16 Altstadt

16 Altstadt

And what, pray tell, is the young man's name?"

"Gennaro."

Anna placed a finger thoughtfully to the end of her slender nose. "I could be mistaken, but it's possible that I had an affair

with a Gennaro once myself."

"Given your track record," replied Gabriel, "I'd say the chances are rather good."

They were seated at opposite ends of the couch in the sitting room of Anna's luxurious suite, separated by a buffer zone of

rich black satin. Her Guarneri violin, enclosed in its protective case, was propped on an opposing Eames chair next to her

Stradivarius. A wall-mounted television flickered silently with the latest news from London. Lord Michael Radcliff, the Conservative

Party treasurer who had accepted a tainted million-pound contribution from a Russian businessman, had bowed to pressure and

resigned. Prime Minister Hillary Edwards, her support within the Party crumbling, was expected to announce her own resignation

within days.

"A friend of yours?" asked Anna.

"Hillary Edwards? We've never met. But I was quite close to her predecessor, Jonathan Lancaster."

"Is there anyone you don't know?"

"I've never met the president of Russia."

"Consider yourself fortunate." Anna switched off the television and refilled their glasses with wine. They were drinking Grand

Cru white burgundy by Joseph Drouhin. "I think we should have another bottle, don't you?"

"It was eight hundred and forty euros."

"It's only money, Gabriel."

"Says the woman who has an endless supply of it."

"You're the one who lives in a palazzo overlooking the Grand Canal."

"I happen to own a single floor of the palazzo."

"Poor you." Anna rang room service, then carried her glass of wine to the window. The view was westward across the Old Town

toward the spire of St. Peter's Church. "Come here often?" she asked.

"To the Mandarin Oriental?"

"No," said Anna. "To Munich."

"I avoid it whenever possible, if you must know."

"Even now?" Anna smiled sadly. "It took me an age to get the story out of you."

"Actually, it took you about a day and a half."

"You wanted to tell me about your past. My God, you were a wreck back then."

"So were you, as I recall."

"Still am. You, on the other hand, seem deliriously happy." She drew the curtains. "You mentioned something about needing

a favor. But I have a terrible feeling it was a rather transparent ruse on your part to get me into bed. If that was indeed

the case, your plan worked to perfection."

"You promised to behave yourself."

"I said no such thing." Anna returned to the couch. "All right, you have my complete and undivided attention. What do you want from me this time?"

"I would like you to dispose of six of the paintings that you inherited from your father."

"What a wonderful idea!" Anna exclaimed. "To tell you the truth, I've wanted to sell those wretched paintings for years. But

tell me, which six did you have in mind?"

"The Modigliani, the Van Gogh, the Renoir, the Cézanne, and the Monet."

"That's only five. Furthermore, I own no works by any of the artists you mentioned." She regarded him over her wineglass.

"But then you already knew that. After all, you were with me the morning I found the last sixteen paintings from my father's

collection of looted Impressionist and modern art."

"It turns out there were six additional paintings that we didn't know about."

"Really?" Anna raised a hand to her mouth, feigning astonishment. "And where were they hiding?"

"In a bank vault in Lugano. The Rolfe family lawyer told you about them after the scandal over your father's wartime conduct

had died down. You instructed the lawyer to smuggle the paintings out of Switzerland and deliver them to your villa in Portugal."

"How naughty of me. Are they still there?"

"Yes, of course."

"In that case," said Anna, "I'm obligated to report them to the Swiss government immediately. Otherwise, I will face stiff

fines. You see, Canton Zurich taxes the wealth of its residents annually. Each year I must submit a detailed list of my possessions,

including an inventory of the paintings I own. And each year the government pockets a not insignificant portion of my net

worth."

"What is it these days, if you don't mind my asking?"

"It's possible it starts with the letter B."

"And the number before the B?"

She delivered her answer with raised eyebrows. "Could be a two."

"I never realized there was that much."

"I am the only surviving heir to the Rolfe banking fortune. I've also earned a considerable sum of money throughout my long

recording and concert career. But the last thing I would ever do is conceal my wealth to avoid paying taxes. That's the sort

of thing my father did."

"It turns out that you're more alike than you realized."

Anna frowned. "If you keep talking like that, my love, you will never get me into bed. But let's get back to the matter at

hand. When, exactly, did my father acquire these mysterious paintings?"

"In the fifties, mainly in France. They don't appear in the Lost Art Database or any other registry of looted artwork. But

given your father's deplorable wartime conduct, most reputable dealers and collectors would steer clear of them. Which is

why you're going to place them with a certain Edmond Ricard in the Geneva Freeport."

"And why would I do that?"

"Because Monsieur Ricard was recently in possession of a Picasso that was stolen from a man named Bernard Lévy during the

German occupation of France. With your help, I'm going to find it and return it to Lévy's rightful heirs."

Anna nodded contemplatively. "If there's anything else I should know about this little scheme of yours, now would be a fine

time to tell me."

"Two people linked to the painting have been murdered."

"Only two?"

"For all I know, there might be others."

"He's not going to kill me, is he?"

"Ricard? I can't imagine."

"Because the last time you and I got involved in looted art—"

The bell sounded before Anna could finish her thought. Rising, she went into the entrance hall and admitted a pair of room

service waiters. They arranged the food on the table without commentary and hurriedly withdrew.

Anna sat down and laid a napkin across her lap. "Perhaps I've been going about this the wrong way."

"Going about what?" asked Gabriel as he removed the cork from the second bottle of white burgundy.

"Convincing you to leave that gorgeous wife of yours and marry me."

"Anna, please."

"Will you at least hear my proposal?"

"No."

"I'm prepared to be generous."

"I'm sure you are. But I'm not interested in your money. I'm desperately in love with Chiara."

"What about the reckless affair she's having with this Giacomo fellow?"

"Gennaro," said Gabriel. "And it isn't real."

"Of course it isn't. After all, why would she be involved with a coffee boy when she's married to you?" Anna lowered her eyes

toward her plate. "In case you were wondering, the answer is yes. I'll help you find that Picasso."

"What's your schedule like?"

"I'm in Oslo next week and Prague the week after."

"And then?"

"I'll have to check with my assistant."

"Please do," said Gabriel. "And then get rid of her."

"Why?"

"Because I'm going to give you a new one."

"What's she like?"

"Pure trouble."

"Sounds like my kind of girl," said Anna. "All I need now are the paintings."

"I'll take care of those, too."

"How?"

Gabriel, with a movement of his hand, indicated that he was going to paint them himself.

"A Modigliani, a Van Gogh, a Renoir, a Cézanne, and a Monet?"

He shrugged.

"And the sixth?"

"I'll leave that to you."

"Is Toulouse-Lautrec part of your repertoire?"

"No sheet music required."

"Perfect," said Anna. "Toulouse-Lautrec it is."