Nightwork

'I thought we were going to Gstaad,' I said.

'Gstaad can wait.' He stirred his coffee vigorously. For the first time I noticed that his hands looked older than his face. 'Of course, if you want, you can go to Gstaad without me.'

'Is it business in Lugano?'

'Of a sort.' be said carelessly.

'I'll go to Lugano with you.'

He smiled. 'Partner,' he said.

* * *

We were in the new blue Jaguar an hour later, with Fabian at the wheel, heading for the San Bernardino Pass. He drove swiftly, even when we climbed into the Alps, and hit patches of ice and snow. He said hardly a word until we had gone through the enormous tunnel and emerged on the southern slopes of the mountain range. He seemed abstracted, and I knew him well enough by now to understand that he was working something out in his head, probably just how much he wanted to tell me about the day's business and how much he wanted to leave out.

It had been overcast all the way from Zurich, but we hit another weather pattern when we got out of the tunnel, and the sun was shining brightly, only occasionally obscured by high, fast-moving white clouds. The sun seemed to change Fabian's mood, and he whistled softly to himself as he drove. 'I suppose,' he said, 'you would like to know why we're going to Lugano.'

I’m waiting,' I said.

There's a German gentleman of my acquaintance,' he said, 'who happens to live in Lugano. There has been a great influx of Germans, wealthy ones, in that section since the German Economic Miracle. The climate of the Ticino appeals to them. And the banks. You've heard of the German Economic Miracle?'

'Yes. What does the German gentleman of your acquaintance do?'

'Hard to say.' Fabian was dissimulating now and we both knew it. 'A little of everything. Dabbles in old masters. Adds to his fortune. We have had one or two minor dealings. He called me in Zurich last night. He mentioned a small favor I might do for him. He would show his gratitude. Nothing is fixed as yet. It's still very vague. Don't worry - if it amounts to anything, you'll be in on every detail.'

When he talked like that, there was no use in asking any more questions. I turned on the radio and we descended into the green Ticino to the accompaniment of a soprano singing an aria from Aida.

In Lugano we checked into a new hotel situated on the lake shore. There were flowers everywhere. The spiky fronds of palm trees waved gently in the southern breeze, and people in summery clothes were sitting out on the terrace having tea. It was almost Mediterranean, and I could understand why the climate of the Ticino might appeal to a northern and refrigerated race. In the glassed-in swimming pool adjoining the terrace, a robust blonde woman was methodically swimming lap after lap.

'All the hotels have had to put in pools,' Fabian said. 'You can't swim in the lake anymore. Polluted.'

The lake stretched out blue and sparkling in the warm sunshine. I remembered the old man in the bar in Burlington complaining that Lake Champlain would be as dead as Lake Erie in five years.

'When I first came to Switzerland after the war,' Fabian said, 'you could swim in every lake, in every river, even.' He sighed. 'Times do not improve. Now, if you'll ask the waiter for a bottle of Dezaley for us, I'll go in and call my friend and make the necessary arrangements. I won't be long.'

I ordered the wine and sat in the late-afternoon sunshine, enjoying the view. The necessary arrangements Fabian was making on the telephone must have been complicated because I had drunk almost half a bottle of wine before he came back. 'Everything in order,' he said cheerfully, as he sat down and poured himself a glass. 'We have a date to see him at six o'clock at his villa. His name, by the way, is Herr Steubel. I won't tell you anything more about him just yet....'

'You haven't told me anything so far,' I reminded him.

'Just so. I don't want you to have any preconceptions. You have no prejudices against Germans, I trust?'

'Not that I know of.'

'Good,' he said. 'Too many Americans are still fighting World War II. Oh, incidentally, to explain your presence to Herr Steubel, I said that you were Professor Grimes of the Art Department of the University of Missouri.'

'Good God, Miles!' I spluttered over my wine. 'If he knows anything about art, he'll catch on in ten seconds that I'm an absolute ignoramus.' Now I realized why Fabian had been so quiet and thoughtful on the first half of our journey. He had been cooking up a useful identity for me.

'I wouldn't worry,' Fabian said. 'Just look grave and judicious if he shows us anything. And when I ask your opinion, hesitate ... you know how to hesitate, don't you?'

'Go on,' I said grimly. 'What do I do after I hesitate?'

'You say, "At first glance, my dear Mr Fabian, it would seem to be authentic." But you would like to come back tomorrow and study it more carefully. In the light of day, so to speak.'

'But what's the sense in it?'

'I want him to spend a nervous night,' Fabian said calmly. 'It will make him more generous in his arrangements tomorrow. Just remember not to show any undue enthusiasm.'

'That'll be the easiest thing I've done since I met you,' I said sourly.

'I know I can depend on you, Douglas.'

'How much is all this going to cost us?'

That's the beauty of it,' Fabian said gaily. 'Nothing.'

'Explain.' I sat back in my chair and crossed my arms.

'I'd really rather not at the moment,' Fabian said. He sounded annoyed. 'It would be much better if we just let things work themselves out. I expect a certain amount of taking on trust between us...'

'Explain or I don't go,' I said.

He shook his head irritably. 'All right,' he said, 'if you insist. For reasons of his own, Herr Steubel is breaking up a family collection. He believes that by doing it this way he can avoid lawsuits from distant members of the family. And, naturally, he prefers not to pay the grotesque taxes imposed by various governments on this kind of transaction. To say nothing of the difficulties with customs officials when one attempts to ship national art treasures out of one country and into another....'

'Are you suggesting that you and I are going to smuggle whatever this art treasure is out of Switzerland?'

'You know me better than that, Douglas.' His tone was reproachful.

'Tell me,' I said, 'what are we doing? Are we buying or selling?'

'Neither,' Fabian said. 'We are simply agents. Honest agents. There is a South American of great wealth, who happens to be an acquaintance of mine...'

'Another acquaintance.'

'Exactly.' Fabian nodded. 'I happen to know that he is a lover of Renaissance painting and is willing to pay handsomely for authentic examples. South American countries are noted for their discretion in their handling of the importation of art treasures. There are perhaps thousands of great European pictures that have sailed quietly across the ocean and are now hanging safely on South American walls that no one will even hear of for the next hundred years.'

You said you weren't taking anything out of Switzerland,' I said. 'The last time I looked at a map, Switzerland was not in South America.'

'Don't be witty, Douglas, please,' Fabian said. 'It ill becomes you. The particular South American I have in mind is at present in St Moritz, where all good things abound. He is a dear friend of his country's ambassador, and the diplomatic pouch is always available for his use. He hinted that he is willing to go as high as one hundred thousand dollars. And I believe that Herr Steubel could be influenced to pay a fair percentage of that as our commission.'

'What's a fair percentage in this kind of deal?' I said.