7 Wexford Cottage

7 Wexford Cottage

They pulled on shoe covers and latex gloves in the entrance hall and went into the sitting room. The furnishings were contemporary

and sophisticated, as were the paintings hanging on the walls. Piled on the low coffee table were monographs and volumes of

art history and criticism, including an essential compendium of Pablo Picasso's enormous body of work. Self-Portrait with a Palette , painted by the artist in 1906, graced the cover.

"Ever restored him?" inquired Peel.

"Picasso?" Gabriel looked up and frowned. "Once or twice, Timothy."

"I read not long ago that he's the most stolen artist in the world."

"Did you really?" asked Gabriel dubiously.

"And the most forged as well," Peel persevered.

"That's correct. In all likelihood there are more fake Picassos in existence than real ones."

"But you undoubtedly can tell the difference."

"Pablo and I are reasonably well acquainted," said Gabriel. "And I've enjoyed our time together despite the fact he doesn't

think much of my craft."

"Espionage?"

"Restoration. Picasso disapproved of it. He thought cracking and natural aging gave his paintings a sense of character." Gabriel

paused, then added, "But I digress."

It was an invitation for Peel to get to the point. The young detective responded by indicating the moisture ring next to the

book. "We found a mug of tea when we made entry into the cottage. We assume Professor Blake left it there the afternoon she

was murdered."

"And then, of course, there was the light burning in the kitchen."

"And the dirty dishes in the sink and on the counter. All of which suggests she was in a bit of a rush when she set out for

Land's End."

"So stipulated," said Gabriel. "But where are we going with this?"

"Her office."

It was in the adjoining room. Entering, Peel switched on the desk lamp. The computer was an iMac with a twenty-seven-inch

display, ideal for scrutinizing photographs of paintings or old exhibition records. Gabriel reached down and nudged the mouse.

The computer awakened and requested a password for admission.

"Have you cracked it?"

"Not yet."

"Whyever not?"

"The territorial police forces in Britain no longer have the authority to obtain private data without the consent of a government

oversight body connected to the Home Office. We are currently awaiting approval."

"If you like, I might be able to—"

"Don't even think about it."

Gabriel looked down at the books and papers scattered over the desktop. One of the volumes was The Rape of Europa , the indispensable account of Nazi art looting written by Lynn Nicholas. Beneath it was a copy of Charlotte Blake's Picasso: The War Years . Gabriel lifted the cover of a nearby manila folder. Inside, bound by a metal clasp, was a list of every known work of art stolen by the Germans during the Occupation.

Peel was now peering over Gabriel's shoulder. "It looks as though Professor Blake might have been conducting research on a

painting."

"That's hardly surprising, Timothy. After all, that's what she does."

"A Picasso, if you ask me," said Peel, undeterred.

"Why would you assume that?"

"She highlighted every Picasso looted by the Nazis during the war."

Gabriel thumbed through the thick printout. It appeared to be the case.

"Were all those paintings stolen from Jews?" asked Peel.

"Most of them," said Gabriel. "They were brought to the Jeu de Paume for sorting and appraisal. Those works the Nazis found

desirable were immediately crated and sent by train to Germany."

"And the rest?"

"The Nazis disposed of thousands of paintings on the French art market, thus giving dealers and collectors an unprecedented

opportunity to enlarge their holdings at the expense of their Jewish countrymen."

"Where are those paintings today?"

"Some have been returned to the heirs of the rightful owners," said Gabriel. "But many are still circulating through the bloodstream

of the art world or hanging on the walls of museums. Which is why a conscientious dealer, collector, or curator might retain

the services of a renowned provenance researcher like Charlotte Blake before acquiring a painting with a murky past."

"He would want her seal of approval?"

"Correct."

"Is there another reason why someone might hire her?"

"Yes, of course, Timothy. To find a missing painting."

Smiling, Peel pointed toward the yellow legal pad lying on the corner of the desk. "Have a look. Tell me if you see anything

interesting."

Gabriel adjusted the beam of the lamp and scrutinized the first page. "Sorry, but I'm afraid Sanskrit isn't one of my languages."

"It seems that penmanship wasn't the professor's strong suit."

Gabriel flipped to the following page, which was no more legible. The notation at the top of the succeeding page, however,

was carefully rendered.

Peel read it aloud. "Untitled portrait of a woman in the surrealist style, oil on canvas, ninety-four by sixty-six centimeters,

1937."

"Picasso painted numerous such works that same year."

"How much would one be worth today?"

"A great deal."

Peel pointed out the next notation.

Galerie Paul Rosenberg...

"He was Picasso's dealer at the time," explained Gabriel. "His gallery was on the rue la Boétie in Paris. Picasso lived and

worked in an apartment next door."

"Should we assume the painting was purchased there?"

"For now."

Peel's gloved fingertip moved down the page. "By this man?"

Bernard Lévy...

"Why not?" said Gabriel.

Peel's fingertip inched downward. "He doesn't seem to have kept it long."

Private sale Paris 1944...

"Not a good year for someone named Bernard Lévy to part with a Picasso," said Gabriel.

Peel pointed out the final entry on the page. "But what could this mean?"

OOC...

Gabriel drew his phone. The three letters, when entered into the white box of his search engine, produced twenty-seven million

pages of Internet mush. Adding the words Picasso and Untitled was of no help.

He snapped a photograph of the page, then looked at the slumbering computer.

Peel read his thoughts. "I'll let you know if it contains anything of value the minute we get authorization."

"If you like..."

Peel switched off the computer. "Don't even think about it, Mr. Allon."

Gabriel picked up the copy of Charlotte Blake's Picasso: The War Years and opened it to the acknowledgments. They were as spare and dry as a typical provenance. No expressions of heartfelt gratitude,

no enormous debts due. One name managed to achieve an elevated prominence by dint of the fact that it was the last one mentioned.

It was Naomi Wallach, the world's foremost expert on the wartime French art market.