Heads You Win

“True,” said Rosenthal. “But they still have to be returned to their rightful owner.”

* * *

“The Warhol’s stowed safely in the hold,” said Anna as the plane lifted off. “Has the rest of the collection arrived in Nice?”

“Yes,” said Rosenthal. “I called Pierre Gerand again as soon as I got back to New York on Sunday night. He’s one of the leading abstract dealers in Paris, and an old friend who’s familiar with the Lowell Collection, as his grandfather sold three pictures to Mr. Lowell’s father when he was touring Europe in 1947. I told him that a large consignment of paintings was on its way to Nice, and asked him to arrange for Monsieur Duval to collect them and store them until we arrive. He phoned back yesterday to let me know that Evelyn and Mr. Halliday were spotted boarding an Air France flight for Boston that morning. That’s when I called to remind you not to forget the Warhol. So by the time we touch down in Nice, everything should be in place. Pierre and Monsieur Duval will meet us off the plane.”

“So now all we have to do is get the rest of the collection back,” said Anna.

“Which will be no small undertaking. At least we’re in the hands of professionals. But should we fail…”

“Alex tells me the bank will go bust and we’ll be broke.”

“So, no pressure,” said Rosenthal. “Mind you, I could always offer Alex a job as a runner at the gallery. He’d be rather good at it.”

“Or he could have my job, as you’ll need someone to fill in for me when the baby is born.”

“No, he’s not that good,” said Rosenthal, as the plane reached forty thousand feet and banked toward the east.

* * *

“How much notice do you have to give?” said Ackroyd.

“The bank’s statutes require fourteen days,” said Fowler, “so I was thinking of sending letters to all the directors this morning.”

“But the moment Miss Robbins opens the mail, she’ll be alerted and tell Karpenko about the emergency board meeting, and if he’s half as bright as you say he is, it won’t take him long to work out what we’re up to.”

“I’d thought of that,” said Fowler, “and intend to send Karpenko’s letter to his apartment in Brooklyn. Now that he’s taken up residence in Boston, it will be lying on his doormat until he returns.”

“And the motion to replace him as chairman will have been passed before he has a chance to do anything about it. So why don’t you post those letters, Ray?”

* * *

Anna emerged from the plane soon after they’d touched down in Nice, and was greeted by a warm evening breeze. She wished Alex was with her to share her first visit to France. But she knew he couldn’t risk being away from his desk for even a few hours.

Once they’d cleared customs and walked into the arrivals hall, a man, dressed in an open-necked floral shirt and a now fashionable light blue suit, rushed up to Rosenthal and kissed him on both cheeks.

“Welcome, mon ami. Allow me to introduce you to Dominic Duval, whom I have chosen to mastermind this operation.”

When his Citroën joined the early evening traffic heading toward Nice, Duval began to brief his co-conspirators.

“As soon as Mr. and Mrs. Lowell-Halliday left the villa, I called Pierre in Paris to let him know they were on their way to Boston.”

“How could you be so sure they were going to the airport?” asked Anna.

“Three suitcases was a minor clue,” said Duval.

“It also suggests,” said Rosenthal, “that Evelyn intends to remain in Boston for some time.”

“I then called Nathanial in New York,” said Pierre—the first time Anna had heard anyone call Mr. Rosenthal by his first name—“to tell him they were on the way, and immediately flew down to Nice to make sure we’re ready for tomorrow’s exchange.”

“Why so soon?” asked Rosenthal.

“We have to take advantage of the fact that Thursday is the butler’s day off. Otherwise we’d have to wait another week. And Mrs. Lowell-Halliday might well have returned by then.”

“Is your team in place?”

“Ready and waiting,” said Duval. “First thing tomorrow morning I’ll call the villa and tell the maid I have an important package for delivery.”