Chapter Six – La Fache
Michael picked her up and drove them to the farm he owned in Bridgewater, Connecticut; a 70-acre estate of mainly rolling grass and some mixed timber. There were a few horses, and the house had a fine view over the lake; it was stunning.
Staff unloaded the car which allowed Michael to escort Hannah around the house, finally depositing her at the bedroom he had ordered to be prepared. Hannah, assuming they would be sharing from the off, was greatly relieved.
“Dinner is at eight o’clock; time to freshen up. Cocktails are at seven-thirty. Do you need anything?” Michael asked.
“No; I have everything I need; thank you, Michael. Game playing aside, I am looking forward to this weekend and the opportunity to get to know you better.”
“Me too,” he said with a genuine and soft smile, which perhaps even indicated that he was a little shy and maybe far less experienced in matters of the heart than most people would have guessed. He kissed her hand and left her at the entrance to the room. It had its own bathroom and a balcony with views over the rear formal garden and the lake beyond.
Hannah’s bags had been brought up and she unpacked the essentials. She suddenly felt like a little girl in the grown-ups world. This was her first taste of true style, and never before had she been entertained by someone with so much money - even Gerhardt’s fortune paled by comparison.
A little awestruck, yes, she was, but she also processed everything. In particular, how certain things were done and arranged. Her etiquette was improving all the time. If she made a faux pas, and she did sometimes, she handed it off as youthful ignorance - but made damn sure she didn’t make the same mistake again. In her current guise, she was thirty and travelled, wealthy and in business; it behooved a level of confidence and style. A level she wasn’t used to yet but adapting to very quickly.
Something she did too was to watch herself, she did it all the time; stepping out of the body corporeal and floating above it to examine the performance for later analysis and agreement on points of improvement. Not knowing if the room was bugged or under surveillance, she acted out her persona unfalteringly. It was necessary anyway. She needed to wear the skin of Fiorina as closely as her own, and the heavily accented English was hard to maintain when she got into full flow. These trials, she mused, were what you got paid for. In reality, any idiot could steal a piece of art; getting away with it and advancing in the game was something else entirely.
She dressed chic and European. The black, knee-length dress accentuated her curves and her fluidity. Michael presented her with a corsage which was unexpected but earned him a kiss on the cheek and he beamed as if he believed that he had gotten something right. They had Cosmopolitans on the rear terrace and watched the sun set; clichéd as it was, it was very nice.
“If I may ask, what business interests do you have in Italy?” he asked. Hannah had been expecting the question after her reference to ‘her business’ the last time they had met.
“Fabric ... I trade in exquisite fabrics; mostly antique. I source most of it for designers and studios.”
“I never imagined it could be so lucrative,” Michael replied.
“It never was but the market has picked up in the last couple of years. There is a lot of new money and a desire to spend it conspicuously ...”
“Perhaps we can work on a project together; the apartment needs a make-over. Planning to move the bronzes just emphasizes how tired it looks. I haven’t let anyone touch it for ten years.”
“That suggests more than a reluctance to share your things.”
“If I can be completely honest, I have no real confidence in these things; I buy the best and assume it will look amazing.”
“Often it does but sometimes it can all work against you. I prefer simplicity. Good lighting; that’s the key and that’s my next business venture - lighting. The best designers are emerging from Sweden and Norway. Teamed with fabric, I believe I might have a winning combination.”
“You are incredibly ambitious ...”
“For someone of my age; was that what you were going to say?”
“Actually, for a woman. You’re spearheading an emerging confidence; I like it. It’s refreshing ... you always seem younger than I know you are but age is irrelevant.”
“But experience is priceless and that can’t be bought. I make it my business to acquire it; age doesn’t matter until the client would prefer to deal with either a man, of any age, or someone with acumen. Fortunately, an increasing number of my clients are women, independent women; they care less about age or gender but drive harder bargains than the men!”
“Would you consider a partnership for the lighting venture?”
“I might; once I’ve seen how you do business.”
“Ruthlessly as a rule; my world is inhabited by men ... who play golf and drink scotch.”
“For now!” Hannah concluded; signaling that soon there would be no place to retreat.
They dined on simple farm-style fare cooked by a French chef and served by an English waiter. The wines were recommended by the chef and Hannah realized then that Michael had no real confidence. He bought the best and assumed it would look and presumably taste amazing. It did; but it wasn’t very intimate, and more like dining in a restaurant in Paris or perhaps New York - although now that the avant garde had broken through, the stuffiness and formality of dining out was becoming more exciting and relaxed.
“Shall we take our coffees outside? The terrace is heated,” Michael ventured.
“Yes; perfect.”
Hannah wanted to smoke but asked first.
“Of course! I don’t, well, cigars occasionally.”
“It’s a terrible habit,” she admitted as she extracted a cigarette from her case and fitted it into the holder, allowing him to light it for her, using her newly acquired Dunhill Rollagas.
“What do you want to do tomorrow?” he prompted.
“Can we ride?” she asked, for she rode very well.
“Of course! Let’s breakfast at eight and we’ll ride before lunch. I want to show you the vineyard; it’s just getting going ...”
It certainly wasn’t expected, as far as Hannah could detect, that they would become intimate that evening. She kissed him very tenderly as she said goodnight and he responded in kind, holding her hand and then reluctantly letting it go as she moved to retire. He was thirty-eight, she recalled, as she took off her makeup, and he certainly didn’t display the sexual confidence of a thirty-eight-year-old male. On one level, she wondered if he was indeed thirty-eight; perhaps he was twenty-two and masquerading like her.
That thought stuck in her head until she dropped off.
Chapter Seven – Huntin’, shootin’ and fishin’
Hacking across the downs on her native Isle of Wight had been one of her adolescent passions; hair streaming behind her and the wind making her eyes water. This was something that she didn’t need to do better or practice. The four-year-old chestnut gelding relished being ridden and Hannah was in danger of falling into the island vernacular while she felt so free.
Michael battled bravely on his grey mare; an older horse and a pretty steady one. He didn’t ride often or look at all comfortable, but he was competitive and pushed himself and the horse, until all pulled up breathless at the site of the new vineyard.
“You ride well!” he gasped.
“I love riding!”
He showed her the new vineyard. The vines were very young, and it would be a good few years before there was any Chateau La Fache on the shelves. They cantered back for lunch and then had a swim in the heated pool, followed by a game of croquet.
Hannah felt like she was being wooed in the good old fashioned way and had to admit to enjoying it very much. They broke up after some tea for a siesta, planning to reconvene at dinner which was at seven- thirty. Hannah retired to a hot bath and Michael went to the office which was directly beneath her bathroom. His muffled voice was just audible as she soaked in the luxuri
ous bubbles. Curiosity got the better of her in the end. She slipped out of the bath and took a glass from the shelf, placing the tumbler on the floor with her ear pressed to it to see if she could hear him more clearly. He was on the telephone.
“As far as I can see, Conan, she is who she says she is ...”
Hannah’s heart skipped a beat.
“The exhibition was her idea, partly, I just don’t see how the job gets done; the piece weighs two tons, man! I thought the other woman was the thief and our Italian friend was innocent ... oh, you think?”
“Oh my God,” said Hannah to herself. “Conan is in on this and thinks Madeleine and Fiorina are the same person ... why ask for the piece to be stolen?”
“If they are, then she is very, very good. How do you want me to play it?”
Hannah strained to catch every word, seeing as this could be the end of her game or the start of a much bigger one.
“I won’t do that, Conan; not for you or any amount of money. I’ll cancel the exhibition. The piece is going nowhere and, as far as I’m concerned, she’s innocent until proven guilty ... Remind me why we wanted the piece stolen in the first place? ... Don’t threaten me!”
There was a long pause.
“Fine! We’ll proceed as planned and see how she plays it; if I lose the piece, you’ll answer for it - yes!”
Hannah got back into the bath and tried to remain perfectly calm. The burning question was why did they want the piece stolen? It was as if they were trying to flush her out. Could Gerhardt be behind it, seeking revenge? Manuel was happy - he had his paintings - so why the subterfuge?
Hannah went down for cocktails and played it very, very coolly; Michael appeared to be a little agitated.
“Is everything alright?” Hannah asked.
“Yes, fine; there’s always some issue or other to sort out. The exhibition may have to be postponed ...”
There it was; the test of her reaction.
“Now that would be a shame and you would be penalized by the venue ... but if the show is deferred, then I’ll head to Rome earlier than planned. When will you know?” she asked as a matter of fact, and that floored him.
“Next week, by Wednesday,” he replied somewhat meekly.
They dined and the atmosphere was a little heavy on Michael’s side of the table; Hannah kept up the façade perfectly.
“If you have to delay, then come to Rome,” she said as her own test.
“If it is possible, then I will; that would be great.”
“What are our plans tomorrow?” she asked, keeping a toe in the water.
“I think we’ll have to return to the city earlier than planned; perhaps after breakfast. Would you be very disappointed if we didn’t go sailing?”
“Of course; but there will be other opportunities, won’t there?”
“Yes, absolutely!”
They took their coffees and brandies out onto the terrace and Michael seemed more relaxed.
“You have been a delightful companion this weekend,” he began. “There’s a benefit on Tuesday which I have to attend; would you be my guest?”
“I should be free. I have an associate flying in for a meeting. Once I’ve checked the itinerary, then I’ll confirm. It should be fine.”
“If I said I needed your help, Fiorina, could I rely on your absolute discretion?”
“Of course, Michael; I’ll do whatever I can to help.”
“I’ve gotten into deep water and the raft has sprung a leak ...”
“Do you need money?”
“Ready money; I have so much tied up in other ventures. I don’t want to pull the plug and lose out but I have some heavy expenses coming in and even I have limits ... it would just be for a few weeks.”
“How much?”
“Five hundred thousand dollars ...”
“That doesn’t sound like too much of a problem. When do you need it?”
“By Wednesday as it happens.”
“Okay; once I’ve seen my associate, then I’ll see what I can do. Please don’t worry, Michael.”
“Thanks; I hate to ask but if I go elsewhere then-”
“Questions will be asked and that would be unhelpful.”
“Exactly!”
“I’ll be able to confirm on Tuesday, by the time I see you at the benefit. I’m touched actually that you trust me enough to confide in me and seek my help.”
“You seem - no, you are - someone I feel I can trust. There are precious few; most just want to see me fail.”
“Say no more about it. Where is the benefit on Tuesday?”
“At The Cloisters; it’s in aid of a restoration project ... some tapestry or other.”
“I’ve seen something about it. What time?”
“Seven; let me pick you up.”
“I may be out. I’ll meet you there but you can drive me back. If it’s early enough, there may be time to catch a late dinner.”
“Thank you, Fiorina; I feel a lot easier about everything.”
With a little haste, he retired and bade her goodnight very tenderly. Hannah remained on the terrace to think.
“He needs money; that’s rubbish! So why say he does? To get five hundred thousand back for someone, perhaps to get the five hundred thousand to pay Maddy for the theft ... or see me broke ...”
She watched the full moon rise over the lake. As it inched higher into the sky and lit up the landscape, she had a few more thoughts.
“He’s warning me - five hundred thousand is the payoff - it’s just a scam to get half a million dollars, knowing that I won’t be able to pursue it. It’s their way of blowing my cover. Is it a test ... why? I could write it off but why should I? Does it buy me protection or seal my fate? Do I retire out of this game?”
Hannah went to bed and knew that the offensive would be her best defense so she planned her own strategy.
They breakfasted and Michael confirmed that they needed to go back shortly afterwards.
“I’m really sorry,” he said.
“It’s fine; I’ll do some work and that should almost guarantee that I’ll be free on Tuesday evening. You can trust me, Michael, but I will need collateral for the loan,” Hannah said, looking directly into those usually impenetrable pools of liquid flint. There was a ripple.
“No; of course ... What works for you?”
“If no one else must know, then personal assets to the value. You decide ...”
“I’ll let you know on Tuesday.”
They left and headed back to the city. The mood was fairly upbeat, which indicated to Hannah that Michael believed she would hand over the money, and she was pretty sure the collateral would be worthless. He dropped her off with a sweet little kiss and profuse thanks.
In the sanctuary of the apartment, she concluded that this was a cunning plan to oust her from the game; clear her out and send her packing, nursing her wounds. A simple case of removing the opposition before they became too powerful; suggesting Michael had more to lose than was apparent if she succeeded.
She waited until late afternoon and telephoned Conan.
“Conan; I hate to do this to you but I have to fly back to Rome for business; it means I won’t be here to handle your delivery.”
“Is there no way you can be back in time, my dear?”
“It seems not. I hate to let you down and if you need someone you can trust, then I recommend Michael Burlington to you.”
There was a pause.
“Yes, perhaps he would do it; we have had some dealings in the past. It’s such a pity you can’t do it; it would be an excellent way to forge a basis for future dealings.”
“Such is life, Conan; goodbye ...”
All hinged on whether Thierry called Maddy but Hannah took the initiative there too.
“Thierry; it’s Maddy. I’ve checked out the delivery address and it’s unsafe; you’ll need to advise me of an alternative ... oh yes, the delivery will still be made ... thank you; I’ll wait for you to advise.”
&nb
sp; “That should put the proverbial cat amongst the pigeons and save the identity of Signorina Fiorina de Cana. Now; I wonder how Luke is getting on with the fake.”
Such were Hannah’s thought as she hatched a more devious plan to get her five hundred and thirty thousand dollars.
“Pierre; hi, it’s me. Is the vehicle ready? Excellent! Meet me for lunch tomorrow; usual place, usual time.”
Hunting and fishing and hopefully no shooting were Hannah’s last thoughts as she got into bed. Who was behind it really? Conan? Michael? Thierry? She’d dismissed Gerhardt, having seen that he’d bought more paintings with the insurance money and was now courting a Duchess. The Fayette’s didn’t feature but she couldn’t be sure. No, the plan had to have been concocted between Michael and Conan, with Thierry acting as a go-between, perhaps goaded by Manuel. She slept soundly and still held on to the feelings that, given a choice, she’d still rather steal than collect!
Chapter Eight – Reckoning up
On Monday, Hannah reconciled her accounts and found that if it were necessary, she could put up the five hundred thousand and it wouldn’t make too much of a dent. She had about four hundred thousand from the sale of the small De Nizza which was bonus money; a hundred thousand from reserves would still leave her comfortable but she had no intention of seeing half a million dollars disappear without trace, and the damage to her reputation would effectively put her out of business.
Pierre had the vehicle ready and in a day or two, Luke would have the copy of The Muses completed for her to see. The plan was simple: load the copy into the security vehicle; drive to the delivery address; hand it over; collect the bond. The key; making sure that no one could verify that the real piece had not moved from the Park Avenue apartment. As long as Michael didn’t oversee the handover, she’d be fine; he, therefore, needed to be elsewhere!
How to handle the benefit was the next burning question. Could she make it appear that she was handing over the money; would the collateral actually be worth anything? Did she back out, feigning heavy expenses of her own? Perhaps she should just leave for Rome like she had told Conan, and leave the playboy with no playmate. Obviously, they thought relieving her of the cash would put an end to her career for a while; just to see her exit from the stage wasn’t good enough.
The benefit for the tapestry was the key. She’d offer to pay Michael’s donation instead of handing him the actual cash; that would delay matters. Perhaps she should sell the emeralds; they really weren’t her. They were real but of very poor quality; the setting and the diamonds had hidden that fact. Worth a hundred thousand but looked a million. Yes, offer to cover his donation and sell the emeralds, put that money up and promise the rest a week or so later.