Collection (20 page)

Cicero had no intention of telling Leanne's mother anything. She wanted her daughter as far away from this side of the family business as possible. Among the jobs that family members did, there were reputable pursuits, and then there was the sketchy stuff that Cicero loved. Leanne was going to Cornell to get an education in genetic sciences so that she could act as a liaison between the family and their new medical ventures. If her mother found out about Cicero asking her daughter to do a bit of sabotage, he would be a dead man walking.

“Yes, she would freak out. So would your grandma, so how about we keep this between us for a little while at least.”

Leanne raised her eyebrows in doubt.

“Grandma Laurel knows everything. I won't tell her, but she'll find out. You know that.”

“Yeah. I just need a little time.” A little time, and the client's painting. Laurel was nothing if not practical. Asking Leanne for help was not something she would approve of, but she would accept the risk as long as it reaped rewards. Cicero needed to get into the museum, but he couldn't be seen on the video footage or by the museum staff. He needed Leanne to put the wheels in motion. Nobody would suspect her of anything larcenous because she really was just a college student in town for the day. Cicero tended to attract attention even when he was trying to be unassuming.

“So, are we good then? I wanted to do some shopping before I head back to Ithaca.”

“Absolutely. And since you dropped the hint so delicately, here.” Cicero took out the wad of bills he kept in his pocket and gave Leanne enough to buy several wardrobes.

“Nothing too slutty.”

“Don't you know, Old-timer? Slutty is the style these days.”

Cicero raised his eyebrow at her impishness. “I do know. But not for you. You don't need it.”

Leanne smiled, turned, and left without a care in the world. Cicero walked down the steps and towards his hotel in the opposite direction. If Leanne had done her job correctly, all he had to do was make himself available, and they would come to him. There was a painting that would need his help very soon.

27

BEHIND THE CARAVAGGIO
, another painting had been inserted into the void created by the framing. The back was gently fastened in place with tape. He removed it and turned the smaller concealed painting over. He was relieved to see the Vermeer.

“I think this is what Franka will be calling us about once she gets to wherever she's going. Not a bad hiding spot. I imagine this is how she snuck it out of the vault. It's small enough that all she had to do was slide it behind a nearby painting - the Pissarro - and she could carry them both out in the same case.”

He turned the painting around so that the rest of the women could see it. Jane nearly fell down with relief.

“Thank God! That's it. That's definitely it!”

As he handed over the Vermeer, a thick letter fell from the Caravaggio canvas onto the floor. Lucien picked it up and looked at it. It was unaddressed, but as Lucien pulled the paper out of the envelope, he saw Franka's prim handwriting.

“Celine, could you take that to the restoration department and see if it needs any repairs before we bring it to Atlanta? Take Jane with you. I don't think she'll want to let it out of her sight.”

Celine left with Jane in tow. Jonnie seemed to stall for a moment, but realized that Lucien wanted to read the letter in private.

“I'll just go help them with the cleaning and whatnot.” She awkwardly exited and closed the door behind herself.

Pippa didn't move. She wanted to hear what was in the letter, and she couldn't be intimidated to leave. Lucien took a long while to read it. Without saying anything, he put it in his pocket.

Pippa spoke first, but she seemed to be ready for the worst.

“What does it say?”

“You were right. She felt alienated and she wanted something for herself. She forged the paintings, and kept the money as a kind of retirement nest egg. She wants to build a new life somewhere else, away from all of us.”

Pippa took a moment to process what he'd said, then spoke. “She's wanted this for some time. When she was younger, she wanted to leave.”

“When was this?” After reading the letter, he didn't want any more surprises.

Pippa was defensive at his outburst. “It was a long time ago, when I was still overseeing this house. Just after she graduated from university, she talked about pursuing a career outside of the family business. I think she said she wanted to be a school teacher, of all things. I convinced her that it wasn't what her mother would have wanted. If you remember her mother, Helene, had died a few years after she started school in Zurich. Helene lost two sons before Franka was born. She wanted her only daughter to contribute to the family, to help our search.”

“She came back after you spoke to her?”

“Not right away. I told her to take some time and think about it. She came back after a year, and I sent her out to be a runner because she wanted to do something exciting. I was surprised at her request, it was quite a change from being a school teacher. Whatever youthful wanderlust she had was gone after a few years on the road. She stayed here and worked hard after that. I never had any reason to doubt her commitment.”

“Until now?”

“Yes.”

“I just don't get it. Why didn't she tell anyone?”

“You may not realize it Lucien, but it has become harder to convince the younger members that this life,” she gestured around the room, “is the one they were meant for. We give up much of what any woman would want. Families of our own, lives that we don't have to conceal, legitimate livelihoods.”

She paused, but then turned to Lucien.

“At one time we thought you were something supernatural. It was a privilege to be a part of your life. You were special, you were something we would never see. You were our family secret, and we had to protect you, serve you, some even worshipped you.”

“I am not a god, Pippa.”

“So you say, but in the old days, you were unexplainable. You've worked hard to demystify what you are in this modern age. The younger ones think you and Cicero are genetic anomalies, and that we have mere reproductive problems that a doctor could possibly fix given enough time and technology. We've been down this road before, Lucien. Doctors are the witches of this age. The witches didn't do us any good, and these doctors have yet to prove that they're any better.”

“It's going to be all right. We're almost to the point where we could have some answers about why we are the way we are.”

“I am an old woman, Lucien. I think this helps me understand how different you are. I remember the first time I met you. My mother brought me to London to see an exhibition at the Victoria and Albert Museum. I didn't know it at the time, but she took me there because one of her forgeries was on display. She was so proud of it. She wanted me to see it there, being venerated and adored by thousands. Later in the day we went for tea. My mother led me into a wonderful room full of ladies and gentlemen eating beautiful little cakes and drinking tea out of delicate china. You were there waiting for us. I spilled my tea on the table and started to cry, but you told me that it was all right. That was in 1936. I am clearly not a little girl anymore. The world changed after that day, but you never did.”

“I have changed as much as anybody. There are several hundred year's worth of journals that can attest to that. You just can't tell from the outside.”

“No, you can't tell. Year after year, you can't tell. It's not going to be all right, Lucien. I believe you need to continue to search for answers. Don't put all of your faith in modern science. It can't explain everything.”

“Things change, Pippa. Whether we want them to or not. I can't remember the day we met. There are many days that I can't remember no matter how hard I try. I don't have all the answers. I need help.”

“Is that why you brought the girl here?”

“Besides the fact that I got her into trouble? Yes, I guess she has sparked my interest. I don't really know who I am and she doesn't understand what she is.”

“Be careful. Make sure you can trust her. I think we've learned that much from this trouble with Franka.”

Lucien would be careful, but Jane and Franka were two very different people. He took Pippa's frail hand in his own.

“I think Celine will be able to handle things here as the new head of house. I appreciate your help these past few days, I know you never really retire from all this.”

“I wouldn't know what to do with myself. I'll get the Caravaggio back into the vault, and Jonnie will make travel arrangements to get you back to Atlanta on the next available flight.”

Pippa left without saying goodbye. She had grown superstitious about farewells as she aged. Saying goodbye seemed the best way to ensure that you never saw the other person again. She didn't want sentimentality at her age, she wanted utility. At the age of eighty-three, she decided that saying goodbye was just stating the obvious. With what time she had left, she wanted to do what she always loved; serving the family.

28

“MR. WAVERLY, THANK YOU SO MUCH
for meeting with me. I realize you're in town on other business, and I am so glad you agreed to take this appointment.” The scholarly man standing in front of Cicero was perspiring copiously, and as he spoke his eyes danced in anxious anticipation. It was his office, but the man seemed uncomfortable and kept repositioning himself behind the desk. Cicero tried not to scowl at the hopping and shook Mr. Sebastien's hand. He noticed that it was unpleasantly moist.

“I would be a fool to refuse a meeting with the head conservator of the Metropolitan Museum of Art!” Portraying “Mr. Waverly”, the Magnolia House associate, was a hobby of Cicero's. He usually let Lucien handle the person-to-person contact, but he still liked to practice his masquerade skills. This visit to the Met would keep him sharp.

Mr. Sebastien looked at the polished floor of his office and shook his head.

“Oh, you're very kind. You have a wonderful reputation with several of the conservators on staff, and I'm glad to finally meet you. Magnolia House has done some groundbreaking work and I think we could learn so much from one another.”

“Now then, what did you want to discuss?” Cicero tried not to push the man too much, but they could end up effusively complementing each other for the next hour if the man didn't get to the point. Mr. Sebastien continued to look at the floor, his cluttered desk, and the wall behind Cicero. He was having trouble making eye contact, and Cicero suspected it was because he was embarrassed.

Finally he motioned to the chair in front of the desk and managed
to sit in his own chair without falling on his ass. Mr. Sebastien took a deep breath and managed to compose himself, somewhat. “We, the other conservators and I, have a few questions regarding some of your recent work with solvents.”

Cicero masked a smile before responding.

“Well, well. I will share with you what I can, but the Magnolia House does use proprietary chemicals and techniques. I am unable to divulge our trade secrets. After all, if I did that, we wouldn't be the best conservation and restoration entity in the United States.”

Mr. Sebastien looked up and reassured Cicero earnestly.

“Yes, of course. It's just that we've run into a bit of a problem with one of our paintings. A Davies. It's not ours, it's on loan from another museum.”

Cicero crossed his arms and tapped his chin contemplatively. “That can get a bit difficult. I hope it's not irrevocably damaged.”

“No, no. Of course not. It just had a bit of chewing gum on it.” He spoke a bit too loudly and quickly. Cicero was now certain that Leanne had been successful the previous day at the museum. If the college thing didn't work out for her, he was sure that he could find her other jobs assisting him.

“Gum? That's unfortunate, but it doesn't sound too bad. I'm sure your in-house people can handle that.”

Mr. Sebastien's bald head bobbed wildly. “We thought so too. Unfortunately, when we applied the appropriate organic solvent to remove it, there were unintended consequences.”

“Oh, dear.” That was the best doublespeak for “we screwed up” that Cicero had ever heard.

“Yes. I'm afraid that this chewing gum is not like anything we've dealt with before.”

Cicero furrowed his brow to keep from laughing. “What happened?”

“I think it might be easier to show you.” Mr. Sebastien started to wring his hands as he led Cicero over to an easel draped with cloth in the corner of his office.

“By all means.” Cicero waved his hand casually, but he was eager to see what was under the cloth.

Mr. Sebastien's baleful eyes fell again as he removed the drape. He couldn't look at the painting without considerable embarrassment.

“Here it is.”

“Good lord.” Cicero covered his mouth in mock horror.

“Yes.” Mr. Sebastien whispered.

“This is why you called me?”

“Yes.”

“You want us to fix it?”

“Yes. We tried to, we really did, but it just got worse and worse and nothing we did would help.” He stopped when he realized he was rambling.

“Ship it, and we'll do what we can.” Cicero managed to appear sympathetic, but he was pleased. His recent experiments with inorganic compounds had paid off. The chewing gum he had created in the lab in London was successful. The tricky part had been the delivery method, but Leanne had managed to deposit the offensive wad on the canvas without anyone noticing. When it was spotted at the end of the day, the museum staff had done what was dictated by protocol in these situations. The solvent they used should have broken down the gum, and they should have been able to remove it without much trouble. Instead, it was now a big blue glob that had become runny and quickly spread over the lower right corner of the landscape. The surrounding canvas was tinted with a hazy layer that obscured detail and managed to make the painting look out of focus. It was a mess, and Cicero was the only one who could fix it.