Duplicity

by Sara Rosett

  Olive waited until the echo of his footfalls in the corridor faded. “The effusive hospitality continues.”

  Jasper put his napkin down beside his plate. “Let’s be glad we’re not out in the storm, searching for an inn or a pub with rooms to let.”

  “Or stuck in the mud. I’ll leave you to your port.”

  “I’ll skip this evening.” Jasper crossed the room and held the door for her. “I’m going to toddle along and have another look at the modern painting in the small sitting room.”

  The sun had set, and the entry was pitch black. “I’ll come with you. I’d rather not bump around in the dark on my own.” Olive extended her hand in front of her as she inched along. “Feels rather like walking through a cave. How do the servants find their way through here?” Her hand brushed against the fabric of Jasper’s coat.

  He shifted his arm and took hold of her hand. “I doubt the servants do much walking back and forth between their quarters and the rooms upstairs.”

  She hadn’t changed for dinner and wasn’t wearing her gloves. The connection between their hands sent little pulses of warmth up her arm, and she realized how few times she’d actually touched a man’s hand skin to skin. “I suppose you’re right. It looks as if there’s only Mrs. Lum and Mr. Hendricks.” Her voice sounded a bit breathless, and she cleared her throat.

  They rounded the stairs and came to a hallway where a few wall sconces had been switched on. The sconces threw out weak circles of light, spotlighting sections of the passage, which was lined with closed doors that reached to the lofty ceiling. “I think this is the small sitting room, isn’t it?” Olive headed for a door midway down the hall. She was very aware that her hand was still linked with Jasper’s, even though there was no need to hold onto each other to navigate now that they were in the light.

  “I believe you’re right. Although it is hard to tell with it so dim.”

  “Oh, this is it.” Olive reached for the handle. “I remember this painting of a naval battle beside the door.”

  Olive opened the door. The fresh scent of rain permeated the air, which was so different from the usual dusty, musty smells of Hawthorne House. She felt along the wall for a switch, but before she found one, a light cut across the room, blinding her. A shuffle of movement sounded, then a crash, and darkness descended again.

  Olive’s fingers connected with the light switch, and the small chandelier overhead came on, illuminating the small room. “Goodness, what was that?”

  Jasper crossed the room to the French doors that overlooked the back of the house. One door stood open. Cool rain-scented air gusted in, ruffling the fringe on the drapes. “An intruder, I believe.”

  Olive scanned the room. “Everything seems to be in place, though.”

  When they’d peeked in the room during their quick tour of the house earlier that evening, Olive had thought it the most cheerful and inviting of the rooms. The walls were paneled in a dark wood, but a mixture of chairs in faded chintz and sofas upholstered in pale colors gave the room a cozy, relaxed feel. Tall bookcases brimming with gold-tooled leather spines had filled Olive with a longing to explore the shelves, but she’d restrained herself. The French doors were set in the middle of a wall of windows. The drapes hadn’t been drawn, and now the windows were rectangles of blackness, reflecting the glare of the chandelier.

  Jasper studied the door handle. “We must have surprised him—or her. I suppose I should add that caveat since I didn’t get a look at the person. Did you?”

  “No, the beam of light—it must have been a torch—hit me right in the eyes. I only saw a white glare.”

  “I’m sure the chap is long gone, but I’ll just take a quick look outside.” Jasper disappeared out the door. Olive was about to follow him when she noticed a muddy footprint on the parquet floor a little beyond the open French door. The footprint was the first of several. The muddy prints ranged across the hardwood to the faded rug that covered the center of the room. They stopped near one of the bookcases that flanked the modern painting of a woman in a white fur stole.

  Jasper returned and stamped his feet before stepping into the room. “They scampered. No one’s around now.” Droplets of water clung to his wavy hair and dotted his shoulders. He elbowed the door closed but didn’t touch the handle.

  “It seems they were interested in something on this side of the room.” Olive pointed. “You can see the footsteps there.”

  “Perhaps the intruder was admiring the painting.”

  Olive tilted her head and studied the canvas. “I noticed this earlier today too. There’s something about this painting that’s . . .”

  “Impressive?”

  “Oh, yes.”

  Jasper stood beside her and stared at the painting for a few moments. “What do you think of the modern aesthetic?”

  “I quite like it.” Olive turned away from the painting. “I suppose we’d better find Mr. Carter and inform him he’s had another uninvited guest this evening.”

  20

  Zoe

  Present Day

  * * *

  An intermittent ringing penetrated Zoe’s thoughts, pulling her out of nineteen twenty-three and back to the hotel room. The muffled ringing was coming from her phone, which was in her messenger bag. Snuggled up among the stacks of pillows on the bed, she’d been reading Olive’s report. She swung her legs over the side of the bed, but Jack picked up her bag from the floor beside the desk and tossed it to her. “Here you go.”

  Zoe threw back the flap. Of course her phone was at the bottom of the bag. She dug it out. “It’s Harrington.”

  “Probably calling about the message you left for him,” Jack said as he turned his attention back to his laptop.

  Harrington’s clear enunciation came through the line. “Good evening, Zoe. I hope I haven’t caught you at a bad time.”

  “Not at all. I finally located Olive’s report. We’re having a quiet night in so I can read it. I’ll send you the details once I finish it.”

  “Excellent.”

  “You got my message?”

  “About the possible lead on the Tamara de Lempicka theft? Yes, I did. I had a chat with Superintendent Sven Visser and passed on the information.”

  “What was his reaction?”

  “Tepid interest. Not really his department, if you know what I mean, but he’ll send it on to the relevant team. I’ll forward you his contact information in case you need to speak to him again and I’m out of pocket. I told him you’re handling this for Throckmorton Enquires.”

  “How are things going for you? Still waiting?”

  “No, things are starting to move, which is one reason I decided to contact you. I’m sorry to disturb you again during your holiday—that’s getting to be quite a habit, I’m afraid—but I felt that you should be informed of a development related to the de Lempicka painting. Quite a lot of activity around it today.”

  Zoe pushed the messenger bag out of the way so she could sit cross-legged, her back straight. “What’s happened?”

  “Something that may explain why your lead there in Amsterdam seems doubtful. A collector has contacted me about Woman in a White Fur. He’s been out of touch for several days and has just heard the news about the theft. He says he has the painting—”

  Zoe sucked in a breath. “He has it?”

  “So he says, but there’s more. He says it’s been in his collection for years, that he inherited it from a relative.”

  “Well, if he’s had it for years, it can’t be the de Lempicka painting. It must be a copy.”

  “Normally that would be the assumption, but he’s . . . a rather slippery character.”

  “Oh.” Zoe realized what Harrington wasn’t saying. “You think he wants to use Throckmorton Enquiries as a way to get a hot painting off his hands. The story about his family owning it for years is a lie.”

  “Possibly. Highly probable, in fact. He’s arranged for an authenticator to look at the painting. He’d like a representative f
rom Throckmorton Enquiries to be on hand when the authentication is carried out.”

  “So he can hand it off to us and we can return it to the officials.”

  “All handled with discretion, of course.” A gusty sigh came down the line from Harrington. “Recovering the art is always my top priority, but it does rankle to be used as a sort of return service.”

  “I agree, but if we can recover the painting . . .”

  “Yes. It’s definitely something we should do. And I’m sure that Darias Vokos has a cordial relationship with the authorities. Any charges against him would never have a chance of materializing. We’re just another layer of protection for him.”

  “Darias Vokos? I haven’t heard of him.”

  “Because he’s very good at keeping a low profile. Although nothing was ever proven, it’s well-known that he was active in organized crime. His organization controlled quite a bit of trade in the Mediterranean region for years. I’ve never met him, but I know colleagues have a nickname for him, The Jester. He’s always smiling.”

  “Like a clown with a painted-on smile?”

  “Exactly.”

  “I’ve never been fond of clowns.”

  “Me neither. He’s retired now—supposedly. So, to return to the authentication of the painting in his possession . . . because you’re working on the provenance, I wanted to check with you and give you the first right of refusal, so to speak. Would you like to represent Throckmorton Enquiries? Vokos likes to move quickly, so you’d have to take a break from your holiday. I’d reimburse you for any changes you have to make to your itinerary. And since I’m suggesting an interruption to your holiday, Jack is welcome to accompany you.” Before she could answer, Harrington hurried on, “If you’re not interested, I understand completely. I can handle it. I’ll just have to delay Vokos until I finish up here.”

  Zoe strained to reach for a pen and notepad on the nightstand. “Let me have the details of the meeting. I’ll discuss it with Jack.” As Zoe jotted notes, a smile crossed her face, then she said, “I’ll call you back in a few moments.”

  She punched the End button on her phone. Jack lifted his fingers from his laptop keyboard and tilted his head. “Do we have our next destination?”

  “Possibly. But you heard me, I didn’t make any promises.”

  “So where are we off to?”

  “Athens . . . if we’d like.” She explained about Harrington’s offer.

  Jack said, “Sounds good to me. This is your leg of the trip.” He smiled. “And I’m sure we can squeeze in a visit to the Acropolis while we’re there.”

  “All right. I’ll call Harrington back and tell him we’re in.”

  When she told Harrington they were willing to travel to Athens, he said, “Brilliant. I’ll have Ava arrange your flights and hotel. She’ll send your airline tickets along with the details about the meeting.”

  Zoe hung up. “If the painting in Athens is Woman in a White Fur and we can get it back, that would be perfect.” She picked up the pages she’d been reading. “With Olive’s report and the painting recovered, it would close both open loops.”

  She settled against the headboard with Olive’s report. She’d barely found the page where she’d left off when her phone pinged with an email. “It’s from Ava. As usual, she’s super-efficient. Our airline tickets are attached.”

  Zoe tapped out a reply to Ava. That was quick.

  Ava’s response appeared in Zoe’s inbox almost immediately. Harrington and I were pretty sure what your answer would be. Hotel reservations to follow shortly.

  Zoe typed out a note of thanks, then opened the attachment with the airline tickets and surged upright.

  Jack looked up. “What is it?”

  “We’re booked on the 6:00 a.m. flight tomorrow.”

  Jack closed his laptop. “Then we’d better pack and get ready because that means we’ll only get about four hours of sleep.”

  Zoe was already scrambling off the bed. “You can pack up in about three minutes. I’ll need a little bit longer than that.” She put away Olive’s report, pushing down the wave of reluctance that bloomed in her. She really wanted to continue reading, but she had a painting to study. So far, she’d focused mostly on the documentation related to Woman in a White Fur, but since she was going to see the painting itself, she needed to know every detail about it by heart before the meeting with the authenticator.

  Ava’s next email came in with the hotel reservation and the details of the meeting. The meeting with the authenticator is tomorrow afternoon at four.

  Zoe rubbed her forehead. “That doesn’t give me much time to prepare.”

  “You can do it. You have tonight, and the time in the airport and during the flight.”

  “That’s true. All the same, I’d better get moving.”

  Late the next morning, Zoe followed the bellman into their hotel room in Athens. As he opened separate closets and positioned their suitcases on luggage racks, Zoe turned so her back was to the man and mouthed the word wow in Jack’s direction. Plaster ornamentation, some of it picked out in gold, decorated the high ceiling and wainscoting. A king-size bed layered with white linen filled one side of the room while a couch with delicate curved legs sat at the opposite end beside a table with a wood inlay. Two pairs of glass doors stretched to the high ceiling. One of the doors was open, and a warm breeze caused the sheer drapes to puff out. Jack tipped the bellman, and once the door closed after him, he flipped on the light in the marble-tiled bathroom, which was nearly as spacious as their room, and gave a low whistle. “We should always have Harrington make our hotel reservations.”

  “Ava said this was all that was available on short notice.”

  “Lucky us.”

  Zoe drew back the sheer curtain and stepped out onto the balcony. Their hotel overlooked Syntagma Square, a mix of cypress and plane trees along with paved walkways filled with people either lounging in the sun or striding quickly by, briefcases and purses bumping against their bodies. The pulse of car horns, the buzz of mopeds, and the rumble of motorcycles floated up from the busy streets that ringed the green space. The square was directly opposite Parliament. Zoe stepped to the railing to get a better view of the throng of people gathering in front of the building. “Look, it’s the changing of the guard,” Zoe said, and Jack came out onto the balcony with her.

  “With the elite unit assigned to the Tomb of the Unknown Soldier, the evzones,” Jack said, after pulling out the small guidebook from his back pocket. He’d picked it up at the airport that morning. They watched in silence as the men moved into position, the pleats in their kilt uniforms flaring out with each stiff-legged step. Jack tucked the guidebook under his arm. “If you squint, you can see the red pompoms on their shoes. Quite an outfit, but it’s what the mountain guerrilla fighters wore when they rebelled against the Ottoman Empire.”

  They watched the ceremony from their high point several floors above street level, then they slipped back into the room. Zoe reached for the well-thumbed file on Woman in a White Fur. “Back to work for me. Let me just look over this one more time and then”—she glanced at her watch—“we can go out for a look around.”

  “Good plan.” Jack settled on the other end of the couch, guidebook in hand.

  After about an hour, Zoe rubbed her eyes. “Okay, I’ve read over this so many times that I’m starting to see double.” She had spent half of the previous night and all that morning memorizing the file, first in the gate area at the airport, then during the flight. After she had the specifications down by heart, she’d pored over the images of the painting. She’d used her phone to zoom in and study the painting in detail. She’d memorized the pattern of brushstrokes in one area of the painting, the small section where the white fur brushed against the woman’s ear. In that area, they crossed each other, creating a distinctive X pattern in the paint. Zoe snapped the file closed and slipped it into her messenger bag. “Time for some fresh air.”

  21

  Zoe pause
d, her hands braced to push herself up from the couch, taking in the fact that Jack had a map spread out on the cushion between them. “You have a map now too?”

  “Came with the guidebook. A good tourist is always prepared in case of a spotty cell phone connection.” He reached for her hand and pulled her up.

  As they rode downstairs in the small elevator, Jack leaned against the wall, his gaze on Zoe’s face. “How are you feeling about the meeting?”

  “Nervous.”

  “Probably a good thing. I’m always nervous before a big meeting.”

  “Yes, but you’re very good at hiding your nerves.” Zoe wiped her palms on her hips. The elevator doors opened, and Zoe reached for Jack’s hand. “Let’s enjoy Athens for a little while. A break will be good for me. I can come back and go over everything one last time before the meeting.” They paused on the hotel steps. “What do you recommend we see?”

  “Well, I think our driver was right. The Acropolis will be wall-to-wall—or column-to-column—tourists at this time of day. Let’s start with Ermou Street.”

  “That’s the pedestrian shopping street, right?”

  “Good memory. I thought the details from your guidebook copyediting days would start coming back once we were here. I had to buy a guidebook of my own to keep up with you.” After a glance at the map, Jack slipped it into his pocket. “This way.” They left Syntagma Square and strolled along the gently sloping street. It was dense with stores and boutiques, mostly modern, high-end chain stores. They came to a Byzantine church with arched windows and a cupola topped with a cross. Set in the middle of the road, it was apparent the church had been there much longer than the shops around it. Its mellow brown stones and faded red tile roof contrasted with the stores’ plate-glass windows and mannequins wearing the latest fashions.