"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.
11 JUNE 1888
EN ROUTE TO AMSTERDAM
Married life proving more delightful than I had ever dared hope. K spends much of her time reading the worst sort of popular fiction (novels that have much amused me, so I cannot reprimand her), periodically raising her head from her book to make wry comments about the heroine. Emerged from her dressing room last night-such a vision of beauty I could hardly speak. "...Such celestial charms..." What will she think of her husband when-as eventually I must-I regain my ability to speak coherently in her presence? Will she recognize the man she married?
Much accomplished on Achilles-Alexander. Good thing K frequently buried in her reading, or she might take offence that I spend so much time writing.
31
"Good day, Mr. Hargreaves. I did not expect to see you."
"I would imagine not," he replied curtly. "May I come in?"
"Only for a moment. I was just preparing to go out," I lied. "Did you enjoy your visit to the Louvre? I've always found Mr. Murray an excellent guide, at least at the British Museum. Does he know the collection here as well?"
"I spent only a few minutes with him discussing a matter of business."
"I had guessed as much," I said, looking at him skeptically. "Have you come with a specific purpose, Mr. Hargreaves? I'm afraid that I am not at liberty to spend much time sitting with you."
"I would like to know when you plan to leave for Africa."
This surprised me. If he were working with Andrew, I would have expected him to know that I no longer planned to accompany his friend to the Dark Continent. Unless...could Andrew have sent him to determine if the suspicions that led me to cancel my trip went deeper than concern about the deception played on me with my wedding photograph? I considered my options briefly before answering.
"I have decided not to go," I said, meeting his eyes. "My friends have convinced me that Philip would prefer to see me in Paris, so I've agreed to stay here and wait for news from the search party."
"I'm glad to hear it and wish that I had been so persuasive. My efforts to alter your plans seemed only to make you more intent on your purpose."
"You do prompt extreme reactions from me," I said with a laugh. "But I suppose I shall forgive you for that."
"I can ask for little more. Where are you off to this afternoon?"
"I have an appointment at six o'clock and thought I would go to Frascati for some pastry in the meantime."
"May I walk with you?"
"I don't see why not," I agreed, nearly certain now that Andrew had sent him. Clearly Caravaggio was busy this afternoon and wanted to be confident that I would not stumble on anything that might disrupt his plans. "So long as you promise to make no mention of the topic on which we cannot agree."
"Ashton?" he asked.
"Yes. I am not so naïve as to think that it is entirely likely he is alive. Until it can be proven otherwise, however, I would prefer to have hope rather than despair as my companion."
While Colin and I strolled along the grands boulevards of the city, I made every effort to learn from him as much as I could about Andrew. My success was somewhat limited, although I could not say whether this was due to his unwillingness to be forthcoming or to my own lack of focus. A trip to Frascati, the best patisserie in the city, is never wasted, however, and we passed an agreeable hour there discussing Greek grammar over tourte aux confitures. Colin was quite sympathetic to my complaints regarding my tutor's choice of texts, and he reassured me that after a bit more work on Xenophon, I would be able to start on Homer. Occasionally when our eyes met during a lull in conversation, he would look away abruptly, leaving me to wonder if he now regretted his actions on the Pont-Neuf, not that it really mattered.