hours.”
“Oh, yes, of course. Can’t stand London any longer, what with the traffic and the terrorism. Go there now to see the odd play or hear a bit of music at Covent Garden, but I’d choose the Cotswold Hills over Kensington any day of the week. Too expensive in London, these days. Too many people such as yourself buying everything up. No insult intended, of course.”
“None taken.”
“Do you have a country estate yet or just your London residence?”
“Just the house in Knightsbridge at the moment.”
Boothby gestured toward the facade of Havermore. “This has been in my family for five generations. I’d love to give you a tour while our two art experts have a look at the painting.”
A glance passed between Ivan and Elena: coded, secure, inscrutable to an outsider. She murmured a few words in Russian; Ivan responded by looking at Boothby and giving a single nod of his sturdy head. “I’d love a tour,” he said. “But we’ll have to make it brief. I’m afraid my wife tends to make decisions quickly.”
“Brilliant!” said Boothby. “Allow me to show you the grounds.”
He lifted his hand and started toward the East Meadow. Ivan, after a brief hesitation, followed after him, with the three V’s flying close behind in tight formation. Boothby looked at the bodyguards and politely objected.
“I say, but is that really necessary? I can assure you, Mr. Kharkov, that you have no enemies here. The most dangerous things at Havermore are the dogs and my martinis.”
Ivan glanced once again at Elena, then spoke a few words in Russian to the bodyguards in a baritone murmur. When he started toward the meadow a second time, the guards remained motionless. Elena watched her husband’s departure in silence, then looked at Sarah.
“I’m sorry about the security, Miss Crawford. I would do almost anything to be rid of them, but Ivan insists they stay by my side wherever I go. I imagine that it must seem very exciting to be surrounded by men in dark suits. I can assure you it is not.”
Sarah was momentarily taken aback by the intimacy of her words. They constituted a betrayal. A small one, thought Sarah, but a betrayal nonetheless. “A woman in your position can’t be too careful,” she said. “But I can assure you that you are among friends here.”
Boothby and Ivan disappeared around the corner of the house. Sarah placed her hand gently on Elena’s arm.
“Would you like to see my uncle’s Cassatt, Mrs. Kharkov?”
“I would
When they started toward the portico, the bodyguards remained motionless.
“You know, Mrs. Kharkov, I really think it’s best we see the painting alone. I’ve always found Cassatt to be a painter
“I couldn’t agree more. And I’ll let you in on a little secret.”
“What’s that?”
'Ivan loathes her.”
In the hayloft of the barn, the four men standing before the video monitors moved for the first time in three minutes.
'Looks like Uncle John just saved our asses,” said Graham Seymour.
'His father would be very proud.”
“Ivan’s not the world’s most patient man. I suspect you’ll have five minutes with Elena at most.”
“I’d kill for five minutes.”
“Let’s hope there’s no killing today, Gabriel. Ivan’s the one with all the guns.”
The two women climbed the central staircase together and paused on the landing to admire a Madonna and Child.
'Is that actually a Veronese?” Elena asked.
“Depends on whom you ask. My uncle’s ancestors did the Grand Tour of Italy in the nineteenth century and came home with a boat-load of paintings. Some were quite lovely. Some of them were just copies made by lesser artists. I’ve always thought this one was among the best.”
“It’s beautiful.”
“The Cassatt is still in the nursery. My uncle thought you would enjoy seeing it in its original setting.”
Sarah took Elena carefully by the arm and led her down the hall. The key was resting on the woodwork above the door. Standing on tiptoe, Sarah removed it, then raised a finger to her lips in a gesture of mock conspiracy.
“Don’t tell anyone where we keep the key.”
Elena smiled. 'It will be our little secret.”
Ivan’s starting to get restless.” “I can see that, Graham.”
'She’s burned three minutes already.”
'Yes, I can see that, too.”
“She should have done it on the staircase.”
“She knows what she’s doing.”
“I hope to God you’re right.”
Elena entered the room first. Sarah closed the door halfway, then walked over to the window and pushed open the curtains. The golden light fell upon two matching beds, two matching dressers, two matching hand- painted toy chests, and
“It’s glorious,” she said. “I must have it.”
Sarah allowed a silence to fall between them. She lowered herself onto the end of the bed nearest the window and, with her eyes cast downward toward the floor, absently ran her hand over the Winnie the Pooh spread. Seeing her reaction, Elena said, “My God, I’m so sorry. You must think I’m terribly spoiled.”
“Not at all, Mrs. Kharkov.” Sarah made a show of looking around the nursery. “I spent every summer in this room when I was a little girl. That painting was the first thing I saw in the morning and the last thing I saw at night before my mother switched off the lights. The house just won’t feel the same without it.”
“I can’t take it from you, then.”
“You must,” Sarah said. “My uncle has to sell it. Trust me, Mrs. Kharkov, if you don’t buy it, someone else will. I want it to go to someone who loves it as much as I do. Someone like
Elena turned her gaze from Sarah and looked at the painting once more. “I’d like to have a closer look at it before I make a final decision. Would you help me take it down from the wall, please?”
“Of course.”
Sarah rose to her feet and, passing before the window, glanced downward toward the meadow. Boothby and Ivan were still there, Boothby with his arm extended toward some landmark in the distance, Ivan with his patience clearly at an ebb. She walked over to the painting and, with Elena’s help, lifted it from its hooks and laid it flat upon the second bed. Elena then drew a magnifying glass and a small Maglite flashlight from her handbag. First she used the magnifying glass to examine the signature in the bottom left corner of the painting. Then she switched on the Maglite and played the beam over the surface. Her examination lasted three minutes. When it had ended, she switched off the Maglite and slipped it back into her handbag.
“This painting is an obvious forgery,” she said.
She regarded Sarah’s face carefully for a moment as if she realized Sarah was a forgery, too.
“Please tell me who you are, Miss Crawford.”
Sarah opened her mouth to respond, but before she could speak, the door swung open and Ivan appeared in the threshold, with Boothby at his shoulder. Ivan stared at Elena for a moment, then his gaze settled on Sarah.
“Is something wrong?” he asked.
It was Elena who answered. “Nothing’s wrong, Ivan. Miss Crawford was just telling me how much the painting means to her and she became understandably emotional.”
