The Twelve Crimes of Hannah Smith
Crime 6 - Rivals
|
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 |
Hannah sat and meditated; she blamed it on the slight guilt trip she was having for pushing Loretta a little too far over the edge with the masquerade in San Francisco. Then again, Loretta could always blame David and his antics if a scapegoat was required. Posing as Loretta to sell the harpsichord and avoid the dangerous handover had worked beautifully, and in fact, no ‘crime’ had been committed; the one hundred and fifty thousand dollars made a handsome addition to her pension fund. The identities of Valerie Bishop and Anna Bohm had also remained intact. She had the thimble, and stealing that from Francine was a bonus; it had been opportunistic and wholly personal. She had no intention of selling the thimble; quite the opposite, she was sure that the thimble must be part of a ‘necessaire de couture’, and fully intended to find the other pieces along with the case. But that was an aside to the main act which she now contemplated.
As soon as she’d arrived in London, she had contacted Boehme, and he’d been absolutely delighted to hear from her; less so when she had asked him for a referral. The secrets that she still held onto, which kept him in her vice-like grip, persuaded him to let her have a name.
“Forbes Darlington; he is a collector; nothing stands in his way when he decides that he wants something … and he wants the ‘Medici Quartet’…”
“Does he? Well; I shall get it for him.”
“Please be careful; he isn’t dangerous like Manuel but dangerous nevertheless, and he has a very long reach.”
“Have no fear; and after this, perhaps we should meet and I’ll give you back the evidence I stole from your receptionist’s desk that day.”
“The pleasure of seeing you would be enough, mademoiselle.”
“Until then …”
“A serious collector after the fabled ‘Medici Quartet’; but how much does he want it?” Hannah mused.
The ‘Medici Quartet’ was a painting of, needless to say, four musicians. It had been painted for Elizabeth the First, who had gifted it to a noble family whose remnants still resided in Kent, in the Tudor manor house on the outskirts of Chilham - blood so blue, you could dip your quill in it.
The painting was priceless due to its provenance and age, and during the summer, the family opened its doors and welcomed the hordes in, demanding a princely sum to see the painting and various other heirlooms.
“A smash and grab over the cucumber sandwiches and Earl Grey? No; something more subtle …”
Step one was to contact the collector - Forbes Darlington - to see just how much he wanted it. Hannah donned the cloak of disguise; in this case, Virginia Musgrave, an art historian, and a gallery owner. She’d rented a tidy little shop on the Kings Road and planned to open a gallery. Why go to the bother of breaking into people’s houses and stealing their art when they were willing to bring it to you?
Spending one hundred thousand pounds very judiciously on Elizabethan art, having tracked Forbes’ recent purchases, Hannah had detected a shift in his collecting habits towards music related subjects. She’d outbid him on one particular lot, and it formed the centerpiece of the exhibition that she put on for the opening of the gallery. On the day of the opening, a well-dressed man came in, and she knew he must be Forbes’ agent.
“The ‘Quarrel’…” was all he said.
“An excellent example of his work; recently sold at auction for twice the reserve. I believe Forbes Darlington was interested …”
“I believe so … I have a client who is very interested in acquiring it.”
“It is not for sale-”
“Oh!”
“The owner very graciously donated it for the purposes of the exhibition …”
“Are you sure they could not be persuaded to reconsider?”
“Of course, that’s possible, but it is merely a week since the sale, so hardly likely - I could ask. After the exhibition, it is traveling to Kent to be included in the annual Fotherington Show; the subject being sympathetic to the ‘Quartet’, and it is believed that ‘The Quarrel’ was painted as a kind of homage to the great piece. It will be the first time they have been seen together …”
“Yes; the connection is well documented. Sadly my client is unable to attend the show this year.”
“That is a pity.”
“If you would ask the owner to reconsider, my client is extremely keen to acquire the piece.”
“I will ask, but I doubt anything will change until after the show and it is possible that the painting will remain there as part of the permanent display.”
“Please ask.”
“I will. Is there anything else your client is interested in? ‘The Maplin’ for example?”
“He has ‘The King’s Men’, so not likely.”
This was the slip that Hannah had been waiting for.
“So your client is Forbes Darlington …”
The man coloured and fumbled for an escape route, which Hannah provided.
“I own ‘The Quarrel’, and if Forbes is that interested then he need only call in himself and I would be prepared to discuss terms.”
“He doesn’t usually deal directly.”
“I always do … and if he is going to miss the show at Fotherington then perhaps that will provide the added incentive.”
“I’ll be in touch Ms.?”
“Virginia Musgrave …”
He left and Hannah felt very pleased with her performance.
As soon as she’d arrived in London, she had contacted Boehme, and he’d been absolutely delighted to hear from her; less so when she had asked him for a referral. The secrets that she still held onto, which kept him in her vice-like grip, persuaded him to let her have a name.
“Forbes Darlington; he is a collector; nothing stands in his way when he decides that he wants something … and he wants the ‘Medici Quartet’…”
“Does he? Well; I shall get it for him.”
“Please be careful; he isn’t dangerous like Manuel but dangerous nevertheless, and he has a very long reach.”
“Have no fear; and after this, perhaps we should meet and I’ll give you back the evidence I stole from your receptionist’s desk that day.”
“The pleasure of seeing you would be enough, mademoiselle.”
“Until then …”
“A serious collector after the fabled ‘Medici Quartet’; but how much does he want it?” Hannah mused.
The ‘Medici Quartet’ was a painting of, needless to say, four musicians. It had been painted for Elizabeth the First, who had gifted it to a noble family whose remnants still resided in Kent, in the Tudor manor house on the outskirts of Chilham - blood so blue, you could dip your quill in it.
The painting was priceless due to its provenance and age, and during the summer, the family opened its doors and welcomed the hordes in, demanding a princely sum to see the painting and various other heirlooms.
“A smash and grab over the cucumber sandwiches and Earl Grey? No; something more subtle …”
Step one was to contact the collector - Forbes Darlington - to see just how much he wanted it. Hannah donned the cloak of disguise; in this case, Virginia Musgrave, an art historian, and a gallery owner. She’d rented a tidy little shop on the Kings Road and planned to open a gallery. Why go to the bother of breaking into people’s houses and stealing their art when they were willing to bring it to you?
Spending one hundred thousand pounds very judiciously on Elizabethan art, having tracked Forbes’ recent purchases, Hannah had detected a shift in his collecting habits towards music related subjects. She’d outbid him on one particular lot, and it formed the centerpiece of the exhibition that she put on for the opening of the gallery. On the day of the opening, a well-dressed man came in, and she knew he must be Forbes’ agent.
“The ‘Quarrel’…” was all he said.
“An excellent example of his work; recently sold at auction for twice the reserve. I believe Forbes Darlington was interested …”
“I believe so … I have a client who is very interested in acquiring it.”
“It is not for sale-”
“Oh!”
“The owner very graciously donated it for the purposes of the exhibition …”
“Are you sure they could not be persuaded to reconsider?”
“Of course, that’s possible, but it is merely a week since the sale, so hardly likely - I could ask. After the exhibition, it is traveling to Kent to be included in the annual Fotherington Show; the subject being sympathetic to the ‘Quartet’, and it is believed that ‘The Quarrel’ was painted as a kind of homage to the great piece. It will be the first time they have been seen together …”
“Yes; the connection is well documented. Sadly my client is unable to attend the show this year.”
“That is a pity.”
“If you would ask the owner to reconsider, my client is extremely keen to acquire the piece.”
“I will ask, but I doubt anything will change until after the show and it is possible that the painting will remain there as part of the permanent display.”
“Please ask.”
“I will. Is there anything else your client is interested in? ‘The Maplin’ for example?”
“He has ‘The King’s Men’, so not likely.”
This was the slip that Hannah had been waiting for.
“So your client is Forbes Darlington …”
The man coloured and fumbled for an escape route, which Hannah provided.
“I own ‘The Quarrel’, and if Forbes is that interested then he need only call in himself and I would be prepared to discuss terms.”
“He doesn’t usually deal directly.”
“I always do … and if he is going to miss the show at Fotherington then perhaps that will provide the added incentive.”
“I’ll be in touch Ms.?”
“Virginia Musgrave …”
He left and Hannah felt very pleased with her performance.
Hannah estimated that it would be about a week before Forbes would be in touch. She opened the gallery each day and waited patiently. Ten days after the first visit, his agent re-appeared at three o’clock in the afternoon.
“Ms. Musgrave.”
“Alistair.”
“Forbes will deal direct but he insists that you visit him at his home.”
“When?”
“This Saturday, he has invited you to dine, should you be free.”
“I would be delighted to accept the invitation, and I shall bring ‘The Quarrel’ with me; what time?”
“Seven o’clock; his driver can collect you.”
“Call it independence or just capriciousness, but I will make my own way there. Please pass on my thanks to Forbes.”
“Good day, Ms. Musgrave.”
“Goodbye, Alistair.”
“Bingo!” Hannah allowed herself a rare moment of self-congratulation. “Forbes is not only an avaricious collector but a recluse, tucked up in his pile in Tadworth, sending forth minions like Alistair to get their hands grubby on his behalf. A personal invitation to dine with him; he is obviously serious and maybe more than a little curious about me …”
At the appointed time, Hannah arrived at the gates of the house in Tadworth - ‘Rosebriars’ - and within thirty seconds, the gates opened automatically. She drove up to the house over the pristine gravel. She had rented a Jaguar XK150 drop head coupe. A business had opened in Chelsea renting out exotic sports cars; the car looked the part and it had been relatively inexpensive. Alistair came out to greet her.
“Ms. Musgrave …”
“Please call me Virginia …”
“Virginia … Forbes is so pleased you could make it. Did you bring the painting?”
“Of course …”
Hannah retrieved the painting from the boot of the car, and they went into what Hannah could only describe as The Victoria and Albert Museum, but all of the artwork was Elizabethan and some of it was much earlier.
“I never knew Forbes had such a thing for the Golden Era,” Hannah said as they passed through the hall into the main salon.
“He sees it as his duty to preserve the art of the period for future generations …”
“Does he still have the Hapsworth miniature?”
“I most certainly do!” came the shrill reply from behind them, and both turned to see Forbes standing at the foot of the stairs; a ‘Kenneth Williams’ character dressed for dinner, sporting a dickie bow. “Ms. Musgrave; the pleasure is all mine …” he added and stepped forward except that he did not hold out his hand for hers.
“Please call me Virginia; as promised I brought ‘The Quarrel’-”
“Later; sherry?”
“Thank you …”
Alistair hovered while a butler served the drinks.
“Alistair; be a good chap and fetch the miniature for Virginia to see.” Turning to Hannah, he said, “I haven’t shown the Hapsworth miniature to anyone for more than twenty years.”
“I’m honoured that you should choose me.”
“You brought the painting … I do hope we can agree on terms.”
“Of that I have no doubt,” said Hannah just as Alistair brought in the miniature for her to see. It was kept in a Morrocco leather case which Alistair set down on the table. Forbes retrieved a key from his pocket and unlocked it, lifting the lid to reveal the miniature of Elizabeth the First that had been painted in her coronation year and in which she was dressed in the royal regalia.
“No one knows who painted it. It turned up when Henry sold Hapsworth to pay his father’s death duties; I stepped in to avoid seeing it go East … that was thirty years ago now.”
Hannah was leaning over the box and peering at the portrait of the young queen. Even in a painting of that size, the eyes appeared to gaze back at her.
“Mesmerizing,” she breathed, “Thank you; this is a rare treat and one I won’t forget for a very long time.”
Shortly after that, the box was locked up and Alistair took it away.
“It’ll probably be another twenty years before it sees the light of day again … So; shall we eat?”
“Yes,” smiled Hannah, feeling uncommonly relaxed.
They entered the dining room. The table was set just for two, Alistair didn’t return.
“Why did you outbid me for ‘The Quarrel’?”
“To see how much you wanted it.”
“I want it very much.”
“It’s going to the Fotherington Show next week.”
“Name your price and leave it here tonight.”
“I have a better offer for you.”
“Young lady; there can be no better offer.”
“The ‘Medici Quartet’…”
“What of it?”
“You want that too.”
“Yes; but I’m never likely to get it …”
“How much would you be prepared to pay for the pleasure of having it?”
“With good title? Half a million; without, two hundred thousand pounds.”
“You’d willingly pay two hundred thousand pounds for a painting you couldn’t admit to owning, and if it was stolen from the Fotherington Show, everyone knows you want it so all fingers would point here … that's a hell of a risk you’d be prepared to take …”
“Virginia; I have wanted that piece for as long as I can remember. The empty space where it would hang is like a demon taunting me … it completes the collection, along with ‘The Quarrel’…”
“And the ‘Maplin’?”
“An inferior piece compared to ‘The King’s Men’…”
“Still; all together they would be magnificent.”
“You have two of them; are you suggesting to me that I can have them all?”
“For half a million pounds you can have them all and ‘The Medici Quartet’ would come with good title …”
“I don’t believe you can persuade James to sell it; without it, there is no Fotherington!”
“Let me worry about that … Are we agreed; half a million pounds for all three paintings?”
“… ‘The Quarrel’, ‘The Maplin’ and ‘The Medici Quartet’, along with my ‘The King’s Men’ would complete a life’s work; there would be no finer collection.”
“So?”
“You have my word; half a million pounds with good title. Can you leave ‘The Quarrel’ tonight?”
“Only if you show me the ‘Ann Boleyn With Child’…”
“Ms. Musgrave; that painting has never been seen by anyone else alive today.”
“I know … but I want to see it.”
Forbes possessed a painting of Ann Boleyn painted during her confinement with Elizabeth; it was a rare and candid portrait of a young woman who believed she would have it all. The parallel was a little too obvious for Hannah but fine art was becoming like a drug to her; almost as potent and addictive as stealing it!
“Follow me,” said Forbes, and he got up and waited for Hannah to reach his side of the table before escorting her to an interior room on an upper floor, which was windowless and panelled in rich oak. The heavy door was locked of course, and the key was itself locked away in a chamber which Forbes darted into en route. The painting was behind a solid box frame, which itself was locked, and Forbes carried that key with him at all times. He seemed to rejoin her as he unlocked it, having retreated somewhat since making the offer.
“This painting started my collection. It nearly bankrupted me then; all my hopes were hung with it. I have to say, I fared better than she; much like the infant she was carrying … of course her future was uncertain as was mine until history took its fateful turn …”
“How different history could have been,” injected Hannah.
“Quite!”
“Thank you …”
“No one else will see this until after I die; if you do not get me ‘The Medici Quartet’ I will have you killed …”
“If you threaten me, Forbes, I will steal this and burn it on the lawn in front of the house.”
“I believe you would … I have no fear that you won’t get me what I want.”
They returned to the salon for coffee, and Alistair made a re-appearance.
“Alistair; ‘The Quarrel’ remains with us … be so kind as to show Virginia out; I will retire now …”
He left and Alistair looked expectantly at Hannah.
“Collect ‘The Maplin’ at your leisure, Alistair,” Hannah said, “I will deliver ‘The Medici Quartet’ after the Fotherington Show, in four weeks. Upon delivery, I require an untraceable bearer bond for five hundred thousand pounds …”
“Splendid, Ms. Musgrave; I believe you know what Forbes will do if you fail him.”
“And he knows what I shall do if he fails me … Goodnight.”
“Goodnight.”
Hannah drove back to the mews cottage in Chelsea while her stomach alternately flipped back and forth; the stakes could not be higher or the adrenalin pumping any quicker!
“Ms. Musgrave.”
“Alistair.”
“Forbes will deal direct but he insists that you visit him at his home.”
“When?”
“This Saturday, he has invited you to dine, should you be free.”
“I would be delighted to accept the invitation, and I shall bring ‘The Quarrel’ with me; what time?”
“Seven o’clock; his driver can collect you.”
“Call it independence or just capriciousness, but I will make my own way there. Please pass on my thanks to Forbes.”
“Good day, Ms. Musgrave.”
“Goodbye, Alistair.”
“Bingo!” Hannah allowed herself a rare moment of self-congratulation. “Forbes is not only an avaricious collector but a recluse, tucked up in his pile in Tadworth, sending forth minions like Alistair to get their hands grubby on his behalf. A personal invitation to dine with him; he is obviously serious and maybe more than a little curious about me …”
At the appointed time, Hannah arrived at the gates of the house in Tadworth - ‘Rosebriars’ - and within thirty seconds, the gates opened automatically. She drove up to the house over the pristine gravel. She had rented a Jaguar XK150 drop head coupe. A business had opened in Chelsea renting out exotic sports cars; the car looked the part and it had been relatively inexpensive. Alistair came out to greet her.
“Ms. Musgrave …”
“Please call me Virginia …”
“Virginia … Forbes is so pleased you could make it. Did you bring the painting?”
“Of course …”
Hannah retrieved the painting from the boot of the car, and they went into what Hannah could only describe as The Victoria and Albert Museum, but all of the artwork was Elizabethan and some of it was much earlier.
“I never knew Forbes had such a thing for the Golden Era,” Hannah said as they passed through the hall into the main salon.
“He sees it as his duty to preserve the art of the period for future generations …”
“Does he still have the Hapsworth miniature?”
“I most certainly do!” came the shrill reply from behind them, and both turned to see Forbes standing at the foot of the stairs; a ‘Kenneth Williams’ character dressed for dinner, sporting a dickie bow. “Ms. Musgrave; the pleasure is all mine …” he added and stepped forward except that he did not hold out his hand for hers.
“Please call me Virginia; as promised I brought ‘The Quarrel’-”
“Later; sherry?”
“Thank you …”
Alistair hovered while a butler served the drinks.
“Alistair; be a good chap and fetch the miniature for Virginia to see.” Turning to Hannah, he said, “I haven’t shown the Hapsworth miniature to anyone for more than twenty years.”
“I’m honoured that you should choose me.”
“You brought the painting … I do hope we can agree on terms.”
“Of that I have no doubt,” said Hannah just as Alistair brought in the miniature for her to see. It was kept in a Morrocco leather case which Alistair set down on the table. Forbes retrieved a key from his pocket and unlocked it, lifting the lid to reveal the miniature of Elizabeth the First that had been painted in her coronation year and in which she was dressed in the royal regalia.
“No one knows who painted it. It turned up when Henry sold Hapsworth to pay his father’s death duties; I stepped in to avoid seeing it go East … that was thirty years ago now.”
Hannah was leaning over the box and peering at the portrait of the young queen. Even in a painting of that size, the eyes appeared to gaze back at her.
“Mesmerizing,” she breathed, “Thank you; this is a rare treat and one I won’t forget for a very long time.”
Shortly after that, the box was locked up and Alistair took it away.
“It’ll probably be another twenty years before it sees the light of day again … So; shall we eat?”
“Yes,” smiled Hannah, feeling uncommonly relaxed.
They entered the dining room. The table was set just for two, Alistair didn’t return.
“Why did you outbid me for ‘The Quarrel’?”
“To see how much you wanted it.”
“I want it very much.”
“It’s going to the Fotherington Show next week.”
“Name your price and leave it here tonight.”
“I have a better offer for you.”
“Young lady; there can be no better offer.”
“The ‘Medici Quartet’…”
“What of it?”
“You want that too.”
“Yes; but I’m never likely to get it …”
“How much would you be prepared to pay for the pleasure of having it?”
“With good title? Half a million; without, two hundred thousand pounds.”
“You’d willingly pay two hundred thousand pounds for a painting you couldn’t admit to owning, and if it was stolen from the Fotherington Show, everyone knows you want it so all fingers would point here … that's a hell of a risk you’d be prepared to take …”
“Virginia; I have wanted that piece for as long as I can remember. The empty space where it would hang is like a demon taunting me … it completes the collection, along with ‘The Quarrel’…”
“And the ‘Maplin’?”
“An inferior piece compared to ‘The King’s Men’…”
“Still; all together they would be magnificent.”
“You have two of them; are you suggesting to me that I can have them all?”
“For half a million pounds you can have them all and ‘The Medici Quartet’ would come with good title …”
“I don’t believe you can persuade James to sell it; without it, there is no Fotherington!”
“Let me worry about that … Are we agreed; half a million pounds for all three paintings?”
“… ‘The Quarrel’, ‘The Maplin’ and ‘The Medici Quartet’, along with my ‘The King’s Men’ would complete a life’s work; there would be no finer collection.”
“So?”
“You have my word; half a million pounds with good title. Can you leave ‘The Quarrel’ tonight?”
“Only if you show me the ‘Ann Boleyn With Child’…”
“Ms. Musgrave; that painting has never been seen by anyone else alive today.”
“I know … but I want to see it.”
Forbes possessed a painting of Ann Boleyn painted during her confinement with Elizabeth; it was a rare and candid portrait of a young woman who believed she would have it all. The parallel was a little too obvious for Hannah but fine art was becoming like a drug to her; almost as potent and addictive as stealing it!
“Follow me,” said Forbes, and he got up and waited for Hannah to reach his side of the table before escorting her to an interior room on an upper floor, which was windowless and panelled in rich oak. The heavy door was locked of course, and the key was itself locked away in a chamber which Forbes darted into en route. The painting was behind a solid box frame, which itself was locked, and Forbes carried that key with him at all times. He seemed to rejoin her as he unlocked it, having retreated somewhat since making the offer.
“This painting started my collection. It nearly bankrupted me then; all my hopes were hung with it. I have to say, I fared better than she; much like the infant she was carrying … of course her future was uncertain as was mine until history took its fateful turn …”
“How different history could have been,” injected Hannah.
“Quite!”
“Thank you …”
“No one else will see this until after I die; if you do not get me ‘The Medici Quartet’ I will have you killed …”
“If you threaten me, Forbes, I will steal this and burn it on the lawn in front of the house.”
“I believe you would … I have no fear that you won’t get me what I want.”
They returned to the salon for coffee, and Alistair made a re-appearance.
“Alistair; ‘The Quarrel’ remains with us … be so kind as to show Virginia out; I will retire now …”
He left and Alistair looked expectantly at Hannah.
“Collect ‘The Maplin’ at your leisure, Alistair,” Hannah said, “I will deliver ‘The Medici Quartet’ after the Fotherington Show, in four weeks. Upon delivery, I require an untraceable bearer bond for five hundred thousand pounds …”
“Splendid, Ms. Musgrave; I believe you know what Forbes will do if you fail him.”
“And he knows what I shall do if he fails me … Goodnight.”
“Goodnight.”
Hannah drove back to the mews cottage in Chelsea while her stomach alternately flipped back and forth; the stakes could not be higher or the adrenalin pumping any quicker!
Hannah had contacted James Fotherington just before the opening of the gallery to see, very tongue in cheek, if he would loan the ‘Quartet’ for the purposes of the exhibition. But not even Hannah’s ample charms and the other two paintings which she planned to exhibit alongside it could persuade James to relinquish the ‘Quartet’ even for a day; the painting had never left the house in Chilham since the day that Elizabeth had gifted it to the family.
Being good natured, he did suggest that perhaps she could loan ‘The Quarrel’ for the show, and that was how it was left. Clearly that was not possible now but the game had many levels; just as Forbes was hell-bent on acquiring ‘The Medici Quartet’, James was equally keen to acquire the ‘Ann Boleyn With Child’. He considered Fotherington to be its rightful home.
Rivals make for such interesting sport!
The day after the dinner with Forbes, Hannah telephoned James to apologize for the fact that the ‘Quarrel’ would not be coming after all.
“I’m so sorry, James. Forbes made a silly offer conditional on the painting being delivered immediately, along with ‘The Maplin’; I couldn’t refuse.”
“I understand perfectly, Virginia; Forbes can be very persuasive and he has exceedingly deep pockets.”
“I traded for a peek at the ‘Ann Boleyn With Child’; it seemed only fair.”
“And he showed you?!”
“Of course … I can be equally persuasive, James.”
“Of that, I have no doubt … but that painting has not been seen by another living soul.”
“It has now … He only wants the ‘Quartet’ to complete his life’s work. I believe he will expire if all the paintings were finally together at Rosebriars.”
“Quite possibly; are you still coming to the show?”
“Oh yes; I wouldn’t miss it for the world … and I can tell you about the Hapsworth miniature too-”
“Good God! Did you have him eating out of your palm as well?”
“Not exactly … See you next week, James; I’m staying locally so perhaps we could have dinner one evening.”
“I’m sure we can manage that; goodbye, Virginia.”
“Bye, James …”
Forbes was right; there would be no Fotherington without the painting, and the annual show, which lasted a week, drew a modest crowd. The money kept the house but very little else. James was actually quite poorly off though he would never admit to it.
“He really needs the ‘Boleyn’ to put Fotherington on the map and safeguard his future but he has no money and he didn’t even bid for ‘The Quarrel’. With the future of the house looking so uncertain these days, I wonder just how desperate he is …”
Hannah drove down in the Jaguar and checked into the local hotel for a few nights, calling in on James the following morning, one day before the show opened. The house was busy and James looked harassed.
“Not there, there!” he was screaming when Hannah arrived, and she smiled encouragingly as he turned around.
“Virginia?”
“Yes, it is; hello, James.”
He shook her hand warmly and escorted her to his study for a coffee.
“It gets harder every year, I swear it.”
“This will be my first time …”
“It’s rather quaint in its way. I can’t stand the thought of the house being open all year round; just for a week is bearable - small, select crowds and no coaches!”
“But no tourist dollars or yen either, James …”
“No …” he replied wistfully, “Still; it doesn’t always have to be about the money does it?”
“No; you’re right, but it can’t be any cheaper to maintain this property year-on-year.”
“Quite the opposite; it’s getting damn expensive and you can’t find the craftsmen these days.”
Their conversation went on in a similar vein for half an hour, until James asked, “Do you want to see the ‘Quartet’ before the hordes?”
“Oh, James; really? That would be wonderful …”
He towed her to a library-style room. The painting was on an easel, propped up in a corner.
“Not locked away like the ‘Boleyn’…” Hannah remarked.
“I can’t believe he showed it to you. I’ve asked - even offered to pay - but he has refused point blank.”
“You didn’t have ‘The Quarrel’ to offer in fair trade.”
“If I had those paintings, all together, what a show we would have then!”
“What would you give to have all those paintings, James?”
“Your tone suggests that you were asking seriously.”
“I was …”
“Half a million; it’s all that’s left in the kitty. It’ll see me to the grave if I’m lucky, but then everything will go unless I do something.”
“For half a million I will get you, with good title, all the paintings that you want, which includes ‘The Maplin’, ‘The King’s Men’, ‘The Quarrel’ and the ‘Boleyn’…”
“You’re jesting; he won’t part with any of them … not willingly.”
“Maybe not willingly, but part with them he will.”
“Get me the paintings and I’ll pay you half a million.”
“Deal! Shall we have dinner tonight? My treat; and the hotel’s menu is pretty good.”
“I would be delighted.”
“Eight o’clock.”
“See you then.”
“Bye …”
They did dine; both flirted outrageously and their tinkle of laughter was heard all evening.
“Good night, James. I’ll see you tomorrow, and if you truly want all the paintings then I will get them for you …”
“I do; but I don’t see how you can, not with good title. He’d burn them on the front lawn before he parted with them …”
Hannah just smiled as she gave him a tender little kiss on the cheek.
“Patience, James; we all get what we want in the end … Sleep tight.”
James went back to Fotherington euphoric if not a little bemused. A nut of certainty was growing in the pit of his stomach that something would - had to - happen, and to finally best Forbes and be able to show all the paintings would be the culmination of his own life’s work. Christ; he might even allow coaches!
Hannah went upstairs very happy with her progress. All she needed to do now was to decide which of these vain arses she was going to make triumphal and who was least likely to bear a grudge. That would seem to be James but it was all too easy to fall for the faded gentility and quaintness; both had the money so it boiled down to which one represented the least risk on her part.
“Of course, Hannah, you could always alleviate them both of their burdens and double your takings …”
Hannah didn’t know who this inner voice belonged to. She mused that she must be the reincarnation of some great art thief; whoever it was seemed to be looking out for her interests so she didn’t mind.
Being good natured, he did suggest that perhaps she could loan ‘The Quarrel’ for the show, and that was how it was left. Clearly that was not possible now but the game had many levels; just as Forbes was hell-bent on acquiring ‘The Medici Quartet’, James was equally keen to acquire the ‘Ann Boleyn With Child’. He considered Fotherington to be its rightful home.
Rivals make for such interesting sport!
The day after the dinner with Forbes, Hannah telephoned James to apologize for the fact that the ‘Quarrel’ would not be coming after all.
“I’m so sorry, James. Forbes made a silly offer conditional on the painting being delivered immediately, along with ‘The Maplin’; I couldn’t refuse.”
“I understand perfectly, Virginia; Forbes can be very persuasive and he has exceedingly deep pockets.”
“I traded for a peek at the ‘Ann Boleyn With Child’; it seemed only fair.”
“And he showed you?!”
“Of course … I can be equally persuasive, James.”
“Of that, I have no doubt … but that painting has not been seen by another living soul.”
“It has now … He only wants the ‘Quartet’ to complete his life’s work. I believe he will expire if all the paintings were finally together at Rosebriars.”
“Quite possibly; are you still coming to the show?”
“Oh yes; I wouldn’t miss it for the world … and I can tell you about the Hapsworth miniature too-”
“Good God! Did you have him eating out of your palm as well?”
“Not exactly … See you next week, James; I’m staying locally so perhaps we could have dinner one evening.”
“I’m sure we can manage that; goodbye, Virginia.”
“Bye, James …”
Forbes was right; there would be no Fotherington without the painting, and the annual show, which lasted a week, drew a modest crowd. The money kept the house but very little else. James was actually quite poorly off though he would never admit to it.
“He really needs the ‘Boleyn’ to put Fotherington on the map and safeguard his future but he has no money and he didn’t even bid for ‘The Quarrel’. With the future of the house looking so uncertain these days, I wonder just how desperate he is …”
Hannah drove down in the Jaguar and checked into the local hotel for a few nights, calling in on James the following morning, one day before the show opened. The house was busy and James looked harassed.
“Not there, there!” he was screaming when Hannah arrived, and she smiled encouragingly as he turned around.
“Virginia?”
“Yes, it is; hello, James.”
He shook her hand warmly and escorted her to his study for a coffee.
“It gets harder every year, I swear it.”
“This will be my first time …”
“It’s rather quaint in its way. I can’t stand the thought of the house being open all year round; just for a week is bearable - small, select crowds and no coaches!”
“But no tourist dollars or yen either, James …”
“No …” he replied wistfully, “Still; it doesn’t always have to be about the money does it?”
“No; you’re right, but it can’t be any cheaper to maintain this property year-on-year.”
“Quite the opposite; it’s getting damn expensive and you can’t find the craftsmen these days.”
Their conversation went on in a similar vein for half an hour, until James asked, “Do you want to see the ‘Quartet’ before the hordes?”
“Oh, James; really? That would be wonderful …”
He towed her to a library-style room. The painting was on an easel, propped up in a corner.
“Not locked away like the ‘Boleyn’…” Hannah remarked.
“I can’t believe he showed it to you. I’ve asked - even offered to pay - but he has refused point blank.”
“You didn’t have ‘The Quarrel’ to offer in fair trade.”
“If I had those paintings, all together, what a show we would have then!”
“What would you give to have all those paintings, James?”
“Your tone suggests that you were asking seriously.”
“I was …”
“Half a million; it’s all that’s left in the kitty. It’ll see me to the grave if I’m lucky, but then everything will go unless I do something.”
“For half a million I will get you, with good title, all the paintings that you want, which includes ‘The Maplin’, ‘The King’s Men’, ‘The Quarrel’ and the ‘Boleyn’…”
“You’re jesting; he won’t part with any of them … not willingly.”
“Maybe not willingly, but part with them he will.”
“Get me the paintings and I’ll pay you half a million.”
“Deal! Shall we have dinner tonight? My treat; and the hotel’s menu is pretty good.”
“I would be delighted.”
“Eight o’clock.”
“See you then.”
“Bye …”
They did dine; both flirted outrageously and their tinkle of laughter was heard all evening.
“Good night, James. I’ll see you tomorrow, and if you truly want all the paintings then I will get them for you …”
“I do; but I don’t see how you can, not with good title. He’d burn them on the front lawn before he parted with them …”
Hannah just smiled as she gave him a tender little kiss on the cheek.
“Patience, James; we all get what we want in the end … Sleep tight.”
James went back to Fotherington euphoric if not a little bemused. A nut of certainty was growing in the pit of his stomach that something would - had to - happen, and to finally best Forbes and be able to show all the paintings would be the culmination of his own life’s work. Christ; he might even allow coaches!
Hannah went upstairs very happy with her progress. All she needed to do now was to decide which of these vain arses she was going to make triumphal and who was least likely to bear a grudge. That would seem to be James but it was all too easy to fall for the faded gentility and quaintness; both had the money so it boiled down to which one represented the least risk on her part.
“Of course, Hannah, you could always alleviate them both of their burdens and double your takings …”
Hannah didn’t know who this inner voice belonged to. She mused that she must be the reincarnation of some great art thief; whoever it was seemed to be looking out for her interests so she didn’t mind.
Hannah had breakfast, freshened up, and then walked the relatively short distance to the house for the show which opened its doors at eleven o’clock. Having seen the painting the day before, she didn’t really need to go, but having promised James, she put her best foot forward.
The car park was full by the time she got to the house, and being the first day of the annual show, it was bustling. The tour was lead through the lower portion of the house, and in one room - the big study - the painting was now on display, protected behind a thick silk cordon. Security was deliberately understated but if the painting was moved, the alarms went off and the hounds of hell were let loose. Everyone shuffled past in orderly fashion and in near silence. No photographs were permitted but prints in three sizes were available in the small gift shop. James just hovered, pressing palms with regular goers and smiling all the time - also mentally totting up the takings and whether the leaky roof would finally be fixed this year.
Hannah paid and toured; it meant she saw the rest of the collection, which was impressive if a little thin in parts.
“Virginia! Good morning; a splendid turn out as you can see,” said James, catching up with her as she got to the end.
“Well done, James, and the best of luck with the rest of the week; I’ll be in touch in about two weeks.”
“Okay … I’m feeling quite sick with the anticipation; promise me this isn’t a cruel joke.”
“This isn’t a cruel joke … By the way, what service did the family render the Queen that brought about the gift in the first place?”
A shadow passed across James’s face; it was almost undetectable but in that nanosecond, Hannah knew that what he was about to say was going to be a complete lie.
“Immediately after the defeat of the Armada the nation needed ships, and my ancestor, Henry Fotherington, provided a large quantity of the timber that was required to rebuild the fleet …”
“Fascinating period of our history I always think,” ventured Hannah.
“Yes, it is …”
She left shortly afterward, having the feeling that he knew that she knew that he had told a lie. Since the family name, the estate and its fortunes were built on this story, it was going to take more than a little delving to ferret out the truth.
“No one said that this job was easy, Hannah,” she mused.
Before she left the village, Hannah visited the family graveyard and took a large number of photographs. It wasn’t immediately apparent where the flaw lay but it was there somewhere. After a brief visit to Rochester, she returned to London and headed for the gallery, which had been closed. Two letters were in the post box; the first a bill for the electricity and the second from Forbes Darlington, which read -
‘Dear Virginia,
I hope you are enjoying the show. Did you inform James it would be his last? I suspect not. Alistair will call on Thursday to pick up ‘The Maplin’ and I expect the ‘Quartet’ to be delivered a week after that, Friday at the latest. Come to dinner; I am relishing listening to the story of how you prised the painting out of James’ clutches and got good title to it.
Adieu!
Forbes.’
“Smug bastard …”
It was late by now and the journey had been tiring so she went straight to bed and began to recall the names of the Fotherington’s since the first - Henry - in preference to counting sheep.
The car park was full by the time she got to the house, and being the first day of the annual show, it was bustling. The tour was lead through the lower portion of the house, and in one room - the big study - the painting was now on display, protected behind a thick silk cordon. Security was deliberately understated but if the painting was moved, the alarms went off and the hounds of hell were let loose. Everyone shuffled past in orderly fashion and in near silence. No photographs were permitted but prints in three sizes were available in the small gift shop. James just hovered, pressing palms with regular goers and smiling all the time - also mentally totting up the takings and whether the leaky roof would finally be fixed this year.
Hannah paid and toured; it meant she saw the rest of the collection, which was impressive if a little thin in parts.
“Virginia! Good morning; a splendid turn out as you can see,” said James, catching up with her as she got to the end.
“Well done, James, and the best of luck with the rest of the week; I’ll be in touch in about two weeks.”
“Okay … I’m feeling quite sick with the anticipation; promise me this isn’t a cruel joke.”
“This isn’t a cruel joke … By the way, what service did the family render the Queen that brought about the gift in the first place?”
A shadow passed across James’s face; it was almost undetectable but in that nanosecond, Hannah knew that what he was about to say was going to be a complete lie.
“Immediately after the defeat of the Armada the nation needed ships, and my ancestor, Henry Fotherington, provided a large quantity of the timber that was required to rebuild the fleet …”
“Fascinating period of our history I always think,” ventured Hannah.
“Yes, it is …”
She left shortly afterward, having the feeling that he knew that she knew that he had told a lie. Since the family name, the estate and its fortunes were built on this story, it was going to take more than a little delving to ferret out the truth.
“No one said that this job was easy, Hannah,” she mused.
Before she left the village, Hannah visited the family graveyard and took a large number of photographs. It wasn’t immediately apparent where the flaw lay but it was there somewhere. After a brief visit to Rochester, she returned to London and headed for the gallery, which had been closed. Two letters were in the post box; the first a bill for the electricity and the second from Forbes Darlington, which read -
‘Dear Virginia,
I hope you are enjoying the show. Did you inform James it would be his last? I suspect not. Alistair will call on Thursday to pick up ‘The Maplin’ and I expect the ‘Quartet’ to be delivered a week after that, Friday at the latest. Come to dinner; I am relishing listening to the story of how you prised the painting out of James’ clutches and got good title to it.
Adieu!
Forbes.’
“Smug bastard …”
It was late by now and the journey had been tiring so she went straight to bed and began to recall the names of the Fotherington’s since the first - Henry - in preference to counting sheep.
Research was bread and butter to Hannah and she was extremely thorough. With her orderly mind and her knack for seeing connections, it took two days and a morning at the Records’ Office to find the key to why James Fotherington was attempting to ‘touch up’ his portrait.
“Ah!” was all Hannah allowed herself at the time of the final discovery.
Thursday came and ‘The Maplin’ was picked up by Alistair.
“A week tomorrow, Virginia.”
“I hope that isn’t Forbes’ way of frightening me.”
“Just a gentle reminder.”
“None is needed, and if he does it again, I’ll burn the Boleyn in front of his eyes … I’ll see you next week on Friday - oh! Could you tell Forbes that the Hapsworth miniature is most likely a fake? Henry’s father did own the miniature but sold it surreptitiously before the end. A colleague of mine has stumbled across something. By next Friday, I’ll know for sure if he did sell it and to whom … If I’m able to confirm that, then Forbes can no doubt sue Henry and get his money back.”
“Friday will prove to be an interesting day all round.”
“Goodbye, Alistair …”
Hannah had relayed the information to rattle Forbes; she had no idea if the miniature was fake or genuine … yet!
She donned her new disguise to see how it suited her; an older woman, perhaps forty, regal, noble - a lady, a Fotherington, and one demanding her rightful inheritance. Hannah had the proof that James was not all Fotherington - quite the bastard in fact, and Lady Jane Fotherington was about to bring an end to his little charade.
The real Lady Jane Fotherington was in an asylum in Switzerland; a fact that was not widely known. Hannah rented a Mercedes sports car and drove down to Fotherington on the last day of the show. Choosing her moment carefully, to make the biggest scene possible, she announced her arrival and demanded to know why the house was full of strangers and where the devil was James. He was hurriedly found.
“Lady Jane?”
“Yes, James! The very same; cured and back for what is rightfully mine!”
“But Fotherington is my home. What about the show; the painting?”
“Keep the house but I want the painting!” she hurled back.
“The painting has never left this house; it is the centerpiece of the collection. The show is the highlight of the calendar; you can’t take it-”
“I can and I will! No little bastard is going to stop me. If that painting is not put into the boot of my car within the hour, I will publicize your grubby little heritage, and after that there will be nothing!”
“Please, Jane; you’ll ruin me. The house costs a fortune to maintain and the coffers are empty.”
“If you give me the painting then I’ll give you the Hapsworth miniature.”
“But you don’t have it; Henry sold it to Forbes Darlington to pay his father’s death duties.”
“It wasn’t his to sell.”
“You honestly think Forbes will hand it over to you?”
“He has no choice, and if he doesn’t, then I’ll publicize his part in the ruse.”
“Take the painting but I must have the miniature.”
“You will - by the end of next week. Update, James; change the formula and I would seriously think about selling up.”
James had the painting packed and put into the boot of the Mercedes.
“I’ll see you next week, James; don’t look so downhearted, you’ll have the miniature …”
Hannah drove off and headed back to the gallery to ‘sell’ the painting to Virginia Musgrave for half a million pounds, after which, Lady Jane went back to Switzerland to re-commence her treatment. Hannah as Virginia had good title to the painting and the payment for the painting was simply made by transferring the amount out of one of her accounts into another that she had.
She called Alistair.
“Alistair; I have the painting. Do you have the bond ready?”
“Certainly, Virginia; Forbes is going to be delighted if not astounded. Did you receive confirmation that the miniature was a fake?”
“Yes, I did. The original sale took place before Henry’s father died; he sold it to Jane Fotherington-”
“Did he?!”
“I have a letter from her confirming that she still has it.”
“Forbes is very unhappy about this as you can imagine.”
“I’m sure … Still; he has ‘The Medici Quartet’ now, and I’m sure that will make it all right.”
“When are you bringing it over?”
“Tomorrow at around eleven o’clock.”
“Perfect!”
“Oh, Alistair; if Forbes thinks he is going to play any games then remind him, gently, what I will do.”
“There will be no games I can assure you.”
“Good; see you tomorrow.”
“Ah!” was all Hannah allowed herself at the time of the final discovery.
Thursday came and ‘The Maplin’ was picked up by Alistair.
“A week tomorrow, Virginia.”
“I hope that isn’t Forbes’ way of frightening me.”
“Just a gentle reminder.”
“None is needed, and if he does it again, I’ll burn the Boleyn in front of his eyes … I’ll see you next week on Friday - oh! Could you tell Forbes that the Hapsworth miniature is most likely a fake? Henry’s father did own the miniature but sold it surreptitiously before the end. A colleague of mine has stumbled across something. By next Friday, I’ll know for sure if he did sell it and to whom … If I’m able to confirm that, then Forbes can no doubt sue Henry and get his money back.”
“Friday will prove to be an interesting day all round.”
“Goodbye, Alistair …”
Hannah had relayed the information to rattle Forbes; she had no idea if the miniature was fake or genuine … yet!
She donned her new disguise to see how it suited her; an older woman, perhaps forty, regal, noble - a lady, a Fotherington, and one demanding her rightful inheritance. Hannah had the proof that James was not all Fotherington - quite the bastard in fact, and Lady Jane Fotherington was about to bring an end to his little charade.
The real Lady Jane Fotherington was in an asylum in Switzerland; a fact that was not widely known. Hannah rented a Mercedes sports car and drove down to Fotherington on the last day of the show. Choosing her moment carefully, to make the biggest scene possible, she announced her arrival and demanded to know why the house was full of strangers and where the devil was James. He was hurriedly found.
“Lady Jane?”
“Yes, James! The very same; cured and back for what is rightfully mine!”
“But Fotherington is my home. What about the show; the painting?”
“Keep the house but I want the painting!” she hurled back.
“The painting has never left this house; it is the centerpiece of the collection. The show is the highlight of the calendar; you can’t take it-”
“I can and I will! No little bastard is going to stop me. If that painting is not put into the boot of my car within the hour, I will publicize your grubby little heritage, and after that there will be nothing!”
“Please, Jane; you’ll ruin me. The house costs a fortune to maintain and the coffers are empty.”
“If you give me the painting then I’ll give you the Hapsworth miniature.”
“But you don’t have it; Henry sold it to Forbes Darlington to pay his father’s death duties.”
“It wasn’t his to sell.”
“You honestly think Forbes will hand it over to you?”
“He has no choice, and if he doesn’t, then I’ll publicize his part in the ruse.”
“Take the painting but I must have the miniature.”
“You will - by the end of next week. Update, James; change the formula and I would seriously think about selling up.”
James had the painting packed and put into the boot of the Mercedes.
“I’ll see you next week, James; don’t look so downhearted, you’ll have the miniature …”
Hannah drove off and headed back to the gallery to ‘sell’ the painting to Virginia Musgrave for half a million pounds, after which, Lady Jane went back to Switzerland to re-commence her treatment. Hannah as Virginia had good title to the painting and the payment for the painting was simply made by transferring the amount out of one of her accounts into another that she had.
She called Alistair.
“Alistair; I have the painting. Do you have the bond ready?”
“Certainly, Virginia; Forbes is going to be delighted if not astounded. Did you receive confirmation that the miniature was a fake?”
“Yes, I did. The original sale took place before Henry’s father died; he sold it to Jane Fotherington-”
“Did he?!”
“I have a letter from her confirming that she still has it.”
“Forbes is very unhappy about this as you can imagine.”
“I’m sure … Still; he has ‘The Medici Quartet’ now, and I’m sure that will make it all right.”
“When are you bringing it over?”
“Tomorrow at around eleven o’clock.”
“Perfect!”
“Oh, Alistair; if Forbes thinks he is going to play any games then remind him, gently, what I will do.”
“There will be no games I can assure you.”
“Good; see you tomorrow.”
The following day at eleven o’clock, Hannah, as Virginia, in the rented Jaguar, went over to Forbes’, and as soon as the gate was opened, she sped up the driveway before either Alistair or Forbes had made it out of the house to greet her. She had the painting set upon an easel beside the car, next to which was a petrol can.
Forbes himself came out.
“Virginia; why the theatricals?”
“Oh; call it feminine intuition, Forbes. I want the bond and the miniature else I’m going to set this alight-”
“Please do not do anything rash or stupid; Alistair is fetching the miniature and your payment.”
“Good!”
Alistair came out with the case which housed the miniature and an envelope that contained the bond for half a million pounds.
“Place them on the ground right there,” said Hannah, pointing to patch on the driveway, “then retreat …”
“There really is no need for this, Virginia; we’re delighted that you have delivered the painting.”
“It matters not - back off!”
They did, and she checked the bond and then opened the case to find the miniature inside.
“Excellent! Here is your copy of the letter from Jane Fotherington, confirming that she still has the miniature.”
“How did you get James to relinquish ‘The Quartet’,”asked Forbes.
“Oh; that was easy once I had established that he didn’t have title to it in the first place; he couldn’t hand it over quickly enough to avoid any embarrassment.”
“So who did?”
“Jane.”
“Why did she part with it?”
“She wanted you to have the collection, Forbes; she’s hoping that you decide to show the paintings - maybe even just a one-off show?”
“Well, perhaps I will, by way of a celebration … and what of James?”
“I expect he’ll sell Fotherington now and quietly disappear.”
“This has worked out far better than I hoped; notwithstanding the miniature, but then I’ll get my money back eventually and I’ll buy the Greshing.”
“Goodbye, Forbes … Alistair …”
Hannah got back into the car and drove down the driveway towards the gates, which did not open immediately; she waited. Eventually, they did open and she waved as she drove out; it had been touch and go all along. Her relief in not having to ram the gates and pay out for the damages to the car was palpable.
She drove to the airport and handed over the keys to the car to the chap from the garage. After loading her two smart cases onto a trolley, she headed into departures for the short flight to Paris and a long-awaited reunion with Boheme. Not only did he welcome her with open arms but in exchange for the return of certain documents, he found a buyer for the miniature and a new client.
“The Veronese?”
“Something worthy of your talents at last …”
“All roads lead to Rome …”
Forbes himself came out.
“Virginia; why the theatricals?”
“Oh; call it feminine intuition, Forbes. I want the bond and the miniature else I’m going to set this alight-”
“Please do not do anything rash or stupid; Alistair is fetching the miniature and your payment.”
“Good!”
Alistair came out with the case which housed the miniature and an envelope that contained the bond for half a million pounds.
“Place them on the ground right there,” said Hannah, pointing to patch on the driveway, “then retreat …”
“There really is no need for this, Virginia; we’re delighted that you have delivered the painting.”
“It matters not - back off!”
They did, and she checked the bond and then opened the case to find the miniature inside.
“Excellent! Here is your copy of the letter from Jane Fotherington, confirming that she still has the miniature.”
“How did you get James to relinquish ‘The Quartet’,”asked Forbes.
“Oh; that was easy once I had established that he didn’t have title to it in the first place; he couldn’t hand it over quickly enough to avoid any embarrassment.”
“So who did?”
“Jane.”
“Why did she part with it?”
“She wanted you to have the collection, Forbes; she’s hoping that you decide to show the paintings - maybe even just a one-off show?”
“Well, perhaps I will, by way of a celebration … and what of James?”
“I expect he’ll sell Fotherington now and quietly disappear.”
“This has worked out far better than I hoped; notwithstanding the miniature, but then I’ll get my money back eventually and I’ll buy the Greshing.”
“Goodbye, Forbes … Alistair …”
Hannah got back into the car and drove down the driveway towards the gates, which did not open immediately; she waited. Eventually, they did open and she waved as she drove out; it had been touch and go all along. Her relief in not having to ram the gates and pay out for the damages to the car was palpable.
She drove to the airport and handed over the keys to the car to the chap from the garage. After loading her two smart cases onto a trolley, she headed into departures for the short flight to Paris and a long-awaited reunion with Boheme. Not only did he welcome her with open arms but in exchange for the return of certain documents, he found a buyer for the miniature and a new client.
“The Veronese?”
“Something worthy of your talents at last …”
“All roads lead to Rome …”
