False Impression

Anna replaced the receiver, appalled by how easily she could now lie. She was also becoming aware just how simple it must have been for Fenston to deceive her.

She drove out of the Wentworth Arms car park, aware that everything now depended on Ruth Parish being in her office. Once she reached the orbital road, Anna remained in the slow lane as she went over all the things that could go badly wrong. Was Ruth aware that she had been fired? Had Fenston told her she was dead? Would Ruth accept her authority to make such a crucial decision? Anna knew that there was only one way she was going to find out. She even considered calling Ruth, but decided any prior warning would only give her more time to check up. If she was to have any chance at all, she needed to take Ruth by surprise.

Anna was so deep in thought as she considered every possibility that she nearly missed her exit for Heathrow. Once she had turned off the M25, she drove on past the signs for terminals one, two, three and four, and headed for the cargo depots just off the Southern Perimeter Road.

She parked her car in a visitor’s space directly outside the offices of Art Locations. She sat in the car for some time, trying to compose herself. Why didn’t she just drive off? She didn’t need to become involved or even consider taking such a risk. She then thought about Victoria and the role she had unwittingly played in her death. “Get on with it, woman,” Anna said out loud. “They either know or they don’t, and if they’ve already been tipped off, you’ll be back in the car in less than two minutes.” Anna looked in the mirror. Were there any giveaway signs? “Get on with it,” she admonished herself even more firmly, and finally opened the car door. She took a deep breath as she strolled across the tarmac toward the entrance of the building.

She pushed through the swing doors and came face-to-face with a receptionist she’d never seen before. Not a good start.

“Is Ruth around?” Anna asked cheerily, as if she popped by the office every day.

“No, she’s having lunch at the Royal Academy to discuss the upcoming Rembrandt exhibition.”

Anna’s heart sank.

“But I’m expecting her back at any moment.”

“Then I’ll wait,” Anna said with a smile.

She took a seat in reception. She picked up an out-of-date copy of Newsweek, with Al Gore on the cover, and flicked through the pages. She found herself continually looking up at the clock above the reception desk, watching the slow progress of the minute hand: 3:10, 3:15, 3:20.

Ruth finally walked through the door at 3:22 P.M. “Any messages?” she asked the receptionist.

“No,” replied the girl, “but there is a lady waiting to see you.”

Anna held her breath as Ruth swung around.

“Anna,” she exclaimed. “It’s good to see you.” First hurdle crossed. “I wondered if you’d still be on this assignment after the tragedy in New York.” Second hurdle crossed. “Especially when your boss told me that Mr. Leapman would be coming across to collect the picture personally.” Third hurdle crossed. No one had told Ruth she was missing, presumed dead.

“You look a bit pale,” continued Ruth. “Are you all right?”

“I’m fine,” said Anna, stumbling over the fourth hurdle, but at least she was still on her feet, even if there were another six hurdles to cross before the finish line.

“Where were you on the eleventh?” asked Ruth with concern. “We feared the worst. I would have asked Mr. Fenston, but he never gives you a chance to ask anything.”

“Covering a sale in Amsterdam,” Anna replied, “but Karl Leapman called me last night and asked me to fly over and double-check that everything was in place, so that when he arrives all we have to do is load the picture onto the plane.”

“We’re more than ready for him,” said Ruth testily, “but I’ll drive you across to the warehouse and you can see for yourself. Just hang on for a minute. I need to see if I’ve had any calls and let my secretary know where I’m going.”

Anna paced anxiously up and down, wondering if Ruth would call New York to check her story. But why should she? Ruth had never dealt with anyone else in the past.

Ruth was back within a couple of minutes. “This just arrived on my desk,” she said, handing Anna an e-mail. Anna’s heart sank. “Confirming that Mr. Leapman is scheduled to land around seven, seven thirty, this evening. He expects us to be waiting on the runway, ready to load the painting, as he’s hoping to turn round in less than an hour.”

“That sounds like Leapman,” said Anna.

“Then we’d better get moving,” said Ruth, as she began walking toward the door.

Anna nodded her agreement, followed her out of the building, and jumped into the passenger seat of Ruth’s Range Rover.

“Terrible business, Lady Victoria,” said Ruth, as she swung the car around and headed for the south end of the cargo terminal. “The press are making a real meal of the murder—mystery killer, throat cut with a kitchen knife—but the police still haven’t arrested anyone.”

Anna remained silent, the words throat cut and mystery killer reverberating in her mind. Was that why Arabella told her that she was a brave woman?

Ruth pulled up outside an anonymous-looking concrete building, which Anna had visited several times in the past. She checked her watch: 3:40 P.M.

Ruth flashed a security pass to the guard, who immediately unlocked the three-inch steel door. He accompanied them both down a long, gray concrete corridor that always felt like a bunker to Anna. He stopped at a second security door, this time with a digital pad. Ruth waited for the guard to stand back before she entered a six-digit number. She pulled open the heavy door, allowing them to enter a square concrete room. A thermometer on the wall indicated a temperature of 20 degrees centigrade.

The room was lined with wooden shelves, which were stacked with pictures waiting to be transported to different parts of the world, all packed in Art Locations’s distinctive red boxes. Ruth checked her inventory before walking across the room and looking up at a row of shelves. She tapped a crate showing the number 47 stenciled in all four corners.