"Why don't I come back tomorrow?" I said.
"A hundred and fifty thousand," he said grabbing my arm, and pressing the receiver to his chest. "It's a very good price. You must buy it. I know I have very little time left. That is what the portents tell me. I must go to Velzna and the gathering of the twelve before I die. Promise you'll come back."
I fled the room just as fast as I could. It was dark outside, and Boucher was dozing in the car. The chateau now looked rather sinister, with very little light flickering in its windows, a massive black hulk against the night sky. I drove quickly into town, dumped Boucher as soon as I got there, and then found myself a hotel room. After a long, hot shower, an attempt to wash away that awful day and place, I went downstairs for a drink. The hotel was situated on a nice little square, and the bar/cafe spilled out of the lobby onto the street. I bought the local papers, and, over a glass of wine, combed through them. It took me about three minutes to find what I wanted. I was ready to head out to find Boucher.
"Yoo-hoo! Over here," a voice called out, and I spied Dottie and Kyle having a drink in a cafe. At a table nearby, Boucher sat with Leclerc, or was it Le Conte? It wouldn't surprise me in the least if he used more than one name, given my impression of his insalubrious dealings. Both men looked grumpy. I wondered if Boucher had been able to find himself a cheap place to stay, and whether Leclerc really was intent on outwitting me. A couple of tables farther on was my friend Antonio the Beautiful, who smiled and waved as Dottie did. Funny how they all turned up in the same place, especially Antonio, whom I'd not caught sight of at any point during the several hours' drive from Paris to Vichy, but who obviously had managed to follow me, just the same. I went over to Antonio first. "I need to speak to your boss," I said. "Right away."
"It will take me awhile," Antonio said. "But I will arrange it. He'll call you either very late this evening or first thing tomorrow at your hotel," he said, checking his watch. "I hope this means I will be seeing my beautiful Teresa soon."
"I think so," I said. He brightened visibly and gave me his very best smile.
"I think our relationship is at an end," I said next to Boucher, setting the newspaper on the table in front of him. I ignored Leclerc, who didn't acknowledge me, either.
"But you promised me at least five thousand dollars," Boucher said.
"Your presence could well have cost me this deal," I said. "Five thousand is rather more than your contribution is worth."
"I don't understand your attitude toward me," he said, placing his hand over his heart.
"Oh, I think you do," I said, tapping the newspaper. He didn't even have to look at it. He knew exactly what I was referring to: a classified ad inviting anyone who cared to come, to a sale of contents at a certain chateau just outside Vichy.
"I wouldn't be quite so sure the horse is yours," Leclerc said, dropping all pretense at charm. "Godard is quite unhinged, as I'm sure you noticed. He's invited me back for a chat tomorrow. We'll see who prevails here, won't we."
"Yes, we will," I said.
"That's more like it," Dottie grinned as I sat down. I had a couple of hours to kill, and Dottie was almost certainly going to be way more entertaining than Boucher.
"What is more like it?" I said. I was exhausted, and a little depressed by my day.
"That one over there," she said, gesturing toward Antonio, who was paying his bill. "Clive told me you have a new boyfriend."
"No, Dottie, he's not my boyfriend, either." I sighed.
"Too bad," she said. "He's one of the most gorgeous young men I have ever seen." Kyle thought about that for a minute or two and then frowned.
FOUR.
"GODARD WON'T SELL," I SAID TO LAKE. "Then offer him more," he said. "I want that horse."
"It's possible I could talk him into selling it for one hundred fifty thousand, if you insist," I said.
"A hundred fifty thousand what?" he said.
"Dollars."
"You're joking. Is that all? I thought I'd have to pay millions. So what's the problem?"
"It's a fake."
There was a pause on the line. "Are you sure?" he said.
"Yes."
"What makes you think so?"
"Workmanship, primarily. The quality of the work is not even close to that of the Chimera of Arezzo. I'm making the assumption that the same artist, or at least the same atelier, would have made both pieces, so you should see some similarities between the two, and the workmanship would be equally competent. It's not. Then there's the Etruscan inscription on the leg. It looks the same as the one on the Chimera, and indeed says the same thing. However, the Chimera was made using the lost wax method."
"What?" he interrupted.
"Lost wax," I said. "An exact image was carved in wax, then the hot metal poured into the mold containing the wax chimera. The wax melts, the metal cools, and presto, a bronze statue."
"Yes, yes," he interrupted. "I know. Get to the point."
"The point is that the inscription on the Chimera, the dedication to Tinia, was carved into the wax before the statue was made. The inscription on the horse, on the other hand, was etched into the leg after the bronze was cast. I think the statue may well be a hundred years old or so, but someone, an enterprising sort, carved the inscription on the horse's leg rather recently, hoping to make it appear rather older than that.
"I see," he said. "Disappointing."
"Yes," I said. "I think Godard knows it's a fake, too, and has decided to do me a favor and not sell it to me, despite the fact he really needs the money."
"I see," he said again. "Well, did he have anything else you think I might be interested in? There must have been something. My new fund launches in two weeks. I need a big splash here."
"There's one particularly interesting terra-cotta. It's a hydria, a water jug, black figures. Strangely enough, it actually shows Bellerophon killing the chimera. You could get that for one hundred fifty thousand, too, and it would be worth it."
"I don't collect chimeras, you know," he said.
"I understand that. But you would probably be interested in a piece by the Micali painter."
There was a pause. "I don't think so," he said. I was a bit surprised at that. He didn't seem to even recognize the name. Sometimes, through careful study, it's possible to identify the work of a single artist, even hundreds of years after the fact. The painter, or sculptor, or whatever, uses a particular technique or the same symbol over and over. There are at least three such artists from Etruscan times, one called the Bearded Sphinx painter because of the use of that image, another the Swallow painter, and the most famous of them all, the Micali painter, named for the man who identified the work. The chimera hydria showed all the signs of the Micali painter, a rather energetic style, not particularly refined, and some very nice swirls around the top of the vase. It would take an expert to be sure, but it was certainly worth a gamble.
"Anything else?" he said.
"If you're interested in big, there's a terra-cotta temple frieze. It also depicts the chimera myth. I think it's probably authentic."
"Get it," he said.
"Godard may not want to sell it."
"Get it anyway. A hundred fifty is what I'll pay."
"I'll try," I said.
"Don't try," Lake said as he hung up. "Do it."
It was still relatively early when I headed downstairs to find myself some coffee. Dottie, dressed in a very smart red leather suit and surrounded by expensive luggage, was at the front desk.
"Hi," she called. "Hoped I'd see you before I left. We've decided to check out. Heading farther south: Provence. Bound to be some fabulous finds there, although overpriced, no doubt. Still, people pay just about anything for something old from Provence, even if it is farmhouse furniture that's seen better days. I can't understand it, when they could have Louis XVI. I'm going to stop by the chateau first to see if Godard will reconsider. If not, then I'm on my way. I decided in the middle of the night that I can't waste time fretting over the ones that got away, no matter how fantastic. Now where is that Kyle?" she asked, looking out on to the street. "I sent him on an errand this morning, and he's taking rather longer than he should. Oh, there he is," she said, as the Renault pulled up in front of the hotel. "Gotta go, sweetie. Come to New Orleans anytime. You can stay with me."