“I don’t understand.”
“Locke believes I was taken in by the painting, that I made an error in professional judgement — nothing more than that. He’s concerned that if the painting is revealed as a forgery, then my reputation will take a serious hit, and of course the firm’s along with it.”
“So he wants to bury the fact of the forgeries?”
“He and I have had some long and tedious discussions about the ethics of this situation, about the pros and cons of going public. The bloody fool thought we should let the owners know about the forgeries. He thought we could keep it contained among the parties involved. I got rid of that fantasy in no time. I told him it would explode and that none of us had any idea of the direction it would take, how it would end. I even told him we would have to prepare to have every transaction this firm has made over the past ten years or so examined and re-examined. And God knows how many other mistakes would be found. And even if none were found, God knows how many clients would lose trust in us.”
“So what does Locke want to do?” she asked.
“He has now agreed that for the good of the firm, my reputation, and the peace of mind of our clients, the best course of action is to ignore the fact that the forgeries exist. I call it our strategy of blissful ignorance.”
“And Locke thinks I’m the only person who can upset that,” she said.
“Precisely, which is why I need you to come to London as soon as possible.”
“And what am I going to do in London?”
“Internally, we have kept this strictly between Frederick and myself. I want to keep it that way. So you’ll meet with just the two of us and you’ll give both of us complete assurance that you have no interest in pursuing this matter further.”
“That sounds a little loose, don’t you think? Will Locke be satisfied with my word?” she asked.
“He’s most keen to have you actually meet me and for me to be the one to persuade you to stand down. He’s handing you off, of course — transferring any and all responsibility for the decision to trust you to me.”
“Still, what’s my promise worth?”
“Well, you could offer to give up your files.”
And give up all my leverage? she thought. “No, not until all the financial matters are settled.”
“Then what do you suggest?”
“Draw up a written agreement, some kind of non-disclosure contract that binds all parties to secrecy.”
“That’s a bit of smoke and mirrors, isn’t it?”
“Look, make reference to the paintings in it. Say something like, while the parties have questions about their authenticity, they have agreed on balance that the paintings could be genuine and that they have agreed not to pursue the matter any further. You and I can sign it. Leave him out of it. That should cover his ass, calm him down.”
“Okay, I can see where you’re going with this. I’ll work on something, and I won’t tell him. I’ll spring it on both of you in the meeting and I’ll make more of it than it actually is.”
“And I’ll spin it back,” Ava said. “I actually made some promises to Edwin Hughes and the Sorensens that I’d keep them out of this if they co-operated. I’ll make it clear that I’m just as anxious to keep this quiet as you are.”
“Well, Ms. Lee, it appears we have a plan.”
“But I don’t have a flight,” Ava said. “Let me work on getting to London. I’ll be there either late tonight or early tomorrow morning. Either way, I can be at your offices by eleven. Does that work?”
“That sounds fine. And Ms. Lee, thanks for doing this. I know it’s a bit extreme bringing you all the way back here just to help settle Locke, but we can’t afford to have any flies in our ointment.”
“Careful is good,” Ava said. “And that raises some questions in my mind about the Picasso and the Gauguin. How are you going to handle them? Surely Locke is going to be atwitter for a while.”
“No one here knows about them yet, and I’m going to keep it that way. They’ll be sold through my private client list, a list that I guard with my life. My CFO will personally handle the accounting. At year-end the sale and the commissions will show up on the books as a surprise burst of profit. I’ve done it before and no one will be shocked by it.”
“Frederick Locke?”
“Not a whisper to him.”
(31)
Ava thought she’d change her schedule and fly directly to London, but Gail dissuaded her from that idea. “There isn’t a single direct route from LaGuardia right now,” she said. The best she could do was a one-stopper through Detroit or Philadelphia. “You might as well come back to Toronto and catch one of the overnight Air Canada flights,” she said.
Ava’s flight to Toronto landed on time, and she phoned Maria from the limo. Her job at the Colombian consulate, as an assistant trade commissioner, came with reasonably flexible hours. She got Maria’s office voicemail, hung up, and dialled her cellphone, only to get voicemail again. She left a message, saying her plans had changed and that she was off to London at eight o’clock that evening. She’d email when she knew when she was coming home.
Ava walked into her apartment feeling both welcomed and relieved by the familiar surroundings. She realized that with the cruise factored in, it had been more than two weeks since she’d been home. She unpacked her bags and sniffed at her running shoes. The smell wasn’t noticeable but she would still soak them. She laid the Steinum sweaters on her bed and stood back to look at them. It was her experience that some clothes didn’t travel well. Something that looked absolutely fabulous in a bar on a Thai beach could seem absurd in Toronto. A barong looked great in Manila, not so hot in New York. To her delight, the Steinums, if anything, seemed even more beautiful than when she had bought them. Mimi would look wonderful in hers. So would Maria: her light copper skin and wild mop of curly black hair went well with bright colours.
She packed a fresh set of clothes: a midnight-blue shirt with an Italian collar she had bought during her previous trip to London, a white Brooks Brothers button-down shirt, a clean pair of black Brooks Brothers slacks, and a light tan pencil skirt that came just above the knee. She threw in a pair of brown stilettos. She debated whether she needed to bring the files with her, and decided against it. They would just be dead weight.
After a quick shower she put on a T-shirt and a clean tracksuit consisting of dark blue Adidas pants and jacket. It was five o’clock and she realized she was going to run into rush hour. Dinner would have to wait until she got to the airport.
“Don Valley Parkway or Gardiner Expressway?” the cab driver asked.
“Your call. They’re both going to be slow,” she said.
They were crawling along the Gardiner when Maria called her back. “I’m so mad. I had a meeting I couldn’t get out of,” she said.
“That’s okay; this should be a quick trip. I may even get home tomorrow night.”
“I’ve missed you so much.”
“Me too.”
Their conversation stalled. Neither of them was entirely comfortable with sharing endearments over the phone. “Look, I’ll email as soon as I figure out my schedule.” Ava said.
“I’ve already told the office I’m taking a few days off. When you get back, I’m going to stick by you till you can’t stand it anymore.”
“Do you still have a key to my place?” Ava asked, knowing she did, and also knowing that Maria would never think of using it without Ava’s express permission.
“Yes.”
“After work, go over there. I bought two sweaters. They’re on the bed. One is for Mimi, the other is for you. You have first pick.”
“I’m leaving in five minutes.”
Pearson Airport was jammed but most of the crowds were for U.S. departures. The international departures area was a peaceful island by comparison. She checked in and then hit the lounge for a couple of glasses of white wine. She figured if she had two more on the flight, she’d sleep most of the way to London.