The Stolen Chalicel (17 page)

Grosvenor Street, London

J
OHN
S
INCLAIR TOSSED
the two suitcases into the entrance hall of Cordelia’s town house and fended off the slobbering advances of his dog with both hands. Kyrie was a Norwegian elkhound, a former stray. Years ago, during an excavation in Turkey, the puppy had attached itself to Sinclair. He had been skinny and near starvation, and Sinclair had nursed him back to health. They were now inseparable.

“Kyrie, down.”

He had named the puppy Kyrie—short for the Valkyries in Wagner’s opera. Sinclair had been listening to the CD the night he brought the animal home with him.

“Come here,” Cordelia said gently.

Kyrie dropped down on all fours and padded over to her.

“Look at that! You have everyone in the whole household trained.”

“Hardly,” she said with a laugh. “This place is filled with wild creatures.”

“
Wild
creatures?” he said, pulling her into his arms. “Is that what you think I am? We’ll see about
that
!”

Teterboro Airport, New Jersey

T
ED
V
ER
P
LANCK’S JET
was at quarter throttle and began to taxi onto the runway. Holly was sitting knee to knee with him, looking out at the tarmac. She’d never fly again without thinking of this private jet. Or she’d never take a yellow cab to the airport without thinking of the Bentley. His treatment of her had been positively royal!

She never even
saw
her luggage; the bag was loaded immediately from the trunk of the car into the Gulfstream G650. The crew greeted her by name and served her a glass of wine and a platter of water biscuits, fruit, and cheese. And there was no waiting—the moment she buckled in, they prepared to take off.

“We’re first in line, sir,” said a steward. “It should be only a few more minutes until we are cleared.”

Just then Ted’s cell phone rang with a discreet chime. He took the phone out of his inside jacket pocket and answered. Holly could hear someone talking rapidly on the other end. Ted cut in.

“Yes, Tipper. I told you earlier. I’ll be out of town for a few days. London.”

He listened with a resigned expression on his face and looked out the window.

“Sure, why not. Jackson Hole sounds like a good idea. Give my best to Jane and Arthur. OK. Good-bye.”

Ted hung up the phone without looking at Holly. The aircraft lifted off smoothly, and they climbed until the lights of the buildings turned
into yellow pinpricks and then faded entirely. Clouds drifted over the wing in a mist. Finally, total whiteness engulfed the plane and there was nothing more to see.

Holly turned her attention to her host. He looked very withdrawn as he gazed out the window. After they reached cruising altitude, the hostess came into the cabin.

“Dr. Graham, Mr. VerPlanck. May I offer you some dinner?”

“What do we have tonight, Angela?”

“There’s lobster bisque to start, lamb chops with wild rice and steamed snow peas. Raspberry trifle for dessert.”

“Does that sound OK? We preorder everything from a very good restaurant in New York.”

“That sounds
wonderful,
” Holly said.

Holly awoke to the gentle tap on the partition of her berth and realized she was still on Ted VerPlanck’s Gulfstream G650. She had slept soundly, almost as if she had been in her own bed.

“Dr. Graham, we’ll be landing in forty-five minutes,” the stewardess announced. “I’ll have breakfast for you when you are ready.”

“Thank you.”

Ah, what luxury! She stretched languorously underneath the covers and then reached over and slid up the window flap. There were big, fluffy clouds outside.

As tempting as it was to just lie there, Holly got up and went to the adjacent lavatory to change. Last night, the stewardess had given her a set of Egyptian cotton pajamas and told her that her clothes for today would be steam-pressed as she slept.

She was also informed that ventilation would be boosted inside her berth during the night. In the Gulfstream, the interior air was not recycled, as it was on commercial flights. In VerPlanck’s plane, new air was pumped through every ninety seconds, diminishing the ill effects of jet lag.

This morning, in the harsh light of the vanity, Holly noticed her complexion was as fresh as if she had woken up at home. She rubbed on cleanser, splashed cold water on her face, brushed her teeth, and
applied tinted moisturizer and lipstick. As promised, her newly pressed blue suit hung on the door. Finally, dressed and ready, she walked out into the main cabin.

It was empty. There was no sign of activity from VerPlanck’s sleeping berth in the forward part of the plane. All she could hear was the soft whir of the air jets on the ceiling and the tantalizing scent of fresh-brewed coffee.

Again, she was struck by the elegance of it all—the cream leather chairs, the flowers on the burled-walnut table, fresh croissants, muffins, and fruit laid out on the counter with an assortment of English jams. A hostess appeared from the back with a cup of coffee on a tray.

“Dr. Graham, we will be landing in about twenty minutes. If you would like to take a seat, I can get you your breakfast.”

“Oh, thank you very much.”

Holly accepted the coffee and added cream and sugar. She helped herself to a bran muffin, butter, and jam and turned to look out the small window at the outskirts of London.

Just then Ted VerPlanck stepped into the cabin. He was transformed into an English gentleman by a tailored, chalk-stripe suit. His shirt collar had a distinctive British width, and the rep tie was maroon and hunter green. Even his shoes were proper English wing tips.

“Good morning. I hope you slept well.”

“Yes. Wonderfully, thank you.”

She finished her coffee and replaced the cup on the tray held by the hostess. Ted waved off breakfast and the stewardess disappeared. VerPlanck seemed in a much better mood this morning.

“I really love London. I would base my company here if I could.”

“I have to admit, I don’t come here often,” Holly told him. “And when I do, I’m always in the basement of the British Museum.”

VerPlanck checked overnight e-mails as they landed while she watched him surreptitiously. Today he seemed so distinguished and solid, not as emotionally fragile. There was a new confidence about him. As they touched down, he turned to her and smiled.

“Welcome to London. Shall we go?”

They collected their coats and went to the aft door, where the flight crew was lowering the automatic steps. Ted put on his raincoat, ducking
under the frame of the cabin. He carried an umbrella for her and led the way across the tarmac. After a perfunctory customs check, they found the car waiting for them at the security gate.

“Here we are, Dr. Graham,” Ted said, gesturing for her to step in first.

Holly realized that VerPlanck had made that same gesture twelve hours before. At that time, she was accepting a ride home. And now they were standing on another continent!

London

T
RAFFIC WAS MOVING
at a glacial pace. Holly marveled at a world where these kinds of delays were inconsequential. Ted VerPlanck never needed to rush—planes took off when he was ready, meals were served when he was hungry, and meetings started when he arrived.

They drove past the verdant swath of Regent’s Park, and the limo pulled up to the solid-looking brick offices of Bristol and Overton. VerPlanck reached for the door handle but turned back to Holly.

“I forgot to tell you. I just got an e-mail from Jim Gardiner. We’re in luck. Sinclair is back home in London and will be at this meeting. He flew in last night.”

“Really?”
said Holly, feeling the flush creep into her face.

“Actually, it’s quite a coincidence that Sinclair knows my lawyer, Jim Gardiner. They were introduced through Cordelia Stapleton.”

“I met Cordelia briefly the night of the gala in New York,” Holly said.

“Yes, I met her that evening also. And we all had lunch yesterday at my apartment,” VerPlanck said as he stepped out of the car onto the sidewalk.

“So she lives in New York?”

“No. Apparently Sinclair and Cordelia have been living here in London for the past few months.”

“Oh, I had no idea they were
together.
”

Holly managed to sound casual, but her mind was in turmoil.
Sinclair was taken!
She had entirely misread his intentions. If he and
Cordelia were living together, Sinclair
couldn’t
have any romantic designs on her.

That changed everything! The only reason she had agreed to help VerPlanck was to reconnect with Sinclair. Now all she wanted to do was climb back into the car and get as far away from this meeting as possible. What a disaster! How could she bail out of this without hurting VerPlanck’s feelings?

Holly flashed a look of concern at Ted VerPlanck. Poor man. He was walking ahead, dodging puddles, and swinging his British umbrella jauntily. He finally looked cheerful now that he thought he was going to get his Sardonyx Cup back. How could she tell him she wanted out?

Manchester Street, London

J
IM
G
ARDINER SAT
in the wood-paneled office of Bristol and Overton with John Sinclair, waiting for the others to arrive. This project made him nervous. Contacting people in the netherworld of stolen art was not legal. They’d have to bargain with all kinds of international criminals.

Having Sinclair here was a great comfort—the man had such calm assurance. And he was the only person who would even
know
how to begin. His previous successes in recovering stolen artifacts were legendary in archaeological circles.

Sinclair looked unconcerned as he lounged in the high-backed leather chair. He was more focused on Gardiner’s health.

“I hope you don’t mind me asking, but how are you feeling?”

“I’m coming along pretty well,” Gardiner assured him. “A couple more weeks of physical therapy and I’ll be able to walk better.”

Of course, that was absolute
bunk
! Gardiner knew he was a physical wreck. It had been almost a year since he had ingested lethal poison in his coffee. The Russian agent had intended to kill him but failed. Even so, the single sip had left him struggling for his life.

Gardiner turned his wheelchair around to pick up a file. On good days he could walk almost normally, but on bad ones he needed the motorized chair. Today was a bad day.

“Paul says I will be ‘fit to tango in a fortnight,’ ” he joked.

Sinclair smiled a rare smile. Gardiner’s domestic partner was his
doctor, Paul Oakley. Gardiner and Oakley had met at the London hospital as Gardiner convalesced.

“How
is
Paul?”

“Great. He is up in Edinburgh doing some research on bubonic plague, if you can believe it.”

“The
plague
! Why not study the common cold or something simple?”

“You know Paul. He’s not happy unless he is tracking down an exotic contagion,” Gardiner said with a laugh.

“Do you mean the
Black
Plague?”

“Apparently there were several strains. He just helped sequence the DNA of the original Black Death.”

“That must have been fun,” Sinclair joked. “What does all that have to do with Edinburgh?”

“Paul’s been looking at the old bubonic plague sites that are still underground. Apparently a couple hundred years ago, in Edinburgh, they cleared the people out, boarded up the houses, and built a new city right on top of the old one. All the original streets are still down there.”

“How
fascinating
!”

“The only problem is, I can’t reach him most of the time. His cell phone doesn’t work underground.”

“When you get hold of him, please give him my best.”

Gardiner’s intercom buzzed, and he picked up the phone.

“Please show them in,” he said, and turned back to Sinclair. “We’re in luck. VerPlanck has managed to persuade your friend Holly Graham to join our meeting.”

“
Holly is here!
I thought she was back in New York.”

“She just flew in. Is something wrong?”

“Oh no, nothing. I just wasn’t expecting her to come to London.”

“Apparently VerPlanck’s brought her on his plane,” Gardiner said. “Personally, I think it’s better if we all talk together.”