False Impression (17 page)

As she
approached the hall, Anna noticed that the crested family flag on the east
tower was fluttering at half mast. As she brought the car to a halt, she wondered
which of Victoria’s many elderly relatives had died.

The massive oak
door was pulled open even before Anna reached the top step. She prayed that
Victoria was at home, and that Fenston still had no idea she was in England.

‘Good morning,
madam,’ the butler intoned. ‘How may I help you?’

It’s me,
Andrews, Anna wanted to say, surprised by his formal tone. He had been so
friendly when she stayed at the hall. She echoed his formal approach. ‘I need
to speak to Lady Victoria, urgently.’

I’m afraid that
will not be possible,’ replied Andrews, ‘but I will find out if her ladyship is
free. Perhaps you would be kind enough to wait here while I enquire.’

What did he
mean, that will not he possible, but I will find out if her ladyship . . .

As Anna waited
in the hall, she glanced up at Gainsborough’s portrait of Catherine, Lady
Wentworth. She recalled every picture in the house, but her eye moved to her
favourite at the top of the staircase, a Romney of Mrs Siddons as Portia. She
turned to face the entrance to the morning room, to be greeted with a painting
by Stubbs of Actaeon, Winner of the Derby, Sir Harry Wentworth’s favourite
horse – still safely in his paddock. If Victoria took her advice, at least she
could still save the rest of the collection.

The butler returned
at the same even pace.

‘Her ladyship
will see you now,’ he said, ‘if you would care to join her in the drawing
room.’ He gave a slight bow, before leading her across the hall.

Anna tried to
concentrate on her six-point plan, but first she would need to explain why she
was forty-eight hours late for their appointment, although surely Victoria
would have followed the horrors of Tuesday and might even be surprised to find
that she had survived.

When Anna
entered the drawing room, she saw Victoria, head bowed, dressed in mourning
black, seated on the sofa, a chocolate Labrador half asleep at her feet. She
couldn’t remember Victoria having a dog, and was surprised when she didn’t jump
up and great her in her usual warm manner. Victoria raised her head, and Anna
gasped, as Arabella Wentworth stared coldly up at her. In that split second,
she realized why the family’s crest had been flying at half mast. Anna remained
silent, as she tried to take in the fact that she would never see Victoria
again, and would now need to convince her sister, whom she had never met
before. Anna couldn’t even remember her name. The mirror image did not rise
from her place, or offer to shake her hand.

Would you care
for some tea, Dr Petrescu?’ Arabella asked in a distant voice that suggested
she hoped to hear her reply, No, thank you.

‘No, thank you,’
said Anna, who remained standing. ‘May I ask how Victoria died?’ she said
quietly.

‘I assumed you
already knew,’ replied Arabella dryly.

‘I have no idea
what you mean,’ said Anna.

‘Then why are
you here,’ asked Arabella, ‘if it’s not to collect the rest of the family
silver?’

‘I came to warn
Victoria not to let them take away the Van Gogh, before I had a chance to...’

‘They took the
painting away on Tuesday,’ said Arabella, pausing.

‘They didn’t
even have the good manners to wait until after the funeral.’

‘I tried to
call, but they wouldn’t give me her number. If only I’d got through,’ Anna
mumbled incoherently, and then added,

‘And now it’s
too late.’

Too late for
what?’ asked Arabella.

‘I sent Victoria
a copy of my report recommending that...’

Tes, I’ve read
your report,’ said Arabella, ‘but you’re right, it’s too late for that now. My
new lawyer has already warned me that it could be years before the estate can
be settled, by which time we’ll have lost everything.’

‘That must have
been the reason he didn’t want me to travel to England and see Victoria
personally,’ Anna said without explanation.

Tm not sure I
understand,’ said Arabella, looking more closely at her.

‘I was fired by
Fenston on Tuesday,’ said Anna, ‘for sending a copy of my report to Victoria.’

‘Victoria read
your report,’ said Arabella quietly. ‘I have a letter confirming that she was
going to take your advice, but that was before her cruel death.’

‘How did she
die?’ asked Anna gently.

‘She was
murdered, in a vile and cowardly fashion,’ said Arabella. She paused and,
looking directly at Anna, added, ‘And I have no doubt that Mr Fenston will be
able to fill in the details for you.’ Anna bowed her head, unable to think of anything
to say, her six-point plan in tatters. Fenston had beaten both of them. ‘Dear
Victoria was so trusting, and, I fear, so naive,’ continued Arabella,

‘
but
no human being deserved to be treated in that way, let
alone someone as good-natured as my sweet sister.’

‘I am so sorry,’
said Anna, ‘I didn’t know. You have to believe me. I had no idea.’

Arabella looked
out of the window across the lawn, and didn’t speak for some time. She turned
back to see Anna, trembling.

‘I believe you,’
Arabella eventually said. ‘I originally assumed that it was you who was
responsible for this evil charade.’ She paused again. ‘I see now that I was
wrong. But, sadly, it’s all too late. There’s nothing we can do now.’

‘I’m not so sure
about that,’ said Anna, looking at Arabella with a fierce determination in her
eyes. ‘But if I’m to do anything, I’ll have to ask you to trust me, as much as
Victoria did.’

What do you
mean, trust you?’ said Arabella.

‘Give me a
chance,’ said Anna, ‘to prove that I wasn’t responsible for your sister’s
death.’

‘But how can you
hope to do that?’ asked Arabella.

‘By
retrieving your Van Gogh.’

‘But as I told
you, they’ve already taken the painting away.’

‘I know,’ said
Anna, ‘but it still has to be in England, because Fenston has sent a Mr Leapman
to pick up the picture.’ Anna checked her watch. ‘He’ll be landing at Heathrow
in a few hours’ time.’

‘But even if you
managed to get your hands on the painting, how would that solve the problem?’

Anna outlined
the details of her plan, and was pleased to find Arabella nodding from time to
time. Anna ended by saying, ‘I’ll need your backing,
otherwise
what I have in mind could get me arrested.’

Arabella
remained silent for some time, before she said, ‘
You’re
a brave young woman, and I wonder if you even realize just how brave. But if
you’re willing to take such a risk, so am I, and I’ll back you to the hilt,’
she added.

Anna smiled at
the quaint English expression, and said, ‘Can you confirm who collected the Van
Gogh?’

Arabella rose
from the sofa and crossed the room to the writing desk, with the dog following
in her wake. She picked up a business card. ‘
A
Ms Ruth
Parish,’ she read, ‘of Art Locations.’

‘Just as I
thought,’ said Anna. ‘Then I’ll have to leave immediately, as I only have a few
hours before Leapman arrives.’

Anna stepped
forward and thrust out her hand, but Arabella didn’t respond. She simply took
her in her arms and said, ‘If I can do anything to help you avenge my sister’s
death.’

‘Anything?’

‘Anything,’
repeated Arabella.

When the North
Tower collapsed, all the documentation concerning Victoria’s loan was
destroyed,’ said Anna, ‘including die original contract. The only copy is in
your possession. If...’

‘You don’t have
to spell it out,’ said Arabella.

Anna smiled. She
wasn’t dealing with Victoria any longer.

She turned to
leave and had reached the hall long before the butler had time to open the
front door.

Arabella watched
from the drawing-room window as Anna’s car disappeared down the drive and out
of sight. She wondered if she would ever see her again.

‘Petrescu,’ said
a
voice,
‘is just leaving Wentworth Hall. She’s
heading back in the direction of central London. I’m following her, and will
keep you briefed.’

A
nna drove out of
Wentworth Hall and headed back towards the M25, looking for a sign to Heathrow.
She checked the clock on the dashboard. It was almost 2 pm, so she had missed
any chance of calling Tina, who would now be at her desk on Wall Street. But
she did need to make another call if there was to be the slightest chance of
her coup succeeding.

As she drove
through the village of Wentworth, Anna tried to recall the pub where Victoria
had taken her to dinner. Then she saw the familiar crest flapping in the wind,
also at half mast.

Anna swung into
the forecourt of the Wentworth Arms and parked her car near the entrance. She
walked through the reception and into the bar.

‘Can you change
five dollars?’ she asked the barmaid. ‘I need to make a phone call.’

‘Of course,
love,’ came back the immediate reply. The barmaid opened the cash register and
handed Anna two pound coins.

Daylight
robbery, Anna wanted to tell her, but she didn’t have time to argue.

‘The phone’s
just beyond the restaurant, to your right.’

Anna dialled a
number that she could never forget. The phone rang only twice before a voice
announced, ‘Good afternoon,

Sotheby’s.’

Anna fed a coin
into the slot, and said, ‘Mark Poltimore, please.’

Til
put you through.’

‘Mark
Poltimore.’

‘Mark,
it’s
Anna, Anna Petrescu.’

‘Anna,
what a pleasant surprise.
We’ve all been anxious about you. Where
were you on Tuesday?’

‘Amsterdam,’ she
replied.

‘Thank God for
that,’ said Mark.
‘Terrible business.
And Fenston?’

‘Not in the building
at the time,’ said Anna, ‘and that’s why I’m calling. He wants your opinion on
a Van Gogh.’

‘Authenticity or
price?’ asked Mark. ‘Because when it comes to provenance, I bow to your
superior judgement.’

‘There’s no
discussion on its provenance,’ said Anna, ‘but I would like a second opinion on
its value.’

‘Is it one we
would know?’

‘Self-portrait
with Bandaged Ear,’ said Anna.

‘The Wentworth
Self-portrait?’ queried Mark. ‘I’ve known the family all my life and had no
idea they were considering selling the painting.’

‘I didn’t say
they were,’ said Anna, without offering further explanation.

‘Are you able to
bring the painting in for inspection?’ asked Mark.

‘I’d like to,
but I don’t have
secure
enough transport. I was hoping
you might be able to help.’

“Where is it
now?’ asked Mark.

‘In
a bonded warehouse at Heathrow.’

‘That’s easy
enough,’ said Mark. ‘We have a daily pick-up from Heathrow. Would tomorrow
afternoon be convenient?’

‘Today, if
possible,’ said Anna, ‘you know what my boss is like.’

‘Hold on, I’ll
just need to find out if they’ve already left.’ The line went silent, although
Anna could hear her heart thumping.

She placed the
second pound coin in the slot – the last thing she needed was to be cut off.
Mark came back on the line. ‘You’re in luck. Our handler is picking up some
other items for us around four. How does that suit you?’

‘Fine,
but could you do me another favour, and ask them to call Ruth Parish at Art
Locations, just before the van is due to arrive?’

‘Sure. And how
long do we have to value the piece?’

‘Forty-eight
hours.’

‘You’d come to
Sotheby’s first if you ever considered selling the Self-portrait, wouldn’t you,
Anna?’

‘Of
course.’

‘I can’t wait to
see it,’ said Mark.

Anna replaced
the receiver, appalled by how easily she could now lie. She was also becoming
aware just how simple it must have been for Fenston to deceive her.

She drove out of
the Wentworth Arms car park, aware that everything now depended on Ruth Parish
being in her office. Once she reached the orbital road, Anna remained in the
slow lane as she went over all the things that could go badly wrong. Was Ruth
aware that she had been fired? Had Fenston told her she was dead? Would Ruth
accept her authority to make such a crucial decision? Anna knew that there was
only one way she was going to find out. She even considered calling Ruth, but
decided any prior warning would only give her more time to check up. If she was
to have any chance at all, she needed to take Ruth by surprise.