Maisie placed a hand on Svenson’s forearm. “Don’t worry, Mr. Svenson. If someone wanted access to the gallery, they would have found it whether the door was open or not. It’s just another piece of information to help me in my work.”
“But, do you think Nick was murdered?”
Maisie and Billy exchanged glances again. As Maisie questioned Svenson, Billy had been taking notes. Now it was time to move on to the second reason for their visit.
“Mr. Svenson, I’m also here with some news, news that, for the meantime, we must keep between just we three. In addition, I have a proposal for you, and I need your help.”
Svenson shrugged. “My help? How?”
“I know where the masterwork is, and I want to exhibit here, at your gallery. I—”
“You know where the triptych is?”
“It’s not a triptych. And yes, I know where it is. Let me finish, Mr. Svenson. I want informal invitations sent to a select group of people—Nick’s friends from Dungeness, his family, Mr. Bradley, perhaps a representative from each of the museums. I am sure you will have an opportunity for an open exhibition later, perhaps to show other works found by Georgie and Nolly following Nick’s death—to my untrained eye, it would appear that even his sketchbooks would draw good money—though that would have to be with permission granted by the family and by his sisters, as executors.”
“Oh, my God, my God, we must make arrangements. I must see the work, I must!”
Maisie shook her head. “No, Mr. Svenson. I have to make a request I hope very much that you will grant, for it is crucial to my work, and to the purpose of this special exhibition.”
“What do you mean?”
“Not only do I require you to keep the arrangements confidential, only releasing information in the manner I stipulate, but I will need to have private access to the gallery. I want only men of my choosing to assist with mounting the pieces. There will be a timetable to follow, a specific period during which—to all intents and purposes—the gallery will appear to be unattended. I cannot emphasize enough that my instructions must be followed to the letter.”
“What about Georgie? Will she be told?”
“I will see her this afternoon. As my client she must be kept apprised of my progress, but she also understands that in my work I cannot be expected to account for or inform her of every decision, if I am to be successful.”
“You ask much of me, Miss Dobbs.”
“I know. But you, in turn, asked much of Nick, and though he could be fractious at times, your reputation has increased a thousandfold as a result of that relationship. I think you owe him this, don’t you?”
The man was silent for a few moments, then regarded Maisie again. “Tell me exactly what you want me to do.”
GEORGINA BASSINGTON-HOPE WAS, fortuitously, at home when Maisie arrived. When informed by the housekeeper that Miss Dobbs was waiting in the drawing room, Georgina emerged from her study with the now-familiar ink-stained fingers.
“My apologies if I have disturbed you while working, Georgina.”
“It’s the curse of the writer, Maisie: I am both annoyed and relieved upon being interrupted. I can spend much time cleaning the keys on my typewriter or rinsing the nib and barrel of my fountain pen—in fact, anything that constitutes a writer’s work without actually stringing two words together.” She smiled, pulled a handkerchief from her pocket and rubbed the stains. “Tell me, have you news?”
“I think we should sit down.”
Georgina sat down on the armchair, continuing to clean her fingers with a handkerchief, though now her hands shook. She looked at Maisie, who had taken a seat on the chesterfield at the end closest to her. “Go on.”
“First of all, Georgina, I want to ask you about the painting above your cocktail cabinet, the one that belongs to Mr. Stein.”
“Maisie, I told you, I don’t know a—”
“Georgina! Please do not lie to me. You must have known that my work on your behalf, would lead me to unearth the truth of what has been going on down in Dungeness.”
Georgina stood up and began to pace. “I didn’t think it had anything to do with the investigation.”
“Didn’t think it had anything to do with the investigation? Have you lost all grip, Georgina?”
The woman shook her head. “I just knew Nick’s involvement had no link to—”
Maisie stood up to face her client. “That is as may be, Georgina, but I had to follow the lead I discovered and that has taken valuable time—it was a distraction that had to be explored before I was able to conclude that it was of no import regarding Nick’s death.”
“I—I’m terribly sorry. But what they’re doing is all in a good cause.”
“Yes, I know that. But you realize that Harry is in deep water, and Nick must have been at risk too.”
“And you don’t think it had anything to do with his death?”
“No, Georgina, I don’t.” Maisie sighed. “But if you wish to help Harry, as well as Duncan and Quentin, then you must locate them soonest and tell them I want to speak to them as a matter of urgency. I have advice that I think will help them, though they have taken enormous risks.”
“Of course. I—”
“And I do have some news for you.”
“About Nick’s death?”
“Not exactly. I have located the lock-up where Nick kept much of his art, including the missing work.”
Georgina reached out to touch Maisie’s arm. “You’ve found the triptych?”
“There are six pieces, actually.”
Georgina faced Maisie squarely. “Then let’s go then, I want to see it.”
Maisie shook her head. “Please sit down, Georgina. There are other plans already in motion, plans that I request you follow.”
Georgina took her seat once again, though her tone was short. “What do you mean? What gives you the right to execute ‘other plans’ without first requesting my express permission? If anyone should be making plans, it should be—”
“Georgina, please!” Maisie raised her voice, then reached out and clasped both the woman’s hands in her own. “Be calm, and listen.”
Georgina nodded, snatching back her hands and crossing her arms.
“You are absolutely right to be put out, and right to want to see your brother’s work,” continued Maisie. “However, in the interests of developments in my investigation, I had to move with some speed.”
“But I’m your bloody client! I’m the one paying your fees, and a pretty penny they are too!” Georgina leaned forward, her body tense.
“Quite right, but there are times in my work when my allegiance has to be to the dead, and this is one of them. I have thought long and hard about what to do in this case, and I must ask for your trust and your blessing.”
There was silence in the room. Georgina Bassington-Hope tapped her right foot several times, then gave a final deep sigh.
“Maisie, I don’t know why you are acting in this manner, or what has inspired your ‘plan,’ but…but, against my better judgment, I trust you. At the same time, I am extremely annoyed.” She reached out to Maisie, who held her hand once again.
“Thank you, for your trust.” Maisie smiled at Georgina. “My work does not end when a solution to a given case is found, or the grain of information sought is discovered. It ends only when those affected by my work are at peace with the outcome.”
“Whatever do you mean?”
“What I mean is something that my clients can never really understand until I have achieved the aim of the investigation.”
Georgina stared into the fire for some moments, then turned to Maisie. “You’d better tell me your plans.”