Mitch got up and pretended to stare at Arnaz?s behind. ?How did you get it back on again??
Peter laughed. ?Mitch, don?t get manic again.?
Amaz went on: ?It was a brilliant operation. And the forgeries were good. I happened to see the van Gogh in Claypole?s last week. I almost bought it.?
?I suppose it?s safe for you to come here,? Peter said thoughtfully.
?I think so. Besides, it?s necessary if I?m to make a profit on this deal.?
Mitch?s voice was hostile. ?I thought you were in this for the laughs.?
?That too.? Arnaz smiled again. ?But mainly, I wanted to see just how good the two of you were.?
?What the hell are you getting at, Arnaz?? Peter was becoming uneasy now.
?Like I said, I want to see a profit on my investment. So I want you to do one more forgery each. For me. ?
?No deal, Arnaz,? said Peter. ?We did this to make a point, not to make money. We?re on the verge of getting away with it. No more forgeries.?
Mitch said quietly: ?I don?t think we?re going to have any choice.?
Arnaz gave him a nod of acknowledgment. He spread his hands in a gesture of appeal. ?Look, you guys, there?s no danger. No one will know about these extra forgeries. The people who buy ?em will never let on they?ve been conned, because they?ll be implicating themselves in something shady by buying them in the first place. And nobody but me will know you did the forging.?
?Not interested,? said Peter.
Arnaz said: ?Mitch knows you?re going to do it, don?t you, Mitch??
?Yes, you bastard.?
?So tell Pete here.?
?Amaz has us by the balls, Peter,? Mitch said. ?He?s the one person in the world who can finger us for the police. All it would take would be one anonymous phone call. And we haven?t got our deal with the art dealers yet. ?
?So? If he fingers us, why can?t we finger him?? Mitch replied: ?Because there?s no proof against him. He had no part in the operation—nobody saw him, whereas loads of people saw me. We can be put up on identity lineups, asked to account for our movements on the day in question, and Christ knows what. All he did was give us money —and it was cash, remember? He can deny everything.?
Peter turned to Arnaz. ?When do you want the forgeries??
?Good lad. I want you to do them now, while I wait.?
Anne looked around the door with the baby in her arms. ?Hey, you lot, are we going to the common or not? ?
?I?m sorry, darling,? Peter replied. ?It won?t be possible now. We?ve got to do something else.?
Anne?s expression was unreadable. She left the room.
Mitch said: ?What sort of paintings do you want, Amaz??
The man picked up the parcel he had brought with him. ?I want two copies of this.? He handed it to Mitch.
Mitch unwrapped the parcel and took out a framed painting. He looked at it with puzzlement in his eyes. Then he read the signature, and whistled.
?Good God,? he said in amazement. ?Where did you get this??
II
SAMANTHA TOYED WITH HER china coffee cup and watched Lord Cardwell delicately eating a cracker piled high with Blue Stilton. She liked the man, despite herself: he was tall, and white-haired, with a long nose and laugh-lines in the comers of his eyes. Throughout the dinner he had asked her intelligent questions about an actress?s work, and had seemed to be genuinely interested—and occasionally scandalized—by the stories she told.
Tom sat opposite her, and Julian at the lower end of the table. The four of them were alone, apart from the butler, and Samantha wondered briefly where Sarah was. Julian had not mentioned her. He was talking enthusiastically now, about a picture he had bought. His eyes shone, and he waved his arm in the air as he spoke. Perhaps the picture was the reason for his transformation.
?Modigliani gave it away!? he was saying. ?He gave it to a rabbi in Livorno, who retired to a potty little village in Italy and took it with him. It?s been there all these years—hanging on the wall of some peasant?s hut!?
?Are you sure it?s genuine?? Samantha asked.
?Perfectly. It has characteristic touches, it?s signed by him, and we know its history. You can?t ask more. Besides, I?m having it looked at by one of the top men shortly.?
?It had better be genuine,? Lord Cardwell said. He popped a last crumb of cheese into his mouth and sat back in the high dining chair. Samantha watched the butler glide forward and remove his plate. ?It cost us enough money.?
?Us?? Samantha was curious.
?My father-in-law financed the operation,? Julian said quickly.
?Funny—a friend of mine was talking about a lost Modigliani,? Samantha said. She frowned with the effort of remembering—her memory was terrible these days. ?I think she wrote to me about it. Dee Sleign is her name. ?
?Must have been another one,? Julian said.
Lord Cardwell sipped his coffee. ?You know, Julian would never have pulled off this great coup of his without some sound advice from me. You won?t mind if I tell this story, Julian.?
Samantha guessed he would mind, from the look on his face, but Cardwell carried on.
?He came to me for some money to buy paintings. I told him I?m a businessman, and that if he wants money from me he has to show me how I can make a profit on the deal. I suggested he go away and dig up a real find— then I would risk my money on him. And that?s what he did.?
Julian?s smile to Samantha implied: ?Let the old fool ramble on.?
Tom said: ?How did you come to be a businessman? ?
Cardwell smiled. ?It goes back to my rip-roaring youth. By the time I reached twenty-one I had done just about everything: gone around the world, got sent down from college, raced horses and airplanes—not to mention the traditional wine, women and song.?
He stopped for a moment, gazing into his coffee cup, then went on: ?At the age of twenty-one I came into my money, and I also got married. In no time at all, or sooner, there was a young ?un on the way—not Sarah, of course, she was much later. All of a sudden I realized that tearing about was a rather limited occupation. And I did not want to manage the estates, or work in a firm owned by my father. So I took my money to the City of London, where I discovered no one knew much more about finance than I did. That was about the time the Stock Exchange was falling around everyone?s ears. They were all terrified. I bought some companies which, as far as I could see, didn?t need to give a toot what happened to the stock market. I was right. When the world got on its feet again, I was four times as rich as I had been at the start. Since then progress has been slower.?
Samantha nodded. It was much as she had guessed. ?Are you glad you went into business?? she asked.
?Not sure.? There seemed to be a note of heaviness in the old man?s voice. ?There was a time, you know, when I wanted to change the world, like you young people. I thought I might use my wealth to do somebody some good. But somehow, when you get involved in the business of actually surviving, holding companies together, satisfying shareholders—you lose interest in such grand schemes.?
There was a pause. ?Besides, the world can?t be all that bad when there are cigars like these.? He gave a tired smile.
?And pictures like yours,? Samantha put in.
Julian said: ?Are you going to show Sammy and Tom the gallery??
?Of course.? The old man got up. ?I might as well show ?em off while they?re here.?
The butler moved Samantha?s chair away as she got up from the table. She followed Cardwell out of the dining room into the hall, then up the double staircase to the first floor.
