Caxton appeared a few moments later. “You called, sir?”
“Actually, it’s me who wanted a word with you, Caxton,” said Rosenthal. “I was curious to know if Mr. Lowell’s sister ever stayed at the house while he was serving in Vietnam.”
“Regularly,” said Caxton. “She treated it like a second home.”
“And were you always around during those visits?”
“No, sir, not always. Once a month my wife and I like to visit our daughter and grandson in Chicago for a weekend. Sometimes when we returned on a Sunday night, it was clear that Mr. and Mrs. Lowell-Halliday had visited the house in our absence.”
“How could you be so sure?” asked Alex.
“There would be beds to make, tables to be cleared, glasses to be washed, and a lot of ashtrays to be emptied.”
“So they could have been here on their own for at least forty-eight hours?”
“On several occasions.”
“That’s very helpful, Caxton,” said Rosenthal. “Thank you.”
“It’s also most important, Caxton,” said Alex, “that this conversation remains confidential. Is that understood?”
“In the twelve years I served Mr. Lowell,” said Caxton, “he never found it necessary to question my discretion.”
“I apologize,” said Alex. “That was tactless of me.”
No one spoke until the butler had left the room, when Anna said, “Well, that certainly put you in your place, my darling.”
“Actually, it was rather reassuring,” said Rosenthal. “He would never have considered delivering such a rebuke if he had any intention of contacting Mrs. Lowell-Halliday.”
“I agree,” said Anna. “But if Evelyn did take several of the pictures to the south of France, how can we prove it?”
“That shouldn’t be too difficult,” said Rosenthal. “One of the paintings she stole was a Rothko that measures about six feet by four. That isn’t something she could carry on board as hand luggage.”
Rosenthal rose from his chair and began pacing slowly around the room. Anna, who had become quite used to this habit, glanced at Alex and put a finger to her lips.
“In my opinion,” Rosenthal eventually said, “you could not move a painting of that size without the help of a professional art courier, especially if you were sending the picture overseas, as there would have to be export documents and other paperwork to complete. There are only a handful of such specialists on the East Coast, and only one of them is based in Boston.”
“Do you know them?” asked Alex hopefully.
“I most certainly do, but I have no intention of contacting them, because immediately after taking my call, he would be on the phone to his client to let her know I’d been making inquiries.”
“But he might be our only lead,” said Alex.
“Not necessarily, because another company would have had to pick up the packages when they arrived in Nice, and then deliver them to Mrs. Lowell-Halliday’s villa in Saint-Paul-de-Vence. It wouldn’t surprise me if whoever that was had no idea of the contents, as that’s a secret Mrs. Lowell-Halliday wouldn’t have wanted to share with anyone else, including the IRS.”
“But how do we find out who was collecting the paintings without alerting half the art world?”
“By making sure we remain at arm’s length,” said Rosenthal. “And I think I know exactly the right dealer in Paris to assist us. May I use the telephone in the study?”
“Yes, of course,” said Alex, as Rosenthal poured himself a large whiskey and left the room without another word.
“What’s he up to?” asked Alex.
“I can’t be sure,” said Anna. “But I have a feeling he’ll be twisting a few arms, which is why he doesn’t want to be overheard.”
Rosenthal didn’t reappear for another forty minutes, and when he did, although he needed to refill his glass, Anna thought she detected the suggestion of a smile.
“Pierre Gerand will call back as soon as he’s tracked down the courier in Nice. He says it’s likely to be one of three, and all of them would want to retain his business. Meanwhile, Monty Kessler will set out from New York first thing tomorrow morning, and anticipates being with us around midday.”