“I don’t want it to take that long.”
“What do you have in mind?”
“A week.”
Hughes sighed. “I’m concerned about the optics. These are two important paintings, and Sam can’t seem to be in a rush. He’ll likely have more than one buyer for them and he’ll want to play the buyers against one another, get the highest price we can. Besides, the longer it takes, the better it will look.”
“Why don’t the two of you come up with a story saying you contacted him about them several months ago. That’s feasible, no?”
“Yes, it is possible.”
“You could say it was then that you sent him the detailed photos, copies of the provenance, and whatever else, short of his having actual physical possession of the paintings. Couldn’t that shorten his timeline?”
“Are you always this creative?” he asked as their food arrived.
They ate silently, the wine, as she had predicted, extending to a second bottle. Ava hoped Hughes was concentrating on ways to meet her deadline. Her thoughts turned to Uncle. There was no way she could tell him how she intended to reclaim the money. As he got older he was becoming more and more cautious, and he might not approve of her involving them and the Wongs — however far removed — in a fraud, even if to correct the first fraud. So Ava would have to go it alone on this one. In all their years together, she had never barefaced lied to him, although she had once in a while withheld information. She hoped he wouldn’t push her too hard to find out exactly how she had come up with the money. Uncle had often said that he trusted her judgement when it came to making big decisions. This was a time when she’d run with that trust.
“How is your fish?” Glen Hughes asked, spiking her thoughts.
“As good as last time,” she said, and noticed that he had made quick work of his wagyu. When he was done, he waited for her to finish, his impatience beginning to show. She suspected he was anxious to call Sam Rice.
“You can leave anytime,” she said.
“We’re finished?”
“I am.”
“You don’t want anything in writing? You seemed keen enough to get my brother to put his foibles on paper.”
“Between Maurice O’Toole and Edwin I have everything I need to ensure your continuing co-operation.”
“Our agreement?”
“The last thing I want on paper.”
“So that’s it?”
“No, not quite,” Ava said, dipping into her bag. “We’ll need to keep in touch. My cellphone number and email address are on that card. Let me know how your conversation goes with Sam Rice, and keep me up to date on the timeline. Don’t be surprised if I contact you now and then as well. When the paintings are eventually sold and the money is in your possession, I’ll give you details of the bank account where I want it sent.”
“You’re leaving New York?”
“That’s the plan, unless you think there’s a need for me to be here.”
“No, I’ll handle things.”
“I’m counting on it,” Ava said.
Hughes called for the bill. With the tip, Ava figured it would be close to a thousand dollars. Adding in her spa treatment and two nights at the hotel, she had put more than $3,500 into the Mandarin Oriental’s till. Thank God for expense accounts, she thought.
They walked out of the restaurant together as heads swivelled in their direction. “We are a striking couple,” Hughes said.
“You’re the attraction,” Ava said. “I’m just the sideshow.”
(30)
Ava waited until nine thirty before calling Uncle. By then she figured he’d be eating breakfast with his cronies at one of the many restaurants that surrounded his apartment in Kowloon, and would be unable to question her in any great detail. Her objective was simple: tell him what he and the Wongs wanted to hear, go to bed, and get a morning flight out of New York for Toronto. After that it was up to Sam Rice and Glen Hughes.
So Ava was surprised when Lourdes answered his cellphone. “He isn’t well, Ava,” she said. “He woke with a fever and went back to bed.”
“Have him call me when he gets up. Tell him it’s important.”
She groaned — she had been primed.
The wine was now having an effect on her. She lay on the bed fully clothed and turned on the television. She had gotten no more than five minutes into a reality show before she fell asleep.
She woke up suddenly, the duvet wrapped clumsily around her, with an urgent need to pee. She stumbled to the bathroom with no real sense of time or place. It wasn’t until she came back into the bedroom and saw the clock that Ava realized she had slept in her clothes for eight and a half hours.
She checked her cellphone. No calls. What’s going on with Uncle? she thought.
She took off her shirt and slacks and climbed back into bed in her panties and bra. The duvet was still warm. She dozed, her mind flitting back and forth between the deal she’d struck with Glen Hughes and all the things that could go wrong. After half an hour she hauled herself out of bed and called Hong Kong.
Lourdes again answered Uncle’s phone. “He had food poisoning, I think. He’s spent all day between the bathroom and the bed. He’s just putting on some clothes to go out for dinner, so he must feel a little better. Hold on.”
“ Wei,” the familiar voice said a few minutes later.
“Food poisoning?”
“I ate some raw oysters last night. Not so good.”
“Take better care of yourself.”
“I try,” Uncle said, his voice sounding weak. “Lourdes said you called earlier.”
“It’s about the Wong matter,” Ava said. “It’s resolved.”
She had been in his apartment many times. In her mind’s eye she could see him leaning back in his old armchair, his feet not quite touching the ground, a small table to his right layered with newspapers and racing forms, the phone held to his ear. “Resolved?”
Ava realized the word was far too vague. “I got the money,” she said.
“How much of it?” he asked. There was anticipation, some pleasure in his voice.
“I think I have all of it — seventy million or so. I won’t know until we finalize all the liquidations of assets and the transfers, but I think I’m close.”
She heard him breathe deeply and knew he was already calculating their commission and planning his phone call to the Wongs. She had listened to him make such calls before. Low-key, slow-paced, building towards a climax, the good news hinted at, then delivered only when the massive scale of the task had been explained. Uncle made every successful job sound as if they had performed a miracle. He could have been an actor. And then she thought, Maybe he is.
“Ava, this is remarkable,” he said.
“Hughes was co-operative. The leverage we had through the other paintings scared him. We could have destroyed his reputation, set the animals loose on him, and probably have caused him to go to prison, or worse.”
“I am surprised he still has the money,” Uncle said. “Usually this type of person squanders much of it.”
“Lucky — we were lucky,” Ava said carefully. “It isn’t all in one place, though, and liquidating some assets and arranging the transfers will be a challenge. But I’ve already started the process, and in a week or two — maybe two, to be on the safe side — everything should be done.”
“Are you certain about the amounts?”
“Yes, within ten percent or so.”
