kudos; invaluable in getting herself more work, if she wanted it, and considerably larger fees.
Gerhardt owned five major Impressionist pieces and all were on the yacht; she’d seen them, in the dimly lit library, during her tour.
Her commission was to steal all five, with handover in Cannes; the fee, two million francs. The theft of the chalice had convinced the client that she was capable. Merely thinking about it gave her a cold, sick feeling in the pit of her stomach.
“I can do this!” she repeated to herself as a mantra as she worked out the finer details of the plan. Getting back on board was easy now; leaving with five paintings, a little more difficult. Sophie came to her rescue in the most unexpected way.
“Amelia wants to put on an exhibition and raise money for the Red Cross; she’s asked Gerhardt to loan his collection and she would like you to loan the Scholar for the evening. Please say you will.”
“Of course I will; especially if Gerhardt is there.”
“Are you angling for a proposal?”
“Heavens no! I want him to see the Scholar and be reminded that his hesitation has cost him a hundred thousand francs ... maybe more.”
“Will you sell it to him?”
“No; not yet at least. Maybe after the next sale when the estimated value will approach five hundred thousand. When is the exhibition?”
“On Friday; from six until nine.”
“There’s no point taking the Scholar away for five days; keep it at the gallery until after the exhibition … Amelia’s engagement party is on Saturday, isn’t it?”
“Yes; we must get outfits.”
“Come with me to Nice tomorrow and we’ll shop.”
On Tuesday, they drove to Nice and purchased outfits; Hannah paid for Sophie’s.
“Why, Maddy? I’ve already earned my commission on the Scholar thanks to you.”
“For being such a good friend and for putting the Scholar my way; I’ll make a fortune out of it in the end.”
On Wednesday, Hannah researched the paintings which Gerhardt owned. The thing she wanted to know most of all were the paintings’ dimensions. She got those from auction records and hoped he hadn’t had them reframed. She bought five Impressionist prints; good quality ones, printed on canvas, and had them mounted on thin, light-weight insulation board. On Thursday, she took the prints, secreted in a portfolio bag, to the gallery on the pretence that she would collect the Scholar in it on the Saturday after the gala.
On Friday, she met Gerhardt for coffee in the harbour.
“Are you taking the actress to the engagement party tomorrow?” she asked, without batting an eye.
“That was my intention, yes; why do you ask?”
“No reason … when are the pictures coming back on board; are you using a security firm?”
“This evening, after the show; I trust my security more than Amelia’s.”
“The Scholar is at the gallery and I don’t want to take it home tonight after the exhibition; the flat will still be in turmoil following redecorating. Can you collect it with yours and I’ll collect it from here on Saturday morning?”
“Of course; I’m staying off the boat on Friday night but I’ll be back by ten-thirty on Saturday.”
“Perfect; thank you.”
Hannah left and went back to sort out the flat and make her preparations for the evening. The handover was on Sunday at noon in Cannes in the car park of the airport. It worried her a little that she would be carrying the paintings and would be alone. If the person or the people to whom she was handing over had a mind, they could easily wrest them from her and she wouldn’t be able to do a thing about it. But she hated involving anyone else; especially as there was an untraceable bearer bond for two million francs to think about.
For lunch on Friday, she cooked fish fingers, chips and peas and drowned the lot in tomato ketchup. The flaky pieces of meaty cod did wonders for her brain function that afternoon.
The name of the prospective employer, which Boehme had given her, along with Eckhart’s, was the name of a very serious criminal and one she knew it would not pay to play games with. If she was to embark on this career, then this man was the type of person she would have to deal with, and it increased the stakes of the games exponentially. Confidence she had in spades, and some experience, but it was beginning to feel like tightrope walking over the Niagara Falls without a safety net.
If she pulled off the job this time, she promised herself a period of retirement. The theft of the Degas had not been reported to the police; the theft of the chalice most certainly had made the headlines. This latest commission, as she liked to call it, would put her on a wanted list for sure. But it would also earn her kudos; invaluable in getting herself more work, if she wanted it, and considerably larger fees.
Gerhardt owned five major Impressionist pieces and all were on the yacht; she’d seen them, in the dimly lit library, during her tour.
Her commission was to steal all five, with handover in Cannes; the fee, two million francs. The theft of the chalice had convinced the client that she was capable. Merely thinking about it gave her a cold, sick feeling in the pit of her stomach.
“I can do this!” she repeated to herself as a mantra as she worked out the finer details of the plan. Getting back on board was easy now; leaving with five paintings, a little more difficult. Sophie came to her rescue in the most unexpected way.
“Amelia wants to put on an exhibition and raise money for the Red Cross; she’s asked Gerhardt to loan his collection and she would like you to loan the Scholar for the evening. Please say you will.”
“Of course I will; especially if Gerhardt is there.”
“Are you angling for a proposal?”
“Heavens no! I want him to see the Scholar and be reminded that his hesitation has cost him a hundred thousand francs ... maybe more.”
“Will you sell it to him?”
“No; not yet at least. Maybe after the next sale when the estimated value will approach five hundred thousand. When is the exhibition?”
“On Friday; from six until nine.”
“There’s no point taking the Scholar away for five days; keep it at the gallery until after the exhibition … Amelia’s engagement party is on Saturday, isn’t it?”
“Yes; we must get outfits.”
“Come with me to Nice tomorrow and we’ll shop.”
On Tuesday, they drove to Nice and purchased outfits; Hannah paid for Sophie’s.
“Why, Maddy? I’ve already earned my commission on the Scholar thanks to you.”
“For being such a good friend and for putting the Scholar my way; I’ll make a fortune out of it in the end.”
On Wednesday, Hannah researched the paintings which Gerhardt owned. The thing she wanted to know most of all were the paintings’ dimensions. She got those from auction records and hoped he hadn’t had them reframed. She bought five Impressionist prints; good quality ones, printed on canvas, and had them mounted on thin, light-weight insulation board. On Thursday, she took the prints, secreted in a portfolio bag, to the gallery on the pretence that she would collect the Scholar in it on the Saturday after the gala.
On Friday, she met Gerhardt for coffee in the harbour.
“Are you taking the actress to the engagement party tomorrow?” she asked, without batting an eye.
“That was my intention, yes; why do you ask?”
“No reason … when are the pictures coming back on board; are you using a security firm?”
“This evening, after the show; I trust my security more than Amelia’s.”
“The Scholar is at the gallery and I don’t want to take it home tonight after the exhibition; the flat will still be in turmoil following redecorating. Can you collect it with yours and I’ll collect it from here on Saturday morning?”
“Of course; I’m staying off the boat on Friday night but I’ll be back by ten-thirty on Saturday.”
“Perfect; thank you.”
Hannah left and went back to sort out the flat and make her preparations for the evening. The handover was on Sunday at noon in Cannes in the car park of the airport. It worried her a little that she would be carrying the paintings and would be alone. If the person or the people to whom she was handing over had a mind, they could easily wrest them from her and she wouldn’t be able to do a thing about it. But she hated involving anyone else; especially as there was an untraceable bearer bond for two million francs to think about.
For lunch on Friday, she cooked fish fingers, chips and peas and drowned the lot in tomato ketchup. The flaky pieces of meaty cod did wonders for her brain function that afternoon.
Hannah arrived at the gallery early to see Sophie and to give her a hand organising the caterers; also to make sure that everything looked perfect. All of the town’s glitz was expected; if only to see Gerhardt and his girlfriend of the moment. Amelia didn’t mind if it took attention away from her diamond; her party the following evening was expected to be graced by royalty. Godfrey couldn’t put a foot wrong ... yet!
The exhibition was very light-hearted and well-attended but never very busy until eight o’clock. Then, everyone popped in to see the pictures, made a donation and hot-footed it to dinner; it meant not having to change. Hannah helped Sophie and Amelia butter everyone up. Gerhardt was talking to Godfrey and apparently they were discussing the prospects for golf on Sunday - they were in fact talking prenuptial agreements and the respective charges of their lawyers. The actress girlfriend looked bored, and after thirty minutes, signalled that she wanted to leave. Gerhardt made a great show of leaving his donation and then left with the potential trophy. Hannah knew that the security firm was coming to collect the paintings at nine-thirty and she offered to stay and help clear up after the show so that Godfrey could take Amelia out on a moonlit cruise.
“Darling; you’re an angel. We have to sail with the tide; I will see you tomorrow at the party.”
Amelia left at ten minutes past nine and at nine-fifteen, only Hannah and Sophie remained.
“Sophie; I’ll pack the Scholar and put it with Gerhardt’s; it’s going back to the yacht with his. I’m picking it up from there tomorrow; quite possibly negotiating the re-sale, depending on the results of the auction this evening in Geneva.”
“I’ll be with you in a minute!” called Sophie from the back stockroom.
Quickly and expertly, Hannah removed the five prints she had purchased and fixed one over the top of each of Gerhardt’s paintings using a safe, adhesive putty under each corner. They weren’t a bad fit. She put them in the transport case and lastly put in the Scholar just as Sophie made her appearance.
“Oh Maddy, thank you! I really need to go soon.”
“Is Jacques picking you up?”
“Yes; and you know how he hates to wait.”
The security firm arrived and picked up the case.
“Great! All done,” announced Sophie, flicking off the lights, adding, “the rest can wait until the morning.”
The girls left and Hannah went back to the flat to finalise her packing and the arrangements for the handover on Sunday.
The exhibition was very light-hearted and well-attended but never very busy until eight o’clock. Then, everyone popped in to see the pictures, made a donation and hot-footed it to dinner; it meant not having to change. Hannah helped Sophie and Amelia butter everyone up. Gerhardt was talking to Godfrey and apparently they were discussing the prospects for golf on Sunday - they were in fact talking prenuptial agreements and the respective charges of their lawyers. The actress girlfriend looked bored, and after thirty minutes, signalled that she wanted to leave. Gerhardt made a great show of leaving his donation and then left with the potential trophy. Hannah knew that the security firm was coming to collect the paintings at nine-thirty and she offered to stay and help clear up after the show so that Godfrey could take Amelia out on a moonlit cruise.
“Darling; you’re an angel. We have to sail with the tide; I will see you tomorrow at the party.”
Amelia left at ten minutes past nine and at nine-fifteen, only Hannah and Sophie remained.
“Sophie; I’ll pack the Scholar and put it with Gerhardt’s; it’s going back to the yacht with his. I’m picking it up from there tomorrow; quite possibly negotiating the re-sale, depending on the results of the auction this evening in Geneva.”
“I’ll be with you in a minute!” called Sophie from the back stockroom.
Quickly and expertly, Hannah removed the five prints she had purchased and fixed one over the top of each of Gerhardt’s paintings using a safe, adhesive putty under each corner. They weren’t a bad fit. She put them in the transport case and lastly put in the Scholar just as Sophie made her appearance.
“Oh Maddy, thank you! I really need to go soon.”
“Is Jacques picking you up?”
“Yes; and you know how he hates to wait.”
The security firm arrived and picked up the case.
“Great! All done,” announced Sophie, flicking off the lights, adding, “the rest can wait until the morning.”
The girls left and Hannah went back to the flat to finalise her packing and the arrangements for the handover on Sunday.
On Saturday morning, at ten o’clock, Hannah went down to the harbour and went aboard Aristotle to wait for Gerhardt. The crew knew her and no one questioned her as she went to the main stateroom. A steward brought her a coffee and she waited patiently. Gerhardt arrived at ten-forty, in a filthy temper.
“She will drive me to insanity!” he flung out, only then noticing Hannah.
“Mademoiselle!” he added in better humour.
“What is it, Gerhardt?”
“She insists on … oh, what does it matter? Where are the paintings?”
“In the library, I presume; grab a coffee and I’ll fetch the Scholar and maybe I’ll make you a little happier,” she said with a pretty little smile and Gerhardt threw himself into a chair and barked an order at the attendant steward.
Hannah came back with the Scholar.
“Remain calm, Gerhardt; it’s nothing that can’t be resolved in fifteen minutes … the security firm has picked up the wrong case-”
“What?” he bellowed and he tramped heavily to the library to see for himself that the case contained five different paintings, and in the dim light, he didn’t notice the fact that they were prints and mounted in identical frames to his own.
“I’ll take them back for you, Gerhardt, and I’ll return with yours straightaway; there’s no point calling the security firm because they’ll be an hour getting here in the traffic. Relax, and whilst I’m gone, why don’t you think about the Scholar and how much you are willing to pay for it. I won’t fleece you too badly but the results of the auction last night make for very impressive reading.”
“Would you mind? I don’t think I can cope with it. Tell Amelia I am very unhappy!”
“Of course, darling.”
One of the stewards assisted her with putting the travel case, containing the six pictures, in the boot of the car as Gerhardt looked on.
“See you in half an hour!” he called out from the deck and waved.
Hannah waved back and drove off.
She called into the flat and picked up her two cases and then headed for the gallery to see Sophie.
“Sophie; I have to go to Nice; they put the wrong size dress in the bag. I’ll be back by four o’clock.”
“Don’t be late because we’re having our nails done at four-thirty.”
“I won’t; by the way, this is for you. It’s a surprise for your birthday next week; don’t open it until the day.”
Hannah handed her the Scholar, with good title, wrapped securely and bedecked with a fuchsia pink bow.
“See you later,” Hannah said and kissed her very tenderly on both cheeks.
She drove off.
An hour later, well clear of the storm that had suddenly erupted in Saint Tropez, she rendezvoused with the security firm at their offices in Toulon and handed over the case containing the five paintings.
“Tomorrow, at the airport car park in Cannes; eleven-thirty and please don’t be late.”
Were her instructions and she drove to Cannes and checked into the Hotel de France for the evening to study the newspapers and plan her retirement. She wondered if Gerhardt was angrier at the loss of his paintings or the fact that the Scholar she had left him with was a photograph.
“She will drive me to insanity!” he flung out, only then noticing Hannah.
“Mademoiselle!” he added in better humour.
“What is it, Gerhardt?”
“She insists on … oh, what does it matter? Where are the paintings?”
“In the library, I presume; grab a coffee and I’ll fetch the Scholar and maybe I’ll make you a little happier,” she said with a pretty little smile and Gerhardt threw himself into a chair and barked an order at the attendant steward.
Hannah came back with the Scholar.
“Remain calm, Gerhardt; it’s nothing that can’t be resolved in fifteen minutes … the security firm has picked up the wrong case-”
“What?” he bellowed and he tramped heavily to the library to see for himself that the case contained five different paintings, and in the dim light, he didn’t notice the fact that they were prints and mounted in identical frames to his own.
“I’ll take them back for you, Gerhardt, and I’ll return with yours straightaway; there’s no point calling the security firm because they’ll be an hour getting here in the traffic. Relax, and whilst I’m gone, why don’t you think about the Scholar and how much you are willing to pay for it. I won’t fleece you too badly but the results of the auction last night make for very impressive reading.”
“Would you mind? I don’t think I can cope with it. Tell Amelia I am very unhappy!”
“Of course, darling.”
One of the stewards assisted her with putting the travel case, containing the six pictures, in the boot of the car as Gerhardt looked on.
“See you in half an hour!” he called out from the deck and waved.
Hannah waved back and drove off.
She called into the flat and picked up her two cases and then headed for the gallery to see Sophie.
“Sophie; I have to go to Nice; they put the wrong size dress in the bag. I’ll be back by four o’clock.”
“Don’t be late because we’re having our nails done at four-thirty.”
“I won’t; by the way, this is for you. It’s a surprise for your birthday next week; don’t open it until the day.”
Hannah handed her the Scholar, with good title, wrapped securely and bedecked with a fuchsia pink bow.
“See you later,” Hannah said and kissed her very tenderly on both cheeks.
She drove off.
An hour later, well clear of the storm that had suddenly erupted in Saint Tropez, she rendezvoused with the security firm at their offices in Toulon and handed over the case containing the five paintings.
“Tomorrow, at the airport car park in Cannes; eleven-thirty and please don’t be late.”
Were her instructions and she drove to Cannes and checked into the Hotel de France for the evening to study the newspapers and plan her retirement. She wondered if Gerhardt was angrier at the loss of his paintings or the fact that the Scholar she had left him with was a photograph.
At eleven the following morning, Hannah was stationed in the car park, awaiting the arrival of the security firm. They arrived at eleven-thirty and she spoke to the two security guards, handing them sizeable wads of notes; all nodded.
At five minutes to twelve, a black Mercedes pulled up and two men got out. Hannah approached them with one of the security guards beside her.
“They’re in the van,” she said calmly.
The men looked at each other and Hannah knew, that had she been alone, the outcome of the meeting would have been very different. It had played out very well to have listened to her fears.
“Do you have the bond?” she asked.
One of the men handed over an envelope and she took it, glancing briefly to see that the precious contents were inside. She signalled to the other guard to remove the case from the van and hand it over.
“Manuel sends his regards,” said one of the men.
Hannah just smiled and, once the case was in the boot of the Mercedes, she returned to the van with one of the security men, picking up her suitcases en route. The other security man got into her car and drove off. She remained in the van with the security guard until the Mercedes had disappeared.
“Thank you,” she said to the guard.
“No problem; do you want me to escort you to the terminal?”
“No; that’s fine. I’ll be in touch,” she said and she left the van and headed into the airport terminal building to catch a flight to London.
At five minutes to twelve, a black Mercedes pulled up and two men got out. Hannah approached them with one of the security guards beside her.
“They’re in the van,” she said calmly.
The men looked at each other and Hannah knew, that had she been alone, the outcome of the meeting would have been very different. It had played out very well to have listened to her fears.
“Do you have the bond?” she asked.
One of the men handed over an envelope and she took it, glancing briefly to see that the precious contents were inside. She signalled to the other guard to remove the case from the van and hand it over.
“Manuel sends his regards,” said one of the men.
Hannah just smiled and, once the case was in the boot of the Mercedes, she returned to the van with one of the security men, picking up her suitcases en route. The other security man got into her car and drove off. She remained in the van with the security guard until the Mercedes had disappeared.
“Thank you,” she said to the guard.
“No problem; do you want me to escort you to the terminal?”
“No; that’s fine. I’ll be in touch,” she said and she left the van and headed into the airport terminal building to catch a flight to London.
“Mother; are you there?”
“Hannah?! How did you … what?”
“I’m long overdue a holiday and I haven’t seen you for ages,” replied Hannah as she was crushed to her mother’s bosom, receiving the hugs of all hugs.
“Your father will be so pleased to see you; you’re looking peeky child …”
“Hannah?! How did you … what?”
“I’m long overdue a holiday and I haven’t seen you for ages,” replied Hannah as she was crushed to her mother’s bosom, receiving the hugs of all hugs.
“Your father will be so pleased to see you; you’re looking peeky child …”
