“Maria was just telling me, darling, about the trouble she’s been having with her daughter Béatrice.”
“She can’t be worse than Marcel,” said Duval, sitting on the edge of the bed.
“But I thought you told me this would be your first child?” said Maria, looking puzzled.
“Dominic has a son by his first wife,” said Anna quickly, “who tragically died of cancer, which I think is one of the reasons for Marcel’s problems.”
“Oh, I’m so sorry,” said Maria.
“I think I’m feeling a little better now,” said Anna, slowly sitting up and lowering her feet onto the carpet. “You’ve been so kind. I don’t know how to thank you.” She rose unsteadily and, with Maria’s support, began walking slowly toward the door, while Duval knelt on the bed and straightened the Dalí. His third risk. He caught up with them just in time to open the door.
“I’ll go ahead and make sure the van door is open,” he said—not part of the well-rehearsed script—and he was only halfway down the stairs when he saw Rosenthal and Pierre still in the hallway.
“Where’s the Warhol?” Pierre demanded.
“To hell with the Warhol,” said Duval. “We’re out of here.”
Pierre left quickly, followed by Rosenthal, cursing under his breath.
When Anna and Maria reached the hallway a few moments later, they found Duval standing by the front door, one hand resting on a crate.
“Thank you for being so kind to my wife,” he said. “Here’s the package I was asked to deliver, along with a letter for Mrs. Lowell.”
“I’ll see madame gets them both as soon as she returns,” said Maria.
Duval took Anna gently by the arm and led her out of the house to find the passenger door of the van already open. It was the little details that Rosenthal was so good at.
As the van moved slowly down the drive, Duval wondered if Maria would find it strange that they had used such a large van to deliver one picture.
“Any problems, Anna?” said Rosenthal from the back of the van.
“Other than being pregnant, having two husbands, neither of whom I’m married to, and a stepson I’ve never even met, nothing in particular.”
“Remember to drive slowly, Dominic,” said Rosenthal. “We mustn’t forget that we have precious cargo on board.”
“How thoughtful of you,” said Anna, touching her stomach.
Rosenthal had the grace to smile, as Anna leaned out of the window and waved good-bye to Maria. She waved back, a puzzled look on her face.
35
ALEX
Boston
Alex arrived at the bank so early the following morning that Errol hadn’t yet taken up his post, and the night security guard had to let him in. Someone else who needed to be convinced that he was the new chairman.
He went up in the elevator alone, and when he stepped out into the corridor on the twenty-fourth floor, he was amused to see that Miss Robbins had left her light on. Fuelish, he would tease her. He opened the door, intending to switch the light off, only to be greeted with, “Good morning, chairman.”
“Good morning,” said Alex, not missing a beat. “Have you been here all night?”
“No, sir, but I wanted to bring the mail up to date before you arrived.”
“Anything interesting?”
“There’s one letter and a package I thought you ought to see immediately. They’re on the top of the pile on your desk.”
“Thank you,” said Alex, curious to discover what Miss Robbins considered interesting. He walked into his office to find the promised mountain of mail awaiting him.