She went to the counter, retrieved the coffeepot, and topped off their mugs, though neither had drunk much. The suit was gone today, she wore faded blue jeans and a white shirt, and he found himself distracted by the long arc of her leg in the tight fabric as she returned the pot to the counter. She remained there a few moments, her back to him.
“So Matthew, since we won’t be negotiating directly, I want to ask your advice about something. I know you’ll be straight with me.”
“I’ll try.”
She came to the table and sat down again, watching his eyes as she spoke. “Somebody from the Greek church called Wallace, my lawyer. They want the icon.”
He had guessed it before she spoke. Fotis was here before him, forcing the issue.
“The Greek church in Greece?”
“I’m not certain. The guy who called was an American priest, but it was on behalf of the church over there. I’m not really sure of the distinction.”
“It’s murky even to them.”
“Apparently, they hinted pretty heavily that the work was stolen from Greece, years ago.”
She was staring at him so hard that he felt implicated in the crime. This was clearly what she had wanted to talk about all along.
“Were you surprised to hear that?”
She sipped, not breaking eye contact. “No.”
“Are they offering to pay?”
“They didn’t float numbers, but yes, they’ll pay.”
“Where was it left?”
“Nowhere. We’re supposed to get back to them.”
“And what advice do you need from me?”
Finally she wavered, looked away.
“I’m just curious what you thought of the idea. I mean, I’m not seriously considering it.”
“Why not?”
“You think I should?”
“Stop throwing all these questions back at me, and think about what you want.” He had barely raised his voice, but she seemed stung. “Listen, Ana, there is no ‘should’ about any of this. I’m simply curious why you wouldn’t consider the church a viable option.”
“It’s a new idea to me, that’s all. I understand about dealers, collectors, museums. Then it’s just about the art. This is bringing a whole new element into it. They want the icon for totally different reasons. I have no way of comparing the two things.”
His thoughts were pulled in all directions: Fotis’ plans, his own desires, what he should tell her, and when-he could not bring it all together.
“I guess one way to judge would be to think about who will get to see the work in each case, and what each group would get out of that experience. You need more information.”
“But does that even matter? Let’s say the icon was stolen. Doesn’t it belong to them? And couldn’t they make serious trouble for me or for the museum?”
He had been intentionally evading the issue, but there was no way around it. The mere whisper of “stolen Nazi loot” by the Greeks would cause the museum to drop its interest in a moment. There wouldn’t even have to be evidence.
“Are those the arguments the church rep made to your lawyer?”
“They were more subtle, I’m sure, but he understood. And he made sure that I did too.”
“What is he recommending?”
“He’s not one to be intimidated, Wallace. As far as I know, the museum is still the first option, but he wouldn’t have even mentioned the church if he didn’t expect me to consider it.”
“Well,” Matthew struggled for words. “This is interesting.”
“Is it? I find it rather nerve-racking, myself.”
“You must be more undecided than you first let on.”
“I go back and forth.” She ran a hand through her hair. “No choice seems like the right one. My lawyer gives me this maddening, contradictory advice in his completely neutral tone, and all you can do is ask questions.”
“At least he’s getting paid. My advice is free.”
“You want me to pay you?”
“I’m asking questions that I think are going to help you know your own mind. I’m not in a position to tell you what to do.”
“Right now, I’d like someone to tell me.”
“I strongly suspect that if someone tried you would resist strenuously.”
She rewarded him with her first smile of the day.
“Do I seem that contrary?”
He leaned back in his chair and returned the smile. “It’s what I would do.”
“Really? Is there stubbornness lurking beneath that smooth exterior, Mr. Spear?”
“So I’m told,” he said to the rust-colored floor tiles. Best to get off that topic quickly. “Have you considered simply holding on to it?”
“The thing is, some of this stuff has to go. Despite how careful my grandfather was, there are estate taxes, other expenses. Pretty hefty ones.”
“Why the icon? There’s plenty of other work, isn’t there?”
“The modern I want to keep, that’s my thing. Of the older work, the icon is the most valuable piece.”
“Maybe that’s all the more reason to hold on to it.”
She placed both hands firmly on the table.
“OK, you want the truth?”
“Please.”
“The thing gives me the creeps, it always has. I know, it’s just paint, but it feels as though there’s something more, something lurking inside. Then there’s my grandfather dying in front of it. I want it gone. So, I’ve said it. Now you can be disgusted with me.”
“Hardly. All it means is that the work is affecting you. Maybe not in the way the creator would have wanted, but nevertheless.”
She was pensive for a moment, then broke into another smile.
“You mean the artist. Not the Creator.”
He blushed for no reason.
“That’s right. The little guy, not the big guy.”
“I’m sorry, I’m punchy. I need a break from this.” She checked her watch. “God, it’s late. You didn’t need to go back to your office?”
“I’m done for the day.”
“Is there someplace you’re supposed to be?”
“No,” but he sensed the kiss-off and got to his feet. “Just some reading to catch up on.”
He went to the sink to wash out his mug, childishly annoyed about being denied another look at the icon. This obsessiveness wasn’t like him, and he felt unnerved. The visit had been about what she needed, not about him.
“Leave that, I’ll do it.”
“No problem.” He put the damp mug on the counter.
“I was wondering if you want to have dinner. If you’re not too busy.”
Matthew shook his head at his own stupidity. When had he become this slow? Why was he misreading her, making things harder?
“It’s a nice idea.”
She was gazing at him serenely, and he waited for an excuse to roll off his lips. It was a terrible idea, in fact. There was this business matter between them, and she was an odd woman in a vulnerable place. Despite his sympathy for her, and even his fascination, he was made constantly uneasy in her presence. The hundred-year-old German grandfather clock in the dining room intruded a deep, resonant ticking into the expanding silence.
“I promise not to talk about the icon,” she added, and he thought about the walk home, past the dry cleaners and Chinese restaurants to his empty apartment, while whatever lame excuse he concocted echoed around in this old brownstone, and she sat at the table drinking coffee all night.
“OK,” Matthew said. “Sure, I’d love to. Where shall we go?”
As it turned out, they didn’t go anywhere. Ana thought they could throw something together, the only difficulties being that there was little food in the house and that she didn’t cook. She did know the wine cellar, however, and went to retrieve a bottle while Matthew chopped mushrooms and whisked four eggs with a little cold water. Sliced apple, some parmesan, and in minutes he created a perfect omelet, which they ate with toasted bagels and a 1984 Châteaux Margaux.