Heads You Win

by Jeffrey Archer

  “You asked my assistant if I could value this picture for you?” he said, looking closely at Alex. The words “slow” and “measured” came to mind. This was not a man in a hurry. “I’m afraid I have to tell you, sir, that it’s a copy. The original is owned by a Mr. Lawrence Lowell of Boston, and is part of the Lowell Collection.”

  I’m well aware of that, Alex wanted to tell him. “What makes you think it’s a copy?” he asked.

  “It’s not the painting itself,” said Rosenthal, “which I confess had me fooled for a moment. It was the canvas that gave it away.” He turned the painting over and said, “Warhol couldn’t have afforded such an expensive canvas in his early days, besides which, it’s the wrong size.”

  “Are you certain?” asked Alex, suddenly feeling first angry and then sick.

  “Oh yes. The canvas is an inch wider than the original one in the Lowell Collection.”

  “So it’s a fake?”

  “No, sir. A fake is when someone attempts to deceive the art world by claiming to have come across an original work that is not recorded in the artist’s catalog raisonné. This,” he said, “is a copy, albeit a damned fine copy.”

  “May I ask what it would have been worth had it been the original?” Alex asked tentatively.

  “A million, possibly a million and a half,” said Rosenthal. “Its provenance is impeccable. I believe Mr. Lowell’s grandfather bought it directly from the artist in the early sixties, when he couldn’t even pay his rent.”

  “Thank you,” said Alex, having quite forgotten why he’d originally come into the gallery.

  “If you’ll excuse me,” said Rosenthal. “I ought to get back to my office.”

  “Yes, of course. Thank you.”

  Rosenthal left them, and after a moment Alex realized Anna was staring at him. “We met on the subway, didn’t we?” she said.

  “Yes,” he admitted. “Why didn’t you say something when I first showed you the painting?”

  “Because for a moment I wondered if you were an art thief.”

  “Nothing quite so glamorous,” said Alex. “During the day I work at Lombardi’s, and spend most evenings at business school.”

  “Lombardi’s margheritas were my staple diet before I graduated.”

  “My mother cooks a mean calzone,” said Alex, “if you’d like to give it a try.”

  “I would,” said Anna. “Then you can tell me how you came into possession of such a fine copy of a Blue Jackie Kennedy.”

  “It was just an excuse to see you again.”

  29

  ALEX

  Brooklyn

  “Now tell me,” said Anna, “did you follow me onto that train?”

  “Yes, I did,” admitted Alex, “even though it was going in the wrong direction.”

  She laughed. “How romantic. So what did you do when I got off?”

  “Traveled on to the next station, and as I was too late for my evening class, went home.”

  A waiter came across and handed them both a menu.

  “What do you recommend?” Anna asked. “After all, you own the joint.”

  “My favorite is the pizza capricciosa, but you choose, because they’re so big we can share.”

  “Then let’s order one. But you’re not off the hook, Alex. So after your lamentable failure at trying to pick me up, you decided like Antony to come in search of me.”

  “I spent the morning checking out half the galleries in Manhattan. Then by chance I spotted you having lunch in an expensive restaurant with a handsome older man.”

  “Not that much older,” said Anna, teasing him. “Then you followed me to the gallery with the excuse that you wanted your painting valued, when surely you must have known it was a copy.”

  Alex said nothing as the waiter placed a large pizza between them in the center of the table.

  “Wow, it looks great.”

  “My mother will have cooked this one herself,” said Alex, cutting off a slice and putting it on Anna’s plate. “I should warn you, she won’t be able to resist coming over to meet you. So you’ll have to tell her it’s simply the best.”

  “But it is,” said Anna after taking a bite. “In fact I think I’ll bring my boyfriend here.” Alex couldn’t hide his disappointment, but then Anna grinned. “Ex-boyfriend. You saw him at the restaurant.” Alex wanted to learn more about him, but Anna changed the subject. “Alex, it was obvious when Mr. Rosenthal told you your painting was a copy, that you were surprised. So I’m curious to know how it came into your possession.”

  Alex took his time telling her the whole story—well, almost the whole story—glad to at last have someone to share his secret with. By the time he’d come to their meeting in the gallery, Anna had almost finished her half of the pizza, while his remained untouched.

  “And why would your friend give you half a million for a painting that can’t be worth more than a few hundred dollars?”

  “Because he doesn’t know it’s a copy. Now I’ll have to tell him the truth, and what makes it worse, I can’t see Evelyn returning one cent of my money.”

  Anna leaned across the table, touched his hand, and said, “I’m so sorry, Alex. Does this mean you won’t be able to open the second Elena’s?”

  “Very few entrepreneurs don’t have setbacks along the way,” said Alex. “According to Galbraith, the wise ones chalk it up on the blackboard of experience and move on.”

  “Is it possible that your friend Lawrence was in on the scam, and deliberately placed you next to his sister at his party?”

  “No,” Alex said firmly. “I’ve never known a more decent, honest man in my life.”

  “I’m sorry,” said Anna, “that was rude of me. I don’t even know your friend. But I must confess, I’d love to see the Lowell Collection.”

  “That would be easy enough,” said Alex, “if you could…”

  “You must be Anna,” said a voice. Alex looked up to see his mother standing over them.

  “You have a gift for timing, Mother, that the Marx Brothers would be proud of.”

  “And he never stops talking about you,” said Elena, ignoring him.

  “Mother, now you’re embarrassing me.”

  “I’m so glad he eventually found you. But wasn’t he stupid not to have followed you off the train in the first place?”

  “Mother!”

  Anna burst out laughing.

  “How was the pizza?” Elena asked.

  “Simply the best,” said Anna.

  “I told her to say that,” said Alex.

  “Yes, he did,” admitted Anna, leaning across the table and taking his hand. “But he needn’t have bothered, because it is the best.”

  “Then can we hope to see you again?”

  “Mother, you’re worse than Mrs. Bennet.”

  “And why have you eaten hardly anything?” she asked, as if he was still a schoolboy.

  “Mother, go away.”

  “Has Alex told you about his plans for a second restaurant?”

  “Yes, he has.” Alex was uncomfortably aware that he hadn’t told his mother the whole story. “It sounds very exciting, Mrs. Karpenko.”

  “Elena, please,” she said as Alex stood up, clutching his knife. “Well, I’d better get back to the kitchen, or the boss might sack me,” she added, smiling at them. “But I hope I’ll see you again, then I can tell you how Alex won the Silver Star.”

  Alex raised the knife above his head, but she had already scurried away. “I apologize, she’s not normally so—”

  “There’s nothing to apologize for, Alex. She’s just like her pizzas, simply the best. But do tell me how you won the Silver Star,” she said, suddenly serious.

  “The truth is, it should have been awarded to the Tank, not me.”

  “The Tank?”

  Alex told her everything that had happened when his unit had come across the Vietcong patrol on Bacon Hill. How the Tank had not only saved Lawrence’s life, but his as well.

  “I would lo
ve to have met him,” said Anna quietly.

  “I don’t suppose you’d consider…”

  “Consider what?”

  “Coming to Virginia with me? I’ve wanted to visit his grave for so long, and—”

  “What girl could refuse such an offer?” Alex looked embarrassed. “Of course I’ll come with you.” She burst out laughing. “Why don’t we go on Sunday?”

  “Lawrence has just arrived back from Europe, so I’ll have to go and see him in Boston this weekend, and tell him what Mr. Rosenthal had to say about the Warhol. But I’m free the following weekend.”

  “Then it’s a date.”

  * * *

  Alex stepped off the train in Boston carrying an overnight case and a large carrier bag. He hailed a yellow cab and gave the driver Lawrence’s address.

  As each mile passed, Alex became more and more anxious. He knew he had no choice but to tell his friend the truth.

  Lawrence was standing on the top step waiting to greet his guest as the taxi drove up the long driveway and came to a halt outside the house.

  “I see you’ve brought the picture back,” he said as they shook hands. “Let’s go to my study, complete the exchange, and then we can relax for the rest of the weekend.”

  Alex said nothing as he followed him across the hall. When he walked into Lawrence’s study, he remained speechless.

  Almost every inch of the oak-paneled walls was filled with paintings and photographs of his family and friends. Alex’s eyes settled on Nelson Rockefeller, which made Lawrence grin as he took his place behind the desk and ushered Alex into the seat opposite him.

  When he unwrapped the painting, a large smile appeared on Lawrence’s face. “Welcome home, Jackie,” he said, and immediately pulled open a drawer in his desk and extracted a checkbook.

  “You won’t be needing that,” said Alex.

  “Why not? We made a deal.”

  “Because it isn’t a Warhol. It’s a copy.”

  “A copy?” Lawrence repeated in disbelief as he took a closer look at the painting.

  “I’m afraid so. And that’s not my view, but the opinion of no less an authority than Nathanial Rosenthal.”

  Lawrence remained calm, but said almost to himself, “How did she manage it?”

  “I don’t know, but I can guess,” said Alex.

  Lawrence looked at the picture. “Once again she must have known all along.” He opened his checkbook, took the top off his pen, and wrote out the figure $500,000.

  “There’s no way I’m ever going to cash your check,” said Alex. “So you needn’t bother signing it.”

  “You must,” said Lawrence. “It’s clear that my sister’s deceived both of us.”

  “But you didn’t know,” said Alex, “and that’s all that matters.”

  “But without the money you won’t be able to open Elena Two.”

  “Then it will have to wait. Anyway, I learned more in one weekend with your sister than I’ve done in a year at business school.”

  “Perhaps we should consider an alternative plan,” Lawrence suggested.

  “What do you have in mind?”

  “In exchange for my five hundred thousand, I get a ten percent stake in your company. The one that’s going to end up bigger than my godfather’s.”

  “Fifty percent would be fairer.”

  “Then let’s compromise. I’ll take fifty percent of your burgeoning empire, but the moment you return my half a million, it will fall to ten percent.”

  “Twenty-five percent,” said Alex.

  “That’s more than generous of you,” said Lawrence as he signed the check.

  “It’s overgenerous of you,” said Alex. When Lawrence handed him the check, they shook hands for a second time.

  “Now I understand,” said Lawrence as he placed his checkbook back in the drawer, “why Todd Halliday slipped away so soon after dinner on my birthday. Originally he was meant to be staying overnight.”

  “The Empress Catherine herself would have been proud of your sister,” said Alex. “She knew the only way I was going to see the Warhol was if I spent the night with her.”

  “Five hundred thousand,” said Lawrence. “An expensive one-night stand. However, I’ve already been working on a plan to make sure she pays back every penny. Let’s have supper.”

  * * *

  Lawrence waited until Alex had checked over the questions a second time. He only added the words insurance company? before he handed the crib sheet back. Lawrence nodded, took a deep breath, picked up the phone, and dialed an overseas number.

  He once again studied the list as he waited for one of them to answer the phone. He had chosen his time carefully: 12 noon in Boston, 6 p.m. in Nice. They should be back from lunch at La Colombe d’Or, but not yet have left for the casino in Monte Carlo.

  “Hello?” said a familiar voice.

  “Hi, Eve, it’s me. Thought I’d bring you up to date on the Warhol.”

  “Have the police found it?”

  “Yes, it was hanging above the mantelpiece in Karpenko’s apartment in Brighton Beach. They could hardly miss it.”

  “So is it now safely back in the Jefferson room?”

  “I’m afraid not. The Boston police department decided to have the picture valued before they pressed charges, and, here’s the surprise, it turns out to be a copy.”

  “Why are you surprised?” asked Evelyn, a little too quickly.

  “What do you mean?” asked Lawrence innocently.

  “He obviously substituted a copy for the real thing. My bet is the original will have been smuggled out of the country. It’s probably somewhere in Russia by now.”

  Somewhere in the south of France is more likely, thought Lawrence. “The insurance company agree with you, Eve,” said Lawrence, checking his list, “and they wondered when you’d be back in Boston, as you were the last person to see Karpenko before he left for New York.”

  “I wasn’t planning on returning for some months,” said Evelyn. “I assume the police have arrested your friend Karpenko.”

  “They did, but he’s out on bail. He claims he gave you a check for five hundred thousand dollars to invest with Todd in a start-up company, and you offered him the picture as security.”

  “The exact opposite is true,” said Evelyn. “He begged me to invest some money in his pizza company, and I refused and sent him packing.”

  “But he’s produced the check,” said Lawrence. “So it would be helpful if you could come and tell the police your version of the story.”

  “My version of the story?” said Evelyn, her voice rising. “Whose side are you on, Lawrence?”

  “Yours of course, Eve, but the police are refusing to press charges until they’ve interviewed you.”

  “Then they’ll have to wait, won’t they?” said Evelyn, slamming down the phone.

  Lawrence replaced the receiver, turned to Alex, and said, “I have a feeling she won’t be returning for some time,” a broad smile appearing on his face.

  “But you’ve lost your Warhol,” said Alex.

  “I confess I’ll miss Jackie,” said Lawrence, “but not Evelyn.”

  * * *

  “I only heard one side of the conversation,” said Todd Halliday, handing his wife a glass of whiskey after she’d slammed the phone down. “Am I right in thinking that Lawrence now realizes the Warhol’s a copy, and Karpenko’s produced the check?”

  “Yes,” said Evelyn, emptying the glass. “I forgot that checks were returned to the issuing bank.”

  “But it was made out to cash, so they won’t be able to trace it back to you.”

  “True, but if Lawrence were ever to discover—”

  “If he does,” said Todd, “we’ll just have to revert to plan B.”

  * * *

  When Alex returned to New York, he had to explain to his mother why he’d come back with a check for five hundred thousand dollars even though he’d told Lawrence the Warhol was a copy. He was surprised by her only quest
ion.

  “Have you asked Anna to marry you yet?”

  “Mama, I’ve only known her for a week.”

  “Your father proposed to me twelve days after we met.”

  “Then I’ve still got another five days,” said Alex, smiling.

  * * *

  Alex stepped off the train at 14th Street just after midday, and headed straight for Lombardi’s. He took a seat, but didn’t order anything. When the manager appeared he handed him the contract. Paolo sat down and took his time checking over every clause. There were no surprises. Everything Alex had promised had been included, so he happily signed on the dotted line.

  “Welcome on board, partner,” said Alex as they shook hands. “You’ll be managing Elena One, while I concentrate on getting Elena Two up and running.”

  “I’m looking forward to working with you,” said Paolo.

  “See you at five to eight on Monday morning, because it’s high time you met my mother. Mind you, it’s probably a good thing you didn’t before you signed the contract. I’ve got to run. I’m having lunch with someone I can’t afford to be late for.”

  “So you found her?”

  “Sure did.”

  Alex arrived at Le Bernardin only moments before Anna appeared.

  “How did Boston go?” was her first question after they placed their orders.

  “It couldn’t have gone better,” he said, and explained why he would still be opening Elena 2 on time.

  “What a remarkable friend you have in Lawrence,” said Anna. “So where’s the Warhol?”

  “The real one, or the copy?”

  “The copy to start with.”

  “Back in the Jefferson room.”

  “And the original?”

  “Lawrence thinks it’s probably in the south of France. Which is another reason Evelyn won’t be coming back to Boston in a hurry.”

  “Don’t count on it,” said Anna. “The man you’ve described would never allow his sister to go to jail.”

  “You know that, and I know that, but can Evelyn risk it? Anyway, what did you get up to while I was away?”

  “I had lunch at Lombardi’s.”

  “Traitor.”

  “And although your mother cooks a far superior pizza, their menus are in a different class,” she said as their food was served.