“Well that explains everything.”
“Almost everything,” said Anna, “because not only did Tina Adams lose her home and the boat after her brother had his throat cut by Krantz, but she also had to drop out of law school.”
“So Fenston finally crossed the wrong person.”
“And it gets better,” said Anna. “Tina changed her
name from Adams to Forster, moved to New York, took a secretarial course, applied for a temping job at the bank, and waited for Fenston’s secretary to resign—a fairly regular occurrence—before she stepped into the breach.”
“And held on to her position until she was fired last week,” Jack reminded her, as Nakamura bowed low to Arabella before climbing into the back of his limousine.
“And even better news, Stalker,” continued Anna, as she returned Mr. Nakamura’s wave. “Tina downloaded every document that might implicate Fenston onto her personal computer. She kept everything, from contracts to letters, even personal memos that Fenston thought had been destroyed when the North Tower collapsed. So I have a feeling that it won’t be that long before you can finally close the file on Mr. Bryce Fenston.”
“Thanks to you and Tina,” said Jack. He paused. “But she still lost everything.”
“Not everything,” said Anna, “because you’ll be happy to know that Arabella has given her a million dollars for the part she played in saving the Wentworth estate.”
“A million dollars?” said Jack.
“Not to mention the million pounds she’s presented to me, ‘for the labourer is worthy of his hire’ was how Arabella expressed it in her letter.”
“St. Luke,” said Jack. “ ‘And in the same house remain, eating and drinking such things as they give: for the labourer is worthy of his hire.’ ”
“Impressive,” said Anna.
“And I didn’t even get breakfast.”
“Well, perhaps I’ll take pity on you, Stalker, and let you join me for lunch in first class on the flight home.”
Jack turned to Anna and smiled. “I’d much rather you came to dinner with me on Saturday evening.”
“Your mother’s Irish stew night?” said Anna. “Now that’s better than first class. I’d certainly be up for that.”
“But before you agree, Anna, that there’s something I have to tell you,” said Jack, as Mr. Nakamura’s car disappeared down the drive and out of the gates.
“And what’s that?” asked Anna, turning back to face him.
“My mother is under the illusion that you’ve already been married three times, you have five children, not necessarily by the three husbands, four of them are on hard drugs, and the other one is currently serving a jail sentence.” He paused. “She also thinks that you work in a far older profession than art consultancy.”
Anna burst out laughing. “But what will you tell her when she discovers that none of it’s true?”
“You’re not Irish,” said Jack.