“I’ve followed your career, Mr. Hunt. May I call you Ben?” He didn’t wait for Ben to answer before continuing, “We’re alike Ben, out on adventures rescuing art from peril, finding lost treasures. I do most of my exploits at the desk, but it’s about time we met. Right, well I do apologize that I wasn’t able to get here in time yesterday. My cat, Mittens, had a bladder accident on my—” As Agent Snell paused to wipe his runny nose across the back of his puffy hand, everyone in the room except Ben fought peals of laughter. Ben, unlike Pete, Laura, and I, remained composed and very serious. “That’s unfortunate, Niles. Think nothing of it, we all love our pussies.” At the word pussies I had to excuse myself under the guise of using the restroom. Laura, also fighting the urge to laugh out loud, readily agreed to take me to the loo.
When we returned, mascara wiped from our eyes and our laughter under control, Ben and Agent Snell were at the long conference table. Snell was still fawning over Ben while picking at a large muffin, the crumbs floating across his chin as he spoke. “…all the beautiful women you must have been with on your journeys…” Ben silenced him with a polite clearing of his throat and a nod toward me. “Agent Snell, Niles, this is my girlfriend Jane. The artwork in question belongs to her; it’s been in her family for centuries.”
“We’ll have to see about that. I knew Stuart Andrews to some extent, and I’m quite familiar with the rumors that he possessed a Renaissance-era sculpture. Now between you and me, I don’t believe it’s a Michelangelo as was reported. The likelihood of a piece like that, or even a replica from an apprentice, remaining undetected in one family like that is highly unlikely. No, I do believe what you are seeking is an apprentice crafted replica.”
Ben resisted the urge to argue, instead nodding. “Very insightful, Niles. That’s exactly what I told Agent Holmes yesterday. You really know your art.” Agent Snell swelled with pride, clearly not seeing through Ben’s act as easily as the rest of us. “Why don’t we do this,” Ben guided, “let us go, we’ll find the piece and have it appraised then. If it’s not real, as we suspect, then Miss Andrews can enjoy its sentimental value back home in Toledo.” Ben rose to leave, smoothly and effortlessly taking my hand and gathering our things as if to freely exit.
Before we made it to the door, Pete spoke up. “Niles! Are you releasing them?”
Agent Snell broke from his adoring stupor and rose up, coughing and wheezing. “Sorry, chap, a cold, I get them constantly. Er, no, I’m afraid I’m not at liberty to release you, Ben, under the assumption that the piece is a fake. If there’s the slightest chance the sculpture is an authentic Michelangelo from the court of King James then, as you know, it belongs to the monarch. I think it more useful if we work together, you and I as a team, to find the artwork and have it evaluated…”
Just as Agent Snell was nearly orgasmic over the idea of spending time with Ben on an adventure, there was a buzz at the door followed by Laura escorting another dark suited agent in. They whispered for a minute, calling over Pete, before she turned to Snell. “Niles, Cambridge Professor Sean Devane has arrived claiming he has evidence that the sculpture legally belonged to Stuart Andrews.”
“Bloody hell,” Ben moaned, tossing a pen across the conference table.
Snell appeared crestfallen, his hope of art-seeking glory with the rich and the beautiful dashed. “Devane is a nasty piece of work. I was never sure why you wasted your time with him, Ben.” Ben shrugged apologetically as Snell said, “Send the snake in.” Ben stood up from the table and walked back to sit next to me on a leather sofa at the side of the room. He caught Laura’s eye as he reached out for my hand. She gave him a quick shrug before opening the door for Sean and two men in dark suits. “Laura dear,” Sean gushed, kissing her politely on the cheek. “It’s been so long. I hope you’re well? Especially after Ben smashed your heart into a million pieces, as he always does…” His cold stare fell on me, the message clearly meant for my ears. Laura pulled herself from Sean’s grasp and retreated to a seat at the side of the room.
One of the dark suited men with Sean spoke, gesturing for everyone to take their seats. “I’ve brought in Mr. Devane and his counsel, Mr. Jones. They claim they have evidence relevant to the questioning of Mr. Hunt and Miss Andrews.” He was excused by Pete, and the door shut once more.
Agent Snell sat across the table from Sean, glaring at him. Sean, dressed handsomely in tweed and smelling like fine cologne, coolly said, “Niles, I see you’re still leaking nasal waste and smelling of cat piss.” Snell tried to reply, but was so shaken by Sean’s overt rudeness that he merely stammered and dropped his muffin on the floor. “That’s quite out of order, Professor, no need for personal commentary,” Ben snapped. “Get on with it, then. Show us why you’re here.” Sean looked at Ben—not with animosity, but with deep affection. He smiled at him, the warm smile of a close friend, a confidant. “I’ve missed you, my lad. This is a misunderstanding, nothing more. I’ve only wanted to help, to secure an heirloom left to his beloved niece by my dearest friend, Stuart.”
I was huddled close to Ben on the sofa as if he would shield me somehow from Sean’s lechery. Ben’s body was tense next to mine. I sensed that despite everything, he respected Sean to some extent and maintained a reverence for his former teacher and mentor. Ben didn’t speak, and as everyone in the room stared, Sean slowly opened his leather briefcase and brought out a large envelope. Agent Snell leaned in close with anticipation. “Of course these are photocopies,” Sean began, as if speaking to a group of students in a lecture hall, “but the originals are located at The National Archives. Records of the Royal Wardrobe and Household show that The Sleeping Cupid sculpture was not part of the monarch’s inventory of artwork in 1687, before James was deposed and long before the fire at Whitehall Palace.” Agent Snell poured through the several pieces of paper Sean spread out in front of him. With a snotty snort, he asserted, “Right, then. I’ll need to verify this information with the originals in the archives, but I’m willing to let you continue your search provided the artwork does not leave the country until cleared to do so by both MI5 and customs. This isn’t clear proof that the piece will rightfully belong to Miss Andrews, however. There will need to be a formal investigation.”
Ben squeezed my hand—his face showed no emotion, but I knew he was ecstatic to be one step closer to exhibiting the Cupid. “Miss Andrews will be returning to America in the next couple of days, but I assure you that I have no intention of taking the Cupid out of England anytime soon.” My heart sunk at the idea of going home, of leaving Ben, but his tone was so final, as if it had already been decided. He ignored my tug on his hand and continued, “I’d like to display it at the Fitzwilliam, then perhaps allow it to travel to various museums in England.” He dropped my hand entirely and stood, turning to address Pete and Laura, “Am I free to go, then? I would hate to be forced to contact the press regarding my foul treatment by the government.” Somehow, I had been quietly removed from the discussion and Ben was only asking about himself. Had I been kidding myself that he planned a future with me? He looked sternly at Agent Snell, who stumbled to his feet nervously. “Er, yes Mr. Hunt, it’s been a pleasure, but I will be notifying customs that you aren’t allowed to ship artwork from England until this matter has been formally resolved.” He held out his stubby hand to Ben, who allowed the hand to hang in the air between them for several moments before reluctantly shaking it. Sean shot me a knowing look, seeping pity, before saying so quietly I could barely hear him, “Poor young dear, I warned you.”
With surprising efficiency, our phones and luggage was returned and we were given permission to leave and continue our search for the Cupid. We left the questioning room, accompanied by an agent assigned to release us, and walked down the long dark hallway trailed by Sean. Before we made it to the elevators, Laura called to Ben. As he slowed to let her catch up, Sean stopped and waited behind us. I suspected he’d try to follow us as we continued our search. Laura caught up with us, and warmly wrapped herself
around Ben in an intimate hug, whispering in his ear, before giving him a peck on the cheek. He didn’t resist, instead he leaned into her, wrapping his arms around her in an embrace that made me seethe with anger. Sean’s eyes were on me once again, beaming a clear message: I told you so.
Laura finally released Ben, and shot out a quick goodbye to me, before turning to leave. I didn’t return her goodbye; I was mad as hell. Ben ignored my glares and continued to walk down the long hall and into an elevator. Before Sean could clamor in behind us, Ben pressed the close door button. He tried to wrap his arm around my waist, but I pulled away so violently that the agent escorting us became agitated. They both stared at me until I finally spewed out, “You two were all over each other!” Ben’s eyes were cold, his expression impatient. “We’ll deal with this in the car.” He looked to the agent, and added, “My normal driver is stuck in traffic on the M11. I messaged for a car service to pick us up before we left the questioning room. Can you ensure that Professor Devane doesn’t follow? He’s been harassing Miss Andrews.”
Sean hadn’t made it downstairs when we climbed into the car. The uniformed driver put our bags in the trunk, and was instructed to take us to the British Museum and wait with our bags. Ben glanced at his watch. “The museum closes soon, we need to hurry and find the next clue.” I ignored him, sulking in the corner of the backseat, until we were several blocks from Thames House. Ben glanced back a few times, checking to see if Sean was following, before reaching for me again. “Don’t,” I hissed. “Baby, listen, what you saw back there wasn’t what you think.” He slid closer to me, ignoring my resistance, and whispered in my ear, “Laura slipped something in my pocket, she told me to hide it as soon as I could.” After making sure the driver was too busy dodging traffic to look back, he slid a small, folded envelope from the inside pocket of his suit coat. Before I could realize what he was doing, he slid the small envelope down my back, lodging it between my shoulder blades and securing it with my bra strap. “What is it?” I whispered, sliding my hand along his thigh. “I have no idea,” he admitted.
He pulled me close, and I tried to ignore the floral scent of Laura’s perfume on his cheek. “How did Sean know we were being detained in the first place?” I asked. “I’m not sure,” he said absently, his mind focused on obtaining the next clue. Not far from the museum, however, our adventure took a turn for the worse. The driver abruptly turned into a small garage and stopped the car. As Ben lunged to open our door, the driver turned and pointed a small shiny gun at him. “Mr. Hunt, I’d rather you didn’t do that, it’d be a shame to shoot you in my clean automobile. It’s her that I’ve been asked to deliver, you are optional.”
Chapter Twenty-Six.
With the driver still pointing the gun at Ben, the front passenger door opened and Sean slid in. He turned to look at Ben, his expression friendly, his tone familiar. “It was fortunate that you called me for help, my lad.” My head snapped to look at Ben. “You called him? You told me that you didn’t know who—”
“He’s lying, Jane. He wants to separate us so that he can steal the Michelangelo from you.” Sean squinted for a second, an almost imperceptible reflex, but one I knew meant Ben was right. “Elizabeth Hope called him,” I said, my eyes not leaving Sean’s cool gray ones. There it was—that reflexive squint again; I was right. “Clever girl,” Sean said dryly. “This is the car service I regularly use in London—did you bribe them?” Sean looked from me to Ben, his cold expression warming—it was clear to me that he loved Ben, I just wasn’t sure if the emotion was fatherly or romantic. Sean’s look was forlorn, pained possibly. “Yes,” he answered, “you know I’m not a man of means, not given everything the way you were. I had to sell the Vermeer on the black market.” Ben’s face contorted into an angry sneer. “You didn’t! You ignorant fool.” Ben’s words stung Sean; he pulled back into his seat as if bitten.
Ben glanced at his watch as I made a mental of note of how much time we had before the museum closed for the day. “Yes,” Sean said, understanding the urgency, “where are we going to retrieve the clue, Louis?” The driver, still pointing the ominous weapon at Ben, answered, “They asked to go to the British Museum, sir.” Sean reached for the gun. “I’ll take the gun. Get us there quickly, please.”
Traffic was heavy in London, stop and go, the car barely at a crawl toward the museum. At ten minutes after five we were stuck at a busy intersection, a disabled London cab blocking the narrow street. It was dark outside when the car began to move forward a few feet. In a sudden gust of energy, Ben pulled my hand hard and gestured toward his door. In a split second, he flung the door open and pulled me out, my bag falling to the floor of the car as he yanked me out. Sean was screaming, the sound so out of character it was almost comical. “My boy, I will shoot you, if you run I will fire this weapon!” Ben never looked back, nearly dragging me behind him as he wove through the traffic, putting as much distance between Sean and us as he could. “I can’t run in these heels!” I screamed after nearly twisting my ankle in a pothole. Sean screamed in the distance, he was on foot following us but far slower. I kicked off my heels and held them as we ran, struggling to keep up with Ben on the uneven city streets.
We made it to the entrance of the museum at nineteen minutes past five, but the docent at the door snapped that we were too late. “I think we have a minute left, we just need to meet a friend inside, we’ll be fast,” he begged, flashing his convincing smile at her. “I’ll pay you a hundred pounds for the trouble…” he began, but she quickly held up her hand to him. “You’re cute, go, but I won’t take a bribe. Please do hurry.” With one more large smile, he added, “My girlfriend’s father is chasing us, horrible man, beats her. Silver hair, tweed coat, carrying an old-fashioned briefcase—I’d be forever grateful to you if you’d not let him in?” She nodded, waving for us to go.
Inside the enormous museum, I followed Ben, my shoes now back on my feet, across the gleaming white floors. The ceiling was glass, like an atrium, and the several wings that branched out appeared to have been separate buildings before the lobby was enclosed. In the center was a round building, planted in the middle of the lobby as if the entire place had been built around it. I was mesmerized—I love museums. Ben pulled me again with a mild rebuke, “Quickly, Jane, focus. The marbles are all the way in the back, through this gallery on the left.”
We made it to the marbles just as the guards were shooing guests toward the exit. I’d never seen anything like it—there were several long galleries with the most stunning sculptures and reliefs along the walls, recreating their original positions when they decorated the Parthenon. “Shit, I have no idea where to look,” Ben sighed, glancing around the gallery. That’s when it caught my eye, and I remembered. Next to several beautifully draped headless women sat the reclining male nude sculpture, hands and feet broken off.
“That one,” I said, pointing over at it.
“Dionysus?”
“Uh, I don’t know his name, but I mean the buff dude chilling on the blanket there. Uncle Stuart once sent me an odd poster of that very sculpture. I hung it my room despite my mother’s objections. Dad called it fine art, mom called it a naked man in a teenage girl’s bedroom. I have no idea where that poster went…”
“You probably know him better by his Roman name, Bacchus. He gave man the gift of wine. That’s a panther skin he’s on.”
“Gift of wine…that explains why Uncle Stuart liked him.”
“We have to get that clue. We won’t keep Sean at bay for long, not when he’s armed with money. That row would be easy enough to hide something behind, nothing between the statues and us but a low railing.”
“You know he won’t shoot you, or even harm you. I could see it in his eyes, he adores you—”
“Yes, I know. I don’t want to talk about him. Let’s get this damn clue and get out of here.”
I hiked my leg over the railing, determined to search behind Dionysus, but Ben pulled me back roughly. “No, Jane, the area is al
armed. Besides, the second someone sees you they’ll have you under arrest. Cameras everywhere, too,” he pointed to a small camera in the corner, red light flashing. “We’ll try some charm instead of force.” I nodded, “Who am I to charm?” looking at the few guards milling around the door. He smiled, “I think I might handle this. Just a hunch,” he said with a head nod at a middle-aged woman standing near one of the uniformed guards. Her black hair was knotted high on top of her head in a severe bun, and she wore a dark blazer and matching skirt, dressy but practical shoes completed the bland outfit. “She’s a curator, let me have a chat with her. Stay here, don’t take your eyes off that sculpture.”
Ignoring his warning, I watched him walk toward her slowly, casually. He pulled a card from his wallet and handed it to her, his smile beaming at her. They talked for several minutes before she made a call from her phone. She and Ben walked over toward me, talking and laughing as they walked.
“Miss Lollard, this is my apprentice, Jane Andrews. She’s spending a semester in Cambridge to study art. Why she’s interested in the posterior of the marbles is beyond me, but you are doing us an incredible favor.”
“I need you to get your photograph quickly, please, Miss Andrews. I’ve had them disable the alarm, but touch nothing. They need to secure the area so the guards can go home.” I looked to Ben in confusion, and he lifted his hand and made the take a photo gesture while saying, “Use your mobile phone to get your picture, Miss Andrews. You’ll have to make your sketch from the photo, I’m afraid.”
I climbed the railing easily and walked behind the row of statues. With my phone aimed to take a picture, I knelt down in the very narrow space between the sculptures and the wall. I could hear Ben distracting the curator. “Will your student be joining us for dinner, or…?” Miss Lollard asked suggestively. “Hell no, I’ll give her a project that will keep her busy. Tonight it’ll be just you and me and a nice bottle of cabernet…” he answered flirtatiously as she giggled. While she blushed and threw her hair back, her focus on Ben, I reached out to the back of Dionysus and retrieved the vellum envelope, the color a perfect match to blend in with the marble. In seconds I’d folded the clue and held it in my hand beneath my cellphone.
The Hunt for Eros Page 14