The Twelve Crimes of Hannah Smith
Crime 4 - The Nizza
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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 |
Hannah’s self-imposed retirement lasted for three years. Time enough for most people to forget most things. Not that she spent all three of those years on the Island with her parents; just the first. She let her Saint Tropez blonde locks grow out and put on the five kilos she’d lost as part of that “adventure”, losing her gauntness, much to her mother’s satisfaction.
Much to her father’s satisfaction, she got a job in the library and bought a small flat near her parents’ house in Ventnor. Her father introduced her to his bank manager for the purposes of applying for a mortgage. She thanked him and secretly paid for the flat outright in cash. She danced, and to all intents and purposes, looked like she might be settling down, and possibly getting ready for her first serious relationship, or so her mother prayed. Hannah had other ideas.
After a year, she fabricated a job offer in London, rented out the flat, packed her two smart cases, and said her tearful goodbyes. She spent a month in London, sorting out new IDs, and on her twentieth birthday, she flew to New York as Sadie Goldberg, an American student at Columbia University, studying art history.
She spent the next year studying, sometimes art but also a range of other subjects that now included computing. She rented a tidy little apartment on West 80th Street and worked part-time in one of the bookstores in the area of the University. Her fortune of three million French francs had converted to five hundred thousand US dollars. She still had her account in Liechtenstein; the car was in storage.
The third year of her retirement, which began on her twenty-first birthday and ended on her twenty-second, was spent travelling a little. Now there were choices to be made.
She didn’t want to work for people like Manuel. He was a dangerous criminal and ruthless. Hannah never really saw herself as a criminal like him; she had class and never stole things that people couldn’t afford to lose ... or so she judged.
Hettie hadn’t lost anything except a fake Degas and a pretty lipstick case. Rathbone had gotten his soulmate. The Fayette’s probably had the real chalice tucked away in a vault somewhere to one day be repatriated - replicas were still on sale in the gift shop. Gerhardt lost infinitely more after his messy divorce from the starlet, and he deserved it for his roguish manners. Therefore, Hannah’s conscience was pretty clean, and her sleep remained untroubled.
She danced but was getting “bored”, and that drove her to find a new employer. Skills needed to be used, or they became rusty, and after three years, her kudos was on the wane. It was high time she worked again.
She went to a gallery on West 23rd Street and stood in front of a Pollock with one of the arms of her sunglasses carefully placed between her perfect teeth.
“It’s a fine example of his work,” said the man at her side; not an employee but another customer.
She turned and, in a heavy Italian accent, purred, “I prefer sculpture; more animated; more real; more sensuous.”
“So why are you looking at the Pollock so intently?” he asked.
She smiled.
“Sometimes it does to have a change ...”
She left, and he remained looking at the Pollock as if he was trying to see something in it which he had missed; something she had seen, undiscovered by anyone else.
“May I help you, Sir?” asked the gallery assistant.
“Do you know that woman’s name?”
“Signorina Fiorina de Cana, I believe,” replied the young man.
“Thank you,” the man murmured, and then he left.
oOo
Hannah loved fishing, and to catch a fish such as Michael Burlington on the first excursion, was a real triumph. She had made her name known to the gallery assistant on one previous visit and hoped he had remembered it for she was sure that Michael would ask.
Back at the apartment, she returned to a magazine that she had picked up, which featured the Park Avenue apartment of Michael Burlington, and the exquisite bronzes he had acquired over the last ten years - one in particular, The Muses by Adolfo de Nizza.
The impetus had been a call from her friend Pierre, the security guard. Someone had contacted him, asking if he knew of her whereabouts. He had, as instructed, feigned ignorance but passed on the details of the enquiry to Hannah. Only Manuel would have known that the security guard had contact with her in the past. Manual was very well connected, and he had referred her, seemingly, to this person who had spoken to the security guard, leaving a number ‘should the lady ever be in contact again’.
Pierre had followed the established protocol and had contacted Hannah a few days later.
“Maddy; it’s Pierre. Contact was made the day before yesterday; an associate of Manuel I gather. His name is Thierry Silber. He gave me a number to call should ‘the lady ever be in contact again’ ... How do you want to play it?”
“I’ll call you in a couple of days, Pierre; after I’ve found out what I can about him. I need to think this through carefully. If he’s an associate of Manuel, then perhaps I don’t want to know, and you’re three thousand miles away this time. I’ll get back to you very soon; thank you. Has everything been working properly with the transfers to your account?”
“Yes, Maddy; absolutely fine. I feel a fraud for taking the money and not doing anything for it.”
“If I contact Thierry Silber, then he will know that you were in contact with me. That puts you back in the picture. If you’d prefer to stay out of it, then just say so; we don’t know how dangerous this man is. Think about it and we’ll talk in a few days; take care.”
“You too ...”
Hannah needed to think seriously and delve to find out what she could about this man Thierry Silber. That would require a little subterfuge on her part.
That evening, before putting any wheels in motion, she sat and thought very hard about the future.
The buzz of getting into the game again could not be ignored; she missed it. The last three years had been necessary to acquire a new level of confidence and to learn as much as possible. Age played no part in this; she could be any age between eighteen and thirty-eight given an hour in front of the mirror. She had confidence and saw connections and solutions well before anyone else. She lived comfortably and had security; the money was less of a consideration compared to achieving the goal. She needed a goal. The theft of Gerhardt’s paintings had elevated her into a different league, and that “commission” had been offered to her by virtue of the theft of the chalice from the Fayette Residence. Where did this lead? How high could she rise? Doubtless there were jobs and rewards greater than that.
She concluded that, if it appeared that Thierry Silber was less dangerous than Manuel, then she would speak to him.
She slept on her choices and had a bad dream, waking at three in the morning, convinced that someone had been standing by her bed, looking down at her. In her later remembrance of the dream, she realized that the person hadn’t been looking down on her in her bed; it had been her coffin.
Much to her father’s satisfaction, she got a job in the library and bought a small flat near her parents’ house in Ventnor. Her father introduced her to his bank manager for the purposes of applying for a mortgage. She thanked him and secretly paid for the flat outright in cash. She danced, and to all intents and purposes, looked like she might be settling down, and possibly getting ready for her first serious relationship, or so her mother prayed. Hannah had other ideas.
After a year, she fabricated a job offer in London, rented out the flat, packed her two smart cases, and said her tearful goodbyes. She spent a month in London, sorting out new IDs, and on her twentieth birthday, she flew to New York as Sadie Goldberg, an American student at Columbia University, studying art history.
She spent the next year studying, sometimes art but also a range of other subjects that now included computing. She rented a tidy little apartment on West 80th Street and worked part-time in one of the bookstores in the area of the University. Her fortune of three million French francs had converted to five hundred thousand US dollars. She still had her account in Liechtenstein; the car was in storage.
The third year of her retirement, which began on her twenty-first birthday and ended on her twenty-second, was spent travelling a little. Now there were choices to be made.
She didn’t want to work for people like Manuel. He was a dangerous criminal and ruthless. Hannah never really saw herself as a criminal like him; she had class and never stole things that people couldn’t afford to lose ... or so she judged.
Hettie hadn’t lost anything except a fake Degas and a pretty lipstick case. Rathbone had gotten his soulmate. The Fayette’s probably had the real chalice tucked away in a vault somewhere to one day be repatriated - replicas were still on sale in the gift shop. Gerhardt lost infinitely more after his messy divorce from the starlet, and he deserved it for his roguish manners. Therefore, Hannah’s conscience was pretty clean, and her sleep remained untroubled.
She danced but was getting “bored”, and that drove her to find a new employer. Skills needed to be used, or they became rusty, and after three years, her kudos was on the wane. It was high time she worked again.
She went to a gallery on West 23rd Street and stood in front of a Pollock with one of the arms of her sunglasses carefully placed between her perfect teeth.
“It’s a fine example of his work,” said the man at her side; not an employee but another customer.
She turned and, in a heavy Italian accent, purred, “I prefer sculpture; more animated; more real; more sensuous.”
“So why are you looking at the Pollock so intently?” he asked.
She smiled.
“Sometimes it does to have a change ...”
She left, and he remained looking at the Pollock as if he was trying to see something in it which he had missed; something she had seen, undiscovered by anyone else.
“May I help you, Sir?” asked the gallery assistant.
“Do you know that woman’s name?”
“Signorina Fiorina de Cana, I believe,” replied the young man.
“Thank you,” the man murmured, and then he left.
oOo
Hannah loved fishing, and to catch a fish such as Michael Burlington on the first excursion, was a real triumph. She had made her name known to the gallery assistant on one previous visit and hoped he had remembered it for she was sure that Michael would ask.
Back at the apartment, she returned to a magazine that she had picked up, which featured the Park Avenue apartment of Michael Burlington, and the exquisite bronzes he had acquired over the last ten years - one in particular, The Muses by Adolfo de Nizza.
The impetus had been a call from her friend Pierre, the security guard. Someone had contacted him, asking if he knew of her whereabouts. He had, as instructed, feigned ignorance but passed on the details of the enquiry to Hannah. Only Manuel would have known that the security guard had contact with her in the past. Manual was very well connected, and he had referred her, seemingly, to this person who had spoken to the security guard, leaving a number ‘should the lady ever be in contact again’.
Pierre had followed the established protocol and had contacted Hannah a few days later.
“Maddy; it’s Pierre. Contact was made the day before yesterday; an associate of Manuel I gather. His name is Thierry Silber. He gave me a number to call should ‘the lady ever be in contact again’ ... How do you want to play it?”
“I’ll call you in a couple of days, Pierre; after I’ve found out what I can about him. I need to think this through carefully. If he’s an associate of Manuel, then perhaps I don’t want to know, and you’re three thousand miles away this time. I’ll get back to you very soon; thank you. Has everything been working properly with the transfers to your account?”
“Yes, Maddy; absolutely fine. I feel a fraud for taking the money and not doing anything for it.”
“If I contact Thierry Silber, then he will know that you were in contact with me. That puts you back in the picture. If you’d prefer to stay out of it, then just say so; we don’t know how dangerous this man is. Think about it and we’ll talk in a few days; take care.”
“You too ...”
Hannah needed to think seriously and delve to find out what she could about this man Thierry Silber. That would require a little subterfuge on her part.
That evening, before putting any wheels in motion, she sat and thought very hard about the future.
The buzz of getting into the game again could not be ignored; she missed it. The last three years had been necessary to acquire a new level of confidence and to learn as much as possible. Age played no part in this; she could be any age between eighteen and thirty-eight given an hour in front of the mirror. She had confidence and saw connections and solutions well before anyone else. She lived comfortably and had security; the money was less of a consideration compared to achieving the goal. She needed a goal. The theft of Gerhardt’s paintings had elevated her into a different league, and that “commission” had been offered to her by virtue of the theft of the chalice from the Fayette Residence. Where did this lead? How high could she rise? Doubtless there were jobs and rewards greater than that.
She concluded that, if it appeared that Thierry Silber was less dangerous than Manuel, then she would speak to him.
She slept on her choices and had a bad dream, waking at three in the morning, convinced that someone had been standing by her bed, looking down at her. In her later remembrance of the dream, she realized that the person hadn’t been looking down on her in her bed; it had been her coffin.
No standard searches had brought forth a scrap about Thierry Silber, and Hannah wondered if the name was real at all.
She did not have access to police records. She trawled auction reports to find a name and, in a pretty obscure sale at Sotheby’s in Sussex, she found the name Terence Silver. He’d purchased a bronze, an Adolfo de Nizza the piece titled The Head of Medusa. The same man?
Conan Chalk owned the bronze he had purchased. It appeared, therefore, that Silver had merely acted as the go-between, Hannah guessed. She decided to call Conan and ask for Terence Silver’s number on the pretense that she wished to employ him in the negotiation of a purchase. That would require her to adopt a disguise, one she had been cultivating for the last six months - Signorina Fiorina de Cana, an Italian heiress of thirty years of age, living in New York.
She called Conan and made her introductions.
“An associate suggested that Terence Silver would be the ideal candidate, but I have to confess that I do not know anything about him, Conan; would you recommend him?”
“Without hesitation! He is very experienced and professional; do you want his number?”
“Yes; that would be very helpful.”
Conan gave her the number; a London number and Hannah called it, introducing herself to Terence Silver, emphasizing how highly Conan regarded him.
“I would be delighted to assist you, Signorina De Cana; especially if the piece is a bronze. I have a great deal of experience in the field.”
“Let me call you back in a few days and we’ll discuss it again.”
She telephoned Pierre.
“Pierre, if you’re willing to get involved, then I’m going to contact Thierry Silber.”
“It’s okay, Maddy; they can’t get to you through me. Do you want the number he gave me?”
She took a few seconds to finally come to the decision.
“Yes; give me the number ...”
After she had been relayed by three handlers, she was given his number and, as she had guessed, the number was the same as Terence Silver’s.
“Monsieur Silber; this is Madeleine ... you wished to speak to me?”
“Manuel gave me your name and you come highly recommended. I need you to steal a bronze - The Muses by Adolfo di Nizza. Currently owned by-”
“Michael Burlington.”
“Quite so! You are well informed. My client is offering three hundred thousand dollars for the commission.”
“Five hundred thousand.”
“The piece is only worth-”
“Five-point-three million dollars. My fee is ten percent plus reasonable expenses; payment via untraceable bearer bond.”
There was silence for a minute although Hannah had the pounding of her heart in her ears.
“My client will pay five hundred and thirty thousand dollars if the piece can be delivered before the end of September.”
“Deal; how is the handover to be arranged?”
“The piece will be delivered to our representative in New York - a woman by the name of Signorina Fiorina De Cana. She will take custody of the piece and give you the bond; she is merely acting as a go-between and will be innocent of our arrangement.”
“Understood; I will call when I have a date and time.”
Hannah rang off and practically had kittens. How the hell did they intend to recruit Fiorina to act as a go-between? A little later, Conan Chalk telephoned.
“Fiorina; I wonder if you could do me a huge favour. You know how difficult it is to find someone you can trust these days. I have a bronze coming into New York, which needs to be looked after for a few days. Can you accept it and deal with the agent upon delivery? They need to be paid; you’ll have a bond to give them.”
“Conan; I would be delighted to assist you. Just let me know when the piece is arriving and the name of the agent.”
If Conan was willing to have her look after the piece, then her disguise must have withstood some scrutiny for she couldn’t imagine he would approach her without assurances. The thought that at a future point in time, she would have the fee and the bronze in her possession raised all kinds of possibilities.
It was time to make the acquaintance proper of Michael Burlington.
She did not have access to police records. She trawled auction reports to find a name and, in a pretty obscure sale at Sotheby’s in Sussex, she found the name Terence Silver. He’d purchased a bronze, an Adolfo de Nizza the piece titled The Head of Medusa. The same man?
Conan Chalk owned the bronze he had purchased. It appeared, therefore, that Silver had merely acted as the go-between, Hannah guessed. She decided to call Conan and ask for Terence Silver’s number on the pretense that she wished to employ him in the negotiation of a purchase. That would require her to adopt a disguise, one she had been cultivating for the last six months - Signorina Fiorina de Cana, an Italian heiress of thirty years of age, living in New York.
She called Conan and made her introductions.
“An associate suggested that Terence Silver would be the ideal candidate, but I have to confess that I do not know anything about him, Conan; would you recommend him?”
“Without hesitation! He is very experienced and professional; do you want his number?”
“Yes; that would be very helpful.”
Conan gave her the number; a London number and Hannah called it, introducing herself to Terence Silver, emphasizing how highly Conan regarded him.
“I would be delighted to assist you, Signorina De Cana; especially if the piece is a bronze. I have a great deal of experience in the field.”
“Let me call you back in a few days and we’ll discuss it again.”
She telephoned Pierre.
“Pierre, if you’re willing to get involved, then I’m going to contact Thierry Silber.”
“It’s okay, Maddy; they can’t get to you through me. Do you want the number he gave me?”
She took a few seconds to finally come to the decision.
“Yes; give me the number ...”
After she had been relayed by three handlers, she was given his number and, as she had guessed, the number was the same as Terence Silver’s.
“Monsieur Silber; this is Madeleine ... you wished to speak to me?”
“Manuel gave me your name and you come highly recommended. I need you to steal a bronze - The Muses by Adolfo di Nizza. Currently owned by-”
“Michael Burlington.”
“Quite so! You are well informed. My client is offering three hundred thousand dollars for the commission.”
“Five hundred thousand.”
“The piece is only worth-”
“Five-point-three million dollars. My fee is ten percent plus reasonable expenses; payment via untraceable bearer bond.”
There was silence for a minute although Hannah had the pounding of her heart in her ears.
“My client will pay five hundred and thirty thousand dollars if the piece can be delivered before the end of September.”
“Deal; how is the handover to be arranged?”
“The piece will be delivered to our representative in New York - a woman by the name of Signorina Fiorina De Cana. She will take custody of the piece and give you the bond; she is merely acting as a go-between and will be innocent of our arrangement.”
“Understood; I will call when I have a date and time.”
Hannah rang off and practically had kittens. How the hell did they intend to recruit Fiorina to act as a go-between? A little later, Conan Chalk telephoned.
“Fiorina; I wonder if you could do me a huge favour. You know how difficult it is to find someone you can trust these days. I have a bronze coming into New York, which needs to be looked after for a few days. Can you accept it and deal with the agent upon delivery? They need to be paid; you’ll have a bond to give them.”
“Conan; I would be delighted to assist you. Just let me know when the piece is arriving and the name of the agent.”
If Conan was willing to have her look after the piece, then her disguise must have withstood some scrutiny for she couldn’t imagine he would approach her without assurances. The thought that at a future point in time, she would have the fee and the bronze in her possession raised all kinds of possibilities.
It was time to make the acquaintance proper of Michael Burlington.
Once Hannah as Fiorina de Cana had left the gallery, she had gone to the apartment and had sat down to gaze at the pictures of the bronzes again. They were etched in her memory now. The plan to steal The Muses needed some thought; his apartment building was heavily protected and there were cameras everywhere.
An apartment on West 80th Street did not figure for someone of her standing; a student, yes, but a young heiress, no. She needed to rent somewhere, and that was next on the list of things to do. Finding and meeting Michael again was easy; he was everywhere. A rich playboy with varied interests; she had no doubt that he would be on her trail!
The plan began to fill her mind much like an “etch a sketch” picture; lines began to appear. The first solid line was a sale of bronzes in a week’s time. She was certain that Michael would be there. She intended to be there herself and buy one of the sculptures; outbidding him if possible. There was nothing Hannah liked more than getting her hook into the mouth of a big fish. That left a week to organize the new apartment, and she looked at one in Chelsea on West 23rd Street, opposite the Chelsea Hotel.
Installed in the apartment - well, appearing to be living in the apartment - she gave thought to the sale and the piece that she would bid for and snatch out of Michael’s jaws just as he tasted victory. It had to be another Adolfo de Nizza, she surmised, else he probably wouldn’t be interested. The piece in the sale was fortuitously a small piece, and the estimate was somewhere in the region of one hundred thousand dollars. She would venture that for a payoff five times as big, and the piece would only appreciate.
Hannah took out the usual insurance. She was always thinking nine levels in both directions and nine steps ahead; ‘a Vulcan playing chess’ her father always said.
She registered and received her bidding card at the new address, adding a little more to the Fiorina de Cana “personality capital” as she called it; that which you invested in the person to make the rest of world believe that they were real. A year enrolled at Columbia as Sadie Goldberg had been the investment there; a bright student, a loyal part-time employee at the bookstore ... interest accrued and accruing.
The auction was being held at Doyle’s on the Upper East Side on the Friday evening, starting at 8pm.
Upon arrival, she saw Michael and he saw her. Naturally he came over.
“Signorina De Cana! What an unexpected pleasure,” he said, kissing her fingertips. She knew he would have scoured the register to confirm that she planned to attend.
“Mr. Burlington-”
“Please! Call me Michael.”
“Michael; it is a pleasure to see. Are you in a buying mood?”
“Perhaps; you?”
“Perhaps ...”
They moved to their respective corners and waited for the referee to start the first round. Neither batted an eye as a procession of mediocre bronzes made their way out; most failed to make their reserves. The De Nizza was in the next section. Things became livelier as the auctioneer announced the piece and asked for bidding to start at fifty thousand dollars which no one touched. In the end, the opening price was twenty thousand dollars. No one expected it to stay there.
Two or three other bidders were showing interest but nothing serious. Hannah bid eighty thousand to signal to Michael that she was serious. He bid ninety and then she a hundred. It was the first piece of the evening to break through the one hundred thousand barrier. Heads began to turn in Hannah’s direction. They perhaps fancied they saw a black panther; she swathed in ink-black wool by Emmanuelle Vesuvius, wearing an insanely large emerald necklace that everyone assumed must be real.
“One hundred and ten ...”
It was Michael’s bid. Hannah raised her card.
“One hundred and twenty ...”
Her limit was one hundred and fifty thousand dollars. Even if she didn’t get the piece, she’d get Michael. But getting the piece would establish her credentials as a collector, and a collector with money; a more powerful cocktail, she believed. Imperative if she was going to get inside that apartment of his and her hands on the De Nizza.
“One hundred and thirty to you, Sir ... thank you, Madam ... one hundred and forty to you ... one hundred and fifty to the gentleman ...”
There was silence now as everyone sensed that this could become a battle royal. Michael, perhaps assuming that one hundred and forty was her limit, offered one hundred and fifty to claim the piece without getting into a pointless bidding war for something that wasn’t all that important.
“One hundred and sixty to the lady ...”
Hannah broke her limit to see his reaction. He had the mask of gentlemanly conduct on his face, but she could see the blood rising and knew he was up for the fight.
“One hundred and seventy to the gentleman ...”
He stole a glance and unleashed a quick smile as if he was unsheathing his rapier.
“One hundred and eighty ...”
“Two hundred thousand dollars!” Michael quickly countered, betraying something of his true nature. He glanced again into the twin black moons of her sunglasses.
“Two hundred and twenty-five thousand dollars.”
“Sir, the bid is against you.”
He looked at her, narrowing his eyes, wondering why she was engaging him so blatantly without any hope of ever getting her money back.
“Two hundred and fifty!”
And when invited to bid, Hannah shook her head.
She quit the room but Michael followed her. “Signorina! Please wait,” he called out, adding, once she had turned, “I hope you’re not too disappointed.”
“Not in the least, Michael; you paid more than twice the value.”
“You bid two hundred and twenty-five thousand.”
“To see how far you would go to get what you wanted or, more accurately, deny me what you thought that I wanted ... it’s a pretty piece.”
She turned away.
“I’ll give it to you if you agree to have dinner with me ...”
She turned back and fingered her emerald necklace, pausing for ten seconds before responding.
“I will accept your invitation, Michael; on one condition; you show me The Muses. They say no one has seen it for ten years.”
He paused for ten seconds.
“Okay; tomorrow. I’ll send a car to pick you up at seven-thirty.”
“I have my own car. I’ll see you tomorrow at seven-thirty, and after you’ve shown me the piece, you can take me to dinner. Have tonight’s spoils delivered to the gallery where we met.”
She did leave this time and headed home to the 23rd Street apartment to make some calls. The first was to the gallery.
“Samuel; the Adolfo from tonight’s sale will be delivered tomorrow. Sell as agreed; for three hundred thousand to the Californian.”
The second call was to her favored driver.
“Pete; job tomorrow night. Pick me up at seven. Thank you, darling.”
And the third call was to Pierre.
“Pierre; can you get here in two days? ... Excellent!”
Hannah crashed from the adrenalin burn and meditated with a scotch and a cigarette.
“So! Highly competitive; much as we expected ... but generous too. I wonder how generous he would be if he knew that I had sold the piece to him tonight, at a profit of one hundred and fifty thousand dollars, and three hundred more to come. Perhaps collecting and not stealing would be more lucrative - but so much less exciting!”
Hannah had purchased the piece just before the auction and had then re-entered it in the sale. The original seller had been more than happy with one hundred thousand dollars - perhaps less happy now.
“Four hundred and fifty thousand dollars ...” was Hannah’s last thought as she slipped into bed.
An apartment on West 80th Street did not figure for someone of her standing; a student, yes, but a young heiress, no. She needed to rent somewhere, and that was next on the list of things to do. Finding and meeting Michael again was easy; he was everywhere. A rich playboy with varied interests; she had no doubt that he would be on her trail!
The plan began to fill her mind much like an “etch a sketch” picture; lines began to appear. The first solid line was a sale of bronzes in a week’s time. She was certain that Michael would be there. She intended to be there herself and buy one of the sculptures; outbidding him if possible. There was nothing Hannah liked more than getting her hook into the mouth of a big fish. That left a week to organize the new apartment, and she looked at one in Chelsea on West 23rd Street, opposite the Chelsea Hotel.
Installed in the apartment - well, appearing to be living in the apartment - she gave thought to the sale and the piece that she would bid for and snatch out of Michael’s jaws just as he tasted victory. It had to be another Adolfo de Nizza, she surmised, else he probably wouldn’t be interested. The piece in the sale was fortuitously a small piece, and the estimate was somewhere in the region of one hundred thousand dollars. She would venture that for a payoff five times as big, and the piece would only appreciate.
Hannah took out the usual insurance. She was always thinking nine levels in both directions and nine steps ahead; ‘a Vulcan playing chess’ her father always said.
She registered and received her bidding card at the new address, adding a little more to the Fiorina de Cana “personality capital” as she called it; that which you invested in the person to make the rest of world believe that they were real. A year enrolled at Columbia as Sadie Goldberg had been the investment there; a bright student, a loyal part-time employee at the bookstore ... interest accrued and accruing.
The auction was being held at Doyle’s on the Upper East Side on the Friday evening, starting at 8pm.
Upon arrival, she saw Michael and he saw her. Naturally he came over.
“Signorina De Cana! What an unexpected pleasure,” he said, kissing her fingertips. She knew he would have scoured the register to confirm that she planned to attend.
“Mr. Burlington-”
“Please! Call me Michael.”
“Michael; it is a pleasure to see. Are you in a buying mood?”
“Perhaps; you?”
“Perhaps ...”
They moved to their respective corners and waited for the referee to start the first round. Neither batted an eye as a procession of mediocre bronzes made their way out; most failed to make their reserves. The De Nizza was in the next section. Things became livelier as the auctioneer announced the piece and asked for bidding to start at fifty thousand dollars which no one touched. In the end, the opening price was twenty thousand dollars. No one expected it to stay there.
Two or three other bidders were showing interest but nothing serious. Hannah bid eighty thousand to signal to Michael that she was serious. He bid ninety and then she a hundred. It was the first piece of the evening to break through the one hundred thousand barrier. Heads began to turn in Hannah’s direction. They perhaps fancied they saw a black panther; she swathed in ink-black wool by Emmanuelle Vesuvius, wearing an insanely large emerald necklace that everyone assumed must be real.
“One hundred and ten ...”
It was Michael’s bid. Hannah raised her card.
“One hundred and twenty ...”
Her limit was one hundred and fifty thousand dollars. Even if she didn’t get the piece, she’d get Michael. But getting the piece would establish her credentials as a collector, and a collector with money; a more powerful cocktail, she believed. Imperative if she was going to get inside that apartment of his and her hands on the De Nizza.
“One hundred and thirty to you, Sir ... thank you, Madam ... one hundred and forty to you ... one hundred and fifty to the gentleman ...”
There was silence now as everyone sensed that this could become a battle royal. Michael, perhaps assuming that one hundred and forty was her limit, offered one hundred and fifty to claim the piece without getting into a pointless bidding war for something that wasn’t all that important.
“One hundred and sixty to the lady ...”
Hannah broke her limit to see his reaction. He had the mask of gentlemanly conduct on his face, but she could see the blood rising and knew he was up for the fight.
“One hundred and seventy to the gentleman ...”
He stole a glance and unleashed a quick smile as if he was unsheathing his rapier.
“One hundred and eighty ...”
“Two hundred thousand dollars!” Michael quickly countered, betraying something of his true nature. He glanced again into the twin black moons of her sunglasses.
“Two hundred and twenty-five thousand dollars.”
“Sir, the bid is against you.”
He looked at her, narrowing his eyes, wondering why she was engaging him so blatantly without any hope of ever getting her money back.
“Two hundred and fifty!”
And when invited to bid, Hannah shook her head.
She quit the room but Michael followed her. “Signorina! Please wait,” he called out, adding, once she had turned, “I hope you’re not too disappointed.”
“Not in the least, Michael; you paid more than twice the value.”
“You bid two hundred and twenty-five thousand.”
“To see how far you would go to get what you wanted or, more accurately, deny me what you thought that I wanted ... it’s a pretty piece.”
She turned away.
“I’ll give it to you if you agree to have dinner with me ...”
She turned back and fingered her emerald necklace, pausing for ten seconds before responding.
“I will accept your invitation, Michael; on one condition; you show me The Muses. They say no one has seen it for ten years.”
He paused for ten seconds.
“Okay; tomorrow. I’ll send a car to pick you up at seven-thirty.”
“I have my own car. I’ll see you tomorrow at seven-thirty, and after you’ve shown me the piece, you can take me to dinner. Have tonight’s spoils delivered to the gallery where we met.”
She did leave this time and headed home to the 23rd Street apartment to make some calls. The first was to the gallery.
“Samuel; the Adolfo from tonight’s sale will be delivered tomorrow. Sell as agreed; for three hundred thousand to the Californian.”
The second call was to her favored driver.
“Pete; job tomorrow night. Pick me up at seven. Thank you, darling.”
And the third call was to Pierre.
“Pierre; can you get here in two days? ... Excellent!”
Hannah crashed from the adrenalin burn and meditated with a scotch and a cigarette.
“So! Highly competitive; much as we expected ... but generous too. I wonder how generous he would be if he knew that I had sold the piece to him tonight, at a profit of one hundred and fifty thousand dollars, and three hundred more to come. Perhaps collecting and not stealing would be more lucrative - but so much less exciting!”
Hannah had purchased the piece just before the auction and had then re-entered it in the sale. The original seller had been more than happy with one hundred thousand dollars - perhaps less happy now.
“Four hundred and fifty thousand dollars ...” was Hannah’s last thought as she slipped into bed.
Hannah dressed to kill; a backless, black, velvet dress and respectable rubies. Pete picked her up at seven o’clock to ferry her to the Park Avenue apartment of Michael Burlington.
“Where shall I collect you later?” he asked.
“At the Gotham; at around eleven-thirty.”
“Enjoy your evening.”
“Thanks, Pete.”
She entered Michael’s building, and the concierge called up to obtain authorization for the elevator to take her to the top floor.
“Top floor, Signorina,” he announced, and she tipped him ten bucks.
Michael came out to welcome her. The lobby was clad in grey and white marble, lit by Baccarat crystal chandeliers.
“Signorina!”
“Please call me Fiorina, Michael; I think we’re passed those formalities now, don’t you?”
“Yes; please come in. May I offer you a drink?”
“Some champagne perhaps?”
“Are we celebrating?”
“The De Nizza makes a fine addition to my collection; that was uncommonly generous of you and very sporting. What time is our reservation at the Gotham?”
“How did you know that I’d booked the Gotham?”
“I called all of the restaurants in Manhattan.”
“Why?”
“I generally don’t like surprises. However, I’m prepared to make an exception in the case of The Muses. Why haven’t you shown it in ten years?”
“I don’t like sharing.”
“So why did you give me the piece?”
“I like games and to dine with beautiful women.”
“I would have said yes regardless.”
“Where would the fun have been in that?”
“Quite!”
They sparred like regular heavyweights, but both held their punches.
“Do you still want to see it?” he asked as he handed her a glass of champagne.
“Yes ...” with just enough excitement in her voice to register genuine interest.
He escorted her through the apartment, which was just as it appeared in the magazine photographs. The space was opulent, and bleeding art from every surface; lit by Baccarat and decorated in mostly muted tones; white silk and grey satin, dried blood red suede and matt black leather. The piece was exhibited in a room all of its own; maybe once the library or a study. The muses were life size. In this case, three in number, not nine - even three had required the floor to be reinforced. The group comprised representations of Melete, Mneme and Aoide.
Cast in bronze and worth 5.3 million dollars; Michael had purchased the piece ten years ago - and at two million dollars then, the highest price paid for any bronze cast in the last one hundred and fifty years.
Hannah toured the sculpture, walking around it twice, before coming to a standstill to sip her champagne and allow her gaze to rest on the piece. It hadn’t been sculpted in the traditional style; it was more abstract and highly polished, like glass. Each figure flowing into the others, the spaces between them resembling the windows of the Casa Mila in Barcelona; organic and hypnotically simple. The light reflected off of the highly polished surfaces to create a mesmerizing aura.
“Satisfied?” Michael asked quietly.
In the presence of real beauty, Hannah had momentarily lost her voice.
“Beautiful, Michael; you really should exhibit it ... It’s too important to be shut away in this room.”
“Like I said, I don’t like sharing. It took five years to negotiate the deal to have the photographs taken.”
“Why did you agree to show it to me?”
He grinned, a little embarrassed.
“I wondered if your beauty would stand up to it.”
“Satisfied?” she thrust back.
“More than ... Shall we go to dinner?”
“Yes; thank you for the opportunity to see it in person.”
They dined and skirted rather than flirted. Hannah had only agreed to dinner so that she could see the sculpture and the apartment. The rest bored her steadily to tears. Michael assumed she would fall into his arms; she didn’t, and that left a smear on the flawless performance.
“Can I offer you a ride home?” he asked.
“No, thank you; I have a car waiting.”
“You are annoyingly independent.”
“I’m a modern woman; I have my own money and my own business.”
“What about love?”
“What about it?”
“Do you believe in it?”
“Of course ... on my terms.”
“Which are?”
“An exhibition; show The Muses and the other pieces in the collection. When you’ve learned to share, then talk to me about love. Goodnight, Michael; thank you for dinner.”
She left; a panther weaving its way through the tables. At the door, she blew him a kiss. Only when he got up to leave, did he find that she’d already paid the tab. Crucified; that’s how he felt, and drawn to her like a moth to a flame.
Getting Michael to exhibit the piece was central to the plan to steal it; there was no other way. It was far too heavy to steal from the apartment, and it was impossible to evade the building security with an object that large. As it was, the doors had been removed when the piece had been taken in. No; an exhibition was the only way, and the deadline of the end of September was just six weeks away.
“Where shall I collect you later?” he asked.
“At the Gotham; at around eleven-thirty.”
“Enjoy your evening.”
“Thanks, Pete.”
She entered Michael’s building, and the concierge called up to obtain authorization for the elevator to take her to the top floor.
“Top floor, Signorina,” he announced, and she tipped him ten bucks.
Michael came out to welcome her. The lobby was clad in grey and white marble, lit by Baccarat crystal chandeliers.
“Signorina!”
“Please call me Fiorina, Michael; I think we’re passed those formalities now, don’t you?”
“Yes; please come in. May I offer you a drink?”
“Some champagne perhaps?”
“Are we celebrating?”
“The De Nizza makes a fine addition to my collection; that was uncommonly generous of you and very sporting. What time is our reservation at the Gotham?”
“How did you know that I’d booked the Gotham?”
“I called all of the restaurants in Manhattan.”
“Why?”
“I generally don’t like surprises. However, I’m prepared to make an exception in the case of The Muses. Why haven’t you shown it in ten years?”
“I don’t like sharing.”
“So why did you give me the piece?”
“I like games and to dine with beautiful women.”
“I would have said yes regardless.”
“Where would the fun have been in that?”
“Quite!”
They sparred like regular heavyweights, but both held their punches.
“Do you still want to see it?” he asked as he handed her a glass of champagne.
“Yes ...” with just enough excitement in her voice to register genuine interest.
He escorted her through the apartment, which was just as it appeared in the magazine photographs. The space was opulent, and bleeding art from every surface; lit by Baccarat and decorated in mostly muted tones; white silk and grey satin, dried blood red suede and matt black leather. The piece was exhibited in a room all of its own; maybe once the library or a study. The muses were life size. In this case, three in number, not nine - even three had required the floor to be reinforced. The group comprised representations of Melete, Mneme and Aoide.
Cast in bronze and worth 5.3 million dollars; Michael had purchased the piece ten years ago - and at two million dollars then, the highest price paid for any bronze cast in the last one hundred and fifty years.
Hannah toured the sculpture, walking around it twice, before coming to a standstill to sip her champagne and allow her gaze to rest on the piece. It hadn’t been sculpted in the traditional style; it was more abstract and highly polished, like glass. Each figure flowing into the others, the spaces between them resembling the windows of the Casa Mila in Barcelona; organic and hypnotically simple. The light reflected off of the highly polished surfaces to create a mesmerizing aura.
“Satisfied?” Michael asked quietly.
In the presence of real beauty, Hannah had momentarily lost her voice.
“Beautiful, Michael; you really should exhibit it ... It’s too important to be shut away in this room.”
“Like I said, I don’t like sharing. It took five years to negotiate the deal to have the photographs taken.”
“Why did you agree to show it to me?”
He grinned, a little embarrassed.
“I wondered if your beauty would stand up to it.”
“Satisfied?” she thrust back.
“More than ... Shall we go to dinner?”
“Yes; thank you for the opportunity to see it in person.”
They dined and skirted rather than flirted. Hannah had only agreed to dinner so that she could see the sculpture and the apartment. The rest bored her steadily to tears. Michael assumed she would fall into his arms; she didn’t, and that left a smear on the flawless performance.
“Can I offer you a ride home?” he asked.
“No, thank you; I have a car waiting.”
“You are annoyingly independent.”
“I’m a modern woman; I have my own money and my own business.”
“What about love?”
“What about it?”
“Do you believe in it?”
“Of course ... on my terms.”
“Which are?”
“An exhibition; show The Muses and the other pieces in the collection. When you’ve learned to share, then talk to me about love. Goodnight, Michael; thank you for dinner.”
She left; a panther weaving its way through the tables. At the door, she blew him a kiss. Only when he got up to leave, did he find that she’d already paid the tab. Crucified; that’s how he felt, and drawn to her like a moth to a flame.
Getting Michael to exhibit the piece was central to the plan to steal it; there was no other way. It was far too heavy to steal from the apartment, and it was impossible to evade the building security with an object that large. As it was, the doors had been removed when the piece had been taken in. No; an exhibition was the only way, and the deadline of the end of September was just six weeks away.
“Fiorina; I will agree to show the pieces if you agree to share something too; share some time with me ...”
“We’ll both need to see a little sign of faith; when I see the exhibition advertised, I will consent to a further evening with you. By the middle of September, the exhibition must open.”
“Why by then?”
“I leave for Rome.”
“You do?”
“Yes; I have business there.”
“That’s only four weeks.”
“Time enough surely; everyone will be falling at your feet to host the event.”
“Give me a week.”
“Give me a copy of the event contract and I’ll agree to spend the weekend with you.”
“This is beginning to sound like business.”
“Love is a serious business, Michael.”
She rang off to let that gem sink in. It wasn’t the first time a man had become infatuated with her. She was shrewd enough to see them for what they truly were; collectors of art.
“A woman I may be, but a trophy I am certainly not!” were her words to herself as she stretched her body before heading to her dance class.
In a week, she had the contract for the exhibition, having had it delivered to the 23rd Street apartment. Pierre was installed in the 80th, waiting for her instructions.
“Pierre; I have it. I’ll meet you later and we can agree the details ... if you want in.”
“Maddy; I’m in. It’ll give me a chance to earn all that money you’ve paid me.”
“You already did. The payoff from this will mean you can retire and keep out of harm’s way.”
The plan was refreshingly simple. Now that she knew where and when the piece would be moved, she would ensure that her security firm picked up the piece and delivered it to Thierry - while a replica of the piece was delivered to the exhibition hall; a replica good enough to fool everyone except Michael. No one else had actually seen it in the flesh for ten years. The entire operation was probably going to set her back two hundred thousand dollars but Michael had effectively paid for it himself; a thought which gave her a wicked little smile.
Now that the contract had been signed, she was duty bound to see through her side of the bargain; to spend a weekend with him. It was not something that she was relishing but the payoff was so big that she just buried her anxieties and began packing. She also called Thierry to confirm the date and time of the theft and the handover arrangements.
“Have the piece delivered to 255 Exterior Street in The Bronx and then inform Signorina De Cana. Once she has confirmed that the piece has been delivered, she will give you the bearer bond.”
“Okay. Will she know it’s stolen?”
“No; she’s innocent in this - just the go-between.”
A day or two later, Conan called to confirm the arrangements.
“The agent will inform you where the piece has been delivered to, and after you have confirmed that it is there, you can hand over the payment. On the morning of the delivery, the payment will be couriered to you.”
“I understand perfectly, Conan; I’m happy to assist you.”
Roughly three weeks remained before the exhibition. In those three weeks, the replica needed to be finished and a security van purchased and painted in the same livery as the firm that Michael was using. Pierre was doing that, now that they knew which firm was being used. Hannah saw to the replica. A student at the University had agreed to make the copy for her; not from bronze, but using a new latex material stretched over a thin but strong wire framework; very light and reasonably cheap. The boy was infatuated with her but wasn’t anything like as demanding as Michael.
The weekend approached and it couldn’t be avoided; she just hoped he would be a gentleman. Could a weekend of playtime in Connecticut be all bad?
“We’ll both need to see a little sign of faith; when I see the exhibition advertised, I will consent to a further evening with you. By the middle of September, the exhibition must open.”
“Why by then?”
“I leave for Rome.”
“You do?”
“Yes; I have business there.”
“That’s only four weeks.”
“Time enough surely; everyone will be falling at your feet to host the event.”
“Give me a week.”
“Give me a copy of the event contract and I’ll agree to spend the weekend with you.”
“This is beginning to sound like business.”
“Love is a serious business, Michael.”
She rang off to let that gem sink in. It wasn’t the first time a man had become infatuated with her. She was shrewd enough to see them for what they truly were; collectors of art.
“A woman I may be, but a trophy I am certainly not!” were her words to herself as she stretched her body before heading to her dance class.
In a week, she had the contract for the exhibition, having had it delivered to the 23rd Street apartment. Pierre was installed in the 80th, waiting for her instructions.
“Pierre; I have it. I’ll meet you later and we can agree the details ... if you want in.”
“Maddy; I’m in. It’ll give me a chance to earn all that money you’ve paid me.”
“You already did. The payoff from this will mean you can retire and keep out of harm’s way.”
The plan was refreshingly simple. Now that she knew where and when the piece would be moved, she would ensure that her security firm picked up the piece and delivered it to Thierry - while a replica of the piece was delivered to the exhibition hall; a replica good enough to fool everyone except Michael. No one else had actually seen it in the flesh for ten years. The entire operation was probably going to set her back two hundred thousand dollars but Michael had effectively paid for it himself; a thought which gave her a wicked little smile.
Now that the contract had been signed, she was duty bound to see through her side of the bargain; to spend a weekend with him. It was not something that she was relishing but the payoff was so big that she just buried her anxieties and began packing. She also called Thierry to confirm the date and time of the theft and the handover arrangements.
“Have the piece delivered to 255 Exterior Street in The Bronx and then inform Signorina De Cana. Once she has confirmed that the piece has been delivered, she will give you the bearer bond.”
“Okay. Will she know it’s stolen?”
“No; she’s innocent in this - just the go-between.”
A day or two later, Conan called to confirm the arrangements.
“The agent will inform you where the piece has been delivered to, and after you have confirmed that it is there, you can hand over the payment. On the morning of the delivery, the payment will be couriered to you.”
“I understand perfectly, Conan; I’m happy to assist you.”
Roughly three weeks remained before the exhibition. In those three weeks, the replica needed to be finished and a security van purchased and painted in the same livery as the firm that Michael was using. Pierre was doing that, now that they knew which firm was being used. Hannah saw to the replica. A student at the University had agreed to make the copy for her; not from bronze, but using a new latex material stretched over a thin but strong wire framework; very light and reasonably cheap. The boy was infatuated with her but wasn’t anything like as demanding as Michael.
The weekend approached and it couldn’t be avoided; she just hoped he would be a gentleman. Could a weekend of playtime in Connecticut be all bad?
Michael picked her up and drove them to the farm he owned in Bridgewater, Connecticut; a 70-acre estate of mainly rolling grass and some mixed timber. There were a few horses, and the house had a fine view over the lake; it was stunning.
Staff unloaded the car which allowed Michael to escort Hannah around the house, finally depositing her at the bedroom he had ordered to be prepared. Hannah, assuming they would be sharing from the off, was greatly relieved.
“Dinner is at eight o’clock; time to freshen up. Cocktails are at seven-thirty. Do you need anything?” Michael asked.
“No; I have everything I need; thank you, Michael. Game playing aside, I am looking forward to this weekend and the opportunity to get to know you better.”
“Me too,” he said with a genuine and soft smile, which perhaps even indicated that he was a little shy and maybe far less experienced in matters of the heart than most people would have guessed. He kissed her hand and left her at the entrance to the room. It had its own bathroom and a balcony with views over the rear formal garden and the lake beyond.
Hannah’s bags had been brought up and she unpacked the essentials. She suddenly felt like a little girl in the grown-ups world. This was her first taste of true style, and never before had she been entertained by someone with so much money - even Gerhardt’s fortune paled by comparison.
A little awestruck, yes, she was, but she also processed everything. In particular, how certain things were done and arranged. Her etiquette was improving all the time. If she made a faux pas, and she did sometimes, she handed it off as youthful ignorance - but made damn sure she didn’t make the same mistake again. In her current guise, she was thirty and travelled, wealthy and in business; it behooved a level of confidence and style. A level she wasn’t used to yet but adapting to very quickly.
Something she did too was to watch herself, she did it all the time; stepping out of the body corporeal and floating above it to examine the performance for later analysis and agreement on points of improvement. Not knowing if the room was bugged or under surveillance, she acted out her persona unfalteringly. It was necessary anyway. She needed to wear the skin of Fiorina as closely as her own, and the heavily accented English was hard to maintain when she got into full flow. These trials, she mused, were what you got paid for. In reality, any idiot could steal a piece of art; getting away with it and advancing in the game was something else entirely.
She dressed chic and European. The black, knee-length dress accentuated her curves and her fluidity. Michael presented her with a corsage which was unexpected but earned him a kiss on the cheek and he beamed as if he believed that he had gotten something right. They had Cosmopolitans on the rear terrace and watched the sun set; clichéd as it was, it was very nice.
“If I may ask, what business interests do you have in Italy?” he asked. Hannah had been expecting the question after her reference to ‘her business’ the last time they had met.
“Fabric ... I trade in exquisite fabrics; mostly antique. I source most of it for designers and studios.”
“I never imagined it could be so lucrative,” Michael replied.
“It never was but the market has picked up in the last couple of years. There is a lot of new money and a desire to spend it conspicuously ...”
“Perhaps we can work on a project together; the apartment needs a make-over. Planning to move the bronzes just emphasizes how tired it looks. I haven’t let anyone touch it for ten years.”
“That suggests more than a reluctance to share your things.”
“If I can be completely honest, I have no real confidence in these things; I buy the best and assume it will look amazing.”
“Often it does but sometimes it can all work against you. I prefer simplicity. Good lighting; that’s the key and that’s my next business venture - lighting. The best designers are emerging from Sweden and Norway. Teamed with fabric, I believe I might have a winning combination.”
“You are incredibly ambitious ...”
“For someone of my age; was that what you were going to say?”
“Actually, for a woman. You’re spearheading an emerging confidence; I like it. It’s refreshing ... you always seem younger than I know you are but age is irrelevant.”
“But experience is priceless and that can’t be bought. I make it my business to acquire it; age doesn’t matter until the client would prefer to deal with either a man, of any age, or someone with acumen. Fortunately, an increasing number of my clients are women, independent women; they care less about age or gender but drive harder bargains than the men!”
“Would you consider a partnership for the lighting venture?”
“I might; once I’ve seen how you do business.”
“Ruthlessly as a rule; my world is inhabited by men ... who play golf and drink scotch.”
“For now!” Hannah concluded; signaling that soon there would be no place to retreat.
They dined on simple farm-style fare cooked by a French chef and served by an English waiter. The wines were recommended by the chef and Hannah realized then that Michael had no real confidence. He bought the best and assumed it would look and presumably taste amazing. It did; but it wasn’t very intimate, and more like dining in a restaurant in Paris or perhaps New York - although now that the avant garde had broken through, the stuffiness and formality of dining out was becoming more exciting and relaxed.
“Shall we take our coffees outside? The terrace is heated,” Michael ventured.
“Yes; perfect.”
Hannah wanted to smoke but asked first.
“Of course! I don’t, well, cigars occasionally.”
“It’s a terrible habit,” she admitted as she extracted a cigarette from her case and fitted it into the holder, allowing him to light it for her, using her newly acquired Dunhill Rollagas.
“What do you want to do tomorrow?” he prompted.
“Can we ride?” she asked, for she rode very well.
“Of course! Let’s breakfast at eight and we’ll ride before lunch. I want to show you the vineyard; it’s just getting going ...”
It certainly wasn’t expected, as far as Hannah could detect, that they would become intimate that evening. She kissed him very tenderly as she said goodnight and he responded in kind, holding her hand and then reluctantly letting it go as she moved to retire. He was thirty-eight, she recalled, as she took off her makeup, and he certainly didn’t display the sexual confidence of a thirty-eight-year-old male. On one level, she wondered if he was indeed thirty-eight; perhaps he was twenty-two and masquerading like her.
That thought stuck in her head until she dropped off.
Staff unloaded the car which allowed Michael to escort Hannah around the house, finally depositing her at the bedroom he had ordered to be prepared. Hannah, assuming they would be sharing from the off, was greatly relieved.
“Dinner is at eight o’clock; time to freshen up. Cocktails are at seven-thirty. Do you need anything?” Michael asked.
“No; I have everything I need; thank you, Michael. Game playing aside, I am looking forward to this weekend and the opportunity to get to know you better.”
“Me too,” he said with a genuine and soft smile, which perhaps even indicated that he was a little shy and maybe far less experienced in matters of the heart than most people would have guessed. He kissed her hand and left her at the entrance to the room. It had its own bathroom and a balcony with views over the rear formal garden and the lake beyond.
Hannah’s bags had been brought up and she unpacked the essentials. She suddenly felt like a little girl in the grown-ups world. This was her first taste of true style, and never before had she been entertained by someone with so much money - even Gerhardt’s fortune paled by comparison.
A little awestruck, yes, she was, but she also processed everything. In particular, how certain things were done and arranged. Her etiquette was improving all the time. If she made a faux pas, and she did sometimes, she handed it off as youthful ignorance - but made damn sure she didn’t make the same mistake again. In her current guise, she was thirty and travelled, wealthy and in business; it behooved a level of confidence and style. A level she wasn’t used to yet but adapting to very quickly.
Something she did too was to watch herself, she did it all the time; stepping out of the body corporeal and floating above it to examine the performance for later analysis and agreement on points of improvement. Not knowing if the room was bugged or under surveillance, she acted out her persona unfalteringly. It was necessary anyway. She needed to wear the skin of Fiorina as closely as her own, and the heavily accented English was hard to maintain when she got into full flow. These trials, she mused, were what you got paid for. In reality, any idiot could steal a piece of art; getting away with it and advancing in the game was something else entirely.
She dressed chic and European. The black, knee-length dress accentuated her curves and her fluidity. Michael presented her with a corsage which was unexpected but earned him a kiss on the cheek and he beamed as if he believed that he had gotten something right. They had Cosmopolitans on the rear terrace and watched the sun set; clichéd as it was, it was very nice.
“If I may ask, what business interests do you have in Italy?” he asked. Hannah had been expecting the question after her reference to ‘her business’ the last time they had met.
“Fabric ... I trade in exquisite fabrics; mostly antique. I source most of it for designers and studios.”
“I never imagined it could be so lucrative,” Michael replied.
“It never was but the market has picked up in the last couple of years. There is a lot of new money and a desire to spend it conspicuously ...”
“Perhaps we can work on a project together; the apartment needs a make-over. Planning to move the bronzes just emphasizes how tired it looks. I haven’t let anyone touch it for ten years.”
“That suggests more than a reluctance to share your things.”
“If I can be completely honest, I have no real confidence in these things; I buy the best and assume it will look amazing.”
“Often it does but sometimes it can all work against you. I prefer simplicity. Good lighting; that’s the key and that’s my next business venture - lighting. The best designers are emerging from Sweden and Norway. Teamed with fabric, I believe I might have a winning combination.”
“You are incredibly ambitious ...”
“For someone of my age; was that what you were going to say?”
“Actually, for a woman. You’re spearheading an emerging confidence; I like it. It’s refreshing ... you always seem younger than I know you are but age is irrelevant.”
“But experience is priceless and that can’t be bought. I make it my business to acquire it; age doesn’t matter until the client would prefer to deal with either a man, of any age, or someone with acumen. Fortunately, an increasing number of my clients are women, independent women; they care less about age or gender but drive harder bargains than the men!”
“Would you consider a partnership for the lighting venture?”
“I might; once I’ve seen how you do business.”
“Ruthlessly as a rule; my world is inhabited by men ... who play golf and drink scotch.”
“For now!” Hannah concluded; signaling that soon there would be no place to retreat.
They dined on simple farm-style fare cooked by a French chef and served by an English waiter. The wines were recommended by the chef and Hannah realized then that Michael had no real confidence. He bought the best and assumed it would look and presumably taste amazing. It did; but it wasn’t very intimate, and more like dining in a restaurant in Paris or perhaps New York - although now that the avant garde had broken through, the stuffiness and formality of dining out was becoming more exciting and relaxed.
“Shall we take our coffees outside? The terrace is heated,” Michael ventured.
“Yes; perfect.”
Hannah wanted to smoke but asked first.
“Of course! I don’t, well, cigars occasionally.”
“It’s a terrible habit,” she admitted as she extracted a cigarette from her case and fitted it into the holder, allowing him to light it for her, using her newly acquired Dunhill Rollagas.
“What do you want to do tomorrow?” he prompted.
“Can we ride?” she asked, for she rode very well.
“Of course! Let’s breakfast at eight and we’ll ride before lunch. I want to show you the vineyard; it’s just getting going ...”
It certainly wasn’t expected, as far as Hannah could detect, that they would become intimate that evening. She kissed him very tenderly as she said goodnight and he responded in kind, holding her hand and then reluctantly letting it go as she moved to retire. He was thirty-eight, she recalled, as she took off her makeup, and he certainly didn’t display the sexual confidence of a thirty-eight-year-old male. On one level, she wondered if he was indeed thirty-eight; perhaps he was twenty-two and masquerading like her.
That thought stuck in her head until she dropped off.
Hacking across the downs on her native Isle of Wight had been one of her adolescent passions; hair streaming behind her and the wind making her eyes water. This was something that she didn’t need to do better or practice. The four-year-old chestnut gelding relished being ridden and Hannah was in danger of falling into the island vernacular while she felt so free.
Michael battled bravely on his grey mare; an older horse and a pretty steady one. He didn’t ride often or look at all comfortable, but he was competitive and pushed himself and the horse, until all pulled up breathless at the site of the new vineyard.
“You ride well!” he gasped.
“I love riding!”
He showed her the new vineyard. The vines were very young, and it would be a good few years before there was any Chateau La Fache on the shelves. They cantered back for lunch and then had a swim in the heated pool, followed by a game of croquet.
Hannah felt like she was being wooed in the good old fashioned way and had to admit to enjoying it very much. They broke up after some tea for a siesta, planning to reconvene at dinner which was at seven- thirty. Hannah retired to a hot bath and Michael went to the office which was directly beneath her bathroom. His muffled voice was just audible as she soaked in the luxurious bubbles. Curiosity got the better of her in the end. She slipped out of the bath and took a glass from the shelf, placing the tumbler on the floor with her ear pressed to it to see if she could hear him more clearly. He was on the telephone.
“As far as I can see, Conan, she is who she says she is ...”
Hannah’s heart skipped a beat.
“The exhibition was her idea, partly, I just don’t see how the job gets done; the piece weighs two tons, man! I thought the other woman was the thief and our Italian friend was innocent ... oh, you think?”
“Oh my God,” said Hannah to herself. “Conan is in on this and thinks Madeleine and Fiorina are the same person ... why ask for the piece to be stolen?”
“If they are, then she is very, very good. How do you want me to play it?”
Hannah strained to catch every word, seeing as this could be the end of her game or the start of a much bigger one.
“I won’t do that, Conan; not for you or any amount of money. I’ll cancel the exhibition. The piece is going nowhere and, as far as I’m concerned, she’s innocent until proven guilty ... Remind me why we wanted the piece stolen in the first place? ... Don’t threaten me!”
There was a long pause.
“Fine! We’ll proceed as planned and see how she plays it; if I lose the piece, you’ll answer for it - yes!”
Hannah got back into the bath and tried to remain perfectly calm. The burning question was why did they want the piece stolen? It was as if they were trying to flush her out. Could Gerhardt be behind it, seeking revenge? Manuel was happy - he had his paintings - so why the subterfuge?
Hannah went down for cocktails and played it very, very coolly; Michael appeared to be a little agitated.
“Is everything alright?” Hannah asked.
“Yes, fine; there’s always some issue or other to sort out. The exhibition may have to be postponed ...”
There it was; the test of her reaction.
“Now that would be a shame and you would be penalized by the venue ... but if the show is deferred, then I’ll head to Rome earlier than planned. When will you know?” she asked as a matter of fact, and that floored him.
“Next week, by Wednesday,” he replied somewhat meekly.
They dined and the atmosphere was a little heavy on Michael’s side of the table; Hannah kept up the façade perfectly.
“If you have to delay, then come to Rome,” she said as her own test.
“If it is possible, then I will; that would be great.”
“What are our plans tomorrow?” she asked, keeping a toe in the water.
“I think we’ll have to return to the city earlier than planned; perhaps after breakfast. Would you be very disappointed if we didn’t go sailing?”
“Of course; but there will be other opportunities, won’t there?”
“Yes, absolutely!”
They took their coffees and brandies out onto the terrace and Michael seemed more relaxed.
“You have been a delightful companion this weekend,” he began. “There’s a benefit on Tuesday which I have to attend; would you be my guest?”
“I should be free. I have an associate flying in for a meeting. Once I’ve checked the itinerary, then I’ll confirm. It should be fine.”
“If I said I needed your help, Fiorina, could I rely on your absolute discretion?”
“Of course, Michael; I’ll do whatever I can to help.”
“I’ve gotten into deep water and the raft has sprung a leak ...”
“Do you need money?”
“Ready money; I have so much tied up in other ventures. I don’t want to pull the plug and lose out but I have some heavy expenses coming in and even I have limits ... it would just be for a few weeks.”
“How much?”
“Five hundred thousand dollars ...”
“That doesn’t sound like too much of a problem. When do you need it?”
“By Wednesday as it happens.”
“Okay; once I’ve seen my associate, then I’ll see what I can do. Please don’t worry, Michael.”
“Thanks; I hate to ask but if I go elsewhere then-”
“Questions will be asked and that would be unhelpful.”
“Exactly!”
“I’ll be able to confirm on Tuesday, by the time I see you at the benefit. I’m touched actually that you trust me enough to confide in me and seek my help.”
“You seem - no, you are - someone I feel I can trust. There are precious few; most just want to see me fail.”
“Say no more about it. Where is the benefit on Tuesday?”
“At The Cloisters; it’s in aid of a restoration project ... some tapestry or other.”
“I’ve seen something about it. What time?”
“Seven; let me pick you up.”
“I may be out. I’ll meet you there but you can drive me back. If it’s early enough, there may be time to catch a late dinner.”
“Thank you, Fiorina; I feel a lot easier about everything.”
With a little haste, he retired and bade her goodnight very tenderly. Hannah remained on the terrace to think.
“He needs money; that’s rubbish! So why say he does? To get five hundred thousand back for someone, perhaps to get the five hundred thousand to pay Maddy for the theft ... or see me broke ...”
She watched the full moon rise over the lake. As it inched higher into the sky and lit up the landscape, she had a few more thoughts.
“He’s warning me - five hundred thousand is the payoff - it’s just a scam to get half a million dollars, knowing that I won’t be able to pursue it. It’s their way of blowing my cover. Is it a test ... why? I could write it off but why should I? Does it buy me protection or seal my fate? Do I retire out of this game?”
Hannah went to bed and knew that the offensive would be her best defense so she planned her own strategy.
They breakfasted and Michael confirmed that they needed to go back shortly afterwards.
“I’m really sorry,” he said.
“It’s fine; I’ll do some work and that should almost guarantee that I’ll be free on Tuesday evening. You can trust me, Michael, but I will need collateral for the loan,” Hannah said, looking directly into those usually impenetrable pools of liquid flint. There was a ripple.
“No; of course ... What works for you?”
“If no one else must know, then personal assets to the value. You decide ...”
“I’ll let you know on Tuesday.”
They left and headed back to the city. The mood was fairly upbeat, which indicated to Hannah that Michael believed she would hand over the money, and she was pretty sure the collateral would be worthless. He dropped her off with a sweet little kiss and profuse thanks.
In the sanctuary of the apartment, she concluded that this was a cunning plan to oust her from the game; clear her out and send her packing, nursing her wounds. A simple case of removing the opposition before they became too powerful; suggesting Michael had more to lose than was apparent if she succeeded.
She waited until late afternoon and telephoned Conan.
“Conan; I hate to do this to you but I have to fly back to Rome for business; it means I won’t be here to handle your delivery.”
“Is there no way you can be back in time, my dear?”
“It seems not. I hate to let you down and if you need someone you can trust, then I recommend Michael Burlington to you.”
There was a pause.
“Yes, perhaps he would do it; we have had some dealings in the past. It’s such a pity you can’t do it; it would be an excellent way to forge a basis for future dealings.”
“Such is life, Conan; goodbye ...”
All hinged on whether Thierry called Maddy but Hannah took the initiative there too.
“Thierry; it’s Maddy. I’ve checked out the delivery address and it’s unsafe; you’ll need to advise me of an alternative ... oh yes, the delivery will still be made ... thank you; I’ll wait for you to advise.”
“That should put the proverbial cat amongst the pigeons and save the identity of Signorina Fiorina de Cana. Now; I wonder how Luke is getting on with the fake.”
Such were Hannah’s thought as she hatched a more devious plan to get her five hundred and thirty thousand dollars.
“Pierre; hi, it’s me. Is the vehicle ready? Excellent! Meet me for lunch tomorrow; usual place, usual time.”
Hunting and fishing and hopefully no shooting were Hannah’s last thoughts as she got into bed. Who was behind it really? Conan? Michael? Thierry? She’d dismissed Gerhardt, having seen that he’d bought more paintings with the insurance money and was now courting a Duchess. The Fayette’s didn’t feature but she couldn’t be sure. No, the plan had to have been concocted between Michael and Conan, with Thierry acting as a go-between, perhaps goaded by Manuel. She slept soundly and still held on to the feelings that, given a choice, she’d still rather steal than collect!
Michael battled bravely on his grey mare; an older horse and a pretty steady one. He didn’t ride often or look at all comfortable, but he was competitive and pushed himself and the horse, until all pulled up breathless at the site of the new vineyard.
“You ride well!” he gasped.
“I love riding!”
He showed her the new vineyard. The vines were very young, and it would be a good few years before there was any Chateau La Fache on the shelves. They cantered back for lunch and then had a swim in the heated pool, followed by a game of croquet.
Hannah felt like she was being wooed in the good old fashioned way and had to admit to enjoying it very much. They broke up after some tea for a siesta, planning to reconvene at dinner which was at seven- thirty. Hannah retired to a hot bath and Michael went to the office which was directly beneath her bathroom. His muffled voice was just audible as she soaked in the luxurious bubbles. Curiosity got the better of her in the end. She slipped out of the bath and took a glass from the shelf, placing the tumbler on the floor with her ear pressed to it to see if she could hear him more clearly. He was on the telephone.
“As far as I can see, Conan, she is who she says she is ...”
Hannah’s heart skipped a beat.
“The exhibition was her idea, partly, I just don’t see how the job gets done; the piece weighs two tons, man! I thought the other woman was the thief and our Italian friend was innocent ... oh, you think?”
“Oh my God,” said Hannah to herself. “Conan is in on this and thinks Madeleine and Fiorina are the same person ... why ask for the piece to be stolen?”
“If they are, then she is very, very good. How do you want me to play it?”
Hannah strained to catch every word, seeing as this could be the end of her game or the start of a much bigger one.
“I won’t do that, Conan; not for you or any amount of money. I’ll cancel the exhibition. The piece is going nowhere and, as far as I’m concerned, she’s innocent until proven guilty ... Remind me why we wanted the piece stolen in the first place? ... Don’t threaten me!”
There was a long pause.
“Fine! We’ll proceed as planned and see how she plays it; if I lose the piece, you’ll answer for it - yes!”
Hannah got back into the bath and tried to remain perfectly calm. The burning question was why did they want the piece stolen? It was as if they were trying to flush her out. Could Gerhardt be behind it, seeking revenge? Manuel was happy - he had his paintings - so why the subterfuge?
Hannah went down for cocktails and played it very, very coolly; Michael appeared to be a little agitated.
“Is everything alright?” Hannah asked.
“Yes, fine; there’s always some issue or other to sort out. The exhibition may have to be postponed ...”
There it was; the test of her reaction.
“Now that would be a shame and you would be penalized by the venue ... but if the show is deferred, then I’ll head to Rome earlier than planned. When will you know?” she asked as a matter of fact, and that floored him.
“Next week, by Wednesday,” he replied somewhat meekly.
They dined and the atmosphere was a little heavy on Michael’s side of the table; Hannah kept up the façade perfectly.
“If you have to delay, then come to Rome,” she said as her own test.
“If it is possible, then I will; that would be great.”
“What are our plans tomorrow?” she asked, keeping a toe in the water.
“I think we’ll have to return to the city earlier than planned; perhaps after breakfast. Would you be very disappointed if we didn’t go sailing?”
“Of course; but there will be other opportunities, won’t there?”
“Yes, absolutely!”
They took their coffees and brandies out onto the terrace and Michael seemed more relaxed.
“You have been a delightful companion this weekend,” he began. “There’s a benefit on Tuesday which I have to attend; would you be my guest?”
“I should be free. I have an associate flying in for a meeting. Once I’ve checked the itinerary, then I’ll confirm. It should be fine.”
“If I said I needed your help, Fiorina, could I rely on your absolute discretion?”
“Of course, Michael; I’ll do whatever I can to help.”
“I’ve gotten into deep water and the raft has sprung a leak ...”
“Do you need money?”
“Ready money; I have so much tied up in other ventures. I don’t want to pull the plug and lose out but I have some heavy expenses coming in and even I have limits ... it would just be for a few weeks.”
“How much?”
“Five hundred thousand dollars ...”
“That doesn’t sound like too much of a problem. When do you need it?”
“By Wednesday as it happens.”
“Okay; once I’ve seen my associate, then I’ll see what I can do. Please don’t worry, Michael.”
“Thanks; I hate to ask but if I go elsewhere then-”
“Questions will be asked and that would be unhelpful.”
“Exactly!”
“I’ll be able to confirm on Tuesday, by the time I see you at the benefit. I’m touched actually that you trust me enough to confide in me and seek my help.”
“You seem - no, you are - someone I feel I can trust. There are precious few; most just want to see me fail.”
“Say no more about it. Where is the benefit on Tuesday?”
“At The Cloisters; it’s in aid of a restoration project ... some tapestry or other.”
“I’ve seen something about it. What time?”
“Seven; let me pick you up.”
“I may be out. I’ll meet you there but you can drive me back. If it’s early enough, there may be time to catch a late dinner.”
“Thank you, Fiorina; I feel a lot easier about everything.”
With a little haste, he retired and bade her goodnight very tenderly. Hannah remained on the terrace to think.
“He needs money; that’s rubbish! So why say he does? To get five hundred thousand back for someone, perhaps to get the five hundred thousand to pay Maddy for the theft ... or see me broke ...”
She watched the full moon rise over the lake. As it inched higher into the sky and lit up the landscape, she had a few more thoughts.
“He’s warning me - five hundred thousand is the payoff - it’s just a scam to get half a million dollars, knowing that I won’t be able to pursue it. It’s their way of blowing my cover. Is it a test ... why? I could write it off but why should I? Does it buy me protection or seal my fate? Do I retire out of this game?”
Hannah went to bed and knew that the offensive would be her best defense so she planned her own strategy.
They breakfasted and Michael confirmed that they needed to go back shortly afterwards.
“I’m really sorry,” he said.
“It’s fine; I’ll do some work and that should almost guarantee that I’ll be free on Tuesday evening. You can trust me, Michael, but I will need collateral for the loan,” Hannah said, looking directly into those usually impenetrable pools of liquid flint. There was a ripple.
“No; of course ... What works for you?”
“If no one else must know, then personal assets to the value. You decide ...”
“I’ll let you know on Tuesday.”
They left and headed back to the city. The mood was fairly upbeat, which indicated to Hannah that Michael believed she would hand over the money, and she was pretty sure the collateral would be worthless. He dropped her off with a sweet little kiss and profuse thanks.
In the sanctuary of the apartment, she concluded that this was a cunning plan to oust her from the game; clear her out and send her packing, nursing her wounds. A simple case of removing the opposition before they became too powerful; suggesting Michael had more to lose than was apparent if she succeeded.
She waited until late afternoon and telephoned Conan.
“Conan; I hate to do this to you but I have to fly back to Rome for business; it means I won’t be here to handle your delivery.”
“Is there no way you can be back in time, my dear?”
“It seems not. I hate to let you down and if you need someone you can trust, then I recommend Michael Burlington to you.”
There was a pause.
“Yes, perhaps he would do it; we have had some dealings in the past. It’s such a pity you can’t do it; it would be an excellent way to forge a basis for future dealings.”
“Such is life, Conan; goodbye ...”
All hinged on whether Thierry called Maddy but Hannah took the initiative there too.
“Thierry; it’s Maddy. I’ve checked out the delivery address and it’s unsafe; you’ll need to advise me of an alternative ... oh yes, the delivery will still be made ... thank you; I’ll wait for you to advise.”
“That should put the proverbial cat amongst the pigeons and save the identity of Signorina Fiorina de Cana. Now; I wonder how Luke is getting on with the fake.”
Such were Hannah’s thought as she hatched a more devious plan to get her five hundred and thirty thousand dollars.
“Pierre; hi, it’s me. Is the vehicle ready? Excellent! Meet me for lunch tomorrow; usual place, usual time.”
Hunting and fishing and hopefully no shooting were Hannah’s last thoughts as she got into bed. Who was behind it really? Conan? Michael? Thierry? She’d dismissed Gerhardt, having seen that he’d bought more paintings with the insurance money and was now courting a Duchess. The Fayette’s didn’t feature but she couldn’t be sure. No, the plan had to have been concocted between Michael and Conan, with Thierry acting as a go-between, perhaps goaded by Manuel. She slept soundly and still held on to the feelings that, given a choice, she’d still rather steal than collect!
On Monday, Hannah reconciled her accounts and found that if it were necessary, she could put up the five hundred thousand and it wouldn’t make too much of a dent. She had about four hundred thousand from the sale of the small De Nizza which was bonus money; a hundred thousand from reserves would still leave her comfortable but she had no intention of seeing half a million dollars disappear without trace, and the damage to her reputation would effectively put her out of business.
Pierre had the vehicle ready and in a day or two, Luke would have the copy of The Muses completed for her to see. The plan was simple: load the copy into the security vehicle; drive to the delivery address; hand it over; collect the bond. The key; making sure that no one could verify that the real piece had not moved from the Park Avenue apartment. As long as Michael didn’t oversee the handover, she’d be fine; he, therefore, needed to be elsewhere!
How to handle the benefit was the next burning question. Could she make it appear that she was handing over the money; would the collateral actually be worth anything? Did she back out, feigning heavy expenses of her own? Perhaps she should just leave for Rome like she had told Conan, and leave the playboy with no playmate. Obviously, they thought relieving her of the cash would put an end to her career for a while; just to see her exit from the stage wasn’t good enough.
The benefit for the tapestry was the key. She’d offer to pay Michael’s donation instead of handing him the actual cash; that would delay matters. Perhaps she should sell the emeralds; they really weren’t her. They were real but of very poor quality; the setting and the diamonds had hidden that fact. Worth a hundred thousand but looked a million. Yes, offer to cover his donation and sell the emeralds, put that money up and promise the rest a week or so later.
She wondered how Conan and Thierry would handle the bond and what had been said after her call to Thierry asking for another delivery address. She surmised that Michael was probably stepping up his security just in case.
On Tuesday, she called Thierry to get the address, feigning impatience as the plan was incomplete without it.
“I need the new delivery address, Thierry; by Friday, please.”
“How do you plan to do it?”
“If I told you, you wouldn’t need me would you?” Hannah replied, laughing, also imagining the three of them scratching their heads, wondering how she planned to pull it off.
Michael’s demeanor that evening would be interesting to say the least. It wouldn’t matter if he stepped up the security; she would not be going anywhere near the place. But he needed to be put out of action and, if he was, who would they send to verify the piece before the bond was handed over? Her only advantage being that no one had seen the sculpture in the flesh for ten years and the fact that Luke was doing a painstaking job of making a copy. It was costing her thirty thousand dollars all told but worth every cent.
She got ready for the benefit, confirming with Michael that she would be arriving a little later than planned. Her proposal to pay his donation would be made at the last minute so that he didn’t have a chance to say no. Playfully, she wore a pinstripe suit and a dress shirt of snowy white to really set off the rubies - which were fakes but exceedingly good ones, the fake pear-drop diamond earrings, her good watch and the trademark sunglasses. Pete dropped her off and she found Michael waiting in the foyer to escort her inside.
“Fiorina; you’re dazzling tonight,” he said, smiling broadly.
“Going out with a bang,” she replied cryptically
“When do you fly?”
“Thursday, after my meetings ... Shall we go in?”
They went in and he grabbed them some champagne.
“Are you still confident that we can conclude our business before Thursday?” he asked in a very carefully chosen tone.
“Absolutely! And I have a wonderful idea; I’ll cover your donation here tonight ... presumably that would have presented a problem to you as you need ready money, no?”
“I was going to make a fairly modest donation actually, which I could cover.”
“You have a reputation, Michael. If they get a whiff of anything, then you’ll have more issues to resolve, especially if they’re also backing your projects. These things have a habit of knocking each other over. How much would they expect you to donate?”
“At least two hundred and fifty thousand.”
“I’ll cover that and let you have the other two hundred and fifty on Thursday; will that work for you?” she asked, smiling very sweetly, practically laying her heart open for inspection.
“That will work just fine. I’m so grateful, Fiorina ... as for the collateral-”
“Never mind about that, Michael; we’re friends and I trust you will make good in the fullness of time ... it will be one less thing to worry about.”
“It pains me to take advantage of your generosity but I am exceedingly grateful.”
“Say no more ...”
They mingled, together and separately. Hannah spoke to the event organizer and handed over a cheque for fifty thousand dollars on her own account and fifty thousand for Michael - effectively the proceeds from the sale of the emeralds. When the event organizer took the money, which they believed was from Michael, they raised an eyebrow.
“Darling; I hear things aren’t going too well ... please don’t mention it,” Hannah pleaded in a very confidential tone.
“Signorina; we never disclose the details of how much an individual has donated.”
“Excellent. As a dear friend, I wanted to spare him the embarrassment; these things can be judged very harshly, and the information could be damaging, shall we say.”
She left the organizer and found Michael.
“It’s done; don’t worry about a thing and on Thursday, you’ll have a draft for the balance.”
“Thank you,” he said. “Are we still on to catch dinner?”
“Yes; if you’re free. My car is waiting; is yours?”
“I came with Marco de Vron; let’s take yours. I have reservations at the Metropolis.”
“Perfect! And I can tell you about the new venture. I’ll leave you time and space to make your investment if you still want to once things sort themselves out.”
They left and found the car. Pierre was driving; not Pete.
“Where to, Signorina?” he enquired.
“The Metropolis, please.”
They headed off and Hannah kept Michael distracted with her tittle-tattle so that he didn’t pay any attention to the journey or the route they were taking. It was only when his internal clock registered that he should be where he expected to be, that he looked out the window. He didn’t recognize where he was.
“Hey! Where are we?” he demanded of the driver.
“Pete?” queried Hannah.
Pierre stopped the car and looked around.
“It’s Pierre, madam.” With which he shot a tranquilizer dart into Michael’s chest, who slumped within a few seconds.
“Right; let’s get moving!” urged Hannah.
Pierre had driven the car because he was roughly the same height and build as Michael. He swapped clothes with Michael and they managed between them to haul Michael into the trunk of the car.
Hannah drove and took them back to Park Avenue where Pierre alighted, diving into the building. With his hat pulled down and his collar turned up, he avoided being recognized by the doorman and made it to the elevator where he used Michael’s key to operate the elevator.
Hannah drove off and parked the car in the garage attached to her building, checking on Michael, who was out for the count.
“Goodnight, sweetheart!” she said as she entered her building from a side door.
She called Thierry.
“Change of plan, Thierry; the piece will be moved tomorrow and I need that address!”
“There’s a warehouse, corner of West 48th Street and 12th Avenue; be there at eleven o’clock in the morning.”
“Who will take delivery?”
“I’ll be there myself with the payment.”
“Excellent!”
Hannah called Pierre at Michael’s apartment.
“Delivery is at eleven o’clock in the morning; expect the call shortly afterwards.”
“Okay, Maddy; good luck!”
Pierre had the vehicle ready and in a day or two, Luke would have the copy of The Muses completed for her to see. The plan was simple: load the copy into the security vehicle; drive to the delivery address; hand it over; collect the bond. The key; making sure that no one could verify that the real piece had not moved from the Park Avenue apartment. As long as Michael didn’t oversee the handover, she’d be fine; he, therefore, needed to be elsewhere!
How to handle the benefit was the next burning question. Could she make it appear that she was handing over the money; would the collateral actually be worth anything? Did she back out, feigning heavy expenses of her own? Perhaps she should just leave for Rome like she had told Conan, and leave the playboy with no playmate. Obviously, they thought relieving her of the cash would put an end to her career for a while; just to see her exit from the stage wasn’t good enough.
The benefit for the tapestry was the key. She’d offer to pay Michael’s donation instead of handing him the actual cash; that would delay matters. Perhaps she should sell the emeralds; they really weren’t her. They were real but of very poor quality; the setting and the diamonds had hidden that fact. Worth a hundred thousand but looked a million. Yes, offer to cover his donation and sell the emeralds, put that money up and promise the rest a week or so later.
She wondered how Conan and Thierry would handle the bond and what had been said after her call to Thierry asking for another delivery address. She surmised that Michael was probably stepping up his security just in case.
On Tuesday, she called Thierry to get the address, feigning impatience as the plan was incomplete without it.
“I need the new delivery address, Thierry; by Friday, please.”
“How do you plan to do it?”
“If I told you, you wouldn’t need me would you?” Hannah replied, laughing, also imagining the three of them scratching their heads, wondering how she planned to pull it off.
Michael’s demeanor that evening would be interesting to say the least. It wouldn’t matter if he stepped up the security; she would not be going anywhere near the place. But he needed to be put out of action and, if he was, who would they send to verify the piece before the bond was handed over? Her only advantage being that no one had seen the sculpture in the flesh for ten years and the fact that Luke was doing a painstaking job of making a copy. It was costing her thirty thousand dollars all told but worth every cent.
She got ready for the benefit, confirming with Michael that she would be arriving a little later than planned. Her proposal to pay his donation would be made at the last minute so that he didn’t have a chance to say no. Playfully, she wore a pinstripe suit and a dress shirt of snowy white to really set off the rubies - which were fakes but exceedingly good ones, the fake pear-drop diamond earrings, her good watch and the trademark sunglasses. Pete dropped her off and she found Michael waiting in the foyer to escort her inside.
“Fiorina; you’re dazzling tonight,” he said, smiling broadly.
“Going out with a bang,” she replied cryptically
“When do you fly?”
“Thursday, after my meetings ... Shall we go in?”
They went in and he grabbed them some champagne.
“Are you still confident that we can conclude our business before Thursday?” he asked in a very carefully chosen tone.
“Absolutely! And I have a wonderful idea; I’ll cover your donation here tonight ... presumably that would have presented a problem to you as you need ready money, no?”
“I was going to make a fairly modest donation actually, which I could cover.”
“You have a reputation, Michael. If they get a whiff of anything, then you’ll have more issues to resolve, especially if they’re also backing your projects. These things have a habit of knocking each other over. How much would they expect you to donate?”
“At least two hundred and fifty thousand.”
“I’ll cover that and let you have the other two hundred and fifty on Thursday; will that work for you?” she asked, smiling very sweetly, practically laying her heart open for inspection.
“That will work just fine. I’m so grateful, Fiorina ... as for the collateral-”
“Never mind about that, Michael; we’re friends and I trust you will make good in the fullness of time ... it will be one less thing to worry about.”
“It pains me to take advantage of your generosity but I am exceedingly grateful.”
“Say no more ...”
They mingled, together and separately. Hannah spoke to the event organizer and handed over a cheque for fifty thousand dollars on her own account and fifty thousand for Michael - effectively the proceeds from the sale of the emeralds. When the event organizer took the money, which they believed was from Michael, they raised an eyebrow.
“Darling; I hear things aren’t going too well ... please don’t mention it,” Hannah pleaded in a very confidential tone.
“Signorina; we never disclose the details of how much an individual has donated.”
“Excellent. As a dear friend, I wanted to spare him the embarrassment; these things can be judged very harshly, and the information could be damaging, shall we say.”
She left the organizer and found Michael.
“It’s done; don’t worry about a thing and on Thursday, you’ll have a draft for the balance.”
“Thank you,” he said. “Are we still on to catch dinner?”
“Yes; if you’re free. My car is waiting; is yours?”
“I came with Marco de Vron; let’s take yours. I have reservations at the Metropolis.”
“Perfect! And I can tell you about the new venture. I’ll leave you time and space to make your investment if you still want to once things sort themselves out.”
They left and found the car. Pierre was driving; not Pete.
“Where to, Signorina?” he enquired.
“The Metropolis, please.”
They headed off and Hannah kept Michael distracted with her tittle-tattle so that he didn’t pay any attention to the journey or the route they were taking. It was only when his internal clock registered that he should be where he expected to be, that he looked out the window. He didn’t recognize where he was.
“Hey! Where are we?” he demanded of the driver.
“Pete?” queried Hannah.
Pierre stopped the car and looked around.
“It’s Pierre, madam.” With which he shot a tranquilizer dart into Michael’s chest, who slumped within a few seconds.
“Right; let’s get moving!” urged Hannah.
Pierre had driven the car because he was roughly the same height and build as Michael. He swapped clothes with Michael and they managed between them to haul Michael into the trunk of the car.
Hannah drove and took them back to Park Avenue where Pierre alighted, diving into the building. With his hat pulled down and his collar turned up, he avoided being recognized by the doorman and made it to the elevator where he used Michael’s key to operate the elevator.
Hannah drove off and parked the car in the garage attached to her building, checking on Michael, who was out for the count.
“Goodnight, sweetheart!” she said as she entered her building from a side door.
She called Thierry.
“Change of plan, Thierry; the piece will be moved tomorrow and I need that address!”
“There’s a warehouse, corner of West 48th Street and 12th Avenue; be there at eleven o’clock in the morning.”
“Who will take delivery?”
“I’ll be there myself with the payment.”
“Excellent!”
Hannah called Pierre at Michael’s apartment.
“Delivery is at eleven o’clock in the morning; expect the call shortly afterwards.”
“Okay, Maddy; good luck!”
Early the following morning, after giving Michael another tranquilizer shot, Hannah took the security van and collected the copy of the sculpture from Luke. Between them, they easily lifted it but in order to fool anyone else, they secured the ensemble to a heavy base which was on a pallet, already in the back of the van.
“Thanks, Luke,” Hannah said as she handed him thirty thousand dollars.
“Can I see you later?” he asked hopefully.
“Sure ...”
She went to Pete’s place and picked him up; he was dressed as a security guard of the firm.
“Let’s go!”
En route, Hannah changed into a uniform, also putting up her hair, donning a wig and fixing her makeup so that she looked Spanish. They arrived at the delivery address - a disused warehouse near the Chelsea Piers.
A car was already positioned just inside the door and a man was standing beside it - she presumed Thierry. Hannah got out and in English, but heavily accented, she asked him his name.
“Thierry Silber; where is Maddy?”
“Seeing to business; you have the bond?”
“Yes; you have the piece?”
“In the back.”
“Once I’ve checked it, the payment can be made. I’m surprised Maddy isn’t here herself.”
Hannah ignored the comment and opened up the back of the van. Thierry looked inside and then made a call on a mobile phone. Hannah had never seen the like of it. Thierry stepped away from the rear of the van for privacy. A few minutes later, he returned.
“Okay; here’s the bond,” he said, handing an envelope to Hannah. She checked it and closed the rear door of the van. Pete got out and they walked away from the warehouse together, grabbing a cab as soon as possible for the rendezvous at the 80th Street apartment with Pierre who, having taken the call from Thierry, knew his masquerade as Michael was no longer required.
An hour later, they were all together and Hannah paid them.
“One hundred thousand dollars for you both, as agreed,” she said as she handed over the cash.
“That’s a lot of money, Maddy, for a short day’s work,” said Pierre, and Pete just nodded.
“Without you, it couldn’t have worked, so it’s well-earned ... and we were just lucky he was alone and there was no obvious danger. I do not like this style of handover; it’s too risky.”
“Someone is going to be very pissed very soon,” suggested Pierre.
“And someone else is just about to wake up,” announced Hannah.
She’d vacated the 23rd Street apartment, knowing that, within the hour, Michael would wake up and find himself locked in the trunk of the limousine - minus his dignity, though not his bronze. Hannah thought that was very gallant of her, seeing as he was plotting with Conan to end her promising career and Conan would, in the not too distant future, be mourning the loss of his half million dollars - but probably nursing his bruised ego more.
As for Thierry; he drove the security van to the airport and had the sculpture loaded onto a plane bound for Hong Kong, and then disappeared.
Hannah believed that Thierry was working on his own account. It seemed wrong that he would hand over the bond if the plan had originally been to clear her out. Maybe Michael and Conan were in on it together and Thierry saw a chance. When he had called Pierre at the time of the handover, he had simply asked if the piece had been moved and Pierre had confirmed that it had. So maybe they were in on it together and Michael needed the insurance, alleviating Conan of half a million dollars in the process. Where the fake sculpture was now, who knew?
Hannah sat quietly after the guys had gone and tallied up. The bond for five hundred and thirty thousand dollars was in her hand. The costs of the operation were covered by the three hundred thousand that she had received from the Californian for the auctioned De Nizza. The hundred and fifty thousand dollars profit on the original sale of that piece was bonus money, the emeralds having funded the hundred thousand she’d handed over at the benefit. The one hundred and fifty thousand she hadn’t expected was deposited along with the bond.
The comment she had made to the guys weighed on her mind. The handover of a stolen masterpiece was fraught with danger and, had it not been for Pierre and Pete, she was certain that she wouldn’t have been quite so lucky. A safer handover process was needed - and a cheaper one too! It had cost her one hundred thousand the last time and two hundred thousand this time. Of course worth it to secure the payment but money that could have been invested elsewhere.
“Work alone, Hannah. Don’t rely on anyone, trust no one and don’t find yourself responsible for someone else; worrying about them distracts you from your purpose.”
She didn’t know whose voice it had been in her head. It wasn’t her own; it sounded much older.
The following day, she went to see Luke and gave him his bonus, losing something of herself in the process but gaining some useful experience.
She packed and vacated the apartment, and boarded a train for San Francisco.
This ability to melt away like ice gave her a special feeling, one of immense power and true freedom. She smiled for the first hour and then picked up her book - Brave New World, by Aldous Huxley.
“Thanks, Luke,” Hannah said as she handed him thirty thousand dollars.
“Can I see you later?” he asked hopefully.
“Sure ...”
She went to Pete’s place and picked him up; he was dressed as a security guard of the firm.
“Let’s go!”
En route, Hannah changed into a uniform, also putting up her hair, donning a wig and fixing her makeup so that she looked Spanish. They arrived at the delivery address - a disused warehouse near the Chelsea Piers.
A car was already positioned just inside the door and a man was standing beside it - she presumed Thierry. Hannah got out and in English, but heavily accented, she asked him his name.
“Thierry Silber; where is Maddy?”
“Seeing to business; you have the bond?”
“Yes; you have the piece?”
“In the back.”
“Once I’ve checked it, the payment can be made. I’m surprised Maddy isn’t here herself.”
Hannah ignored the comment and opened up the back of the van. Thierry looked inside and then made a call on a mobile phone. Hannah had never seen the like of it. Thierry stepped away from the rear of the van for privacy. A few minutes later, he returned.
“Okay; here’s the bond,” he said, handing an envelope to Hannah. She checked it and closed the rear door of the van. Pete got out and they walked away from the warehouse together, grabbing a cab as soon as possible for the rendezvous at the 80th Street apartment with Pierre who, having taken the call from Thierry, knew his masquerade as Michael was no longer required.
An hour later, they were all together and Hannah paid them.
“One hundred thousand dollars for you both, as agreed,” she said as she handed over the cash.
“That’s a lot of money, Maddy, for a short day’s work,” said Pierre, and Pete just nodded.
“Without you, it couldn’t have worked, so it’s well-earned ... and we were just lucky he was alone and there was no obvious danger. I do not like this style of handover; it’s too risky.”
“Someone is going to be very pissed very soon,” suggested Pierre.
“And someone else is just about to wake up,” announced Hannah.
She’d vacated the 23rd Street apartment, knowing that, within the hour, Michael would wake up and find himself locked in the trunk of the limousine - minus his dignity, though not his bronze. Hannah thought that was very gallant of her, seeing as he was plotting with Conan to end her promising career and Conan would, in the not too distant future, be mourning the loss of his half million dollars - but probably nursing his bruised ego more.
As for Thierry; he drove the security van to the airport and had the sculpture loaded onto a plane bound for Hong Kong, and then disappeared.
Hannah believed that Thierry was working on his own account. It seemed wrong that he would hand over the bond if the plan had originally been to clear her out. Maybe Michael and Conan were in on it together and Thierry saw a chance. When he had called Pierre at the time of the handover, he had simply asked if the piece had been moved and Pierre had confirmed that it had. So maybe they were in on it together and Michael needed the insurance, alleviating Conan of half a million dollars in the process. Where the fake sculpture was now, who knew?
Hannah sat quietly after the guys had gone and tallied up. The bond for five hundred and thirty thousand dollars was in her hand. The costs of the operation were covered by the three hundred thousand that she had received from the Californian for the auctioned De Nizza. The hundred and fifty thousand dollars profit on the original sale of that piece was bonus money, the emeralds having funded the hundred thousand she’d handed over at the benefit. The one hundred and fifty thousand she hadn’t expected was deposited along with the bond.
The comment she had made to the guys weighed on her mind. The handover of a stolen masterpiece was fraught with danger and, had it not been for Pierre and Pete, she was certain that she wouldn’t have been quite so lucky. A safer handover process was needed - and a cheaper one too! It had cost her one hundred thousand the last time and two hundred thousand this time. Of course worth it to secure the payment but money that could have been invested elsewhere.
“Work alone, Hannah. Don’t rely on anyone, trust no one and don’t find yourself responsible for someone else; worrying about them distracts you from your purpose.”
She didn’t know whose voice it had been in her head. It wasn’t her own; it sounded much older.
The following day, she went to see Luke and gave him his bonus, losing something of herself in the process but gaining some useful experience.
She packed and vacated the apartment, and boarded a train for San Francisco.
This ability to melt away like ice gave her a special feeling, one of immense power and true freedom. She smiled for the first hour and then picked up her book - Brave New World, by Aldous Huxley.
