Alex raised the knife above his head, but she had already scurried away. “I apologize, she’s not normally so—”
“There’s nothing to apologize for, Alex. She’s just like her pizzas, simply the best. But do tell me how you won the Silver Star,” she said, suddenly serious.
“The truth is, it should have been awarded to the Tank, not me.”
“The Tank?”
Alex told her everything that had happened when his unit had come across the Vietcong patrol on Bacon Hill. How the Tank had not only saved Lawrence’s life, but his as well.
“I would lo
ve to have met him,” said Anna quietly.
“I don’t suppose you’d consider…”
“Consider what?”
“Coming to Virginia with me? I’ve wanted to visit his grave for so long, and—”
“What girl could refuse such an offer?” Alex looked embarrassed. “Of course I’ll come with you.” She burst out laughing. “Why don’t we go on Sunday?”
“Lawrence has just arrived back from Europe, so I’ll have to go and see him in Boston this weekend, and tell him what Mr. Rosenthal had to say about the Warhol. But I’m free the following weekend.”
“Then it’s a date.”
* * *
Alex stepped off the train in Boston carrying an overnight case and a large carrier bag. He hailed a yellow cab and gave the driver Lawrence’s address.
As each mile passed, Alex became more and more anxious. He knew he had no choice but to tell his friend the truth.
Lawrence was standing on the top step waiting to greet his guest as the taxi drove up the long driveway and came to a halt outside the house.
“I see you’ve brought the picture back,” he said as they shook hands. “Let’s go to my study, complete the exchange, and then we can relax for the rest of the weekend.”
Alex said nothing as he followed him across the hall. When he walked into Lawrence’s study, he remained speechless.
Almost every inch of the oak-paneled walls was filled with paintings and photographs of his family and friends. Alex’s eyes settled on Nelson Rockefeller, which made Lawrence grin as he took his place behind the desk and ushered Alex into the seat opposite him.
When he unwrapped the painting, a large smile appeared on Lawrence’s face. “Welcome home, Jackie,” he said, and immediately pulled open a drawer in his desk and extracted a checkbook.
“You won’t be needing that,” said Alex.
“Why not? We made a deal.”
“Because it isn’t a Warhol. It’s a copy.”
“A copy?” Lawrence repeated in disbelief as he took a closer look at the painting.
“I’m afraid so. And that’s not my view, but the opinion of no less an authority than Nathanial Rosenthal.”
Lawrence remained calm, but said almost to himself, “How did she manage it?”
“I don’t know, but I can guess,” said Alex.
Lawrence looked at the picture. “Once again she must have known all along.” He opened his checkbook, took the top off his pen, and wrote out the figure $500,000.
“There’s no way I’m ever going to cash your check,” said Alex. “So you needn’t bother signing it.”