"Ten o'clock all right for you?"
Donovan nodded.
Goldman continued to scrutinise the list.
"I know someone who might help," he said.
"In what way? A buyer?"
"A dealer. Young guy, he's been making a bit of a name for himself. Bit of a chancer, it has to be said, but he turns over some good stuff. Sails a bit close to the wind when it comes to provenance, but he has cash buyers. Buyers a bit like yourself, if you get my drift."
"You trust him? This is personal business, Maury. I mean, the paintings are kosher but there's going to be a money trail. I don't have time to do any laundry."
"He's never let me down, Den. And he knows the faces. God forbid I should put you in touch with my competition, but if you're in a bind, he might be able to help."
Donovan nodded.
"Okay, then. What's his name?"
Goldman blew a cloud of smoke across the desk, then waved it away with his hand.
"Fullerton. Jamie Fullerton."
Robbie's thumbs were getting numb, but he didn't want to stop playing with the Gameboy, not while he was so close to beating his personal best. His mobile phone started to ring. He glanced sideways at the phone on the grass beside him. It was a mobile calling him. He put the Gameboy down and picked up his mobile. He didn't recognise the number. He pressed the green button.
"Yes .. ." he said hesitantly.
"Cheer up, you look like you've got the weight of the world on your shoulders."
"Dad!" Robbie shouted. He grinned and pumped his fist in the air.
"That's better," said Donovan.
"You haven't forgotten how to smile, then."
Robbie realised what his father had said. He stood up and looked around the garden, the phone still glued to his ear.
"Where are you?"
"Why? You want to see me?"
"Yes!" Robbie shouted.
"Where are you?"
Donovan stepped out of the kitchen, waving at his son.
"Dad!" Robbie screamed, running towards him. He threw himself at Donovan. Donovan picked him up and swung him around.
"I knew you'd come back," said Robbie.
"I said I would. You know I always keep my word."
Robbie put his arms around Donovan's neck and hugged him tight.
"When did you land? You should have called me, I would have come to the airport."
"I wanted to surprise you," said Donovan. He didn't want to tell Robbie that he'd been in London for two days, or that he'd been in Mark and Laura's house while he was asleep.
"You want a Big Mac?"
"Burger King's better."
"Since when?" Last time Donovan had been in London, Macdonald's was his son's fast food of choice.
"Burger King's better. Everyone knows that. Are we going home?"
"Home?"
"Our house. You're not going to stay with Aunty Laura, are you?"
Donovan put his son back on the ground and ruffled his hair.
"We can talk about that later," he said.
"There's something we've got to do first."
Laura came out of the kitchen.
"Are you staying for dinner, Den?"
"Father and son time," laughed Donovan.
"Junk food's a-calling."
They caught a black cab to Queensway and Donovan took his son into Whiteley's shopping centre. Donovan headed towards a photograph machine on the ground floor.
"What are we doing, Dad?" asked Robbie.
"Passport pictures," said Donovan, helping him into the booth. He gave him two one-pound coins and showed him how to raise the seat.
"I've already got a passport," said Robbie.
"Your mum took it," said Donovan.
"Why?"
"I don't know. You'll have to ask her."
"Why do I need a passport?"
"For God's sake, Robbie, will you just do as you're told?" Donovan snapped.
Robbie's face fell and he pulled the curtain shut.
Donovan leaned against the machine.
"Robbie, I'm sorry."
Robbie didn't say anything. There were four flashes and then Robbie got out of the booth. He didn't look at Donovan. Donovan ruffled his son's hair.
"I'm having a bad day, Robbie. I'm sorry."
"It's all right." Robbie's voice was flat and emotionless and he still wouldn't look at Donovan.
"We'll go to Burger King, yeah?"
Robbie nodded.
"What are you going to do to mum?"
Donovan's jaw dropped.
"What do you mean?"
"You're not going to let her get away with it, are you?"
"Your mum's made her bed, now she's got to lie in it."
"Will you get divorced?"
"After what she's done, Robbie, she can't come back."
"Yeah, I know. I won't have to stay with her, will I?"
Donovan knelt down so that his face was level with Robbie's.
"Of course not."
"Most of my friends, when their parents split up, they have to live with their mums."
"Yeah, but this is different."
"I know, but it's the judge who decides, right?"
Donovan shook his head.
"After what she did, no judge is going to let her take you away from me. That's as long as you want to stay with me. You do want to stay with me, right?"
"Sure!" said Robbie quickly.
"So that's sorted." Donovan gently banged Robbie's chin with his fist.
"You and me, okay?"
"Okay, Dad."
The strip of photographs slid out of the machine. Robbie picked it up and studied it.
"I look like a geek."
Donovan took the photographs off him.
"You look great." He put the photographs in his pocket. One of the two mobiles he was carrying started to warble. It was the one Rojas was supposed to use. Donovan pressed the phone against his ear.
"How's it going, capullo? he asked, turning away from Robbie.
"The parcel has been dispatched," said Rojas.
"I'm already working on the second matter."
"De puta madre," said Donovan.
"You'll send my fee?"
"Absolutely," said Donovan, though he wished he felt half as confident as he sounded. The line went dead. The Spaniard, like Donovan, always kept calls on mobile phones as short as possible. Even the digitals weren't secure. Virtually no form of communication was these days. Phones, e-mail, letters, all could be intercepted and recorded. Donovan put the phone away and smiled down at Robbie.
"Burger King, yeah?"
Robbie grinned and nodded.
"Great." They walked together out of the shopping centre.
"Dad, you know I know what capullo means, don't you?" asked Robbie.
"I do now," said Donovan.
Robbie's grin widened.
"You should wash your mouth out with soap."
"I'll do that, soon as we get home. But burgers first, yeah?"
Stewart Sharkey carried the two glasses of champagne out on to the terrace and handed one to Vicky. She took it but didn't look at Sharkey. She stared out across the azure Mediterranean with unseeing eyes.
"Cheers," said Sharkey, and touched his glass against hers.
She looked at him slowly, then at the glass in her hand. She frowned, as if seeing it for the first time.
"What have we got to celebrate?" she asked.
"Champagne's not just for celebrating," said Sharkey. He dropped down on to the lounger next to her.
Vicky stared out over the sea again. The bay was dotted with massive white yachts, each worth millions of dollars, and around them moved smaller boats, like worker ants in attendance to the queen.
"We could get a boat," said Sharkey.
"Sail away."
"Den always talked about getting one," said Vicky, her voice flat and emotionless.
"We can do it, Vicky. Tomorrow."
"Where would we go?" she said.
"He'll find us eventually."
"Not here. He's never been to the South of France. Hates the French, you know that. He's no friends here. No contacts."
Vicky turned to look at him.
"So that's the great plan? We stay in Nice for the rest of our lives."