Death and Restoration (5 page)

“I don’t think …”

“Or I could just give you my itinerary for tomorrow, so you’d know where to go if you lost me. It’s so ridiculous, your trying to be discreet.”

“Listen …”

“What, my dear? What’s your name, by the way?”’

“Giulia Contestanti.”

“What a nice name.”

“Thank you. But this won’t do.”

“Why not?”’

“Because it won’t.”

“Oh, I’m not meant to know you’re following me, is that right? Don’t worry”—Mary leaned forward in a conspiratorial whisper—”I won’t tell. Promise. Do I take it that you don’t want to come for a drink?”’

“No, I don’t.”

“Pity. Oh, well. I’m off to bed. I’ll be up at about seven and I’ll leave when the shops open. You’ll find me pottering up and down the via Condotti most of the morning. I need a new pair of shoes. I promise not to wave when I see you. It can be our little secret, eh? Good night, my dear.”

And, leaving the poor girl red-faced with embarrassment, Mary Verney went to bed.

4

Argyll was in a sulky mood the next morning, and sat sullenly over his toast when Flavia came into the little kitchen after her shower. She peered at him to assess his mood, made herself a coffee and sat down.

A long silence followed.

“What’s up with you?”’ she asked eventually.

“Nothing.”

“Yes, there is.”

He chewed his toast for a moment, then nodded. “You’re right. There is. Why did you invite that woman for a drink?”’

“Mary Verney? I thought you liked her.”

“No.”

“Business.”

“What sort of business?”’

“A warning shot. Just so that she knows we are aware of her presence. I’ve been meaning to ask you about her.”

Argyll sniffed cautiously.

“Do I conclude that she wasn’t quite as innocent as my report said over the Giotto thefts?”’

Argyll gave a hesitant nod. “Since you ask,” he began reluctantly, “I suppose I should tell you …”

But she held up her hand. “No doubt. But it might be better if you didn’t. We got the pictures back and closed the case to everybody’s satisfaction. If she was more involved and knew more than she let on then it might be better to pass over it in silence. If you tell me anything else, I’d be obliged to report it. That is the way it stands, isn’t it?”’

He nodded.

“But if I suggested that she was as crooked as a corkscrew, you wouldn’t feel obliged to leap to defend her good name?”’

He shook his head.

“Thought so. I was never entirely convinced by her story.”

“You weren’t?”’

“No. But we did get the pictures back, and that was all I was interested in. Keep the rest to yourself. But she may not be here simply on a holiday.”

Argyll shrugged. “I really don’t know,” he said cautiously. “As far as I can see she has more than enough money. And her complaints about being too old had an air of truth to them. What are you going to do about her?”’

“Nothing. Except watch her every step, bug her phone, read her mail and never let her out of our sight.”

“Which she will spot.”

“That’s the idea … She assures me she is here on holiday. Maybe she is. I just want to be certain.”

“Is that why you were late the other night as well?”’

She sighed. So that was why he was grumpy. In abstract she sympathized. In practice, she wished he had a bit more sympathy for her. What was she meant to do about it? Stay at home while things got stolen all around her?

“No,” she said patiently. “That was something else. We had a tip-off about a possible raid. On a monastery. I had to go down and warn them. I don’t like it, either, you know. But we’re short of people ever since …”

“I know. Budget cuts.”

“Well, it’s true. I don’t hang around street corners at night for my own pleasure, you know.”

“I’m glad to hear it. Oh, well. I’m used to it, I suppose.”

“Don’t be so long-suffering.”

“I am long-suffering.”

“And don’t be crabby, either. That’s my job. I’m a bit fed up too, you know.”

“Oh? Why’s that?”’

“Bottando’s going.”

“Where?”’

“Going. Just going. He’s been promoted. Against his will. It’s that or being demoted, it seems.”

Argyll put down his toast suddenly. “Good God. That’s sudden, isn’t it? What happened?”’

“A coup detat, I think. But he’s going in two months. To head some useless Euro-initiative, which will probably result in art theft doubling over the next few years.”

“You sound very certain. Isn’t he going to do anything about it?”’

“Apparently not. He says there’s nothing he can do.”

“Goodness. So who takes over?”’

“He remains nominally in charge. But he’s offered the day-to-day running to me. If, that is, I don’t want to go with him.”

“Do you want to run the place?”’

“I don’t know. Do I want everything to depend on me and be responsible for operations? I don’t think I do. Do I want to work for Paolo, or someone brought in from outside? No. Not that either.”

“You want things to stay as they are.”

She nodded.

“And they’re not going to. What will you do?”’

She shrugged. “I haven’t thought about it.”

“What would going with him involve?”’

“Sitting in an office from nine to five, organizing. Home every evening at six. No rushing around late at night. Vast amounts of money, tax free.”

He nodded. “Every sensible person’s dream, right?”’

“Yes.”

He nodded again as he turned this over in his mind. “Hmm. Do you want to do it?”’

“I’d get to spend more time with you.”

“Not what I asked.”

“Oh, Jonathan, I don’t know. I suppose you think I should go for the quiet life.”

“I didn’t say that. Obviously I wouldn’t mind seeing you every now and then.”

“I thought so.”

“But if you go with Bottando you could end up in a dead-end, boring job which drives you crazy, money or no. When do you have to decide?”’

“He’s given me a week.”

“In that case you should think about it for a week. And so will I. So let’s change the subject. This monastery. Did you fend off the criminal classes? Which monastery was it, anyway?”’

“San Giovanni. On the Aventino.”

He nodded. “I know it.”

“Really?”’ The things he knew about this city never ceased to amaze her. She had never heard of the place before.

“It’s got a dodgy Caravaggio in it.”

“Under restoration.”

“Ah. Who’s doing it?”’

“A man called Dan Menzies. Ever heard of him?”’

Argyll nodded fervently. “The Rottweiler of Restoration.”

“So it’s worth a lot of money?”’

“If it’s a Caravaggio, and if Menzies hasn’t repainted it as a Monet, yes. And the subject matter is a bit gloomy for your average buyer of stolen works of art, as I recall.”

“What is it?”’

“The breaking of St Catherine on the Wheel. A bit morbid. And good evidence for it not being by Caravaggio. He didn’t take to women much. These private collectors usually go for the more cheerful stuff, don’t they? Sunflowers and Impressionists, and all that sort of thing. Baroque religion doesn’t look so well in the dining room. Puts people off their food, in fact. Besides, it’s probably quite big. Getting it out would need a removal truck, I’d imagine.”

“So what’s the story on Menzies?”’

“None that I know of. Very loud, bellows away so you can hear him from miles off, but it may be that his bark is worse than his bite. I’ve never met him. More than that I can’t say. You think he’s in cahoots with someone, do you? Tipped them off the picture is out of its frame so they can sweep in and roll it up.”

She shrugged. “No. But if someone is going to pinch that picture, and would want to hit it before it goes back on its stretcher, they’d have to know when the best moment would be to go in.”

“Better put a tail on Menzies, then. Tap his phone, that sort of thing.”

“We don’t have the people.”

The first thing Flavia had to deal with when she arrived was Giulia, who brought her crisis of confidence with her into the office. This did at least make her forget about major career decisions. “Oh, stop making such a fuss,” she said crossly, when Giulia recounted her meeting in the cafe with Mrs Verney and then burst into tears. “It happens, and it’s partly my fault for not telling you that she’s a bit more complicated than she looks. Now stop making that noise.”

Flavia paused for a moment when she realized how very much like Bottando she must sound to the poor girl. Except that Bottando would have managed to be a bit more avuncular, which was quite beyond her range. Naturally Giulia was upset; it was more or less the first time she’d been allowed out of the office since she’d arrived after her initial training; she wasn’t very good yet and to have her nose rubbed in the fact like that must have been distressing.

“You go and recover yourself by writing the reports for a day, and then maybe you can have another go. It’s just a knack. Don’t worry about it. Who’s following her at the moment?”’

“No one.”

“Oh, for God’s sake.” She stood up and reached for her bag.

“Where is she? In her hotel?”’

Giulia looked at her watch. “She said she was going shopping, and we could find her in the via Condotti most of the morning.”

Grumbling to herself that this was a ludicrous way of running a police force, Flavia walked out of the office to fill the gap. Tell Bottando, she said, to find someone to take over at lunch. If he’s around. She’d ring in later to say where she was.

She tracked Mary Verney down in a shoe shop, as she was trying on a pair of fairly expensive shoes. The wince on her face suggested they were not perfect.

“You’ve taken over watching me for the morning?”’ Mary said when she attracted Flavia’s attention with a wave.

“Faute de mieux. I have.”

“Splendid. I hope you are not going to pretend you don’t know me.”

“It was very unkind of you to do that last night,” Flavia observed gravely. “Poor girl was in tears this morning. She’s only young, you know.”

“I am sorry,” Mary Verney said, with every sign of meaning it. “I was in a bad mood and felt like kicking someone. She was the only person available. I shall apologize later. But I could say that it was unkind of you to put a tail on me like that. Personally, I felt I deserved better.”

“No. Arresting you would have been unkind. Keeping an eye on you is merely sensible.”

“At least we don’t have to play hide and seek all morning. If you’re with me, you can help. You dress so much better than I do. I need a nice coat. Nothing fancy, you know. Or too expensive. Something fitting my age and the Norfolk countryside. One doesn’t want to stand out too much. What do you suggest?”’

Flavia recommended a place which her mother visited on the rare occasions she came to Rome. She was a touch stouter than Mrs Verney, and a little older, but very much more vain as well. It would be a place to start. She led the way, once Mrs Verney had tried on a few more pairs of shoes and given up the attempt to find something which matched comfort and elegance. Such things are hard to find.

“Such an expensive city,” she said as they walked up the street. “I don’t know how you do it, dear. After all, you aren’t paid very much, I imagine.”

“We manage.”

“I was so glad to see that you and Jonathan are still together. When did you say you were getting married?”’

“The autumn. That’s the idea.”

“I am so pleased. I suppose it’s too much to expect an invitation?”’

“Probably.”

She sighed sadly. “I thought as much. Are you terribly cross with me?”’

“No. But only because I’ve taken care not to find out officially what it is I should be cross about. Otherwise I would be.”

“But you don’t trust me any more.”

Flavia grinned. Mary Verney was quite impossible to dislike for long. “Not an inch, no. I don’t know what you are doing here. It may be that the story you have told me is the gospel truth. Even thieves have to have holidays, after all. But I have my doubts.”

“It’s my own fault. However, this time I am being totally reliable. That I can guarantee.”

So they spent the rest of the morning shopping, Mary Verney buying a coat, with which she pronounced herself delighted, a pair of shoes which she didn’t need but couldn’t resist because they were so comfortable, and a leather handbag which was absurdly expensive but so awfully pretty. Then she led the way to a restaurant where they had a slow but (flavia had to admit) very enjoyable lunch and she had a small brandy while Flavia went out to phone for a replacement. This wasn’t quite the discreet surveillance she’d had in mind, but it was too late to do anything about that now. So she thought she might as well avoid making her manning problems worse, and removed Giulia from report writing.

“Oh, don’t bother about that,” she said wearily when Giulia asked where she should pick up the trail. “We’re in Also Moro. Just come straight in.”

Then she went back to the table to find Mary Verney looking impish. She’d paid the bill for both of them.

“Look, do you want me to be had up for corruption or something? We’ve had the spooks all over us recently. I told you …”

“It’s just a bill. But rather a big one. Don’t worry. Your name isn’t on anything. My treat.”

“I don’t want treats.”

“But you deserve one. You have just spent three hours taking me shopping, after all …”

“It was a pleasure.”

“Shall we go?”’

“No. We have to wait for Giulia. She will be your escort for the afternoon.”

“How lovely! This is the way to travel. I should have thought of this years ago.”

“We don’t make a habit of it. Ah, here’s Giulia,” she went on as the trainee arrived and crept cautiously up to their table, a worried frown of uncertainty on her face.

“I fear I owe you an apology, Giulia. Flavia was very cross with me for the inconsiderate way I behaved last night.”

“Oh, that’s all right,” said the surprised, but well-brought-up, trainee.

“Splendid. Now, you go back to work, Flavia. And Giulia and I will have a lovely afternoon together. I thought I might visit some old art-dealing friends of mine. Some of them are a bit … perhaps, Giulia, you wouldn’t mind being my niece for the afternoon? We don’t want to frighten anybody, do we?”’