Priceless (48 page)

“Or maybe you are. I’m not an art expert,” said Julian. “I brought them to you for evaluation. You should have told me they were moody and refused to take them on.”

“My judgment failed me.”

“Three times?”

“You fucker, Trebarwen. If you think I’m going to lose my job and possibly my liberty to save your mystery painter … Tell me the fucking name.”

The pub was about to close. One of the bar staff was moving around the floor, collecting glasses. She edged nearer to Nat and Julian, keen to retrieve their empty glasses, but was put off by their heated tones. Nat caught her eye and gestured to Julian that they should pause for a moment.

“We’re closing up now, guys,” she said.

“Let’s go,” Nat said to Julian. “We’ll continue this discussion outside.”

They walked along the embankment. The conversation continued in the same vein, with Nat insisting that the only way to save both their skins was to place the blame firmly with the forger, and Julian resisting the idea like he was some Second World War hero facing the gestapo.

“Fuck all this bloody honor shit, Trebarwen. Who the hell is it?”

“I’ll never give you her name.”

“Ah,” said Nat. “A woman. You must be fucking her.”

Julian winced. “She didn’t want to get into this. It was an accident. She painted that picture for my mother. The one of the two dogs. You attributed it to Delapole and it went for twenty-five grand.”

Now Nat winced to think he had genuinely thought that painting to be the real thing. They stepped onto Hammersmith Bridge, still arguing.

“She’s got a kid, Nat. She’s on her own. I talked her into it, and I swore I would keep her out of trouble.”

“Just tell me her fucking name. Tell me her fucking name!”

“I will not.” Julian grabbed Nat by the collar and spat the words into his face. “You absolute shit.”

“Me a shit? You’re the one who got her into this.”

“And I want to keep her out of it.”

“Too late. Should have thought of that before you got me involved. Now, would you do me the favor of taking your hands off my lapels? You are creasing them.”

Julian let go of Nat’s lapels, but he wasn’t about to let go of the fight. He swung at Nat’s head, connecting with his cheekbone.

“I wouldn’t start that if I were you,” said Nat. “I boxed for Oxford.”

“Fuck off.”

Julian chanced another slug in Nat’s direction. Though he hadn’t put on the gloves for thirty years, Nat was pleased to discover that he still knew what he was doing. He avoided Julian’s flailing punches effortlessly, while delivering several of his own that went straight to the mark.

Pretty soon Julian, who had not been making much effort to keep himself in shape, was panting. Nat pummeled him until Julian barely had enough breath to beg for mercy.

“You had enough?” Nat asked.

“Yes,” said Julian. “Ye-sssss.” The word came out like the hiss of a punctured bicycle tire. His bottom lip was badly split. Julian put his hand to his nose. It was pointing in a different direction from usual.

“You see,” said Nat proudly. “No one messes with Nat Wilde.”

“Oh shut the fuck up, you old Etonian arse-wipe.”

Seconds later, Julian was sailing backward over the side of the bridge and into the river.

Nat hadn’t expected Julian to drown. He’d thrown him into the river to teach him a lesson. No one took the name of Nat’s alma mater in vain. Nat thought that Julian would pop up spluttering and contrite and head for the bank, and that would be it. He’d watched over the side of the bridge for a while. He hadn’t seen Julian come up, but he didn’t worry. It was dark. The water was black. Julian was out there somewhere, doing the doggy paddle.

“I didn’t know he couldn’t swim,” said Nat to the officer who interviewed him. “I mean, everybody can swim, can’t they?”

“Regardless of whether or not he was able to swim, Mr. Trebarwen was in no fit state to get himself out of the Thames at high tide. He had several broken ribs.”

There was no point in Nat’s pretending he hadn’t been there. The girl who worked at the Dove had called the police when she’d seen a photograph of Julian Trebarwen in the paper. She said she had seen him earlier on the night he’d died, in a heated row with another man. She later identified Nat from a photo in press coverage of the Ricasoli sale.

“I remember him,” she said, “because he tried to chat me up while he was waiting for the dead guy to arrive. I thought he was a right old sleaze.”

The best Nat could hope for was that a jury would accept that Julian’s death was an accident. Sure Nat had trained as a boxer, but he wasn’t given to violence unless provoked. Julian had been more than a match for him in size and weight.

“I didn’t know he couldn’t swim,” Nat said again and again. Though gradually it came to make sense. Like his brother, Mark “Chubby” Trebarwen, Julian had been a fat kid back when fat kids were far less common. He hadn’t wanted to go swimming with the rest of the boys because they’d teased him so mercilessly about the rolls of blubber around the waistband of his shorts. His mother, Louisa, had collaborated, telling the PE teacher that Julian had a weak chest and couldn’t sit around in the cold and the wet. So while the rest of his classmates grew up knowing how to keep afloat at the very least, Julian never learned how.

Nat looked at his long-fingered hands, which were clutching a white plastic cup full of undrinkable coffee. There was no hint that those hands had been able to kill.

“Am I going to be charged with his murder?” Nat asked his solicitor.

“I’ll go for manslaughter,” the solicitor said.

CHAPTER 69

N
at’s arrest and subsequent charge of manslaughter turned the fine art department at Ludbrook’s upside down, totally overshadowing the Ricasoli sale. About a month after the arrest, John Ludbrook himself asked to see Lizzy.

“I feel I owe you an apology, Lizzy,” said John. “It’s clear that I underestimated you. With someone as brash as Nat Wilde heading up the department, it wasn’t always
easy to see who was actually doing the work. I’ve been talking to the directors. It’s time you realized your potential. We’d like to make you acting head of department with a view to taking the position on on a permanent basis once we have discovered what our obligations are with regard to Nat.”

Lizzy said she would be delighted to give the position her consideration. But it wasn’t the only position she had to choose from right then.

That evening, Lizzy had a dinner date at Scott’s. She took great care with her appearance. Even more than she had done when she had first started her affair with Nat. She was rewarded for her efforts.

“That is a fantastic dress,” said Carrie Klein. “Where did you get it?”

Lizzy beamed. “Oh, this is just some old thing,” she lied. She’d bought it from Amanda Wakeley earlier that afternoon. It was more than she had ever spent on a single piece of clothing, but Lizzy had decided that it was time to change her image. To sharpen up with style. The fact that Carrie Klein approved was a very good sign.

“As you know,” said Carrie, “I have been watching you very closely since I came to London. And everything I’ve seen or heard about you—with the exception of the obvious …”

Lizzy rolled her eyes at this coded mention of Nat.

“Everything has left me very impressed.”

“Thank you.”

“You know what you’re doing and you care about getting things right. I can see why Ludbrook’s wants you at the helm of their fine art department.”

“How did you know?” The offer was supposed to be top secret.

“Nothing escapes my notice for very long. Have you accepted the offer?”

“Not yet,” said Lizzy.

“Good. Because I would like to make you a better one. Forget Ludbrook’s, Lizzy. It’s a dinosaur. Come to Ehrenpreis and work with me. I’ll match any offer they’ve made you to be my head of fine art.”

For the first time, Lizzy found herself lying awake because of a lovely dilemma. Ludbrook’s or Ehrenpreis. Where would she go? Carrie’s offer had been astonishing. But how should she choose? Ludbrook’s was the bigger house. Being head of the fine art department there was a position of bigger responsibility. But Ehrenpreis was growing fast, and Lizzy wondered if she might not have more freedom to do things her own way with Carrie Klein.

The following morning, she called Carrie as she walked into Ludbrook’s for her last day as second in command of the fine art department.

“You made your mind up quickly,” said Carrie. “I knew you would. When can you start?”

“I start tomorrow,” said Lizzy. “But not at Ehrenpreis.”

“What?” Carrie exclaimed. “I must have offered you twice as much money.”

“I appreciate that,” said Lizzy. “But you know yourself that the money isn’t really what matters to me right now. I want to make my mark on this world and I’m not sure that I could do it in your shadow. Because the thing is, I don’t think I could be entirely in your shadow. I believe I could go head-to-head with you sooner than you think.”

Carrie was shocked but impressed.

“Brave words,” she said. “And I’ll let you take them back if you want to.”

“That won’t be necessary,” said Lizzy.

“Well,” Carrie sighed. “What can I say? I hope you won’t blame me for making my offer.”

“I’m flattered. And I hope you aren’t too offended by my refusal.”

Carrie assured Lizzy that she wasn’t. Perhaps she had patronized the girl by expecting her to take a second-in-command position at Ehrenpreis rather than the top job at Ludbrook’s, with the chance to learn from Carrie as the bait.

“I’m sure we’ll see plenty of each other over the coming years as we compete over sales,” said Carrie.

“Yes,” said Lizzy, “and may the best woman win.”

That afternoon, Lizzy conducted her first sale since the Trebarwen debacle. The bimonthly Ludbrook’s old masters sale. Moments before the auction was to start, Olivia asked her whether she truly felt she was ready.

“We’ll all do our best to support you,” she said. “But none of us knows how to read a room like Nat did.”

“I might,” Lizzy said, and smiled.

Where once she would have panicked to know that Nat wasn’t there in the background, ready to prompt her, now she was glad to look out over that room and not have to see his face. She was on her own, and it felt great.

She didn’t need Nat. In actual fact she had never really needed him, but somehow her confidence had become wrapped up in his approval of her, his desire. His influence had started to wane the day she’d seen him fucking Sarah Jane, but it was only as she stood at the block in the auction room and addressed the crowd that Lizzy knew for sure he no longer had any hold on her at all
. A good job
, she thought. She had no desire to go visiting a mentor in prison.

“Ladies and Gentlemen,” she welcomed the crowd.
“My name is Lizzy Duffy and I am head of Ludbrook’s Old Masters and Nineteenth-Century department.”

It was to be a very special afternoon.

“Lot twenty-four. A small painting of a horse by George Stubbs. Do I have one million pounds?”

Lizzy did.

“One million pounds.”

As she said the words, she couldn’t keep the smile from her face. It was her first seven-figure sale.

John Ludbrook was there to congratulate her in person when she stepped down from the block.

“How did it feel?” he asked.

“Like losing my virginity,” she said. “But much, much, much more satisfying.”

As she undressed to get into bed that evening, Lizzy still had a smile on her face. Taking off her earrings, she pondered for a moment making the tiny diamond chips her auction mascots. Her lucky earrings … But no, she decided finally. She didn’t need luck. Lizzy Duffy had something more enduring and much, much better. Lizzy Duffy knew she had talent.

CHAPTER 70

O
ld Ehrenpreis came to London to celebrate the second anniversary of the opening of the London office. There was another party, of course, expertly arranged by
Jessica, who had recently announced her intention to become a Brit by marrying one.