False Impression

Arabella looked out of the window across the lawn and didn’t speak for some time. She turned back to see Anna, trembling.

“I believe you,” Arabella eventually said. “I originally assumed that it was you who was responsible for this evil charade.” She paused again. “I see now that I was wrong. But, sadly, it’s all too late. There’s nothing we can do now.”

“I’m not so sure about that,” said Anna, looking at Arabella with a fierce determination in her eyes. “But if I’m to do anything, I’ll have to ask you to trust me, as much as Victoria did.”

“What do you mean, trust you?” said Arabella.

“Give me a chance,” said Anna, “to prove that I wasn’t responsible for your sister’s death.”

“But how can you hope to do that?” asked Arabella.

“By retrieving your Van Gogh.”

“But as I told you, they’ve already taken the painting away.”

“I know,” said Anna, “but it still has to be in England, because Fenston has sent a Mr. Leapman to pick up the picture.” Anna checked her watch. “He’ll be landing at Heathrow in a few hours’ time.”

“But even if you managed to get your hands on the painting, how would t

hat solve the problem?”

Anna outlined the details of her plan and was pleased to find Arabella nodding from time to time. Anna ended by saying, “I’ll need your backing, otherwise what I have in mind could get me arrested.”

Arabella remained silent for some time, before she said, “You’re a brave young woman, and I wonder if you even realize just how brave. But if you’re willing to take such a risk, so am I, and I’ll back you to the hilt,” she added.

Anna smiled at the quaint English expression, and said, “Can you confirm who collected the Van Gogh?”

Arabella rose from the sofa and crossed the room to the writing desk, with the dog following in her wake. She picked up a business card. “A Ms. Ruth Parish,” she read, “of Art Locations.”

“Just as I thought,” said Anna. “Then I’ll have to leave immediately, as I only have a few hours before Leapman arrives.”

Anna stepped forward and thrust out her hand, but Arabella didn’t respond. She simply took her in her arms and said, “If I can do anything to help you avenge my sister’s death . . .”

“Anything?”

“Anything,” repeated Arabella.

“When the North Tower collapsed, all the documentation concerning Victoria’s loan was destroyed,” said Anna, “including the original contract. The only copy is in your possession. If—”

“You don’t have to spell it out,” said Arabella.

Anna smiled. She wasn’t dealing with Victoria any longer.

She turned to leave and had reached the hall long before the butler had time to open the front door.

Arabella watched from the drawing-room window as Anna’s car disappeared down the drive and out of sight. She wondered if she would ever see her again.

“Petrescu,” said a voice, “is just leaving Wentworth Hall. She’s heading back in the direction of central London. I’m following her and will keep you briefed.”

23

ANNA DROVE OUT OF Wentworth Hall and headed back toward the M25, looking for a sign to Heathrow. She checked the clock on the dashboard. It was almost 2 P.M., so she had missed any chance of calling Tina, who would now be at her desk on Wall Street. But she did need to make another call if there was to be the slightest chance of her coup succeeding.

As she drove through the village of Wentworth, Anna tried to recall the pub where Victoria had taken her to dinner. Then she saw the familiar crest flapping in the wind, also at half-mast.

Anna swung into the forecourt of the Wentworth Arms and parked her car near the entrance. She walked through the reception and into the bar.

“Can you change five dollars?” she asked the barmaid. “I need to make a phone call.”