Ken Follett - The Modigliani Scandal (1976)

He closed the car trunk and went back into the house, leaving the front door open as the thieves had. He climbed to the gallery and hung the fake Modigliani where the real one had been.

Then he went to bed.

He woke early in the morning, although he had slept very little. He bathed and dressed quickly, and went to the kitchen. Sims was already there, eating his own breakfast while the cook prepared the meal for the master of the house and his guests.

″Don′t disturb yourself,″ Julian said to Sims as the butler rose from his seat. ″I′m off early—I ′ d just like to share your coffee, if I may. Cook can see to it. ″

Sims piled bacon, egg and sausage onto his fork and finished the meal in one mouthful. ″ When one is up early, the rest soon follow, I find, Mr. Black,″ he said. ″I better lay up. ″

Julian sat down and sipped his coffee while the butler went away. The shout of surprise came a minute later. Julian had been expecting it.

Sims came quickly into the kitchen. ″I think we′ve been burgled, sir,″ he said.

Julian faked surprise. ″What?″ he exclaimed. He stood up.

″A hole has been cut in the dining room window, and the window is open. I noticed this morning that the front door was open, but I thought Cook had done it. The gallery door was ajar, too—but Mr. Lampeth′s painting is still there.″

″Let′s have a look at this window,″ said Julian. Sims followed him across the hall and into the dining room.

Julian looked at the hole for a moment. ″I suppose they came for the pictures, and were disappointed. They must have decided the Modigliani was worthless. It′s an unusual one—they might not recognize it. First thing is to phone the police, Sims. Then rouse Lord Cardwell. Then begin checking the house to see whether anything at all is missing.″

″Very good, sir.″

Julian looked at his watch. ″I feel I ought to stay, but I′ve an important appointment. I think I′ll go, as it seems nothing has been taken. Tell Mrs. Black I will telephone later.″

Sims nodded and Julian went out.

He drove very fast across London in the early morning. It was windy, but the roads were dry. He was guessing that Sammy and her accomplices—who presumably included the boyfriend he had met—would keep the painting at least until today.

He stopped outside the Islington house and jumped out of the car, leaving the ignition keys in. There were too many assumptions and guesses in this plan. He was impatient.

He banged hard on the knocker and waited. When there was no reply for a couple of minutes, he banged hard again.

Eventually Samantha came to the door. There was ill-concealed fear in her eyes.

″ Thank God,″ Julian said, and pushed past her into the house.

Tom stood in the hall, a towel around his waist. ″What the hell do you think you′re doing, barging—ʺ

″Shut up,ʺ Julian said crisply. ʺLet ′ s talk downstairs, shall we?″

Tom and Samantha looked at one another. Samantha gave a slight nod, and Tom opened the door to the basement stairs. Julian went down.

He sat on the couch and said: ″I want my paint . ing back.″

Samantha said: ″I haven′t the faintest idea—ʺ

″Forget it, Sammy,″ Julian interrupted. ″I know . You broke into Lord Cardwell′s house last night to steal his pictures. They were gone, so you stole the one that was there. Unfortunately, it wasn′t his. It was mine. If you give it back to me I won′t go to the police.″

Silently, Samantha got up and went to a cupboard. She opened the door and took out the painting. She handed it to Julian.

He looked at her face. It was almost haggard: cheeks drawn, eyes wide with something which was neither anxiety nor surprise, hair uncared-for. He took the picture from her.

A sense of relief overwhelmed him. He felt quite weak.

Tom would not speak to Samantha. He had been sitting in the chair for three or four hours, smoking, gazing at nothing. She had taken him the cup of coffee Anita made, but it lay cold, untouched, on the low table.

She tried again. ″Tom, what does it matter? We shan′t be caught—he promised not to go to the police. We′ve lost nothing. It was just a lark, anyway.″

There was no reply.

Samantha laid her head back and closed her eyes. She felt drained, exhausted with a nervous kind of tiredness which would not let her relax. She wanted some pills, but they were all gone. Tom could go out and get her more, if only he would come out of his trance.

There was a knock at the front door. At last Tom moved. He looked at the doorway, warily, like a trapped animal. Samantha heard Anita′s footsteps along the hall. There was a muted conversation.

Suddenly several pairs of feet were coming down the stairs. Tom stood up.

The three men did not look at Samantha.

Two of them were heavily built, and carried themselves gracefully like athletes. The third was short. He wore a coat with a velvet collar.

It was the short one who spoke. ″You′ve let the governor down, Tom. He′s less than pleased. He wants words with you.″

Tom moved fast, but the two big men were faster. As he went for the door, one of them stuck out a foot and the other pushed Tom over it.

They picked him up, each holding an arm. There was a curious, almost sexual smile on the short man′s face. He punched Tom′s stomach with both fists, many times. He carried on long after Tom had slumped, eyes closed, in the grip of the other two.

Samantha opened her mouth wide, but she could not scream.

The little man slapped Tom′s face until his eyes opened. The four of them left the room.

Samantha heard the front door slam. Her phone rang. She picked it up automatically, and listened.

ʺOh, Joe,″ she said. ʺJoe, thank God you′re there.″ Then she began to cry.

For the second time in two days, Julian knocked on the door of Dunroamin. Moore looked surprised when he opened up.

″This time I′ve got the original,ʺ Julian said.

Moore smiled. ″I hope you have,″ he said. ″Come in, lad.″

This time he led the way to the laboratory without preamble. ″Give it here, then.″

Julian handed the picture over. ″I had a stroke of luck.ʺ

″I′ll bet you did. I think you′d better not tell me the details.″ Moore took out his teeth and dismantled the frame of the painting. ″It looks exactly like yesterday′s.″

″Yesterday′s was a copy.″

″And now you want the Gaston Moore seal of approval.″ Moore picked up his knife and scraped a minuscule quantity of paint off the edge of the canvas. He poured the liquid into the test tube and dipped the knife in.

They both waited in silence.

″Looks as though it′s all right,ʺ said Julian after a couple of minutes.

″Don′t rush.″

They watched again.

″No!″ Julian shouted.

The paint was dissolving in the fluid, just like yesterday.

″Another disappointment. I′m sorry, lad.″

Julian banged his fist on the bench in fury. ″How?″ he hissed. ʺI can′t see how!″

Moore put his teeth in again. ″Look here, lad. A forgery is a forgery. But no one copies it. Someone′s gone to the trouble of making two of these. There′s almost certain to be an original somewhere, I reckon. Maybe you could find it. Could you look for it?′

Julian stood up straight. The emotion had washed out of his face now, and he looked defeated, yet dignified—as if the battle no longer mattered, because he had worked out how it had been lost.

″I know exactly where it is,″ he said. ″And there′s absolutely nothing I can do about it.″

V

DEE WAS LYING IN a sack chair, naked, when Mike walked into the Regent′s Park flat and shrugged off his coat.