“What’s the news from your Russian buyer?” I asked.
“I’ve decided to head in another direction.” He held up a bottle of scotch. “Can I offer you something?”
“I’ll have a drop,” I said.
Miranda nodded.
He poured our drinks then passed them to us.
After a gulp of liquor, I said, “I’m taking the art back. I’m going through Sotheby’s.”
“Oh, you’ll lose a few million that way,” he replied.
“Small change.”
“I’ve got a French buyer. She’s booked a flight and should be here in a day. I’ll drop my commission to seven percent.” Florian raised his eyebrows.
“The office is bare. What have you done with the paintings and furniture?” Miranda asked.
“I’m having the room repainted,” he said.
“Where are the works stored?” she asked. “You haven’t been very easy to track down. You haven’t returned any of my calls.”
I nodded. “I had to resort to threats, which…” I pointed into his face. “Are real. I just need to make a call. My father had some pretty nasty contacts.”
Miranda turned quickly toward me and frowned. I squeezed her hand gently to reassure her.
“I’ll call my client now,” Florian said, rubbing his nose. “She can talk to you.” He picked up his phone and spoke to someone in French. Then he handed the phone over to me, and I gestured for Miranda to take it instead.
“She could be anyone,” I said.
“She isn’t just anyone.” His eyes brightened under his black-rimmed specs.
“Do you mind talking to her?” I asked Miranda.
While she took the call, I led Florian to the other side of the office and said, “I need proof. I don’t trust you. You’ve had us on the hop for nearly three weeks.”
“Do I need to remind you I have my reputation to uphold?”
“That’s why I dealt with you in the first place. I just don’t like the fact that you’ve been giving me the run around.”
He rubbed his bald head. “Please accept my apologies. I’ve been dealing with a few personal issues.”
Miranda ended the call and said, “I know of that family’s collection. She’s a Rothschild.”
“And?” I shrugged.
“Madeline Rothschild boasts one of the biggest modern art collections in Europe.”
“Okay. So is she to be trusted?”
Florian chuckled. “Hey. She’s got an even bigger reputation to uphold than I do.”
“How do I know she’s not a fake?” I asked. “Take me to the paintings.”
He asked us to follow him, and we entered a dark room, and a dim light came on.
Florian opened a vault. “Here.”