The Art of Seduction (26 page)

Mason thought back to the day they'd walked the dogs to the Belleville park. The things he'd said about her paintings…
important to the world…a responsibility we can't walk away from…

“It also shook his nerve a bit, I think. Because when he pulled himself together and tried another job, he got caught. Whether it was fate or sloppiness, I can't say. I think he suspects me of turning him in because our parting was bitter, to say the least. But though I can't prove it, I've always strongly suspected that Hank turned him in.”

“Why would Hank do that?”

“He didn't want Richard to be a thief. He had bigger plans for his boy than that. And though Richard hasn't followed him into the world of robber barons, he's been extremely valuable to Hank over the years in his capacity as a Pinkerton Agent. I wouldn't be a bit surprised if Hank had gone to the Pinkertons and
suggested
they offer him the deal they did.”

“And Richard never suspected that Hank might have done such a thing?”

“I wanted to tell him, but he'd have knocked me down if I even hinted at it. He has a blind spot about that man. For some reason, he sees everything Hank does, no matter how crooked, as being not just justified, but
noble.
”

“Did Richard ever forgive you for destroying the Poussins?”

“He wouldn't even speak to me. But that wasn't enough for Hank. You see, Hank always hated me. Before and after the Poussins, he saw me as a threat to Richard's future. So he got rid of me by putting a temptation in my path that he knew I couldn't resist. He moved mountains to match me up with one of the wealthiest men in England. A
duke,
for Christ's sake! Knowing full well that a girl like me, who'd grown up as poor as I did, couldn't possibly refuse the attentions of a man like that.”

“You married him.”

“I jumped at the chance. If there had been the slightest glimmer of hope that Richard would take me back, I would have turned down even the duke. But there wasn't and I didn't. After the glow of that golden life began to dim, I hated myself for it. I began to think if only I'd stayed and fought for Richard, in time he would have softened to me again and found some place for me in his life. It haunted me, made every day of my life an ordeal. I would have given it all back—the respectability, the position, even the wealth—for one more glorious caper with Richard.”

Emma stopped and closed her eyes. Tears were once again rolling down her cheeks.

Mason didn't want to prod her too much, but she couldn't stop now. “What I'm still trying to figure out is…this thing that drives Richard…his fanatical devotion to art…Where does it come from? What is its
source
? Do you have any clue?”

Emma straightened, sniffing. “I never thought about it.”

“He has a picture of his sister that he keeps hidden. Besides a picture of Hank, it's the only thing he's kept from his past. I wonder if it could have anything to do with her?”

“It might, because I never could get him to talk about her. He became distant when I asked, so I didn't.”

“Do you know about the nightmares?”

“His screaming terrors? Do I!”

“Did he ever tell you what they were about?”

“Not a word. I asked once and he bit my head off.”

“They're getting worse. He has one almost every night now. It kills me to see him in such pain and not be able to help him. He's being devoured by some demon, and it's driving him to do something really crazy now. I'd hoped you could tell me what the genesis of his pain is, but obviously he's kept it from you, too. Emma, I'm at my wit's end. What can I do to learn this secret so I can keep it from pushing him over the edge?”

Emma considered this carefully. “What you're trying to do is extremely difficult. Because if there is a secret that ‘explains' Richard, we can be sure there's one person who
does
know it. Hank. Hank was there from the beginning. He was his father, his confessor, his mentor, his everything. Hank has been the one constant in his life and the source of most of the security and love he's known. As long as he has that stable base that shares, protects, and understands his little secret, he doesn't need to share it with anyone else. So if you're ever to reach that private place deep in his heart, you're going to have to break that security and make Richard see Hank as what I know him to be: a totally corrupt and evil man.”

W
hen Mason returned to Belleville later that night, Richard met her at the door with concerned relief. “It's three
A.M
. Where the hell have you been?”

“I woke up and you were gone,” she responded innocently. “I was terrified something had happened. I've been out looking for you.”

He pulled her to him, hugging her close. “You scared the life out of me. Please don't do that again.”

“I won't,” she assured him. Then added, wondering if he'd tell her the truth, “Where were you?”

He stilled, then said, “I couldn't sleep so I went for a walk.”

“You scratched your face.”

“It's nothing. Come on, let's go back to bed.”

She went with him upstairs, accepting his reticence as a part of the challenge she was determined to overcome.

Richard and Juno spent most of the next day holed up in their usual brainstorming session, with their usual lack of results. But that night, what might be the long-awaited break in their dilemma came in the form of a gaunt man with a black beard who appeared at Dargelos's headquarters claiming to be a messenger from Hank Thompson.

Hank, he told them, had assembled a band of mercenaries: some fifty cutthroats, brigands, and street criminals he'd recruited mostly in London and brought over as “employees of the Thompson Holding Company.” If Dargelos could assemble fifty more men and reconnoiter with him on the Champ de Mars on the day before the retrospective opened, they could storm the pavilion and abscond with the paintings. Then it was a matter of taking a chartered train to Calais where he would have a fast ship waiting.

Dargelos demanded, “What about Lisette?”

“Mr. Thompson said nothing about that,” the messenger replied.

“The way she's being guarded, even a hundred men wouldn't be able to rescue her from Duval's clutches,” Dargelos grumbled.

“We'll figure out how to get Lisette later,” Richard promised him. “We have plenty of time. Even when the trial is over, it will be months before the sentence is carried out. In the meantime, can you help us out with the fifty men?”

Dargelos nodded. “I can do it.”

Richard turned to the messenger. “Tell Hank we're with him. Just let us know when and where to meet.”

Mason saw her opportunity. “Wait a minute,” she said, stopping the man as he was about to leave. To Richard, she added, “Don't you think we should meet Hank in person? I mean no offense, but all we have is this man's word that he's from Hank. Shouldn't we see him in person before jumping into something like this?”

“She's right, you know,” Dargelos agreed.

After a moment of deliberation, Richard said to the messenger, “It's no good having him come here. He could be followed. Better we meet somewhere else.”

Dargelos cautioned, “It is dangerous for you to go into central Paris. Your description will be in the mind of every flic on every street corner.”

“I know just the spot,” Mason said. “The Observatoire. Louis XIV's observatory. It's in its own little park in an obscure corner of Montparnasse. No one ever goes there at night.”

“Perfect. Relay that message to Hank. We'll meet him at the Observatoire at ten o'clock tomorrow night.”

 

A ghostly twilight was descending upon them as their carriage pulled up. The outline of the seventeenth century observatory was only faintly visible in the distance as Richard and Mason left the coach and walked across the surrounding park toward it. It was the oldest functioning observatory in the world, where the dimensions of the solar system had been first calculated and the planet Neptune had been discovered. A single light was on in an upper story window where some scientist was, no doubt, hard at work pondering the mysteries of the universe.

Soon, they could make out the dim forms of a group of men standing off to the side. Richard paused to observe them carefully. Then the men started toward them. “Well, it's not a trap,” Richard said happily. “I'd know that bowlegged walk anywhere.”

A voice boomed out, “That you, Buster?”

“It's me.”

They moved closer.

Hank said, “It's a fine thing when two upright citizens like ourselves have to meet like criminals in the dark.”

“I do find myself in a bit of a fix,” Richard acknowledged.

“Well, your old partner is here to get you out.”

The two men embraced. The relief and joy in Richard's manner was unmistakable. Hank kept his arm about Richard's shoulders in a paternal manner as they turned and walked a little, talking softly. Mason followed a few steps behind but didn't bother to try and enter into their conversation.

The four men who'd accompanied Hank stayed several steps behind her. They chatted among themselves in Cockney accents.

Finally, Richard and Hank seemed to be in agreement on all points. Hank stopped and turned slightly so that Mason was included. “It's gonna be tricky, there's no doubt about that. But we can do it. The most important thing we've got going for us is the element of surprise. They might be expecting something, but they sure as hell aren't goin' to expect a full frontal attack. And once we get to Calais, we'll be home clear, 'cause I'm gonna have the fastest damn ship money can buy waiting for us there.”

Mason, who'd been silent through their conversation, spoke up now. “May I ask a question?”

“Sure can, little lady.”

“Why Calais? The French Navy is in Le Havre, and you'll have to go all the way through the Channel to get past them to make your way to the Atlantic. Wouldn't it make more sense to leave from Cherbourg or even Brest?”

“That's a fair question, and I'll tell you the answer. Because the fastest damn ship money can buy is right now on its way to Calais.”

“Would that ship be the
Princess Alexandra
?” she asked.

He jerked a bit in surprise. “It is. Have you heard of it?”

“That's a Russian ship, isn't it?”

“That's right. It's bringing in a load of Russian fireworks for the Bastille Day Centennial. They're ordering all they can get from the four corners of the world, you know. Now, are there any other questions, sweet pea?”

“No, no other questions, but I do have something to say.”

In the encroaching darkness, she couldn't gauge Richard's expression, but she could feel his uneasiness with her statement.

“Oh?” said Hank in a patronizing tone. “And what is that, Amy girl?”

“There's something that other people know about this matter that you don't. I think it's time you learned it.”

She felt Richard tense beside her. “Amy,” he said pointedly. “Perhaps we shouldn't—”

“Well, don't just leave me hanging, gal. Fire away.”

She shook off Richard's cautioning hand and told Hank, “I'm not Mason Caldwell's sister Amy. I'm Mason Caldwell.”

Hank turned to Richard. “Has this filly gone loco on us, son?”

“She's telling the truth,” Richard confirmed evenly. “I didn't know it when we started.”

Before Hank could react, Mason went on, “There's something else you
both
should know. I'll be leaving your company tomorrow and leaving France. I don't care what you do with my paintings, but you can't have my identity. I'm taking that back. I'm going to Rome, where I intend to paint a picture for Signore Lugini, the world's greatest art authority, and he's going to take one look at it and know I'm the real Mason Caldwell. And not you or Inspector Duval or anyone else is going to be able to dispute him. So I'm just going to wish you luck and be on my way. Or…How do you say it in the Wild West? Happy trails?”

She turned to head back toward the waiting coach.

“Hold on there, little sister,” Hank's voice pierced the night.

She stopped and turned back to him. “Oh? You have something else to say?” There was a taunting edge to her tone.

“You're not going anywhere,” Hank told her.

“Why is that?” she asked. “Could it be that a live Mason Caldwell torpedoes your plans?”

When this was met with silence from Hank, Richard stepped between them and said, “Now, wait a minute, both of you. Let's just cool down.”

But Mason gently pushed him aside. “You stay out of this. This is between Hank and me.”

Turning to Richard, Hank ground out through his teeth, “You should a told me this, boy. This complicates matters in a most unfortunate way.”

“And why is that, Hank?” Mason resumed her attack. “If what you really want is to donate my paintings to a museum, what difference does it make if I'm alive or dead? Or could it be that's not your plan at all?”

“What are you talkin' about?” Hank snarled.

“I happen to know that you're in deep financial difficulty. Much more than you've let on to Richard or anyone else. In fact, your back is against the wall.”

“Is that true, Hank?” Richard asked.

Hank demanded of her, “How would you know anything about my personal business?”

“Juno told me months ago. I started thinking about that recently and, after your courageous proposal yesterday, asked him to wire an associate of his in Calais to do some checking. And guess what, Hank? It turns out the bill of charter you signed for the fastest damn ship money can buy distinctly states ‘Destination: St. Petersburg.'”

Mason could feel the shock jolt through Richard's body.

Hank, trying to repair the damage, spoke in a conciliatory tone. “Now, hang on everybody. Let's don't go off half-cocked here. Now, I don't care what it said, it isn't—”

Mason cut him off. “On a hunch, I also had him send a wire to St. Petersburg, asking who had recently rented some warehouse space anywhere near the home berth of the
Princess Alexandra.
And guess whose distinguished name popped up? Count Dimitri Orlaf.”

In the deepening darkness, Richard's voice was pure ice. “Is this true?”

Actually, as Hank stood there thinking how to respond, Mason had no idea if it was true. It was a bluff she'd deduced from seeing Hank and Orlaf with their heads together at the Jacquemart mansion. She held her breath. Was the bluff about to blow up in her face?

Hank stepped to Richard, took the gun from his belt, and said, “I'm afraid it's true, boy.”

“How
could
you?” Richard cried, his voice an agony.

“Like she said, my back's to the wall. One catastrophe after another, and the bill collector beating at the door. Doesn't take much. I bet high and didn't get the cards I needed. It happens. But this little deal will put me right back in the swing again. You wouldn't believe what those Russians are willing to pay for those paintings. They have more faith in the future of Impressionism than the French ever had! And you've done such a bang-up job of promoting the Caldwell brand that Russian collectors are clamoring for them. Orlaf has the connections I need to the czar and his inner circle. I have to deal with him.”

Richard could barely speak. “Hank! This can't be true!”

“It's just one of those things. Business is business, son. I've tried to teach you that.”

“And business,” Mason cut in, “won't be very good when Orlaf and company find out I'm not dead, will it?”

“Sad to say, little sister, you're right on the money.”

Richard couldn't quite comprehend what was happening. “Then…What? You're going to kill her?”

“It's not that I want to, son. It's the last thing I want to do. But what choice do I have?”

At that, Mason reached into her handbag and removed the pistol Dargelos had provided her. She thrust it into Richard's hand. He raised it to Hank's face and the four thugs suddenly drew their weapons in response.

“Hold on,” Hank bellowed, holding his hands in the air. “Let's don't any of us do anything stupid here.”

Richard's arm was shaking, but he kept the pistol aimed at Hank's head. “You're not going to do this, Hank.”

“Then you better go ahead and pull that trigger. Because if this deal falls through, I'm as good as dead anyway. But you know, I don't think you want to kill your old partner after all we've been through together. After all I've done for you. Hell, boy, I'm the closest thing you got to family.”

Richard kept the gun leveled at him, but his hand was trembling badly now. His thumb pulled back on the hammer. It was so quiet they heard it click.

But suddenly, he lowered the gun and shoved Hank into the four men who were still bunched behind him with their weapons drawn; then he grabbed Mason and pulled her in the direction of their coach. They ran. A shot rang out over their heads. Hank's voice roared, “Don't hit
him
. Aim for the girl.”