by Alp Mortal
“Of course; I’m staying off the boat on Friday night but I’ll be back by ten-thirty on Saturday.”
“Perfect; thank you.”
Hannah left and went back to sort out the flat and make her preparations for the evening. The handover was on Sunday at noon in Cannes in the car park of the airport. It worried her a little that she would be carrying the paintings and would be alone. If the person or the people to whom she was handing over had a mind, they could easily wrest them from her and she wouldn’t be able to do a thing about it. But she hated involving anyone else; especially as there was an untraceable bearer bond for two million francs to think about.
At lunch on Friday, she cooked fish fingers, chips and peas and drowned the lot in tomato ketchup. The flaky pieces of meaty cod did wonders for her brain function that afternoon.
Chapter Four – The Exhibition
Hannah arrived at the gallery early to see Sophie and to give her a hand organising the caterers; also to make sure that everything looked perfect. All of the town’s glitz was expected; if only to see Gerhardt and his girlfriend of the moment. Amelia didn’t mind if it took attention away from her diamond; her party the following evening was expected to be graced by royalty. Godfrey couldn’t put a foot wrong ... yet!
The exhibition was very light-hearted and well-attended but never very busy until eight o’clock. Then, everyone popped in to see the pictures, made a donation and hot-footed it to dinner; it meant not having to change. Hannah helped Sophie and Amelia butter everyone up. Gerhardt was talking to Godfrey and apparently they were discussing the prospects for golf on Sunday - they were in fact talking prenuptial agreements and the respective charges of their lawyers. The actress girlfriend looked bored, and after thirty minutes, signalled that she wanted to leave. Gerhardt made a great show of leaving his donation and then left with the potential trophy. Hannah knew that the security firm was coming to collect the paintings at nine-thirty and she offered to stay and help clear up after the show so that Godfrey could take Amelia out on a moonlit cruise.
“Darling; you’re an angel. We have to sail with the tide; I will see you tomorrow at the party.”
Amelia left at ten minutes past nine and at nine-fifteen, only Hannah and Sophie remained.
“Sophie; I’ll pack the Scholar and put it with Gerhardt’s; it’s going back to the yacht with his. I’m picking it up from there tomorrow; quite possibly negotiating the re-sale, depending on the results of the auction this evening in Geneva.”
“I’ll be with you in a minute!” called Sophie from the back stockroom.
Quickly and expertly, Hannah removed the five prints she had purchased and fixed one over the top of each of Gerhardt’s paintings using a safe, adhesive putty under each corner. They weren’t a bad fit. She put them in the transport case and lastly put in the Scholar just as Sophie made her appearance.
“Oh Maddy, thank you! I really need to go soon.”
“Is Jacques picking you up?”
“Yes; and you know how he hates to wait.”
The security firm arrived and picked up the case.
“Great! All done,” announced Sophie, flicking off the lights, adding, “the rest can wait until the morning.”
The girls left and Hannah went back to the flat to finalise her packing and the arrangements for the handover on Sunday.
Chapter Five – Bon Voyage
On Saturday morning, at ten o’clock, Hannah went down to the harbour and went aboard Aristotle to wait for Gerhardt. The crew knew her and no one questioned her as she went to the main stateroom. A steward brought her a coffee and she waited patiently. Gerhardt arrived at ten-forty, in a filthy temper.
“She will drive me to insanity!” he flung out, only then noticing Hannah.
“Mademoiselle!” he added in better humour.
“What is it, Gerhardt?”
“She insists on … oh, what does it matter? Where are the paintings?”
“In the library, I presume; grab a coffee and I’ll fetch the Scholar and maybe I’ll make you a little happier,” she said with a pretty little smile and Gerhardt threw himself into a chair and barked an order at the attendant steward.
Hannah came back with the Scholar.
“Remain calm, Gerhardt; it’s nothing that can’t be resolved in fifteen minutes … the security firm has picked up the wrong case-”
“What?” he bellowed and he tramped heavily to the library to see for himself that the case contained five different paintings, and in the dim light, he didn’t notice the fact that they were prints and mounted in identical frames to his own.
“I’ll take them back for you, Gerhardt, and I’ll return with yours straightaway; there’s no point calling the security firm because they’ll be an hour getting here in the traffic. Relax, and whilst I’m gone, why don’t you think about the Scholar and how much you are willing to pay for it. I won’t fleece you too badly but the results of the auction last night make for very impressive reading.”
“Would you mind? I don’t think I can cope with it. Tell Amelia I am very unhappy!”
“Of course, darling.”
One of the stewards assisted her with putting the travel case, containing the six pictures, in the boot of the car as Gerhardt looked on.
“See you in half an hour!” he called out from the deck and waved.
Hannah waved back and drove off.
She called into the flat and picked up her two cases and then headed for the gallery to see Sophie.
“Sophie; I have to go to Nice; they put the wrong size dress in the bag. I’ll be back by four o’clock.”
“Don’t be late because we’re having our nails done at four-thirty.”
“I won’t; by the way, this is for you. It’s a surprise for your birthday next week; don’t open it until the day.”
Hannah handed her the Scholar, with good title, wrapped securely and bedecked with a fuchsia pink bow.
“See you later,” Hannah said and kissed her very tenderly on both cheeks.
She drove off.
An hour later, well clear of the storm that had suddenly erupted in Saint Tropez, she rendezvoused with the security firm at their offices in Toulon and handed over the case containing the five paintings.
“Tomorrow, at the airport car park in Cannes; eleven-thirty and please don’t be late.”
Were her instructions and she drove to Cannes and checked into the Hotel de France for the evening to study the newspapers and plan her retirement. She wondered if Gerhardt was angrier at the loss of his paintings or the fact that the Scholar she had left him with was a photograph.
Chapter Six – Hand over
At eleven the following morning, Hannah was stationed in the car park, awaiting the arrival of the security firm. They arrived at eleven-thirty and she spoke to the two security guards, handing them sizeable wads of notes; all nodded.
At five minutes to twelve, a black Mercedes pulled up and two men got out. Hannah approached them with one of the security guards beside her.
“They’re in the van,” she said calmly.
The men looked at each other and Hannah knew, that had she been alone, the outcome of the meeting would have been very different. It had played out very well to have listened to her fears.
“Do you have the bond?” she asked.
One of the men handed over an envelope and she took it, glancing briefly to see that the precious contents were inside. She signalled to the other guard to remove the case from the van and hand it over.
“Manuel sends his regards,” said one of the men.
Hannah just smiled and, once the case was in the boot of the Mercedes, she returned to the van with one of the security men, picking up her suitcases en route. The other security man got into her car and drove off. She remained in the van with the security guard until the Mercedes had disappeared.
“Thank you,” she said to the guard.
“No problem; do you want me to escort you to the terminal?”
&
nbsp; “No; that’s fine. I’ll be in touch,” she said and she left the van and headed into the airport terminal building to catch a flight to London.
Epilogue
“Mother; are you there?”
“Hannah?! How did you … what?”
“I’m long overdue a holiday and I haven’t seen you for ages,” replied Hannah as she was crushed to her mother’s bosom, receiving the hugs of all hugs.
“Your father will be so pleased to see you; you’re looking peeky child …”
Crime Four - The Nizza
Chapter One – Choices
Hannah’s self-imposed retirement lasted for three years. Time enough for most people to forget most things. Not that she spent all three of those years on the Island with her parents; just the first. She let her Saint Tropez blonde locks grow out and put on the five kilos she’d lost as part of that “adventure”, losing her gauntness, much to her mother’s satisfaction.
Much to her father’s satisfaction, she got a job in the library and bought a small flat near her parents’ house in Ventnor. Her father introduced her to his bank manager for the purposes of applying for a mortgage. She thanked him and secretly paid for the flat outright in cash. She danced, and to all intents and purposes, looked like she might be settling down, and possibly getting ready for her first serious relationship, or so her mother prayed. Hannah had other ideas.
After a year, she fabricated a job offer in London, rented out the flat, packed her two smart cases, and said her tearful goodbyes. She spent a month in London, sorting out new IDs, and on her twentieth birthday, she flew to New York as Sadie Goldberg, an American student at Columbia University, studying art history.
She spent the next year studying, sometimes art but also a range of other subjects that now included computing. She rented a tidy little apartment on West 80th Street and worked part-time in one of the bookstores in the area of the University. Her fortune of three million French francs had converted to five hundred thousand US dollars. She still had her account in Liechtenstein; the car was in storage.
The third year of her retirement, which began on her twenty-first birthday and ended on her twenty-second, was spent travelling a little. Now there were choices to be made.
She didn’t want to work for people like Manuel. He was a dangerous criminal and ruthless. Hannah never really saw herself as a criminal like him; she had class and never stole things that people couldn’t afford to lose ... or so she judged.
Hettie hadn’t lost anything except a fake Degas and a pretty lipstick case. Rathbone had gotten his soulmate. The Fayette’s probably had the real chalice tucked away in a vault somewhere to one day be repatriated - replicas were still on sale in the gift shop. Gerhardt lost infinitely more after his messy divorce from the starlet, and he deserved it for his roguish manners. Therefore, Hannah’s conscience was pretty clean, and her sleep remained untroubled.
She danced but was getting “bored”, and that drove her to find a new employer. Skills needed to be used, or they became rusty, and after three years, her kudos was on the wane. It was high time she worked again.
She went to a gallery on West 23rd Street and stood in front of a Pollock with one of the arms of her sunglasses carefully placed between her perfect teeth.
“It’s a fine example of his work,” said the man at her side; not an employee but another customer.
She turned and, in a heavy Italian accent, purred, “I prefer sculpture; more animated; more real; more sensuous.”
“So why are you looking at the Pollock so intently?” he asked.
She smiled.
“Sometimes it does to have a change ...”
She left, and he remained looking at the Pollock as if he was trying to see something in it which he had missed; something she had seen, undiscovered by anyone else.
“May I help you, Sir?” asked the gallery assistant.
“Do you know that woman’s name?”
“Signorina Fiorina de Cana, I believe,” replied the young man.
“Thank you,” the man murmured, and then he left.
oOo
Hannah loved fishing, and to catch a fish such as Michael Burlington on the first excursion, was a real triumph. She had made her name known to the gallery assistant on one previous visit and hoped he had remembered it for she was sure that Michael would ask.
Back at the apartment, she returned to a magazine that she had picked up, which featured the Park Avenue apartment of Michael Burlington, and the exquisite bronzes he had acquired over the last ten years - one in particular, The Muses by Adolfo de Nizza.
The impetus had been a call from her friend Pierre, the security guard. Someone had contacted him, asking if he knew of her whereabouts. He had, as instructed, feigned ignorance but passed on the details of the enquiry to Hannah. Only Manuel would have known that the security guard had contact with her in the past. Manual was very well connected, and he had referred her, seemingly, to this person who had spoken to the security guard, leaving a number ‘should the lady ever be in contact again’.
Pierre had followed the established protocol and had contacted Hannah a few days later.
“Maddy; it’s Pierre. Contact was made the day before yesterday; an associate of Manuel I gather. His name is Thierry Silber. He gave me a number to call should ‘the lady ever be in contact again’ ... How do you want to play it?”
“I’ll call you in a couple of days, Pierre; after I’ve found out what I can about him. I need to think this through carefully. If he’s an associate of Manuel, then perhaps I don’t want to know, and you’re three thousand miles away this time. I’ll get back to you very soon; thank you. Has everything been working properly with the transfers to your account?”
“Yes, Maddy; absolutely fine. I feel a fraud for taking the money and not doing anything for it.”
“If I contact Thierry Silber, then he will know that you were in contact with me. That puts you back in the picture. If you’d prefer to stay out of it, then just say so; we don’t know how dangerous this man is. Think about it and we’ll talk in a few days; take care.”
“You too ...”
Hannah needed to think seriously and delve to find out what she could about this man Thierry Silber. That would require a little subterfuge on her part.
That evening, before putting any wheels in motion, she sat and thought very hard about the future.
The buzz of getting into the game again could not be ignored; she missed it. The last three years had been necessary to acquire a new level of confidence and to learn as much as possible. Age played no part in this; she could be any age between eighteen and thirty-eight given an hour in front of the mirror. She had confidence and saw connections and solutions well before anyone else. She lived comfortably and had security; the money was less of a consideration compared to achieving the goal. She needed a goal. The theft of Gerhardt’s paintings had elevated her into a different league, and that “commission” had been offered to her by virtue of the theft of the chalice from the Fayette Residence. Where did this lead? How high could she rise? Doubtless there were jobs and rewards greater than that.
She concluded that, if it appeared that Thierry Silber was less dangerous than Manuel, then she would speak to him.
She slept on her choices and had a bad dream, waking at three in the morning, convinced that someone had been standing by her bed, looking down at her. In her later remembrance of the dream, she realized that the person hadn’t been looking down on her in her bed; it had been her coffin.
Chapter Two – Thierry Silber
No standard searches had brought forth a scrap about Thierry Silber, and Hannah wondered if the name was real at all.
She did not have access to police records. She trawled auction reports to find a name and, in a pretty obscure sale at Sotheby’s in Sussex, she found the name Terence Silver. He’d purchased a bronze, an Adolfo de Nizza the piece titled The Head of Medusa. The same man?
Conan Chalk owned the bronze he had
purchased. It appeared, therefore, that Silver had merely acted as the go-between, Hannah guessed. She decided to call Conan and ask for Terence Silver’s number on the pretense that she wished to employ him in the negotiation of a purchase. That would require her to adopt a disguise, one she had been cultivating for the last six months - Signorina Fiorina de Cana, an Italian heiress of thirty years of age, living in New York.
She called Conan and made her introductions.
“An associate suggested that Terence Silver would be the ideal candidate, but I have to confess that I do not know anything about him, Conan; would you recommend him?”
“Without hesitation! He is very experienced and professional; do you want his number?”
“Yes; that would be very helpful.”
Conan gave her the number; a London number and Hannah called it, introducing herself to Terence Silver, emphasizing how highly Conan regarded him.
“I would be delighted to assist you, Signorina De Cana; especially if the piece is a bronze. I have a great deal of experience in the field.”
“Let me call you back in a few days and we’ll discuss it again.”
She telephoned Pierre.
“Pierre, if you’re willing to get involved, then I’m going to contact Thierry Silber.”
“It’s okay, Maddy; they can’t get to you through me. Do you want the number he gave me?”
She took a few seconds to finally come to the decision.
“Yes; give me the number ...”
After she had been relayed by three handlers, she was given his number and, as she had guessed, the number was the same as Terence Silver’s.
“Monsieur Silber; this is Madeleine ... you wished to speak to me?”
“Manuel gave me your name and you come highly recommended. I need you to steal a bronze - The Muses by Adolfo di Nizza. Currently owned by-”
“Michael Burlington.”
“Quite so! You are well informed. My client is offering three hundred thousand dollars for the commission.”
“Five hundred thousand.”
“The piece is only worth-”
“Five-point-three million dollars. My fee is ten percent plus reasonable expenses; payment via untraceable bearer bond.”
