The Modigliani Scandal - Ken Follett [75]
″You scared me,″ Peter said.
Still smiling, Arnaz opened the rotting wooden gate and walked in. Peter said: ″Come on inside.″
The three men went up to the studio. When they had sat down Arnaz waved a copy of the newspaper. ″I congratulate you two,″ he said. ″I couldn′t have done a better job myself. I laughed my ass off in bed this morning.″
Mitch got up and pretended to stare at Arnaz′s behind. ″How did you get it back on again?″
Peter laughed. ″Mitch, don′t get manic again.″
Amaz went on: ″It was a brilliant operation. And the forgeries were good. I happened to see the van Gogh in Claypole′s last week. I almost bought it.″
″I suppose it′s safe for you to come here,″ Peter said thoughtfully.
″I think so. Besides, it′s necessary if I′m to make a profit on this deal.″
Mitch′s voice was hostile. ″I thought you were in this for the laughs.″
ʺThat too.″ Arnaz smiled again. ʺBut mainly, I wanted to see just how good the two of you were.″
″What the hell are you getting at, Arnaz?″ Peter was becoming uneasy now.
ʺLike I said, I want to see a profit on my investment. So I want you to do one more forgery each. For me.″
″No deal, Arnaz,ʺ said Peter. ″We did this to make a point, not to make money. We′re on the verge of getting away with it. No more forgeries.″
Mitch said quietly: ″I don′t think weʹre going to have any choice.″
Arnaz gave him a nod of acknowledgment. He spread his hands in a gesture of appeal. ″Look, you guys, there′s no danger. No one will know about these extra forgeries. The people who buy ′em will never let on they′ve been conned, because they′ll be implicating themselves in something shady by buying them in the first place. And nobody but me will know you did the forging.″
″Not interested,″ said Peter.
Arnaz said: ″Mitch knows you′re going to do it, don′t you, Mitch?″
″Yes, you bastard.″
″So tell Pete here.″
″Amaz has us by the balls, Peter,″ Mitch said. ″He′s the one person in the world who can finger us for the police. All it would take would be one anonymous phone call. And we haven′t got our deal with the art dealers yet.″
″So? If he fingers us, why can′t we finger him?″ Mitch replied: ″Because there′s no proof against him. He had no part in the operation—nobody saw him, whereas loads of people saw me. We can be put up on identity lineups, asked to account for our movements on the day in question, and Christ knows what. All he did was give us money—and it was cash, remember? He can deny everything.″
Peter turned to Arnaz. ″When do you want the forgeries?″
″Good lad. I want you to do them now, while I wait.″
Anne looked around the door with the baby in her arms. ″Hey, you lot, are we going to the common or not?ʺ
″I′m sorry, darling,ʺ Peter replied. ″It won′t be possible now. We′ve got to do something else.″
Anne′s expression was unreadable. She left the room.
Mitch said: ″What sort of paintings do you want, Amaz?ʺ
The man picked up the parcel he had brought with him. ″I want two copies of this.″ He handed it to Mitch.
Mitch unwrapped the parcel and took out a framed painting. He looked at it with puzzlement in his eyes. Then he read the signature, and whistled.
″Good God,″ he said in amazement. ″Where did you get this?″
II
SAMANTHA TOYED WITH HER china coffee cup and watched Lord Cardwell delicately eating a cracker piled high with Blue Stilton. She liked the man, despite herself: he was tall, and white-haired, with a long nose and laugh-lines in the comers of his eyes. Throughout the dinner he had asked her intelligent questions about an actress′s work, and had seemed to be genuinely interested—and occasionally scandalized—by the stories she told.
Tom sat opposite her, and Julian at the lower end of the table. The four of them were alone, apart from the butler, and Samantha wondered briefly where Sarah was. Julian had not mentioned her. He was talking enthusiastically now, about a picture he had bought. His eyes shone, and he waved his arm in the air as he spoke. Perhaps the picture was the reason for his transformation.
″Modigliani gave it