Donovan looked at Fullerton, trying to get the measure of the man. He had an air of confidence that bordered on arrogance and he looked at Donovan with his chin slightly raised, almost as if he were spoiling for a fight. There was also an amused look in his eyes, though, as if he were taking a secret pleasure in suggesting that he bring strangers into Donovan's home. There was something about his smile that reminded Donovan of a shark. He was a good-looking guy and Donovan was sure that Jamie Fullerton had broken his fair share of hearts.
"I'm not sure I'd be keen on that, either," said Donovan.
"How about we move them to my gallery?" asked Goldman.
"My insurance'll cover them. Anyone interested can come and see them there."
Donovan nodded.
"That sounds good, Maury. Thanks." He raised his coffee mug in salute.
"I don't want to talk out of turn, but have you considered the insurance option?" asked Fullerton quietly.
Donovan narrowed his eyes.
"In what way?"
Fullerton grimaced, as if he were having second thoughts about what he was about to suggest.
"Come on, Jamie," said Donovan.
"Spit it out."
"It's obvious, isn't it?" said Fullerton.
"They're insured, right? Why put them on the market? You must know people."
"Must I?" said Donovan coldly.
Fullerton looked uncomfortable. Goldman was pointedly avoiding looking at either of them and was concentrating on a spot somewhere above the wine rack.
"If you don't, I do," Fullerton said.
"They break in, take the paintings, you claim on the insurance and a few years down the line you get them back, ten pence in the pound."
Goldman winced but carried on staring at the wall as if his life depended on it.
"You do know who I am, Jamie?"
"Sure."
"Are you sure you're sure? Because if you know who I am, how do you think the filth would react if they heard that I'd been robbed? First of all, they'd love to get inside my house without a warrant. Second of all, don't you think they'd move heaven and earth to prove that it was an insurance job?"
Fullerton shifted in his seat.
"Stupid idea. Sorry."
Donovan smiled.
"Nah, at least you're thinking creatively. Under other circumstances it might have been a goer, but the way things are at the moment, I've got to keep the lowest of low profiles. I want them sold legit, and I want cash."
Goldman tore his attention away from the wall.
"Cash cash?" he asked.
"As good as," said Donovan.
"Banker's draft. Tomorrow."
"That's tight," said Fullerton.
"That's the way it's got to be," said Donovan.
"Made out to you?"
"Made out to cash."
"Banks aren't over happy about making drafts out to cash," said Fullerton.
"Fuck the banks," said Donovan.
"It's a fair point, Den," said Goldman.
"It might slow things up."
Donovan pursed his lips and rubbed the bridge of his nose. He was starting to get a headache again.
"Okay," he said eventually.
"Get the drafts made out to Carlos Rodriguez." He spelled out the surname.
"And you want the drafts?" asked Fullerton.
"Yeah. Maybe. Talk to me once you've got them, right?"
"Individual drafts from each sale would be the quickest way," said Fullerton.
"Is that okay?"
"So long as the total's more than two million quid, Jamie, I'll be a happy bunny."
Goldman took out a leather cigar case and held it up.
"Okay if I smoke?" he asked.
"Sure," said Donovan.
"They're your lungs."
Goldman offered the case to Fullerton, but he shook his head and drank his coffee. Goldman took out a cigar and sniffed it appreciatively.
"One other thing," said Fullerton, 'and please don't take this the wrong way, Den. Provenance is okay, yeah?"
Donovan smiled tightly.
"Goldman said you weren't over concerned about provenance."
Fullerton flashed Goldman an annoyed look and Goldman focused all his attention on cutting the end off his cigar and lighting it with a match.
"Well, thanks for the character reference, Maury."
Goldman pretended not to hear. Fullerton looked back at Donovan and shrugged carelessly.
"Frankly, some of the people I sell to couldn't care less where the paintings come from, so long as the provenance is reflected in the price, that's all. But they might be a bit miffed if they pay top whack for a painting then find out it's got to stay in a locked basement."
Donovan nodded.
"They're all kosher, Jamie. Maury here can vouch for that."
Goldman nodded enthusiastically but kept looking at his cigar.
"All the money was well clean by the time it went through Maury's books." He grinned.
"I had a team of Smurfs working flat out for a month for the Rembrandt in the master bedroom."
"Smurfs?"
Donovan grinned.
"Another time, Jamie. Just take my word for it, the paintings are clean. Bought and paid for."
"That's all I need to know, Den. I'm on the case." He stood up.
"Okay if I start loading the smaller paintings into Maury's car?"
"Sure, I'll give you a hand."
"We'll send a van for the larger works," said Goldman. He waved his cigar at Fullerton.
"Take extra care with the Van Dycks, they're spoken for."
"Can you get the van here this morning?" asked Donovan.
"I'm up to my eyes this afternoon."
Goldman winked and pulled a tiny Nokia mobile from his jacket pocket. It looked minuscule as he held it against his jowly face.
"Office," he shouted. He smiled at Donovan.
"Voice-activated dialling. New technology, huh?" He frowned and said "Office' again, louder this time. His frown deepened and then he cursed and tapped in the number.
Donovan jerked his thumb towards the stairs.
"Come and look at the Rembrandt," he said to Fullerton.
"It's not my favourite piece, but it should fetch the most. Maury talked me into it, said it'd be a great investment. He's a Philistine, but you can't fault his business sense."
Fullerton followed Donovan upstairs. The Rembrandt drawing was in an ornate gilt frame to the left of the door, positioned so that Donovan could see it while he was lying in bed. Fullerton whistled softly.
"Nice," he said. He stood back from the picture and stared at it in silence for almost a full minute. It was of a small child reaching for an apple. A boy, but with long hair and an angelic, almost feminine face. The boy was looking around as if he feared being caught taking the fruit, but he was too well dressed to be a beggar or a thief. He was the son of nobility, so maybe the theft was greed. Or a lark.
"Just look at the hand," said Fullerton.
"You can see the corrections, he must have worked on it for hours." He moved to the side to get a slightly different view.
"Quill and reed pen with a brown ink," he said.
"A very similar drawing went for almost three hundred grand at Sotheby's in New York a couple of years ago. That was an old man kids always fetch higher prices."
"You're as much a Philistine as Maury," laughed Donovan.
"I'm not saying it's not a great work, I'm just saying it's a very saleable piece. Which is why you bought it, yeah?"
"Can't argue with that, Jamie."
"I don't think I'll have a problem placing it," said Fullerton.
"I know a couple of guys with cash that want to put it into art."
"Clean money?"
Fullerton flashed his shark-like smile again.
"It will be by the time you get it, Den."
Donovan took the Rembrandt drawing down off the wall and placed it on the bed. He went into the bathroom and pulled a pale blue hand towel off the heated rail and tossed it to Fullerton.