Keep Your Eyes on Me

by Sam Blake

  By the time he reached the top floor of The Rookery, Edward Croxley could see Sergei busy with his phone, waiting for him. His white blond hair cropped military short, he was at least a head taller than anyone standing close to him and was wearing a navy linen blazer and white open-necked shirt, dressed down with jeans and handmade shoes.

  Sergei looked up and acknowledged him, indicating two stools at the end of the counter. They sat down, and on the other side a chef began preparing sushi, an enormous cleaver in his hand.

  Sergei frowned as he spoke. ‘So do you have news for me?’

  Before Croxley could answer, the waiter materialised behind them, handing them menus. To his right, Croxley was vaguely aware of another man sitting down beside him on the next stool, discussing football with his companion. Croxley groaned inwardly – the last thing he needed now was an update on the Premier League. The man’s friend left him for a minute and the man spun around on his stool, playing with his phone.

  At least he’d shut up.

  Croxley needed to concentrate on his conversation with Sergei and make sure he didn’t accidentally promise something he couldn’t deliver, while at the same time buying himself some time.

  He didn’t want to be distracted by anything.

  They ordered and a moment later the waiter was gone. Croxley picked up the glass of water that had appeared beside him and, turning to Sergei, kept his voice low. ‘I’ve searched the shop. They aren’t there. Which means Jack Power must have them.’

  ‘So we need to talk to him and get them back.’

  Sergei made it sound so perfectly simple.

  ‘The only problem with that is he’ll realise they’re valuable and will start to wonder why the fuck they were hidden in an old box of books that was for sale at an open auction in the home counties.’ Croxley paused, trying to hide his annoyance at the obvious stupidity of revealing the whole operation to Jack Power. ‘We’ll have to think of a reason why they were in there, something plausible, otherwise he could suss the whole thing and then we’ll be blown.’

  Sergei shook out his napkin and shrugged. ‘I don’t think discussing it with him will compromise the operation. It’s worked very well. We might just have to go out further into the country to different auctions, find other ways of adding lots. I don’t think that’s an issue.’

  Shaking his head, Edward kept his voice low. ‘But he’ll realise that I knew there was something hidden in the box and he’ll start wondering how and what’s going on. He might not realise exactly, but he’ll smell a rat and after losing the shop he’ll come after me.’

  Sergei curled his lip. ‘Give him back the shop. Trade it for the goods. Tell him you feel bad about taking it.’

  As if he hadn’t already thought of that. ‘You think that won’t raise his suspicions?’

  Sergei shrugged. ‘I don’t really care. Igor is getting impatient. He’s paid good money for those amulets – they are a special gift for the bridesmaids. We do not have time for any more messing about. The wedding is very soon.’

  ‘I know, I know. Look, leave it with me. I’ll work it out.’

  ‘I would love to leave it with you, Edward, but there is no more time. I can only give you forty-eight hours and then we will have to send some people to talk to Jack Power.’

  ‘But he’ll realise. He knows too much.’

  Sergei shrugged. ‘Not a problem. We will make sure he doesn’t get a chance to speak to anyone.’

  Edward felt his mouth go suddenly dry. Had Sergei just suggested killing Jack Power?

  And if he killed Jack, what was to stop Igor Kaprizov’s people coming after him?

  ‘I’ll get them for you. I’ll get them as soon as I can. Give me till Thursday.’

  The waiter arrived with their plates. Edward had never felt less like eating in his life. He picked up his fork and stabbed a piece of broccoli as if he was totally in control. Now it was time to reveal his hand.

  ‘I have something else I want to show Igor. It’s very special, a missing masterpiece by Camille Pissarro, an oil of Montmartre. It’s called Twilight. I think Igor’s niece will love it. It was painted in 1897.’ Sergei raised his eyebrows as Edward said hurriedly, ‘It’s a private sale, part of a very well-known Dublin collection, but there seem to be some pictures that aren’t on the public record.’

  Sergei shrugged like he didn’t really care. Croxley continued, trying not to sound too desperate, ‘The original owner of the collection was a judge – he had some strong links to the Third Reich.’

  ‘Igor may be interested. I will tell him. But first you will get the amulets back.’

  ‘Of course.’ Edward shrugged like it was a given. ‘I’ll email you a photograph of this painting. Show it to Igor, I know he’s going to love it. For his niece. She’s getting married in Paris, isn’t she?’

  Sergei shrugged again and, picking up his burger in his huge hands, bit into it hard. Edward turned back to his plate.

  What the fuck was he going to do?

  Chapter 26

  THE BRITISH MUSEUM was busy when Lily got there, a bus load of French school students snaking their way through the barriers to the bag check, excited and jostling. Lily tagged onto the end of their group.

  Nerves had been fluttering in her stomach since she’d picked up Vittoria’s card that morning – at least she hoped it was from Vittoria. The postcard just had a picture of the British Museum on the front and There’s a fascinating talk on in the Egyptian Room 3 p.m. Tuesday written on the back, unsigned.

  Acutely aware of the days slipping past – it wasn’t long until she started with No. 42 – Lily had no idea if Vittoria could fulfil her end of their deal. She’d seemed completely confident she could when they’d last parted, but how on earth was Vittoria going to engage with Croxley and get the shop back? Lily was trying hard not to worry.

  Her job was to sort out Marcus Devine, and that seemed to be going very well. Emma had been keeping her abreast of the effects of the Sunday Inquirer story. From what she could gather, Devine wasn’t answering his email or his phone, had got off a Sydney flight that morning to go straight into a meeting with his superiors.

  Lily smiled to herself. She had no idea where Emma got her information but she imagined the paper had no end of moles in Heathrow airport listening to celebrity conversations and tipping off the paparazzi when stars arrived. Emma had found out that Marcus had been suspended from duties pending a more formal meeting this coming Friday. Whatever the outcome of that, he had a lot of explaining to do to his employers, his wife and his mistress.

  That ball was rolling nicely. And it was time to think about setting some more in motion.

  Even with the shop gone, Lily had plenty to do before she left for New York, people to catch up with and say goodbye to. She had no idea when she’d get time off to come back home. American companies weren’t overly generous with holiday allowances and, anyway, she wanted to get really stuck in and make her mark. And to do that she needed to work very hard. Going the extra mile to make a good impression held you in good stead in the long run.

  She’d spoken to her flatmates and they were happy for Jack to take over her room at the flat for the time being, so he wouldn’t be homeless, thank goodness – it wasn’t ideal but it would be preferable to him sleeping on friends’ sofas.

  With her mind so busy, Lily wasn’t concentrating on the queue to the bag check until one of the French students stepped backwards and bumped into her, bringing her out of her cloud of thoughts.

  Lily glanced at the time on her phone. She was early but the bag check was slow. The French teenagers didn’t seem to mind; school trips were all about having fun. When Lily had been at school or coming on trips here, her grandpa would have been working just a short walk away, looking out the window for a glimpse of her passing on the way to the museum. The memory opened a dark hole in her chest.

  It had started to spit rain again by the time Lily emerged from the other side of the tent that housed the bag
check. Her head down, buckling up her satchel, she crossed the broad paving stones to the steps heading up to the grand main entrance of the British Museum. A Japanese couple were sitting next to a sign that said ‘Please don’t sit on these steps’ taking selfies.

  Skipping past them, Lily crossed the black and white tiled hallway into the bright main atrium, immediately calmed by the light reflected off the white stone walls and the incredible sweeping lines of the building. She knew exactly where the Egyptian room was and headed up the staircase to her right, looking down at the open coffee shop far below as she climbed the steps. A bridge connected the landing to the doorway of the Egyptian room. It was already filled with crowds of British school children, smart in their uniforms, sheets of paper and pencils in their hands.

  Lily headed through the Sumerian room and into the Egyptian section, spotting Vittoria immediately, her dark glossy hair catching the light from the display. Her back to Lily, Vittoria was looking into a glass case of artefacts, apparently intently reading the signs beside them. She was dressed like a tourist in skintight jeans and boots, a dark grey poncho with black braiding hiding a cream silk shirt. Even in jeans she had style. Lily stopped beside her, greeting Vittoria’s reflection in the glass case with a quick smile. Her eyes fixed on the exhibits, Vittoria spoke very quietly.

  ‘He’s looking for something that was bought at a sale. Something he should have bought but which Jack must have bought accidentally. It’s small, something very ancient and incredibly valuable that might have been looted from the museum in Baghdad or somewhere like it. It’s definitely from somewhere there has been fighting in the past.’

  Lily felt her eyebrows raise in surprise. What on earth? How did Vittoria know? Questions jostled for attention but she knew this wasn’t the time to ask. Croxley had wanted the shop so he could find something? That seemed mad, but somehow made sense. Whatever it was Croxley wanted, it must be very valuable indeed that he couldn’t just ask Jack for it. Lily nodded slowly.

  ‘Can you check with Jack? If you can work out what it is, I can use it to get the shop back. If you can’t I’ve something else lined up that might work, but Croxley’s in trouble, he’s frightened. Whoever wants it is very powerful indeed.’

  ‘I’ll talk to Jack.’

  ‘Good, I’ve decided to change my ticket so I’ll be here for a few more days. I’ve rented a mail box through a virtual office company.’ Vittoria reached into the back pocket of her jeans. ‘I’ve written the address on the back of this flier. I’ll leave it on the top of one of the display cases in a few minutes for you to pick up. If you need to talk to me, get someone to drop a note in. If you find what Croxley’s looking for, have it couriered to me there. Make sure you don’t come yourself. The staff will text me if anything is delivered in business hours. Try and be a quick as you can. ’ As Vittoria turned to move to the next exhibit, she smiled reassuringly. ‘Don’t worry, I’ll have this sorted out before you leave for New York.’

  Chapter 27

  ‘THAT’S EXACTLY what she said – you need to think.’ Jack looked back blankly at Lily and then stood up abruptly, disturbing George who was curled up asleep on Lily’s bed in a pool of evening sunlight, his whiskers flicking as if he was dreaming. Lily was sitting in the chair beside her dressing table. The room was barely big enough for both of them but Jack began to pace, his hands in his pockets.

  ‘Don’t you think I’d know if I’d bought some early Middle Eastern artefact by accident? The last sale I was at was that one in Hertfordshire, the country house with the ridiculous name.’ Jack screwed up his face, thinking. ‘I went to look at the sporting prints but they weren’t in nearly as good condition as the catalogue had suggested. There was a walnut desk I looked at, with a roll top and a secret drawer, that was nice. And the box of books. There were a couple of copies of Rebecca, about four different Virginia Woolfs and a book called The Essential Art of the Gentleman Printer by Gloria Harrington. That’s a little gem, and I knew I had the perfect collector for that.’ He shrugged. ‘So that’s all I bought.’

  Lily turned around to her dressing table and put her head in her hands. ‘Could it have been a different auction? Where did you go before that?’

  ‘I haven’t been to a house auction for ages. It’s not like we need stock. My mission for the last two months has been cataloguing everything and grouping it so I can contact interior designers and give them themed collections. I really want – wanted,’ he paused, ‘to get to the back of the storerooms and shift all the stuff that’s been there for yonks.’

  ‘OK, so just think back – St Albans, do you remember seeing Croxley there?’

  Jack screwed up his face and thought hard then shook his head. ‘But I was down the front. If he’d been bidding from the back of the room I wouldn’t have seen him. And, really, I’d be surprised if he was there. From what I’ve heard, he deals in proper modern art. Your friend has to have taken him up wrong. Perhaps she misheard him?’

  Lily shook her head. ‘How on earth could she have come up with something as odd as this? She doesn’t know that you go to country house sales. And she’s a psychologist – she’s used to listening to people and understanding what they’re not saying. She has to be right.’

  ‘But something looted from a museum in the Middle East? How would something even remotely that valuable end up in a country house sale in St Albans, Lil?’

  ‘I think that’s the point. Whatever it is was smuggled into the country. If it gets bought “legitimately” in a sale, it’s suddenly kosher. All sorts of things turn up in house sales.’

  ‘I’m not seeing it.’ His hands in his jeans pockets, Jack put on his stubborn face.

  Lily turned to look at him, her eyebrows raised. ‘Well, we need you to start seeing it, because right now it’s the only option we’ve got.’ She cleared her throat, trying to control her temper. ‘Think back to when Croxley came into the shop, before he asked you to the card game – did he say much? Just think, will you?’

  ‘OK, OK, keep your hair on. I’m thinking.’ Jack rubbed his face with his hands and went to sit back down on the bed. ‘So he came in a couple of times. Maybe three. Yes, definitely three. The first time he asked what type of things we stocked—’

  ‘Like it’s not written over the door?’ Lily’s voice was full of sarcasm.

  ‘Well, there is that. He seemed very interested in smaller items; we just chatted. He was really interested in the books. He asked when I went for lunch, I think, asked if I closed up when I went out. That struck me as a bit odd at the time.’

  ‘Good, what else?’

  ‘So he wanted to see around the shop the first time. Said he was decorating a new apartment. He was really looking about, checking out stuff stacked in the corners, having a good nose.’

  ‘And …?’

  ‘And that was it.’

  ‘OK, so the next time?’ Lily said it slowly, trying to hold onto her patience. If this was Jack’s idea of trying to remember something, she’d hate to see what forgetting was like.

  Jack stared at a spot on Lily’s rag rug, pursing his lips. Lily was about to speak when he said, ‘So that time he said he was looking for something for his mum. He said she loved Rebecca and did we have any copies. So I said I didn’t – I’d already sold that early edition. So then …’ Jack screwed up his face.

  ‘Hang on, the box from St Albans had a copy of Rebecca in it, didn’t you just say?’

  ‘Yes, two. One was really foxed. Like I said, I sold the other one.’

  ‘So isn’t that a bit of a coincidence? Of all the books that were ever published he asks about that one?’

  Jack shrugged. ‘Well, yeah, I suppose so … But then he started talking about china. I mean, we don’t even stock china so I’d no idea what that was about. He said his mother collected one of the Stoke factories – I can’t remember which one.’

  ‘Royal Doulton? Wedgwood, Moorcroft?’ Lily looked at him, her mind racing – how did that connect with a c
opy of Rebecca?

  Jack frowned and ran his hand into his hair, rocking slightly like he was willing his memory to work.

  ‘Minton. It was Minton. He said she collected Minton.’ His tone was triumphant. ‘But how does that help?’

  Lily sighed. ‘I don’t know but it must be related to all this somehow. Did he say anything else?’

  Jack shook his head. ‘When I said we didn’t stock china, he sort of got a bit impatient. That’s when he asked me to the card game. It was like it suddenly occurred to him.’

  Lily turned back to her dressing table, biting her lip. There had to be something they were missing. But Jack didn’t know anything about antique china – it just wasn’t his thing. It was more her area. As the thought arrived in her head, she looked at the little teapot on her dressing table, at the delicate hand-painted pattern of forget-me-nots, yellow pansies and pale pink roses, and almost slapped her forehead. It was the classic Minton pattern.

  Glancing quickly at him, she picked it up to look at the maker’s mark on the bottom. It was Minton.

  ‘Where did you get this?’

  ‘What?’ Jack looked up, puzzled. ‘Oh, from that sale in St Albans. It wasn’t—’ He suddenly stopped then began to speak slowly as it dawned on him. ‘It wasn’t in my box of books. It was in another one. I saw it and thought you’d like it. I sort of swapped it into mine right before the auction started.’ Lily looked at him incredulously, ‘Ah, don’t look like that. It’s not that bad. It’s not like I was pulling a fast one … well, not really. And I said it to the auctioneer afterwards, that somehow the teapot had got into my box. He wasn’t bothered at all – it’s cracked and the rest of the set is missing. He was only interested in selling the furniture.’

  ‘But this must have been in the box Croxley wanted. He must have gone nuts when he collected his box afterwards and found it wasn’t there … How did he know you’d bought it?’

  ‘I was the only person bidding on books. The others were all furniture dealers – they weren’t interested. The whole lot only cost me twenty quid, and he had to drop to that.’