by Ian Hamilton
She checked her cellphone. No calls. What’s going on with Uncle? she thought.
She took off her shirt and slacks and climbed back into bed in her panties and bra. The duvet was still warm. She dozed, her mind flitting back and forth between the deal she’d struck with Glen Hughes and all the things that could go wrong. After half an hour she hauled herself out of bed and called Hong Kong.
Lourdes again answered Uncle’s phone. “He had food poisoning, I think. He’s spent all day between the bathroom and the bed. He’s just putting on some clothes to go out for dinner, so he must feel a little better. Hold on.”
“Wei,” the familiar voice said a few minutes later.
“Food poisoning?”
“I ate some raw oysters last night. Not so good.”
“Take better care of yourself.”
“I try,” Uncle said, his voice sounding weak. “Lourdes said you called earlier.”
“It’s about the Wong matter,” Ava said. “It’s resolved.”
She had been in his apartment many times. In her mind’s eye she could see him leaning back in his old armchair, his feet not quite touching the ground, a small table to his right layered with newspapers and racing forms, the phone held to his ear. “Resolved?”
Ava realized the word was far too vague. “I got the money,” she said.
“How much of it?” he asked. There was anticipation, some pleasure in his voice.
“I think I have all of it — seventy million or so. I won’t know until we finalize all the liquidations of assets and the transfers, but I think I’m close.”
She heard him breathe deeply and knew he was already calculating their commission and planning his phone call to the Wongs. She had listened to him make such calls before. Low-key, slow-paced, building towards a climax, the good news hinted at, then delivered only when the massive scale of the task had been explained. Uncle made every successful job sound as if they had performed a miracle. He could have been an actor. And then she thought, Maybe he is.
“Ava, this is remarkable,” he said.
“Hughes was co-operative. The leverage we had through the other paintings scared him. We could have destroyed his reputation, set the animals loose on him, and probably have caused him to go to prison, or worse.”
“I am surprised he still has the money,” Uncle said. “Usually this type of person squanders much of it.”
“Lucky — we were lucky,” Ava said carefully. “It isn’t all in one place, though, and liquidating some assets and arranging the transfers will be a challenge. But I’ve already started the process, and in a week or two — maybe two, to be on the safe side — everything should be done.”
“Are you certain about the amounts?”
“Yes, within ten percent or so.”
“And you have control of the assets?”
“Yes,” she said, biting her lower lip.
“And the timing?”
She knew he was going to call Changxing Wong as soon as they hung up and that he was identifying the boundaries of what he could say. Knowing how cautious he was, she was sure he would fudge the amount she had given him even more: the ten percent would turn into twenty, maybe even thirty. He would also play with the timelines, and her two weeks would become three weeks or a month.
“Two weeks should see it done.”
He hesitated and she braced herself for more questions. Instead he asked, “Ava, would you like to call May Ling yourself and give her the news?”
“No,” she said, more quickly than she should have.
“They are too important for you to carry a grudge, and May Ling thinks very highly of you. She could be an important ally in the years ahead. I have told you, you need to build more bridges. It is all well and good while I am still active, but when I step aside, Ava, you need to have your own alliances — friends, guanxi.”
He said it slowly, carefully, and she knew he was speaking from love.
“Uncle, when you step aside, I step aside with you.”
“You are too young —”
“Some things have nothing to do with age.”
“Ava, you know my religion is Tao.”
“Yes, I know.”
“May Ling is Taoist as well, and when we spoke of you, she said to me that the second she looked into your eyes she felt qi, life force, flow between you.”
“I’m not sure what that means, and right now I don’t have any interest in finding out.”
Uncle sighed. “I will phone Changxing tonight,” he said. “They have both been calling me, wondering about your progress. Regardless of your skepticism, they were tremendously impressed by the way you managed Edwin Hughes. Of course, they do not fully understand that gweilos do not have our sense of family. No Chinese of any character would do that to his brother.”
He had passed along her fax from Edwin Hughes’ office to the Wongs, she realized. It was unusual, and she felt unsettled. How close is Uncle getting to them? she thought. “Uncle, you gave them copies of the paperwork I sent you?”
“Yes,” he said.
Ava swallowed hard. “Well, when you speak with him tonight — with them — please ask that May Ling not call me. I am very serious about that.”
“I still think you are misjudging her,” Uncle said. “But I will tell her.”
It was just past seven o’clock in New York. Ava looked outside, hoping to see the sun, and there it was, its rays emanating like a personal invitation. She made herself a Starbucks VIA coffee, downed it quickly, put on her running gear, and headed downstairs.
She did a complete lap of the park, slowing down when she got to East 65th Street, thoughts of dropping in on Glen Hughes entering her mind. She decided against it and finished her run back to the hotel.
By nine Ava had called Gail and asked her to book a one-o’clock Air Canada flight back home to Pearson Airport. She emailed Mimi and her mother to let them know she was arriving that day, and that she’d call later. She wrote to Maria, I’m arriving this afternoon around 2:15 p.m. from New York on Air Canada. If you can meet me at the airport, that’s great. If you can’t, call me later at the apartment. Love, Ava.
She sat at the desk with her notebook. She laid out the gist of her agreement with Glen Hughes and then started making a list of loose ends, calls she had to make, promises that needed to be kept. There was a hotel in Dublin with twelve boxes in storage. Edwin Hughes and Helga Sørensen both deserved a call to calm their nerves. Then she thought of Nina, and just as quickly pushed the thought aside. If Ava was going to maintain her relationship with Maria, Nina would have to become a distant memory.
Back home, back to Toronto, she thought. It had been one hell of a week. And it wasn’t over; it wouldn’t be over until the money had found its way through Harrington’s to Liechtenstein to Uncle’s account in Hong Kong. Don’t start taking things for granted. Don’t be a jinx, she told herself. There are still so many things that could go wrong.
She called Glen Hughes, her mind still swimming in a pool of anxiety.
“Glen, it’s Ava Lee,” she said.
“My dear Ms. Lee, how nice to hear from you. I have to tell you, before you say anything, that was a wonderful dinner last night. I will be going back there again — under different circumstances, I hope.”
“I thought the meal was fine as well.”
“I also have to say that a friend of mine — a client, actually — was in the restaurant and saw us together. He’s insanely jealous. He called me this morning to find out who you are. He thought I was dating some Hong Kong starlet.”
“Tell him thank you.”
“You’re calling for an update, no doubt.”
“Exactly.”
“We’re bang on schedule. In about an hour, the Harrington’s team will be here to collect the
paintings and send them to London. I spoke with our friend there last night, and he likes the idea of going private, even at a discount. He thinks it will be an efficient exercise. As for your time constraints, well, he thinks the deal can be concluded within ten days.”
“Mr. Hughes, I am impressed.”
“Coming from you, I assume that’s a compliment.”
“It is.”
“I appreciate it.”
“But let’s not get ahead of ourselves. If we can stay focused for ten more days the compliments will mean something more,” Ava said.
“Let me assure you, I am focused.”
“I’m leaving New York this afternoon, but you can email me or reach me at the phone number I gave you if the need arises.”
“Oh, I’ll call if it’s necessary,” Hughes said. “And actually, you might hear from our friend in London as well. I passed your number on to him. He said he was having a bit of an issue with one of his employees and might need to enlist your aid.”
“Frederick Locke?”
“He didn’t give me a name.”
It has to be Locke, Ava thought. What is he up to now?
“Does your friend want me to call him?” she asked.
“No, he says he’ll call you if he needs you.”
“Fair enough.”
“Ah, the Harrington van just pulled up in front of the house. I’m going to go and look after the boys,” Hughes said. “Safe journey.”
Ava packed her carry-on, placing the files in the bottom of the bag, the Steinum sweaters on top, and everything else jammed in between.
It was a half-hour cab ride to LaGuardia, and she was checked in and through security in fifteen minutes. Ava sat at the departures gate and watched CNN on an overhead television. She thought about turning on her laptop, but she was already in shutdown mode. She had just leaned her head back and closed her eyes when her cellphone rang. She was reaching for the phone to turn it off when she noticed the U.K. area code.
“Ave Lee,” she said.
“Ms. Lee, this is Sam Rice calling.”
His voice was a deep growl, made all the more distinctive by an accent she couldn’t quite place. “Mr. Rice, how are you?”
“I’ve been bloody better.”
“What’s the problem?”
“Your cohort, Frederick Locke, is the problem.”
“What exactly is he doing?”
“He’s acting like an old lady over those paintings you unearthed. You know he came to me about them shortly after you met?”
“Yes, Frederick told me. I was surprised, actually. I thought he and I had an understanding that nothing would be said or done until I had a chance to work things out on my end.”
“Well, the fool couldn’t contain himself,” Rice barked. “He came to me, and now he’s been dithering about whether or not you’re going to plunge the firm into some kind of crisis.”
“You know that’s not going to happen.”
“I know, but Locke doesn’t.”
“I’ll call him.”
“No, it’s gone past a phone call. He came to me in the first place because he doesn’t want sole responsibility for making a decision that has so many far-reaching implications.”
“Does he know about your involvement with the Modigliani?”
“Of course he does, and that’s one of the problems, though not in the way you might think.”
“I don’t understand.”
“Locke believes I was taken in by the painting, that I made an error in professional judgement — nothing more than that. He’s concerned that if the painting is revealed as a forgery, then my reputation will take a serious hit, and of course the firm’s along with it.”
“So he wants to bury the fact of the forgeries?”
“He and I have had some long and tedious discussions about the ethics of this situation, about the pros and cons of going public. The bloody fool thought we should let the owners know about the forgeries. He thought we could keep it contained among the parties involved. I got rid of that fantasy in no time. I told him it would explode and that none of us had any idea of the direction it would take, how it would end. I even told him we would have to prepare to have every transaction this firm has made over the past ten years or so examined and re-examined. And God knows how many other mistakes would be found. And even if none were found, God knows how many clients would lose trust in us.”
“So what does Locke want to do?” she asked.
“He has now agreed that for the good of the firm, my reputation, and the peace of mind of our clients, the best course of action is to ignore the fact that the forgeries exist. I call it our strategy of blissful ignorance.”
“And Locke thinks I’m the only person who can upset that,” she said.
“Precisely, which is why I need you to come to London as soon as possible.”
“And what am I going to do in London?”
“Internally, we have kept this strictly between Frederick and myself. I want to keep it that way. So you’ll meet with just the two of us and you’ll give both of us complete assurance that you have no interest in pursuing this matter further.”
“That sounds a little loose, don’t you think? Will Locke be satisfied with my word?” she asked.
“He’s most keen to have you actually meet me and for me to be the one to persuade you to stand down. He’s handing you off, of course — transferring any and all responsibility for the decision to trust you to me.”
“Still, what’s my promise worth?”
“Well, you could offer to give up your files.”
And give up all my leverage? she thought. “No, not until all the financial matters are settled.”
“Then what do you suggest?”
“Draw up a written agreement, some kind of non-disclosure contract that binds all parties to secrecy.”
“That’s a bit of smoke and mirrors, isn’t it?”
“Look, make reference to the paintings in it. Say something like, while the parties have questions about their authenticity, they have agreed on balance that the paintings could be genuine and that they have agreed not to pursue the matter any further. You and I can sign it. Leave him out of it. That should cover his ass, calm him down.”
“Okay, I can see where you’re going with this. I’ll work on something, and I won’t tell him. I’ll spring it on both of you in the meeting and I’ll make more of it than it actually is.”
“And I’ll spin it back,” Ava said. “I actually made some promises to Edwin Hughes and the Sørensens that I’d keep them out of this if they co-operated. I’ll make it clear that I’m just as anxious to keep this quiet as you are.”
“Well, Ms. Lee, it appears we have a plan.”
“But I don’t have a flight,” Ava said. “Let me work on getting to London. I’ll be there either late tonight or early tomorrow morning. Either way, I can be at your offices by eleven. Does that work?”
“That sounds fine. And Ms. Lee, thanks for doing this. I know it’s a bit extreme bringing you all the way back here just to help settle Locke, but we can’t afford to have any flies in our ointment.”
“Careful is good,” Ava said. “And that raises some questions in my mind about the Picasso and the Gauguin. How are you going to handle them? Surely Locke is going to be atwitter for a while.”
“No one here knows about them yet, and I’m going to keep it that way. They’ll be sold through my private client list, a list that I guard with my life. My CFO will personally handle the accounting. At year-end the sale and the commissions will show up on the books as a surprise burst of profit. I’ve done it before and no one will be shocked by it.”
“Frederick Locke?”
“Not a whisper to him.”
( 31 )
Ava’s flight to Toronto landed on time, and she phoned Maria from the limo. Her job at the Colombian consulate, as an assistant trade commissioner, came with reasonably flexible hours. She got Maria’s office voicemail, hung up, and dialled her cellphone, only to get voicemail again. She left a message, saying her plans had changed and that she was off to London at eight o’clock that evening. She’d email when she knew when she was coming home.
Ava walked into her apartment feeling both welcomed and relieved by the familiar surroundings. She realized that with the cruise factored in, it had been more than two weeks since she’d been home. She unpacked her bags and sniffed at her running shoes. The smell wasn’t noticeable but she would still soak them. She laid the Steinum sweaters on her bed and stood back to look at them. It was her experience that some clothes didn’t travel well. Something that looked absolutely fabulous in a bar on a Thai beach could seem absurd in Toronto. A barong looked great in Manila, not so hot in New York. To her delight, the Steinums, if anything, seemed even more beautiful than when she had bought them. Mimi would look wonderful in hers. So would Maria: her light copper skin and wild mop of curly black hair went well with bright colours.
She packed a fresh set of clothes: a midnight-blue shirt with an Italian collar she had bought during her previous trip to London, a white Brooks Brothers button-down shirt, a clean pair of black Brooks Brothers slacks, and a light tan pencil skirt that came just above the knee. She threw in a pair of brown stilettos. She debated whether she needed to bring the files with her, and decided against it. They would just be dead weight.
After a quick shower she put on a T-shirt and a clean tracksuit consisting of dark blue Adidas pants and jacket. It was five o’clock and she realized she was going to run into rush hour. Dinner would have to wait until she got to the airport.
