“A coup d’etat, I think. But he’s going in two months. To head some useless Euro-initiative, which will probably result in art theft doubling over the next few years.”
“You sound very certain. Isn’t he going to do anything about it?”
“Apparently not. He says there’s nothing he can do.”
“Goodness. So who takes over?”
“He remains nominally in charge. But he’s offered the day-to-day running to me. If, that is, I don’t want to go with him.”
“Do you want to run the place?”
“I don’t know. Do I want everything to depend on me and be responsible for operations? I don’t think I do. Do I want to work for Paolo, or someone brought in from outside? No. Not that either.”
“You want things to stay as they are.”
She nodded.
“And they’re not going to. What will you do?”
She shrugged. “I haven’t thought about it.”
“What would going with him involve?”
“Sitting in an office from nine to five, organizing. Home every evening at six. No rushing around late at night. Vast amounts of money, tax free.”
He nodded. “Every sensible person’s dream, right?”
“Yes.”
He nodded again as he turned this over in his mind. “Hmm. Do you want to do it?”
“I’d get to spend more time with you.”
“Not what I asked.”
“Oh, Jonathan, I don’t know. I suppose you think I should go for the quiet life.”
“I didn’t say that. Obviously I wouldn’t mind seeing you every now and then.”
“I thought so.”
“But if you go with Bottando you could end up in a dead-end, boring job which drives you crazy, money or no. When do you have to decide?”
“He’s given me a week.”
“In that case you should think about it for a week. And so will I. So let’s change the subject. This monastery. Did you fend off the criminal classes? Which monastery was it, anyway?”
“San Giovanni. On the Aventino.”
He nodded. “I know it.”
“Really?” The things he knew about this city never ceased to amaze her. She had never heard of the place before.
“It’s got a dodgy Caravaggio in it.”
“Under restoration.”
“Ah. Who’s doing it?”
“A man called Dan Menzies. Ever heard of him?”
Argyll nodded fervently. “The Rottweiler of Restoration.”
“So it’s worth a lot of money?”
“If it’s a Caravaggio, and if Menzies hasn’t repainted it as a Monet, yes. And the subject matter is a bit gloomy for your average buyer of stolen works of art, as I recall.”
“What is it?”
“The breaking of St Catherine on the Wheel. A bit morbid. And good evidence for it not being by Caravaggio. He didn’t take to women much. These private collectors usually go for the more cheerful stuff, don’t they? Sunflowers and Impressionists, and all that sort of thing. Baroque religion doesn’t look so well in the dining room. Puts people off their food, in fact. Besides, it’s probably quite big. Getting it out would need a removal truck, I’d imagine.”
“So what’s the story on Menzies?”
“None that I know of. Very loud, bellows away so you can hear him from miles off, but it may be that his bark is worse than his bite. I’ve never met him. More than that I can’t say. You think he’s in cahoots with someone, do you? Tipped them off the picture is out of its frame so they can sweep in and roll it up.”
She shrugged. “No. But if someone is going to pinch that picture, and would want to hit it before it goes back on its stretcher, they’d have to know when the best moment would be to go in.”
“Better put a tail on Menzies, then. Tap his phone, that sort of thing.”
“We don’t have the people.”
The first thing Flavia had to deal with when she arrived was Giulia, who brought her crisis of confidence with her into the office. This did at least make her forget about major career decisions. “Oh, stop making such a fuss,” she said crossly, when Giulia recounted her meeting in the cafe with Mrs Verney and then burst into tears. “It happens, and it’s partly my fault for not telling you that she’s a bit more complicated than she looks. Now stop making that noise.”
Flavia paused for a moment when she realized how very much like Bottando she must sound to the poor girl. Except that Bottando would have managed to be a bit more avuncular, which was quite beyond her range. Naturally Giulia was upset; it was more or less the first time she’d been allowed out of the office since she’d arrived after her initial training; she wasn’t very good yet and to have her nose rubbed in the fact like that must have been distressing.
“You go and recover yourself by writing the reports for a day, and then maybe you can have another go. It’s just a knack. Don’t worry about it. Who’s following her at the moment?”
“No one.”
“Oh, for God’s sake.” She stood up and reached for her bag.
“Where is she? In her hotel?”
Giulia looked at her watch. “She said she was going shopping, and we could find her in the via Condotti most of the morning.”
Grumbling to herself that this was a ludicrous way of running a police force, Flavia walked out of the office to fill the gap. Tell Bottando, she said, to find someone to take over at lunch. If he’s around. She’d ring in later to say where she was.
She tracked Mary Verney down in a shoe shop, as she was trying on a pair of fairly expensive shoes. The wince on her face suggested they were not perfect.
“You’ve taken over watching me for the morning?” Mary said when she attracted Flavia’s attention with a wave.
“Faute de mieux. I have.”
“Splendid. I hope you are not going to pretend you don’t know me.”
“It was very unkind of you to do that last night,” Flavia observed gravely. “Poor girl was in tears this morning. She’s only young, you know.”
“I am sorry,” Mary Verney said, with every sign of meaning it. “I was in a bad mood and felt like kicking someone. She was the only person available. I shall apologize later. But I could say that it was unkind of you to put a tail on me like that. Personally, I felt I deserved better.”
“No. Arresting you would have been unkind. Keeping an eye on you is merely sensible.”
“At least we don’t have to play hide and seek all morning. If you’re with me, you can help. You dress so much better than I do. I need a nice coat. Nothing fancy, you know. Or too expensive. Something fitting my age and the Norfolk countryside. One doesn’t want to stand out too much. What do you suggest?”
Flavia recommended a place which her mother visited on the rare occasions she came to Rome. She was a touch stouter than Mrs Verney, and a little older, but very much more vain as well. It would be a place to start. She led the way, once Mrs Verney had tried on a few more pairs of shoes and given up the attempt to find something which matched comfort and elegance. Such things are hard to find.
“Such an expensive city,” she said as they walked up the street. “I don’t know how you do it, dear. After all, you aren’t paid very much, I imagine.”
“We manage.”
“I was so glad to see that you and Jonathan are still together. When did you say you were getting married?”
“The autumn. That’s the idea.”
“I am so pleased. I suppose it’s too much to expect an invitation?”
“Probably.”
She sighed sadly. “I thought as much. Are you terribly cross with me?”
“No. But only because I’ve taken care not to find out officially what it is I should be cross about. Otherwise I would be.”
“But you don’t trust me any more.”
Flavia grinned. Mary Verney was quite impossible to dislike for long. “Not an inch, no. I don’t know what you are doing here. It may be that the story you have told me is the gospel truth. Even thieves have to have holidays, after all. But I have my doubts.”