She looked at him appraisingly. “Secret?”
“I thought Peter Cavanaugh came up with seventy million dollars awfully quickly.”
“I wouldn’t know about that,” Carla said.
“Of course you would, since you got Eduardo to put up the money.”
“Shhhh,” she whispered. “How did you know?”
“I’ve known Eduardo for some years, as you well know, and I know that he’s on the board of the Metropolitan and one of its most generous contributors for special projects.”
“Don’t you tell Barton,” she hissed.
“I won’t, if you’ll tell me how much Eduardo committed to.”
“Eighty million,” she whispered, “and don’t you tell Barton that, either.”
“I promise,” Stone said.
Finally, Whately came and stood beside Cavanaugh, and Stone found himself holding his breath.
“Magnificent,” Whately said, “and in absolutely outstanding condition, the result, no doubt, of having been in one house since it was made.”
Cavanaugh clapped Whately on the back. “My judgment, precisely,” he said. He turned to the others and raised his glass. “A toast,” he said, “to the good eye and prescient judgment of the Met’s friend, Barton Cabot, not to mention his perfect timing in acquiring Mildred Strong’s collection. May we always be friends and colleagues.”
Stone took a large swig of his drink, greatly relieved. They went back into the house, Stone read the contract, and it was duly signed and witnessed.
They trooped over to Ab Kramer’s place, Cavanaugh and Whately in Stone’s car, since Barton was driving his usual van. This was the first time Stone had approached the house through the front gate, and the landscaping and well-lighted exterior made the place all the more impressive.
They were received on the front steps by Abner Kramer and his beautiful wife, and hands were shaken all around. They were led inside to an entrance hall, where Charlie Crow and his blonde bombshell awaited them. A butler took their coats, and they were led into the living room for cocktails.
The butler and a maid served them champagne or poured drinks, while another maid circled with a silver bowl of beluga caviar on a tray, with small buckwheat pancakes and condiments. Stone reckoned there was two thousand dollars’ worth of caviar in that bowl, and he dug in enthusiastically.
After a couple of drinks they were called to dinner, and Stone was happy to be seated between Tatiana and Mrs. Kramer, whose conversation was of art and the needs of the Metropolitan. It seemed likely Ab Kramer expected to be hit up for a donation before the evening was out.
After dessert, Peter Cavanaugh stood with his glass. “Ab, Charlotte, if you will permit me, I’d like to make an announcement. This won’t be made public for a few weeks, so I would be grateful for your discretion.” There were murmurs of agreement, then Cavanaugh continued. “I’d like you all to be the first to know that the Metropolitan Museum of Art has today, with the brilliant participation of our friend, Barton Cabot, acquired the largest and most perfect collection of eighteenth-century American furniture in the United States: the collection of Mildred Strong of Bristol, Rhode Island.”
There was glad applause from everyone, then Cavanaugh continued. “I wish I could take you there and show it all to you tonight, but that will have to wait for a year or so, while the Metropolitan clears gallery space and constructs replicas of the principal rooms of Mrs. Strong’s house, where the collection will be housed and displayed. I assure you, you will all be invited to the opening. Thank you.”
Cavanaugh sat down, and Ab Kramer stood and gave a brief but charming response. Then his wife invited the ladies to join her for coffee, in the manner of an English country house, while the gentlemen retired to Mr. Kramer’s study for half an hour of brandy and cigars.
As the butler opened the double doors, the men filed into the room to find, perfectly lit, the second Goddard-Townsend secretary some of them had seen that evening.
Everyone politely examined the secretary, and Julian Whately and Peter Cavanaugh gave it particularly close scrutiny. Finally, they pulled back, gazed at the piece and simultaneously nodded.
“An exceptional piece, very fine,” Whately said.
“Absolutely,” Cavanaugh concurred.
Stone made his own cursory inspection, feeling behind the piece for the brass plate. It was not there. He opened a couple of drawers and looked at the dovetailing, then joined the others as the cigars and brandy were passed.
Stone, who despised cigars, sat next to Barton, who didn’t smoke. “Since it’s practically indistinguishable from the other secretary,” he whispered, “why didn’t they think it was the genuine article?”
“Because,” Barton said, “if you ask an expert to authenticate a piece, presenting it as genuine, he will look for evidence that it’s a fake. But, if you tell him it’s a fake, he will not contradict you.”
60
Peter Cavanaugh turned to Abner Kramer. “Ab, do you mind if Julian and I have a look at some of your pieces in the living room?”
Kramer stood up. “Not at all. I’ll give you the tour.”
Cavanaugh held up a hand. “No, no, we’d just like to wander. You attend to your other guests.”
“As you wish,” Kramer said, sitting down.
Cavanaugh gave Barton a wink as he and Whately left the room, leaving Stone and Barton alone with Kramer and Crow.
Barton spoke first. “Ab, I assume you have provenance for your piece.”
“Of course,” Kramer replied, “would you like to see it? I’d appreciate your opinion on its authenticity.”
“Thank you, yes.”
Kramer walked across the room to his desk, opened a drawer, removed an unsealed envelope and brought it to Barton.
Barton opened the envelope and read the two sheets of paper inside. He shook his head. “Ab, I’m very sorry to tell you this, but I’m very much afraid you’ve been defrauded.”
“Impossible,” Kramer said. “That bill of sale and letter are on Mildred Strong’s own letterhead, in her own handwriting, which I’ve had authenticated by an expert.”
“Oh, it’s Mildred’s stationery and handwriting,” Barton said, “but it’s a fraudulent bill of sale.”
Kramer looked a little concerned now. “Why would you say that, Barton?”
Barton turned to Crow. “Charlie, when did you remove the secretary from Mrs. Strong’s house?”
“Why, the following afternoon,” Crow replied, but there was a sheen of sweat on his forehead.
“That’s impossible, Ab,” Barton said. “You see, Stone and I were in the house that afternoon and for all of the next day, making an inventory of Mildred’s collection, and Charlie was never in the house.”
“That’s a lie!” Crow said angrily.
“And how much did you pay Mildred for her secretary, Charlie?”
“A very high price, I assure you.”
“Ab, you know that to be a lie, because you paid Charlie seven million dollars for the piece.” Barton held up a hand. “Please don’t deny it. I sold the Met Mildred’s secretary today for twenty-five million dollars. Peter will confirm that, if you like. And her piece is safely locked away in a secure location.”
Kramer turned and looked at Crow. “Charlie?”
“Don’t bother asking Charlie,” Barton said. “He’ll just keep lying to you. Charlie didn’t buy any piece of furniture from Mildred. What he bought was this.” He held up the envelope containing Mildred’s letter. “It cost her nothing to write it, and she gained half a million dollars. She would never allow Charlie to walk away with the centerpiece of her beloved collection.”
“Then how did you get the whole collection?” Kramer demanded.
“I offered her a million dollars a year for the rest of her life, and the balance of the agreed sum to her estate upon her death.”