A Glancing Light

'Like what?'

'Like where did it come from in the first place? Nobody's reported it missing.'

'Maybe it wasn't stolen. Maybe he bought it from somebody but couldn't get it legally out. Maybe—'

'And what was that business with the Rubens all about? How did he get hold of that? And if this is all a scam, how do you explain his giving us the $150,000? I wish we'd get taken in by a scam like that every week.'

'Okay,' I said wearily, 'you're right. I don't know what the answers are. I can't figure out what's going on.'

'Nothing's going on, at least not the way you mean. When will you be back in Seattle?'

'Monday. I'm all wrapped up here, but I'm catching a noon plane to Sicily tomorrow to pin things down with Ugo Scoccimarro.'

'Fine, good. See you then.'

'Don't spend that whole hundred and fifty thousand in Japan, Tony. Remember, we're buying that Boursse from Ugo. Sixty thousand.'

'Absolutely. A deal's a deal. And Chris—I can still hear those gears spinning in your head. Forget about scams, will you, and just concentrate on business. All right?'

'Right,' I said. 'See you next week.'

The coffee had already been delivered and begun to cool by the time I hung up. I drank mine and ate a couple of the orange-flavored biscotti that had come with it, while I filled Calvin in on the parts of the conversation he'd missed.

'I thought you said,' he told me, 'that there couldn't be any big-time artist's work underneath.'

'Well, Terbrugghen's only recently gotten to be a big name Until lately he hardly got any attention. You don't find him in the standard art history texts until the sixties or even the seventies. Whoever forged the van Eyck could easily have painted over it back then, just wanting the panel itself, and an authentic old ground to work on. The Terbrugghen itself would have been next to worthless.'

'Is that what you think happened?'

'I don't know. I've been instructed twice today, by two authority figures on two continents, to mind my own business. I think maybe that's what I'd better do.'

Calvin leaned back and stretched. 'Fascinating. Well, I guess I'll call it a night.'

'Early for you, isn't it?'

'Yeah, but I have to get up early. This girl I met at the museum is driving me up to the Riviera for the weekend. Her folks have a beach house in Portofino. Hey, have fun in Sicily, and I'll see you back in Seattle.'

Chapter 14

 This girl I met at the museum is driving me up to the Riviera for the weekend.

How, I wondered glumly, did the guy do it? I'd been at the museum most of the afternoon myself and nobody'd invited me on any weekend jaunts. I hadn't even spoken to a woman. I didn't remember even seeing a woman But Calvin had seen, spoken, and conquered (had he used his nifty little pocket translator?), and tomorrow he was off to the Riviera with her.

Life was like that for him back home, too. In Seattle I'd attributed it to his Porsche, but he didn't have his Porsche here, so it wasn't that. I don't mean to say there's anything wrong with Calvin; looks and brains aren't everything and he's a nice enough guy in his own way, but I just couldn't understand why he seemed to turn up at every show reception with a new woman, while I came alone. And left alone.

Since Anne and I had broken up I'd been in a funk as far as females were concerned. Oh, there'd been a few, but I just didn't seem to have the energy anymore, or maybe it was the patience, for the get-acquainted routine: the games, the goofy questions, the tedious self-histories ('So—now tell me about you'). I suppose if I'd stuck with it I might have met somebody, but the chances were so slim—the number of normal- looking, superficially rational screwballs wandering around had astonished me—that it just didn't seem worth the effort.

With Anne it had been different: no games, no goofy conversations. I still had no idea what her sign was. There had just been a sweet, growing appreciation and attachment, a sense when I was with her that the world was a pretty fine place after all. Until that miserable episode in San Francisco had turned everything sour.

But now, back in Europe where we'd met and things had gone so well for us, San Francisco no longer seemed to overshadow everything. There had been extenuating circumstances. Making an end to a ten-year marriage, no matter how rotten, was unlikely to bring out the best in anybody. So there'd been a few bad days. Anne had never thrown them up to me; I was the one who'd made all the fuss at the time, and I was the one who was still making a fuss about them. She'd even called me, and here I was, still dithering.

      Now look, Norgren, I said, you know you're going to call her back, so instead of cerebralizing for the next hour, why not save yourself the time and the angst and just do it? The hell with what Louis might think about it.

And so I did. I got out my address book and dialed her number at the U.S. Army installation at Berchtesgaden. Finally.

'Hello?'

She had answered promptly on the first ring, startling me into a tongue-tied panic. I almost hung up. It occurred to me I could have done with a few more minutes of cerebralizing. Stricken mute, I stood there with the telephone at my ear.

After a moment she spoke again, softly. 'Chris?'

That tentative, quiet syllable flowed over me like warm, perfumed water. The tension drained out of my neck. My shoulders unhunched. I sat down heavily on the bed. 'God, it's good to hear your voice.'

The next twenty minutes were a blur of laughter and explanations, of cut-off sentences as we both tried to talk at once, of catching up with each other and trying to find our old familiar groove again. Then, gradually, the momentum slowed. We caught our breath.

'I've wanted to call a hundred times,' I said.

'I know. Me too.'

'It's just . . . well, I felt so bad about the way things went.'

'We picked a rotten time to get together, that's all. It was my lousy idea, if you remember.'

'It wasn't a lousy idea, it was a good idea. I was lousy company.'

'You were awful company. Where are you calling from, Chris? Are you still in Europe?'

'I've been here all week.' Briefly I told her about the show I was working on, omitting several of the more colorful experiences of the last few days. 'I only got your message last night.'

'When do you go back?'

'Monday—'

'Monday!'

That little cry of dismay did me a lot of good. Until then, I hadn't been sure if she wanted to see me again, or if that initial call to say hello had been a civilized way of saying good-bye.

'I'm in Bologna right now,' I told her, 'but I'm going down to Sicily for the weekend. Is there any chance you could come, too? You'd like Ugo, and he'd love to have you. And I don't have that much to do; we'd have some time to ourselves. Maybe drive around and see some of the island.' I held my breath.

'Ah, Chris, I'd love to, but I can't. I'm tied up all weekend with a NATO subcommittee meeting in Rotterdam, at the Naval Institute. Things are like a zoo right now. Damn.'

'Look,' I said 'I'm supposed to leave for home Monday morning, but I can shift it to Monday night. Will you