‘Leave your things,’ as Kate lifted the picture out of the car, ‘Dino can bring them in later.’
‘But I must keep this with me until I return it to Signor Barzini.’
Simona looked shocked. ‘It’s my painting,’ she said, and then, quickly, ‘We’ll phone Barzini straight away and tell him what’s happened. Will that make it okay?’
‘I suppose so. But you’ll have to check it first.’
‘It’s okay, I trust you.’
‘For God’s sake, that’s not the point.’ Kate was annoyed. It was bad enough that Simona had made her a player in some elaborate secret game, but the way she’d abused valuable works of art was unforgivable. She said, ‘Both those paintings you sent me are worth a small fortune. God only knows why you put such a ridiculously low figure on them for insurance.’
‘But they’re only copies,’ protested Simona.
‘Yes, but extremely valuable copies all the same. I didn’t investigate them at all, but my hunch is the Marsyas is late-sixteenth century, maybe even a replica from Titian’s own workshop. And the other is no later than mid-seventeenth century.’
Simona seemed puzzled. ‘Are you sure? The last person who looked at them insisted they were just nineteenth-century copies.’
‘Who was that?’
‘Oh… just a dealer.’
‘Barzini?’
‘No. It doesn’t matter.’
‘Yes it does, Simona. It matters about a million pounds worth.’
Her eyes widened with shock. ‘As much as that?’
‘I did some research for you,’ said Kate, wondering how Simona could have been so ill-informed about one of her pictures. ‘A painting a little bigger but done at about the same time was auctioned recently for £480,000. Yours would fetch at least a quarter of a million.’
Simona’s shock was genuine enough, though she tried hard to hide her feelings. ‘Well, fancy that,’ she said with phoney brightness. ‘What about the first one you got? The Daughter of Time? That was undervalued too?’
‘Sure it was. By about £400,000 at least.’
‘Holy saints…’ For a moment or two her gaze was distant, then she forced herself to say lightly, ‘Lucky for me you came, eh?’
‘Why? Who’s been giving you bum advice, Simona?’
‘Oh… It must have been a mix up. But…’ She and Kate had been moving slowly towards the door. Suddenly Simona gripped Kate by the arm and stared intently into her eyes. ‘Kate, I need to ask you a favour. It’s important. You mustn’t tell anyone about this. Not about the details I added in, and not about the value of the paintings. Promise?’
‘Maybe—if I had some idea what this was about.’
‘You will. But right now, you have to promise. So far as anyone else is concerned, you just happened to be passing this way and thought you’d drop by and… don’t mention the paintings. I didn’t tell anyone I sent them to you. Please, Kate, you have to promise me. It’s important.’
If Kate had needed a reminder of what it was like to enter the Bertoni world, she had it now: that looking-glass world of secrets and deceits, that giddy sensation of taking part in a drama where none of the other players could spare a moment to tell her the script.
They were inside the hall now. It was cool and dark, with stone floors and patterned rugs and a huge vase of white lilies. It smelled the way old houses smell when there’s an army of servants to polish and dust and clean, where every surface glows. An old dog, large and pale as a polar bear but much friendlier, had padded over to investigate, its nails clacking on the stone floor.
Kate told herself that if she went along with Simona’s demands, she’d discover the reason behind all this sooner. ‘All right,’ she said.
‘You promise?’
‘I said all right, didn’t I?’
‘It’s just that it’s so important. Remember, you just happened to be passing and dropped in. Nothing to do with the picture. I do have reasons, Kate. I don’t want the staff, or my mother or… or… or
‘But I must keep this with me until I return it to Signor Barzini.’
Simona looked shocked. ‘It’s my painting,’ she said, and then, quickly, ‘We’ll phone Barzini straight away and tell him what’s happened. Will that make it okay?’
‘I suppose so. But you’ll have to check it first.’
‘It’s okay, I trust you.’
‘For God’s sake, that’s not the point.’ Kate was annoyed. It was bad enough that Simona had made her a player in some elaborate secret game, but the way she’d abused valuable works of art was unforgivable. She said, ‘Both those paintings you sent me are worth a small fortune. God only knows why you put such a ridiculously low figure on them for insurance.’
‘But they’re only copies,’ protested Simona.
‘Yes, but extremely valuable copies all the same. I didn’t investigate them at all, but my hunch is the Marsyas is late-sixteenth century, maybe even a replica from Titian’s own workshop. And the other is no later than mid-seventeenth century.’
Simona seemed puzzled. ‘Are you sure? The last person who looked at them insisted they were just nineteenth-century copies.’
‘Who was that?’
‘Oh… just a dealer.’
‘Barzini?’
‘No. It doesn’t matter.’
‘Yes it does, Simona. It matters about a million pounds worth.’
Her eyes widened with shock. ‘As much as that?’
‘I did some research for you,’ said Kate, wondering how Simona could have been so ill-informed about one of her pictures. ‘A painting a little bigger but done at about the same time was auctioned recently for £480,000. Yours would fetch at least a quarter of a million.’
Simona’s shock was genuine enough, though she tried hard to hide her feelings. ‘Well, fancy that,’ she said with phoney brightness. ‘What about the first one you got? The Daughter of Time? That was undervalued too?’
‘Sure it was. By about £400,000 at least.’
‘Holy saints…’ For a moment or two her gaze was distant, then she forced herself to say lightly, ‘Lucky for me you came, eh?’
‘Why? Who’s been giving you bum advice, Simona?’
‘Oh… It must have been a mix up. But…’ She and Kate had been moving slowly towards the door. Suddenly Simona gripped Kate by the arm and stared intently into her eyes. ‘Kate, I need to ask you a favour. It’s important. You mustn’t tell anyone about this. Not about the details I added in, and not about the value of the paintings. Promise?’
‘Maybe—if I had some idea what this was about.’
‘You will. But right now, you have to promise. So far as anyone else is concerned, you just happened to be passing this way and thought you’d drop by and… don’t mention the paintings. I didn’t tell anyone I sent them to you. Please, Kate, you have to promise me. It’s important.’
If Kate had needed a reminder of what it was like to enter the Bertoni world, she had it now: that looking-glass world of secrets and deceits, that giddy sensation of taking part in a drama where none of the other players could spare a moment to tell her the script.
They were inside the hall now. It was cool and dark, with stone floors and patterned rugs and a huge vase of white lilies. It smelled the way old houses smell when there’s an army of servants to polish and dust and clean, where every surface glows. An old dog, large and pale as a polar bear but much friendlier, had padded over to investigate, its nails clacking on the stone floor.
Kate told herself that if she went along with Simona’s demands, she’d discover the reason behind all this sooner. ‘All right,’ she said.
‘You promise?’
‘I said all right, didn’t I?’
‘It’s just that it’s so important. Remember, you just happened to be passing and dropped in. Nothing to do with the picture. I do have reasons, Kate. I don’t want the staff, or my mother or… or… or
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