Rosenthal rose from his chair and began pacing slowly around the room. Anna, who had become quite used to this habit, glanced at Alex and put a finger to her lips.
‘In my opinion,’ Rosenthal eventually said, ‘you could not move a painting of that size without the help of a professional art courier, especially if you were sending the picture overseas, as there would have to be export documents and other paperwork to complete. There are only a handful of such specialists on the East Coast, and only one of them is based in Boston.’
‘Do you know them?’ asked Alex hopefully.
‘I most certainly do, but I have no intention of contacting them, because immediately after taking my call, he would be on the phone to his client to let her know I’d been making enquiries.’
‘But he might be our only lead,’ said Alex.
‘Not necessarily, because another company would have had to pick up the packages when they arrived in Nice, and then deliver them to Mrs Lowell-Halliday’s villa in Saint-Paul-de-Vence. It wouldn’t surprise me if whoever that was had no idea of the contents, as that’s a secret Mrs Lowell-Halliday wouldn’t have wanted to share with anyone else, including the IRS.’
‘But how do we find out who was collecting the paintings without alerting half the art world?’
‘By making sure we remain at arm’s length,’ said Rosenthal. ‘And I think I know exactly the right dealer in Paris to assist us. May I use the telephone in the study?’
‘Yes, of course,’ said Alex, as Rosenthal poured himself a large whisky and left the room without another word.
‘What’s he up to?’ asked Alex.
‘I can’t be sure,’ said Anna. ‘But I have a feeling he’ll be twisting a few arms, which is why he doesn’t want to be overheard.’
Rosenthal didn’t reappear for another forty minutes, and when he did, although he needed to refill his glass, Anna thought she detected the suggestion of a smile.
‘Pierre Gerand will call back as soon as he’s tracked down the courier in Nice. He says it’s likely to be one of three, and all of them would want to retain his business. Meanwhile, Monty Kessler will set out from New York first thing tomorrow morning, and anticipates being with us around midday.’
Alex nodded. He would like to have asked who Monty Kessler was, but had already learnt when, and when not, to question Mr Rosenthal.
*
When Alex came down to breakfast the following morning, he found Rosenthal halfway up the stairs, placing little red or yellow stickers on each picture on the wall.
‘You’ll be glad to hear, Alex, that there are still seventy-one originals left in the collection, including some of the finest examples of Abstract Expressionism I’ve ever come across. However, I’m in no doubt that fifty-three are copies,’ he said as the telephone rang.
‘Long distance from Paris for Mr Rosenthal,’ said Caxton.
Rosenthal walked quickly down the stairs and took the phone. ‘Good afternoon, Pierre.’ He said very little for the next few minutes, but never stopped scribbling on a pad by the phone. ‘I am most grateful,’ he said finally. ‘I owe you one.’ He laughed. ‘All right, two. And I’ll let you know the moment our shipment has left New York,’ he added before putting down the phone. ‘I have the name of the French courier,’ he announced. ‘A Monsieur Dominic Duval, who over the past five years has delivered a large number of different-sized crates to Mrs Lowell-Halliday’s residence in Saint-Paul-de-Vence.’
‘But if Pierre phones this Monsieur Duval,’ said Alex, ‘won’t he contact Evelyn immediately?’
‘Not if he wants to go on working for Pierre, he won’t. In any case, Pierre has already told him he has an even bigger consignment lined up for him, as long as he can keep his mouth shut.’
*
‘There’s a large, unmarked white van coming up the drive,’ said Anna, as she looked out of the front window.
‘That will be Monty,’ said Rosenthal. ‘Caxton, would you be kind enough to open the front door for Mr Kessler? And be prepared for an invasion of professional art thieves.’
‘Of course, sir.’
Shortly afterwards, a small fat balding man marched into the hallway, followed by his six associates, all dressed in black tracksuits with no logos, none of whom would have looked out of place in a boxing ring. Each carried a bag full of the equipment required by any self-respecting burglar.
‘Good morning, Monty,’ said Rosenthal. ‘I appreciate you coming at such short notice.’
‘No trouble, Mr Rosenthal. But I have to remind you that as it’s Saturday, we’re all on double-time. Where do you want me to start?’ he asked as he stood, hands on hips, in the middle of the hallway, and looked around at the paintings with the fondness of a doting father.
‘I only want you to pack up the ones with yellow stickers on their frames. And once you’ve done that, I’ll tell you where they have to be delivered.’
Alex watched with admiration as the seven men fanned out and went about their task with efficiency and skill. While one of them removed a picture from the wall, another covered it in bubble wrap, and a third placed it in a crate ready to be stacked in the van. Mr Rosenthal had faxed through the exact measurements the previous evening, and another team had worked through the night to have the crates ready in time. All of them on double-time.
‘They look as if they’ve done this before,’ said Alex.
‘Yes, Monty specializes in divorce and death. Wives who need to remove valuables after their husbands have left for work and before they return in the evening.’
Alex laughed. ‘And death?’
‘Children who want to move paintings and furniture that they agreed with their parents wouldn’t be mentioned in the will. It’s a thriving business, and Monty is almost always on double-time.’
‘Is there anything I can do to help?’
‘I need you to go to the bank and make sure everything is ready by the time Monty and his team turn up, which should be around four o’clock this afternoon. There’ll need to be someone waiting at the back door to accompany Monty to a secure vault that’s large enough to house seventy-one paintings. Once that’s done, please come straight back to the house.’
‘And will the van also be returning to Beacon Hill?’
‘Oh yes. After all, they will only have done half the job.’
‘Then I’d better get going.’ There were several questions Alex would have liked to ask Mr Rosenthal, but he accepted that ‘need to know’ must have been his family motto. As Alex left the house, the first picture was being loaded onto the van.
‘And what would you like me to do, Mr Rosenthal?’ asked Anna.
‘Double-check the inventory, and make sure they only pack those paintings with yellow stickers. Our real job won’t begin until they get back from the bank, when the remaining fifty-three pictures will be loaded onto the van and taken to New York.’
‘But they’re only copies,’ said Anna.
‘True,’ said Rosenthal. ‘But they still have to be returned to their rightful owner.’
*
‘The Warhol’s stowed safely in the hold,’ said Anna as the plane lifted off. ‘Has the rest of the collection arrived in Nice?’
‘Yes,’ said Rosenthal. ‘I called Pierre Gerand again as soon as I got back to New York on Sunday night. He’s one of the leading abstract dealers in Paris, and an old friend who’s familiar with the Lowell Collection, as his grandfather sold three pictures to Mr Lowell’s father when he was touring Europe in 1947. I told him that a large consignment of paintings was on its way to Nice, and asked him to arrange for Monsieur Duval to collect them and store them until we arrive. He phoned back yesterday to let me know that Evelyn and Mr Halliday were spotted boarding an Air France flight for Boston that morning. That’s when I called to remind you not to forget the Warhol. So by the time we touch down in Nice, everything should be in place. Pierre and Monsieur Duval will meet us off the plane.’
‘So now all we have to do is get the rest of the collection back,’ said Anna.
‘Which will be no small undertaking. At least we’re in the hands of professionals. But should we fail . . .’