She had read the archive newspaper articles about the audacious robbery at the Boston museum — of how it had shocked and stunned the international art world. She recalled that it was on the morning of March 18, 1990 that thieves disguised as police officers broke into the Isabella Stewart Gardner museum and stole thirteen works of art, including the painting of The Concert by Vermeer. They also got away with three Rembrandts (two paintings including his seascape ‘The Storm on the Sea of Galilee’ and a small self-portrait print) as well as works by Manet, Degas, Govaert Flinck, and a French and Chinese artefact. It is still considered to be the biggest art theft in US history and to this day remains unsolved. The museum still displays the paintings’ empty frames in their original locations due to the strict provisions of Gardner’s will. This left the instruction that the collection be maintained unchanged.
There had been much speculation over the years about the whereabouts of these paintings. And now Freya Johansson was perplexed at what she was possibly staring at — the stolen Vermeer in a private collection in Dorset. Her first thought was to look for more, but that would be ridiculous and may arouse Daniel’s suspicion. She needed time to think.
Could she simply be mistaken? Inwardly, she grimaced at the possibility that she was not. This painting was so well-documented and her interest in Vermeer so detailed, that she’d always carried a mental image of it around with her. But, for the time being, she must keep an open mind.
Her mouth felt dry and she needed a glass of water. She must have appeared to be acting a little strangely, for Daniel called out from the other end of the gallery, “Freya, are you okay?”
“I’m fine, Daniel. It must be the air-conditioning in here — it’s making me feel a little woozy, that’s all. But I think it’s probably a good time to leave anyway. I’m having dinner with Daddy in Covent Garden at eight-thirty.”
Downstairs, in the kitchen, Daniel gave her a glass of water, noticing for the first time how pale and puzzled she looked — yet the gallery was anything but disorientating.
Freya Johansson drank the water, and wondered how she should deal with this discovery. She knew herself far too well to be able to simply walk away from it. She gazed up at Daniel, the concerned face of a university friend, and wondered about his father. How could a famous painting by Vermeer, stolen from a museum in Boston, be in his private collection in Sandbanks Dorset, seventeen years later? She needed to know, but she knew it might hurt people whilst finding out. Too bad, because this one belonged back in the Boston museum. And were there other paintings?
CHAPTER TWO
Dunstan Havelock took Jake Dillon and Dillon’s lawyer girlfriend, Isabel, (‘Issy’) Linley, out to dinner. The fact that Havelock had turned up alone and not with his wife suggested to Dillon that the dinner was not simply out of friendship, although that left him puzzling over why Issy was invited. The fact that he was now dining in one of the most expensive restaurants in London confirmed his theory beyond any reasonable doubt. As much as he liked Havelock as a person, he didn’t trust what he represented: the political establishment, a personal fixer for the Home Secretary.
“How’s Rachel these days, Dunstan?” Dillon asked pointedly.
Havelock, unruffled, turned urbanely to Issy. “One might be forgiven for thinking that he’s asking after my dear wife simply out of concern or perhaps even politeness. But it’s nothing of the sort, my dear. It means that he doesn’t trust the purpose of this exquisite meal or the opulence of this fine eating establishment that we now find ourselves in. The mistrusting swine.”
Isabel Linley, a stunning forty-year-old with a high-flying career in international corporate law, winked but added seriously, “Isn’t that what’s kept him alive all this time?”
Havelock turned back to Dillon. “Rachel is in Monte Carlo. She’ll be back in a day or two. And, of course, you’re right. There is something that I’d like to pass by you. Might be of interest to Ferran & Cardini, but I’ll let you run it by Edward Levenson-Jones. Would you be interested?”
“In which case it must be either extremely dangerous, or of an extremely sensitive nature, as usual. Otherwise you would have gone straight to the security services with it.”
Issy was not only Dillon’s friend and lover, but she was also his greatest admirer and protector since their university days.
“Now, would I have enticed you along, Issy, if it was anything sinister?”
Havelock caught the attention of a passing waiter, and ordered another bottle of Bollinger.
“It’s nothing more than a little snooping around, that’s all.”
“Then why not let the police deal with it?” Dillon asked.
“The Home Secretary feels that it’s not for MI5 or even the police to be involved with. He would prefer that Ferran & Cardini took the brief, especially as we would rather keep it under tight wraps. You know that we have high regard for the integrity of the firm, but more importantly, we trust you. And there are few we can say that of.”
“And you don’t trust your own security service to take it on?”
Havelock poured vintage Champagne into finest cut crystal. “It’s not their cup of tea, so to speak, Jake. And please don’t think that you’re second best, because you know better than that.”
“And this comes straight from the Home Secretary, does it?”
“Well, yes and no.”
“Which is it, Dunstan. Yes or no?”
“The Home Secretary does know about it, but the request comes from Simon Digby at MI5.”
“You are kidding me. That loathsome cockroach. The irony of it. We’ve only just crossed swords over who the new European Network should be reporting to.”
“You know very well that Digby is only doing his job, and, furthermore, I’m positive that he holds no malice towards you personally. What I can tell you is that he’s had this thrown upon him by MI6. And that he’s now trying to do a favour for our friends across the pond”.
“The Americans? I should have known. Why can’t they deal with it themselves?”
“Because the problem appears to be on our soil. I need not have mentioned their involvement, Jake. But, I’m trying to be as honest with you as I am allowed to be.”
Dillon gazed across the table.
“There was a time when you didn’t have to try, Dunstan.”
Dillon finished his glass of Champagne and controlling his agitation, placed the glass ever so gently onto the table.
“You should know by now, Dunstan, that nothing annoys me more than being taken for a complete fool. Why is it that I’m the one who’s always offered the shit jobs that the police and the security services don’t want? And I suppose that you’ve already spoken to the partners and that they told you to run it by me.”
“Oh, now look here, Jake. Firstly, it was Sir Lucius Stagg whom I spoke to, and I most certainly do not think that you’re anybody’s fool. But, point taken. And yes, he did tell me to talk directly to you and that, if you said no, well then that would be the end of it.”
Dillon looked round at Issy, who was sitting beside him.
“And what do you think of all this?” he asked her.
“I agree with you, Jake. These people only ever approach your firm, and in particular you, when they have a situation where they don’t want to get their hands dirty. For what it’s worth, I’d say leave it well alone.”