"Monsieur Caravaggio, I am delighted to meet you," she said. "You are not, I believe, Italian?" She laughed. I held my breath and waited for the reply.
"Not at all, Madame du Lac," he said. "I am English to the core. The Italian name lends a nice touch, though, don't you think?"
"I shall not offend you by insulting your country, monsieur, especially when I have such great hopes for our business relationship. Will you please sit?"
"If you will forgive me for being crass, madame, it is clear to me from your home, your jewelry, and your reputation that you are indeed in a position to afford a panel of the Elgin Marbles. That you want such a thing is a testament to your excellent taste. That you knew to contact me indicates that you possess a superior intelligence. There is no one else who could arrange the procurement of such a famous work."
My head was spinning; I sank to the ground. It was not Colin Hargreaves. Only Andrew would speak in that arrogant tone; I recognized his voice at once. There could be no mistake. The same anger that prompted me to confront him the previous day started to surface again. Every suspicion I had about Colin was now redirected to Andrew, the man who wanted me to travel to Africa to rescue Philip. I pushed my hands against the cold marble floor and put my ear against the door, not wanting to miss a word uttered by the abhorrent man.
"My connections at the British Museum are above reproach. Access to the piece will not be a problem. The artists I use produce excellent copies. Not a single object I have replaced has been suspected."
"Even if it were, Monsieur Caravaggio, I would not expect my name ever to surface in an investigation. I really have no time for such things," Cécile said, sounding marvelously bored with the entire subject.
"Of course, of course." Andrew laughed, disrespectful as always.
"How long until I receive the panel?"
"I will have that information for you as soon as I discuss the project with my artist. Mr. Attewater works quickly, but a piece of this caliber will be rather time-consuming."
"You are quick to reveal the names of your minions, Monsieur Caravaggio."
"I have little concern for insignificant information. Mr. Attewater can take care of himself." Of course. Andrew excelled only in looking after his own situation. Poor Mr. Attewater. He deserved better treatment. "We should discuss the financial arrangements."
"The price you quoted in your note is perfectly acceptable," Cécile said. "I presume you prefer cash?"
"You are most gracious, Madame du Lac. I have brought you a token to acknowledge our agreement." I could hear someone open a parcel. "It is Greek, of course. The figures on the vase depict the Judgment of Paris."
"I am familiar with the story. It is an excellent copy."
"It is the original, madame. I would not dream of presenting a customer such as yourself with anything less."
I shook my head as I listened to him lie so coolly. The original Judgment of Paris vase was safely hidden in my butler's pantry in London.
"I am afraid that I shall have to cut our meeting short today. I had not intended to take on any more projects for the moment, as I am preparing to leave town, but did not want to delay meeting with such an important client."
"Are you going back to London?" Cécile asked.
"No, to Africa on the most urgent business." I seethed as he spoke.
"Will you be able to handle my request before you leave?"
"I will push back my departure long enough to ensure that I have all the arrangements set in motion before I leave. My trip will not be an extended one; I assure you that our transaction will not be affected by it in the least." I wondered at this comment. Did Andrew know he would not be able to find Philip?
"I would expect nothing less." I heard the rustle of her silk skirts as she rose from her seat. "I will leave you to your work, Monsieur Caravaggio."
I sat motionless, listening to the echo of his boots disappear down Cécile's staircase. Only after having detected the snap of the brass latch in the front door did I cautiously enter the red drawing room, where Cécile was inspecting the Judgment of Paris vase.
"It's a copy," I said.
"Bien sûr." She shrugged. "Did you recognize our malefactor?"
"Andrew Palmer." I paced angrily in front of the room's tall windows. "No wonder he was so keen to get Philip's papers for his father. He must have been looking for some record of the stolen objects Philip had."
"He was probably afraid there would be some clue that could implicate him."
"I wonder if Philip was more than just a customer," I said, still pacing. "And what about Colin? Do you think he is also involved?"
"Je ne sais pas," Cécile said. "I had rather hoped that Caravaggio would turn out to be someone wholly unrelated to you. It would have made for a neater resolution."
"Would that we were so lucky. We must stop Andrew before he leaves for Africa."
"I wonder if he will really go without you," Cécile mused.
"He insists that he will."
"Yes, but why? Can he really believe that Philip is still alive? I'm very sorry, Kallista, but I find it more and more difficult to believe that he is."
"I have not yet given up hope entirely but must admit that I'm inclined to agree with you." Before I realized it, a tear slipped down my cheek. I brushed it away and turned to look out the window.
"Let us focus on capturing Andrew, chérie. There is no use in contemplating Philip's fate until we have more facts."
"Do we have enough evidence for the police to arrest Andrew?" I asked.
"I do not think so. We shall have to think of a way to persuade him to give us something more."
"I want to force him to tell me whether my husband is alive."
"I am not sure that two women could force Caravaggio to do anything; he could easily overpower us if confronted. He must be tricked."
"And tricked in a manner that will result in his immediate arrest. Once their leader is in jail, perhaps Mr. Attewater and the others involved in the crimes could be persuaded to give evidence."
I picked up the vase Andrew had left for Cécile and examined it. Suddenly an idea struck me. "This vase is a forgery."
"I know, Kallista. I did not doubt you when you told me the first time."
"No-look." I pointed to a fold on the fabric of Paris's tunic. "What do you see?"
"Cloth?" She peered at the vase. "Are those letters? Alphas?"
"Precisely!" I exclaimed, growing excited. "They are Mr. Attewater's signature. He hides them on every copy he makes."
"But this proves nothing more than that Andrew did not bring me the original."
"In this case, yes. Andrew's success depends upon being able to replace stolen objects with copies. If we could trick him into stealing something and giving us the original before he could get it copied, we might be able to drive him to exposure."
"Intéressant. It would be difficult for him to get something copied in Paris when Monsieur Attewater is in London. What object shall I tell Caravaggio I want?"
"This, Cécile, will be my adventure."
"You cannot let him know that you've identified him as a thief. How would such a man react? It would be too dangerous."
"I have no intention of letting him know. Tomorrow when he comes to tell me of the delay in his departure-as he must, now that you've hired him to acquire the frieze-I'm going to tell him that I'm no longer eager to sponsor the trip because of some disturbing information I've learned about Philip."
"That he was collecting stolen antiquities?" Cécile asked, smiling.
"Exactly. It will lull him into a sublime sense of security. If the entire plot of the thefts were ever revealed, he could blame it all on Philip, who is not here to defend himself." I began pacing again. "And as for me, would I look forward to being reunited with a husband of such low principles?"
"And how will this lure Andrew to steal something for you?"
"I must identify some object that I shall pretend to want desperately. After our conversation Andrew will have been led to believe that he would be welcome to renew his suit if only he could find me the thing that I so desire. It is very difficult being a lonely widow, Cécile."
"At which point, if Philip really is dead, it would be in Andrew's best interest to inform you immediately."
"Precisely."
"You assume that he will not be satisfied by having achieved what he will view as immunity from his crimes? A smart man would allow you to think Philip was the only guilty party and remove himself from further suspicion."
"Regardless of whether Andrew is a smart man, it cannot be denied that he is a poor one. And I am exceedingly wealthy. I do not doubt that he started this business with the antiquities as soon as he had run through his own fortune. If he were to marry me, he could abandon the enterprise entirely."
"A perfect solution to all his problems." Cécile sighed. "And now that you suggest it, does it not make you wonder that the news of Philip's possible survival reached you only after you had refused Andrew? I wonder if your money has been his object all along?"
"I am counting on it, Cécile. If he is as greedy as I suspect, he will be easily trapped, so long as I can be persuasive enough." I sat at a desk and began to compose one of two notes that would be crucial to the success of our plan.
"What will you have him steal?"
"A lovely object currently in Monsieur Fournier's collection."
"And you are sure he will be up to the challenge?"
"Andrew has never lacked confidence. I'm sure he views all this as a wonderful game."
Cécile and I were awake much of that night formulating the details of our plan, so I did not return to the Meurice until the following morning.
I had hoped Andrew would come to see me early in the day, but luncheon passed without his appearing at my rooms. At last, tired of waiting, I took matters into my own hands and sent Meg with a note for my traveling companion, requesting his presence at his earliest convenience. Much to my chagrin, Meg returned twenty minutes later with Andrew's reply; he was indisposed until nearly dinnertime. Could he come to me at six? I did not like having to wait to set my plans in motion any more than I liked the fact that he made my maid wait nearly half an hour for his answer. I had no choice but to agree, and I sent Meg with a second note, saying that I would expect to see him promptly at six.
Once again I found myself in the unhappy position of watching the hours pass with very little to do. I picked up my Greek but could not concentrate enough to translate two words together. My mind wandered hopelessly, and I began to think about Philip. Although the chance of his being alive seemed very unlikely at present, I could not help but wonder what our reunion might be like. Obviously, as I no longer planned to go to Africa, I would have to revise my fantasy of finding him helpless in a primitive tent at the mission. If he were discovered, I could be ready to travel to Cairo at a moment's notice. The thought of our reunion occurring outside of London appealed to me; an exotic locale surely would inspire passion more effectively than would the house in Berkeley Square.
Further thought on the subject ceased when I heard a forceful tap on the door, which I opened with a flourish, wondering if Andrew had decided to see me earlier than planned. Instead I found Colin standing before me.