Suspecting then that even Holden’s reaction had been as much about money as anything else, JJ said, “Was it valuable?”
“Too valuable to be lost,” he said. “I don’t mean the money either, though this was an exceptional piece in a modest market. For someone in my field, to have had a piece like that in my hands, even for a short time ...” He trailed off and then Megan appeared, cluttering around the table, apologizing for the delay which she put down to the tea.
When she’d gone again JJ said, “It was stolen though?”
“Of course,” said Ed, the question ridiculous. “But we had a buyer lined up, someone with an extensive, mostly legitimate collection. He’d have left it to a museum when he died. It would have stayed there until a suit was lodged for its return, by which time Russia would have stabilized enough to ensure the piece’s safety. Sometimes stolen art is secured art, you know? I have no qualms about it.”
“As long as it’s stolen by the right person.”
“Exactly,” Ed said, acknowledging JJ’s mocking tone with a smile. “But don’t worry, that icon will resurface. I’ll stake my career on it.” JJ nodded, sipped at his tea, wondering idly which career he was talking about.
When they got back to the inn Ed insisted on introducing JJ properly to Susan, leading him through a door in the hallway to the part of the building that was still their private house. It was decorated much the same way as the main part of the inn, given away only in the domestic detail, a pair of training shoes on the floor, a jacket thrown over the banister at the bottom of the stairs.
Ed led him through to the kitchen where he could already hear Susan talking to Jack, the same catching-up conversation he’d walked in on before. JJ checked his watch then, surprised that he and Ed had been out for so long.
They were sitting either side of a kitchen table, strewn with paperwork, drinks, a half-eaten sandwich in front of Jack. Susan smiled at Ed as he appeared but kept on with what she was saying to Jack, some question about a kid who’d been in trouble, interrupting herself only when she saw JJ.
“Why, hello, JJ,” she said, smiling but looking surprised to see him there, wondering perhaps why Ed had brought a guest into their private space.
“Hello,” he returned, nodding to Jack who’d looked over to see who was there.
“Susan,” said Ed, “I’ve been out with JJ today and it turns out we’re connected. JJ’s a great friend of Tom’s.”
“Tom Furst? How amazing,” she said, lighting up with the news, and then to JJ, “You know, I sensed when you first came that you were, I don’t know, one of us I guess. What an amazing coincidence !”
“Not really,” he said sheepishly. “I didn’t want to say anything, but it was Tom who recommended this place.” She smiled, shaking her head in disbelief, her eyes full of warmth. It was as if she had sensed a connection with JJ, as if she’d wanted him to be more than a guest and was pleased now because there he was, one of them by association.
“Well come and sit down,” she said, clearing some of the papers into a pile, and then as they sat, one on each of the two remaining sides, “How about coffee? Or I can ask for tea? I make the most appalling tea.” They both declined. Jack went back to his sandwich and a glass of strawberry milk that left his top lip with a mustache each time he drank from it. For a minute Susan looked like she didn’t know where to begin but she said finally, “So are you actually in the same line of work as Tom?” There it was, a loaded question that had the capacity to open doors all the way to the facts of her husband’s death. Remembering what Holden had said about her though, about being okay with the business, he said carefully, “In effect, yes I am.”
“You’re like, a spy?” asked Jack, wiping the comical pink mustache with the back of his hand. He looked vaguely interested in the idea, like it was a career he was considering, or possibly because that’s what he thought his dad had been.
“Tom isn’t even a spy,” answered JJ, smiling. “And what I do is even less exciting than what Tom does.” Jack looked at him, a skeptical expression on his face, as if to make clear to JJ that he knew more about these things than most kids his age.
“I still find it hard to believe Tom’s a grownup,” Susan said.
Ed cut in, “Susan, your own kids are grownups. Look at this big guy here.”
Jack raised his eyebrows and looked at Ed, spelling it out. “Ed, I’m like, fourteen, which is like, a kid. You’re a grownup!”
“Debatable point,” Susan said, turning back to JJ with a familiar American openness. “Why don’t you join us for dinner tonight?”
“That’s a great idea,” said Ed, looking at JJ.
“I’d like that, thanks.”
“Do I have to come?” Jack asked.