MasterStroke (26 page)

If there was a time to have any doubts, it was now, she knew.
But I have no doubts.
It felt right, everything about him. The timing was coincidental, just one of those things.
Jack turned up when I needed him most.
And despite the strange tale that Mariel told, of carrying out the background check and the almost immediate appearance of the mysterious Government officials, there must be a logical explanation for that as well, she just didn’t know what it was.

Sandrine delved deep into herself, trying to separate logic from emotion, and there was no question about it. She believed Jack was helping her because he loved her. She didn’t trust people lightly, having a natural aversion towards such things, which was why Jack’s sudden appearance in her life and her rapid acceptance of him naturally raised concern with her friends. The reaction of Mariel, so far the only one who knew all the circumstances of the last few weeks, was exactly as expected.

Sandrine had already run the full course of disbelief, suspicion and, finally, acceptance. The inner turmoil this occasioned, before she’d come to understand that her early years had shaped so much of her adult perceptions, was now replaced by a steely determination to shield Jack’s reputation from the people who care for her.

Am I right or do I just want to be?
a discordant voice within her remarked boldly.

She was aware that Marcus was still watching her with a dangerously neutral expression.
He’s waiting for more
, she thought.
He wants a complete explanation but I don’t have one. Jack is Jack and no further explanation is needed. Marcus just needs to trust me as I trust Jack.

“Where are the folios?” Marcus asked.

“They’re with Jack.”

“But where?”

“I don’t know exactly. Somewhere safe.”

“That’s not good enough. I need to know where they are. They’re not mine and certainly not yours. I’ve been entrusted with them and they shouldn’t have been removed from the safe.”

“If Jack hadn’t spirited them away, they wouldn’t be here at all,” she flared angrily, her patience exhausted.
Why won’t he understand?
“Those Russian thugs would have taken them and most likely hurt me or far worse. I was scared and there was no-one to help me.”

Tears sprang unbidden. Ashamed of losing control and deep crimson with embarrassment, she lowered her head and started to cry, quietly at first then with great gulping sobs that shook her body.

“Oh dear,” Marcus said quietly, confused by the emotional outburst of a highly-strung young woman, something way beyond his experience. His chair scraped back on the hardwood floor and he edged around the desk, trying as delicately as he could not to disturb anything. Against the odds, everything pretty much stayed in place. From his body language, he was obviously uncomfortable. He stood close but not too close, patting the air above her shoulder with one hand in an almost comical attempt at consolation. “Oh dear. I’m sorry, Sandrine, I really am. I didn’t mean to upset you.”

Marcus was evidently out of his depth but the cavalry arrived just in time in the form of Marcella who swept into the office and shooed him aside, hugging Sandrine protectively.

“You bully,” she said accusingly. “What did you do to this poor girl?”

“Um, nothing, really, I have no idea what’s happening,”

Marcella graced him with a baleful gaze and refrained from saying any more.

“I’ll make a new pot of tea,” he stuttered, gathering up the Meissen and leaving the room, not looking at either of them.

“Marcus means well. I’m sure he didn’t intend to upset you,” Marcella said soothingly. This only made Sandrine feel even worse. They were like family and very rarely had disagreements. While she was steadfast in her belief in Jack’s good intentions, when it came at articulating why anybody else should feel this way, she failed miserably. How could she explain when the little she did know about Jack and his background merely made him seem all the more suspicious?

In the cold light of day, under Marcus’ probing inquisition, the inconsistencies were stacking up and Sandrine felt a chill spreading through her. A cup of tea wasn’t going to help. When Jack was near, there was never a doubt in her mind. She needed him there immediately so he could explain everything, to clear it all up and let them see just how scrupulously honest and protective he was.

“I must call Jack,” she said to Marcella. “He’ll know what to do.”

“Perhaps that would be for the best. Marcus is very concerned. You’ve been put in a lot of danger, all of us have. His heart isn’t as strong as it once was and, if those Russians come back, I fear it may be too much of a shock.”

While Marcus was bustling about in the storeroom, Sandrine walked to the front of the store and dialled Jack’s number on her cell phone. The call went immediately to voice mail. She tried to keep her rising panic under control but her voice was shaky. She left a message, a very brief summation of the situation, then rang off.

Marcus appeared with the teapot, cups, saucers and milk on a large tray, carrying it through to the front of the store where he placed it carefully on the counter. Marcella was close behind with a plate of cookies. Sandrine was behind the counter, Marcus and Marcella in front preparing to serve tea when the front door opened. The sense of dread that Sandrine felt was indescribable as the three Russians, dressed in dark suits and overcoats as they had been on their previous visit, filled the foyer.

Sergei moved to the front, Scarface and Smiley retreated to the far corners, flanking them with military precision. Sergei’s smile was as wintery as the weather outside.

“Good morning,” he said formally, his gruff voice heavily accented. “I assume you are Mr Buckingham. I’ve been waiting some time to meet you.”

Marcus, taken by surprise, blinked at them over his reading glasses, giving him an air of fragile dignity. Marcella stood quietly, quivering slightly in the cold blast of air from outdoors.

“Yes, I am. And who are you? What do you want?” He drew himself to full height but he was no match for the intimidating bulk of these foreigners.

“I am Sergei Agapov. I act as agent for a collector who wishes to remain anonymous but believes you have something he is very interested in acquiring.”

“Then perhaps he should just call me himself.” The nervous indignation in his voice was uncharacteristic, and a suffocating dread spread across Sandrine. Marcella, in contrast, waited and watched with an expression that communicated nothing much at all. She didn’t even appear to be breathing hard. “This is most irregular. I’m told you’ve been intimidating young Sandrine. I won’t stand for that.”

If Sergei was disturbed by the rant, he didn’t show it. Instead, a slight smile toyed at the edge of his lips.

“It wasn’t my intention to cause concern. We’ve maintained our distance, waiting for you to return from your trip, and remained patient. Even with the entertaining subterfuge Miss Chalmeaux and Mr Lucas have indulged in.” Sandrine felt the verbal slap with its intended sting.
They knew? How could they?
“By the way, I did so enjoy the little old lady costume from last night.”

Sandrine’s mouth gaped open. She was speechless.

“Jack will be here soon,” was all she could think of saying.

“I’m sure he will,” Sergei brushed off the imminent threat with a toss of his pinky ring. “He’s always somewhere close by, watching us but obviously not aware that we’re also watching him. For someone of his experience, he acts like an amateur.”

When the door burst inwards, followed by another gust of cold air, Scar Face and Smiley stiffened with surprise, their hands diving reflexively into their jackets before stopping dead, a second before Sergei barked something at them in Russian. From where Sandrine stood, she could see they couldn’t quite believe their eyes and certainly didn’t know what to do.

Sandrine was expecting Jack but it was Mariel whose silhouette filled the doorway.

“Isn’t it a bit early for a party?” Mariel asked with wide-eyed innocence. The Russians, Sergei included, gawked openly. Although they gave the impression of hard men who had seen it all, this was something they were ill prepared for. Even Marcus was subdued. If a green-skinned alien with three heads had walked through the door, they couldn’t have been more surprised.

Mariel was wearing an elaborately chevron-patterned overcoat with wide padded shoulders and a shawl collar with a matching tall hat that Sandrine reflected must have been murder to keep under control in anything more than a slight breeze. She made a show of peeling off black suede gloves and slipped the coat from her shoulders, tossing it towards Smiley who fumbled it almost to the floor before catching it. He held it awkwardly, unsure what to do with it, and looked sheepishly at Sergei who returned a withering scowl.

Underneath, Mariel wore a black pencil skirt and dark blouse with a slim leather bow at the neck. The outfit was overwhelming in its theatricality but Sandrine had seen it before; Mariel habitually referenced old movies and, in this case, she was a ringer for Rosalind Russell in
His Girl Friday
. The first time Mariel had worn it, Sandrine remarked that it was entirely appropriate that Russell’s character was a journalist as well.
It beats dressing like Lois Lane
, she’d said drily, proud of her quick wit.
Although Noel Neill had some great outfits
, Mariel had deftly snapped back. Game, set, match.

“So, what’s happening, guys?” Mariel snapped in her best hard-boiled drawl.

“Business. Perhaps you should go,” Sandrine said hesitantly.

Sergei shook his head.

“Unwise, I think, to let Mariel Bould, investigative journalist, leave too quickly seeing she’s taken such effort.”

“Well, the room
is
getting a little crowded,” Mariel countered, having made such a grand entrance but now a little unsure of what to do. “You know what they say. Two’s company, with six you get eggroll.”

The room fell silent, attempting without success to digest the witticism.

“My client wants to see the art portfolios you brought back from Germany.” Sergei returned his attention to Marcus, who was swaying slightly. The colour had drained from the old man’s face and he suddenly appeared far older than his years. Marcella stepped forward and put an arm around his waist, attempting to steady him. He smiled wanly.

“They’re not here, I’m afraid. I’ve just been trying to ascertain exactly where they are.”

Sergei breathed a heavy sigh and appeared perplexed.

“Complications I do not like,” he said shortly. “It annoys me greatly. Where are they?”

Marcus looked at Sandrine who looked at Mariel who looked at everybody else in turn. The oppressive silence reminded Sandrine that the Vaughan Williams symphony had finished but she thought better of diving under the counter to change the CD. Such rapid movement could be easily misconstrued in the circumstances.

“Where. Are. They?” Sergei repeated, steel in his words.

“I have them.” Sandrine jumped. Jack’s deep mellow voice cut through the tension. She looked towards the door then realised he was standing next to her behind the counter.
Where did he come from?
If he didn’t come through the front door, he must have come in from the rear lane, she reasoned.
But it was locked.

“Jack,” Sergei nodded grimly.

“Sergei,” Jack replied.

“Do you two know each other?” Sandrine wasn’t sure she could handle too many more shocks that morning.

“We’ve met,” was all Jack said. His gaze stayed firm on Sergei, occasionally flicking to Smiley and Scarface. “I see you’re still kicking around with Boris and Viktor.”

Sergei opened his arms wide, palms up, in an expressive gesture of both exasperation and supplication.

“What can I say? Good help is so hard to find.”

Chapter Thirty Three

“You know these men?” The question burst forth from Sandrine before the thought even registered. Things were getting worse, rapidly worse.
Oh, Jack, please say it isn’t so.

“By reputation rather more than experience. But we have crossed paths before,” Jack said. There was a tone to his voice, an edge of darkness that made Sandrine’s stomach lurch violently. The lop-sided grin had slipped a little too easily into place and she was shocked to notice the thin hard set of his lips, a toxicity that went far beyond malevolence, turning Jack’s handsome features into someone difficult to recognise. Strangely, his eyes were smiling.

Confused, she looked across at Mariel, with a stricken expression, and shook her head uncertainly.

“Later,” Jack said under his breath, so lightly in the stillness that only she could hear. “Trust me on this.” He was edging closer to her, bumping her hip until she stepped slightly back, Jack moving into the widening gap between her and the counter. He was shielding her, placing his body in front of hers, she realised.

But that was hardly what mattered at the moment. Sandrine wanted to pull him aside. She had so many questions that needed answering immediately. There was a feeling of dread building within her, panic crowding in, threatening to suffocate her.

What is happening? How could everything go bad so quickly? Is Jack really involved far more than he has admitted?

The feeling was alien but it was undoubtedly an anxiety attack. She needed to pull herself together, she thought with as much toughness as she could muster under the circumstances, while a wave of dizziness and nausea overcame her. Sandrine over-balanced, stumbling against Jack. He didn’t move, his body taut as a tree trunk. His hand snaked down to her thigh, squeezing it sharply in silent reproval.

“My client wants no trouble,” Sergei said in a manner that suggested he cared neither way. “He is ready to offer Mr Buckingham a sum of $25,000 in cash for one piece of artwork of his choice from amongst the portfolios.”

Shock registered on Marcus’ face, which flushed slightly, giving him a slightly more healthy complexion.

“That sounds like a wonderful idea. You should consider it,” Marcella looked up at him and gave him a reassuring pat.