“It’s all very well for you to say that. Courage in adversity. I’m the one who goes to jail. And if I do, you don’t get your picture.”
He didn’t even reply, so she carried on, hoping to make him see reason. “Listen, I told you how I work. This is exactly the sort of situation I have always managed to avoid. I don’t want you talking to anyone else and above all I don’t want you here.”
“That’s unfortunate,” he said evenly. “But there is nothing you can do about it.”
“And I want this whole thing cancelled, or at least postponed. Now.”
He shook his head, opened his wallet and handed over a small photograph, of a child. “Came this morning. What do you reckon? Quite a good likeness, I thought.”
She took it and stared grimly at a picture of her smiling granddaughter for a few seconds. As is traditional in this most ghoulish of modern art forms, there was a copy of yesterday’s newspaper, clearly showing the date, in the foreground. Just so there would be no misunderstanding. Her attempt to push him off-balance hadn’t worked. Back to the drawing board.
“So what do you expect me to say?”
“Nothing. But I want it understood I must have that picture quickly.”
“Why doesn’t your father just buy it? He’s got enough money. It can’t be worth that much.”
He smiled indulgently. “It’s worth a king’s ransom, in the right hands. And it is not for sale. So this is the only way.”
“Why’s it so important? It’s not a great picture. I could buy you one twice as good in a gallery for less trouble than this.”
“That is not your concern. Your job is to get it. For that you don’t need to know why I want it. And you will get it. I have every confidence in you. So let us not waste time talking. You have a job, and you’d better get on with it.”
She was angry when she left five minutes later, with the suppressed fury of total impotence. It was something she was not used to and, yet again, she had that slow growing feeling of age creeping up on her. She felt lonely, in fact, having to rely on her own resources and discovering that, for once, they weren’t enough.
It also made her vengeful in a way which was of no use but was no less demanding for all that. Had she been a man, she might have gone out and got drunk and ended up in a brawl. Instead she fixed on the one person nearby with whom she had some sort of acquaintance. When she got back to her hotel by the back entrance, Mary walked straight through the lobby, out the front and crossed the road to the bar.
“Excuse me,” she said to the young woman still sitting patiently and reading her book. Mary noticed with satisfaction the look of perplexed alarm on her face as the poor girl realized what was going on.
“Yes?”
“You must be a colleague of Flavia’s, I assume.”
“What?”
“Well, you’ve been following me around all evening, and look terribly bored sitting there with that book. I was wondering if you wanted to come up to my room for a drink? Then you could watch me in comfort.”
“Ah …”
“Please yourself. But as we seem to be stuck with each other for a bit, I thought I might as well introduce myself formally. So that tomorrow we could say good morning properly, rather than pretending we don’t know each other.”
“I don’t think …”
“Or I could just give you my itinerary for tomorrow, so you’d know where to go if you lost me. It’s so ridiculous, your trying to be discreet.”
“Listen …”
“What, my dear? What’s your name, by the way?”
“Giulia Contestanti.”
“What a nice name.”
“Thank you. But this won’t do.”
“Why not?”
“Because it won’t.”
“Oh, I’m not meant to know you’re following me, is that right? Don’t worry”—Mary leaned forward in a conspiratorial whisper—“I won’t tell. Promise. Do I take it that you don’t want to come for a drink?”
“No, I don’t.”
“Pity. Oh, well. I’m off to bed. I’ll be up at about seven and I’ll leave when the shops open. You’ll find me pottering up and down the via Condotti most of the morning. I need a new pair of shoes. I promise not to wave when I see you. It can be our little secret, eh? Good night, my dear.”
And, leaving the poor girl red-faced with embarrassment, Mary Verney went to bed.
4
Argyll was in a sulky mood the next morning, and sat sullenly over his toast when Flavia came into the little kitchen after her shower. She peered at him to assess his mood, made herself a coffee and sat down.
A long silence followed.
“What’s up with you?” she asked eventually.
“Nothing.”
“Yes, there is.”
He chewed his toast for a moment, then nodded. “You’re right. There is. Why did you invite that woman for a drink?”
“Mary Verney? I thought you liked her.”
“No.”
“Business.”
“What sort of business?”
“A warning shot. Just so that she knows we are aware of her presence. I’ve been meaning to ask you about her.”
Argyll sniffed cautiously.
“Do I conclude that she wasn’t quite as innocent as my report said over the Giotto thefts?”
Argyll gave a hesitant nod. “Since you ask,” he began reluctantly, “I suppose I should tell you …”
But she held up her hand. “No doubt. But it might be better if you didn’t. We got the pictures back and closed the case to everybody’s satisfaction. If she was more involved and knew more than she let on then it might be better to pass over it in silence. If you tell me anything else, I’d be obliged to report it. That is the way it stands, isn’t it?”
He nodded.
“But if I suggested that she was as crooked as a corkscrew, you wouldn’t feel obliged to leap to defend her good name?”
He shook his head.
“Thought so. I was never entirely convinced by her story.”
“You weren’t?”
“No. But we did get the pictures back, and that was all I was interested in. Keep the rest to yourself. But she may not be here simply on a holiday.”
Argyll shrugged. “I really don’t know,” he said cautiously. “As far as I can see she has more than enough money. And her complaints about being too old had an air of truth to them. What are you going to do about her?”
“Nothing. Except watch her every step, bug her phone, read her mail and never let her out of our sight.”
“Which she will spot.”
“That’s the idea … She assures me she is here on holiday. Maybe she is. I just want to be certain.”
“Is that why you were late the other night as well?”
She sighed. So that was why he was grumpy. In abstract she sympathized. In practice, she wished he had a bit more sympathy for her. What was she meant to do about it? Stay at home while things got stolen all around her?
“No,” she said patiently. “That was something else. We had a tip-off about a possible raid. On a monastery. I had to go down and warn them. I don’t like it, either, you know. But we’re short of people ever since …”
“I know. Budget cuts.”
“Well, it’s true. I don’t hang around street corners at night for my own pleasure, you know.”
“I’m glad to hear it. Oh, well. I’m used to it, I suppose.”
“Don’t be so long-suffering.”
“I am long-suffering.”
“And don’t be crabby, either. That’s my job. I’m a bit fed up too, you know.”
“Oh? Why’s that?”
“Bottando’s going.”
“Where?”
“Going. Just going. He’s been promoted. Against his will. It’s that or being demoted, it seems.”
Argyll put down his toast suddenly. “Good God. That’s sudden, isn’t it? What happened?”