by Iain Pears
Flavia explained again about the exhibition and Besson’s suddenly leaving the organizing team.
‘Ah, yes. I remember that. That was me. I heard he was attached to the thing, so gave them a little warning that he was not the sort of person to be left in a room unguarded. Once I gave the organizer a good look at his file he took the point. Petty stuff, I know, but harassing is all we can do.’
‘That’s another thing. I was told he’d already been arrested. And his arrest seems to have prompted our suspect with the scar into action.’
Here Janet shook his head. ‘Not by us, alas.’
‘Are you certain?’
He looked mildly irritated. ‘Of course. We manage to arrest people so rarely I always hear about it. Certainly had it been Besson. Now, anything else?’
‘This man with a scar.’
Janet shook his head once more. ‘Not a clue. If you want to spend an afternoon going through the mug shots …?’
‘No. Whoever he is, he doesn’t sound like a regular art thief.’
‘Possibly not. You reckon he’s the killer?’
‘The best candidate. The trouble is, he seems too smart by half.’
‘Why?’
‘He knows so much. He knew Argyll would be at the railway station. In Rome he knew where Muller lived, where Ellman was to be found, and where Argyll was. He made an appointment with Argyll, we were waiting and he didn’t show up. It mystifies me how he knows all this.’
‘There I have no advice to offer. Anything else?’
‘Hartung. Jules Hartung.’
‘That’s going back a long way.’
‘I know. But he was Muller’s father.’
‘Not much I can say. I mean, I’ve vaguely heard of him. War crimes, right?’
‘That sort of thing.’
‘I was much too young. Besides, I come from the east; I didn’t come to Paris until the late fifties. We didn’t pay much attention to that sort of thing. So there’s not much I can say.’
‘He was Jewish. Is there some sort of deportation documentation centre? The sort of place that might hold records? Just an idea.’
‘There’s one in the Marais. It has mounds of manuscripts and all that on the war period. I could ring for you, if you wanted to go down. Give you an introduction. It might save you some time. Or I could send someone down myself. As I say, it would be quicker if you went back home.’
But she asked him to phone for her anyway. She might have time to look in before she left. Quite possibly futile, but you never knew. She asked him to go ahead, and then left, promising to ring back in the evening to see what he’d come up with. Strange that he was so keen for her to go back to Rome, she thought as she went back into the street.
12
‘And what did you do this afternoon?’ he asked when he had found Flavia again. It had been one of those afternoons. He got back, she wasn’t there. He left a note saying he’d got nowhere with Besson, and went out. She came in. She went out again. They finally met at well past seven, and Argyll gave full and complete details of his inability to extract any useful information. What had she accomplished?
‘I saw Janet,’ she said, ‘and then I went shopping.’ She was in an extraordinarily good mood, considering.
‘You what?’
‘I went shopping. I’ve been wearing the same clothes for months. And had my hair done. Just as well, too, considering what little progress you made. Just a second.’
‘Just a fifteen minutes’ doesn’t sound quite as good, and that was the time she spent in the bathroom. Even Argyll, however, no great connoisseur of these matters, was impressed by the transformation.
‘Good heavens.’
‘Is that the best you can do?’ she asked, twirling herself around and admiring the result in the mirror.
‘You look very handsome.’
‘I do not look very handsome, young man. I look gorgeous. Absolutely devastating. It was a sale. I couldn’t resist.’
She admired herself some more. ‘Years since I had a short, black and slinky. I shouldn’t have denied the world the pleasure. What about the shoes?’
‘Very nice.’
‘I think you need a bit of practice at this sort of thing,’ she said sternly, still admiring herself. ‘I know I don’t get dressed up too often, but when I do it would be nice to have a slightly more enthusiastic response. Next time, try “wonderful.” Or “fantastic.” Something like that.’
‘All right. What’s your shopping got to do with my not making any progress with Besson?’
‘Because I shall have to do it myself. I want to talk to him. Was he, or was he not, arrested? I’m going out for the evening.’
‘Without me?’
‘Of course without you. I don’t want you to strain your leg.’
Argyll looked a little peeved. ‘Is it so important, really?’ he asked.
‘Maybe not, but we’ve lost another lead. That is, no calls were made from Paris to Ellman’s number. I just talked to Janet. He’s going to ask the Swiss nicely to see what they can do from their end. But Besson is fast becoming one of the few areas left to explore.’
‘I hope you’re going to be careful. You don’t want me to hang around discreetly in the background?’
‘No. You can’t be discreet, and if Besson so much as catches a whiff of you, it’ll be ruined. Don’t worry. I’ll be fine. Must get more of these things,’ she said reflectively, as she put on her coat and checked to make sure she still looked as beautiful.
And she walked out the door, leaving Argyll feeling a trifle abandoned and more than a little concerned.
By the time she came back, the ebullient mood had dissipated. She walked in the door of the hotel room, clicked on the light, and collapsed in the easy chair by the window.
Argyll had, within ten minutes if he judged it right, just fallen asleep after a long, anxious but otherwise extremely dull evening, and was not amused. He looked at his watch.
‘God almighty. It’s one in the morning.’
‘I know.’ Her hair was dishevelled, the dress awry, and her feet dirty. She looked tired, but very stimulated.
‘What on earth happened? You look as though you’ve been dragged through a hedge.’
‘Quite close. And my own fault as well. Dammit.’
He sat up, shook himself awake, and looked at her more closely. ‘You do look a mess. I’ll run you a bath.’
She nodded, and he trotted next door to oblige while she searched the little fridge in the corner for something restoring.
‘I’ve been on mineral water all evening,’ she complained. ‘I thought I’d better keep my wits about me.’
When the bath was run, she dropped in with a loud sigh of relief, while Argyll perched on the toilet and pressed for an account of the evening’s entertainment.
To begin with, she began, it went like a dream, if an extended one. She’d gone to Besson’s street, checked he was at home, and waited. He’d emerged at nine and gone, alone, to a restaurant near by. She hadn’t anticipated such a golden opportunity arising quite so soon, but who was she to throw it away? So she’d gone in, made sure Besson was eating on his own, and bribed the waiter to give her an adjoining table.
She’d given him a long sultry look from over the top of her aperitif and, within ten minutes, bingo. She was sitting at his table and the evening was off to a roaring start.
‘Not only did he pay for the meal,’ she said parenthetically, ‘but he was quite delightful company. I’ve never had so many compliments thrust upon me in such a short space of time in my life.’
Argyll grunted non-committally.
‘You should try it some time,’ she said. ‘It works wonders.’
Another grunt. ‘I have been,’ he pointed out. ‘The only response I get is warning about spilling my soup.’
‘And,’ she went on, ‘if I may say so, I gave pretty good value for money as well. I laughed. I simpered. He told his little stories about the art world, and I s
miled, looked grave and appalled in all the right places, and occasionally rested my hand appreciatively on his arm at particularly well-delivered anecdotes. I told him how wonderful it must be to have beautiful objects in his arms all the time, and gave him a lustful look. Such fun.’
Argyll was beginning to feel uncomfortable, so he crossed his arms and listened.
‘I really laid it on with a trowel. I was fascinated by his stories and, in short, behaved like a complete moron. And he fell for it. Hook, line and sinker. Really. It’s amazing how gullible men can be. At least you would never be that easily taken in.’
‘I should hope not, indeed,’ Argyll said, crossing his legs for the sake of symmetry.
‘The important point was that he did have this painting on his hands – he didn’t say where he’d got it.’
‘That’s not so great. We knew that.’
‘Patience. The only touchy moment was after the meal, when he suggested going back to his apartment. I had this horrible vision of running around the sofa protesting my virtue. And, as you point out, I still hadn’t found out much. Fortunately, I remembered about the club. So I suggested we go dancing instead. I was sure someone like him knew all the best places. Can’t say I was in the mood, but duty calls and all that.’
‘And so you did?’
‘And so I did.’
‘So that’s why you’re so tired.’
‘Certainly not. I’m in my prime. Men may start going downhill in their thirties, but women are at their peak. I could dance all night if need be. Not that I get the opportunity with you. Besson, however, is a wonderful dancer, if a little touchy-feely.’
Argyll restrained himself. He had a feeling Flavia was enjoying this. ‘So why the dishevelled, exhausted look?’
‘I’m coming to that,’ she said. ‘I decided things were going a bit too slowly, so I did the hard-to-get act. He redoubled his efforts to impress me. And when I asked him how lucrative art dealing was, in a gold-digging fashion, he said enough, if you play it right, but of course it had other uses.
‘So of course I asked what that meant. He looked all secretive and said it was a useful front.’
‘A front?’
‘Yes. Absurd, isn’t it? Anyway, so I said, don’t tell me I’m dancing with a drug-dealer, and he looked upset and said, no, of course not, he was on the right side of the law.’
‘Oh, yes?’
‘That’s right. I squeaked with excitement – you would have been appalled if you’d been there –’
‘I’m appalled enough already.’
‘– and said, ‘So you’re a spy. I knew there was something special about you.’ All round-eyed with amazement. So he said not exactly. But he did help the Authorities – just like that, with a distinct capital A – occasionally. They knew he could be trusted.
‘“Ooh, tell me, tell me,” I said. Then, damn him, he came over all coy. He wasn’t at liberty to disclose …’
‘God almighty,’ Argyll said.
‘Yeah, I know. In his defence I must say he was getting a little drunk by this stage, and my flattery had addled his brain. But I managed to get some hints. He’d recently played an important part in an operation. Matters of State, he said. He couldn’t tell me the details even if he’d wanted to. He was just a small part and didn’t know everything.
‘Anyway, that’s when I made my discovery. And my mistake. He was talking about his relations with the Authorities, so I took a gamble. ‘What about your being arrested by the art police?’ I said. ‘How did you know about that?’ he said. I smiled, and said I thought he’d said it. He gave me a very suspicious look and said he had to go to the toilet. I saw him on the phone, and I wasn’t going to get caught like that. So I grabbed my coat and made a dash for it.
‘Unfortunately – and this is where we get to the dishevelled part – his friends were rather quick. They caught up with me as I was getting close to the Métro. Jumped out of the car and grabbed me.’
‘But here you are.’
‘Of course. I haven’t lived in Rome for years without learning how to deal with little things like that. I screamed bloody murder. Help, Rape, Save me. There were half a dozen winos drinking themselves into a stupor round the corner, and they picked up their bottles and ran to my rescue.’
Argyll had given up making comments by this stage. He just looked at her in amazement.
‘It was like the cavalry: Sir Lancelot of the Wine Lake. They charged into action, swinging their bottles round their heads and beat the very hell out of them. It only took a couple of minutes, and there they were, lying on the pavement, out cold. Everybody was very jolly about it, for a while.
‘And,’ she went on, ‘one of them had a little scar above his left eyebrow.’
‘Are you sure?’
‘Yes. Absolutely. Of course, his face was a bit mussed up by then. But that scar, you know. Seemed a bit much of a coincidence.’
‘So who is he?’
‘I didn’t have time to find out. A police car came round the corner; my gallant defenders picked up their bottles, shook my hand, and melted into the background. I decided I ought to do likewise.’
‘Why?’
‘Because it stinks to high heaven. Janet was lying; at least I found that out. So, I thought, if I’ve just beaten up a copper, I’m in real trouble here.’
‘Stop,’ said Argyll, thinking that this had gone on for too long. ‘This is getting absurd. Three days ago I was a humble art dealer, doing my best to earn a modest living. Now, thanks to you, I’m associated with people who push bottles into policemen’s faces.’
‘What do you mean, thanks to me?’
‘I didn’t hit him, did I?’
Flavia looked at him appalled. ‘How ungrateful can you get?’ she asked. ‘I’m not doing this for my benefit, you know.’
‘Whose, then?’
‘You were the one who started all this with that picture.’
‘I didn’t do any of the rest, though. Besides, it’s all over.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘I’ve been thinking. This is getting too complicated and dangerous. If Janet is going out of his way to obstruct us, we’re wasting our time. Go home, hand it all over to Bottando and let him deal with it. This needs a higher authority.’
‘Wimp,’ she said, feeling more than a little betrayed by this correct but irritating opinion.
‘So why don’t we go home? A job well done.’
‘Because of Ellman.’
‘Carabinieri. Your friend Fabriano. Let him sort it out.’
‘And we don’t know why it was stolen.’
‘So? I don’t care. People steal all sorts of things. Do you have to draw up a psychological profile every time something goes missing? The world is full of lunatics.’
She sat on the bed and made a face. ‘I’m not happy,’ she pronounced. ‘I don’t feel as though I’ve got to the bottom of this. Do you really want to go home?’
‘Yes. I’ve had enough of this.’
‘Off you go, then.’
‘What?’
‘Off you go. Go back home and sell pictures.’
‘What about you?’
‘I shall carry on with my work. With or without the help of you. Or Janet.’
‘That’s not what I meant.’
‘Tough. That’s the way it is. You want to go, you go. And I will do my job, filling up any spare hours thinking of you anew as a rotten, treacherous, cowardly toad who’d abandoned his fiancée in dangerous circumstances.’
Argyll thought about that. ‘Did you say fiancée?’
‘No,’ she said.
‘Yes, you did.’
‘No, I didn’t.’
‘You did. I heard you.’
‘It slipped out by accident.’
‘Oh. What I meant was, anyway, that we should both go back to Rome. But, if you’re staying, I shall stay too. I wouldn’t dream of leaving my fiancée in such a pickle when I’m needed.’
‘I
’m not your fiancée. You’ve never asked me. And I’m not in a pickle.’
‘Have it your own way. I’m not going. But on one condition.’
‘What’s that?’
‘If you ever do consent to go back home, we go and look at a new apartment.’
‘You drive a hard bargain.’
He nodded.
‘Oh, very well, then.’
‘Wonderful. What a nice fiancée you are.’
‘I’m not your fiancée.’
‘Have it your own way.’
And, both of them feeling they had struck an acceptable, if expensive, deal, they went to sleep.
13
‘I think,’ she said in the morning, ‘we’d better think of changing hotels.’
‘Why?’
‘Because someone is looking for us and I don’t think I’d like him much. It takes time to track people down in hotels, but when I go back to Rome I want to go with my intestines in working order, not scattered around the landscape like a plate of spaghetti.’
‘I’m eating my breakfast. Do you mind?’
‘Sorry. But you get the point. We change hotels, we find one a little bit more down-market that doesn’t get you to fill out little forms, and we use a different name. OK?’
‘How exciting.’
‘Good. Let’s go.’
Flavia’s notion of somewhere a bit less obvious was an entirely disreputable establishment in a dingy alley off the Boulevard Rochechouart. It probably hadn’t been painted since it was built and, when they checked in, the man on the desk leered at Argyll through his three-day stubble and demanded cash in advance. But at least Flavia was correct in thinking that he wasn’t going to waste precious time getting them to fill in registration forms for the police. It was not that sort of hotel. They signed in under the name of Smith. Argyll had always wanted to sign into a hotel under the name of Smith.
The room was even worse than the lobby. The wallpaper was a horrible shade of pink with little flowers on it, stained with damp and peeling off in several places. The furniture consisted of a bed, a hard chair and a metal table with a plastic top. There was an air of damp and misery about it that gave both of them the shivers.