Heads You Win

When his Citroën joined the early evening traffic heading toward Nice, Duval began to brief his co-conspirators.

“As soon as Mr. and Mrs. Lowell-Halliday left the villa, I called Pierre in Paris to let him know they were on their way to Boston.”

“How could you be so sure they were going to the airport?” asked Anna.

“Three suitcases was a minor clue,” said Duval.

“It also suggests,” said Rosenthal, “that Evelyn intends to remain in Boston for some time.”

“I then called Nathanial in New York,” said Pierre—the first time Anna had heard anyone call Mr. Rosenthal by his first name—“to tell him they were on the way, and immediately flew down to Nice to make sure we’re ready for tomorrow’s exchange.”

“Why so soon?” asked Rosenthal.

“We have to take advantage of the fact that Thursday is the butler’s day off. Otherwise we’d have to wait another week. And Mrs. Lowell-Halliday might well have returned by then.”

“Is your team in place?”

“Ready and waiting,” said Duval. “First thing tomorrow morning I’ll call the villa and tell the maid I have an important package for delivery.”

“Do we know anything about the maid?” asked Rosenthal.

“Her name’s Maria,” said Duval. “She’s worked there for several years, and she’s the only one who’s around on the butler’s day off. She’s not particularly bright, but she has a heart of gold.”

“And as we have a comprehensive list of the paintings that have to be exchanged, we should be able to carry out the whole exercise in less than an hour,” said Pierre.

“But you can’t pack fifty-three valuable paintings in under an hour,” said Rosenthal. “They’re not cans of baked beans. It’s likely to take at least three or four hours.”

“We can’t even risk an hour,” replied Duval. “We’ll remove them as quickly as possible from the villa, then drive to our warehouse, which is only seven kilometers away, where we can pack them properly for the flight. Don’t forget, we’ve already got the crates containing the copies.”

“Impressive,” said Rosenthal, “but I still worry that the maid might be a problem.”

“I have an idea,” said Anna.

*   *   *

“As it seems I can’t even stay in my own home,” said Evelyn, “we’ve had to take a suite at the Fairmont, which doesn’t come cheap, so I do hope, Douglas, that you’ve got everything set up for next Monday’s meeting.”

“Everything’s in place,” said Ackroyd. “Although the board’s divided, with your vote, we’ll still have a majority, so by this time next week Karpenko should be on his way back to New York worrying about pizzas, and I’ll be chairman of the bank.”

“And I can move back into Beacon Hill and remove the rest of the pictures, before the IRS discovers that Lowell’s isn’t even a piggy bank.”

*   *   *

He phoned the villa at ten past eight the following morning.

“Hi, Maria, it’s Dominic Duval,” he said. “I’ve got a delivery for Mrs. Lowell that needs to be dropped off at the villa.”

“But Mrs. Lowell isn’t here, and it’s the butler’s day off.”

“My instructions couldn’t be clearer,” said Duval. “Madame insisted that the package should be delivered before she returns from America, but if you’re in any doubt, please call her in Boston, though I should warn you, it’s two o’clock in the morning there.” His first risk.

“No, no,” said the maid. “When should I expect you?”

“In about an hour’s time.” Duval put the phone down and joined the rest of the team, who were waiting for him in the van.

“And how’s my wife?” he said as he sat next to Anna. She gave him a weak smile.

Duval drove the van out of the warehouse and onto the main road. He stuck to the inside lane, and never exceeded the speed limit. During the journey, he took every member of the team through their roles one last time, especially Anna, Pierre, and Rosenthal.

“And don’t forget,” he said, “only Anna and I are to leave the van when we arrive.”

Forty minutes later they drove through the front gates and up the driveway, and came to a halt outside a magnificent villa. Anna would have loved to stroll through the colorful, well-tended gardens, but not today.

She and Duval walked up to the front door hand in hand. Duval pressed the bell, and moments later the maid appeared. She smiled when she recognized the van.

“One package to be delivered to Mrs. Lowell,” said Duval. “If you’ll just sign here, Maria, I’ll fetch the crate from the van.”

Maria smiled, but her expression turned to anxiety when Anna collapsed on the ground at her feet, clutching her stomach.

“Ah, ma pauvre femme,” said Duval. “My wife is pregnant, Maria. Do you have somewhere where she could lie down for a few minutes?”

“Of course, monsieur. Come with me.”

Duval helped Anna to her feet and they followed the maid into the house and up the wide staircase to a guest bedroom on the first floor, while he studied the pictures on the way.

“I’m sorry to be such a nuisance,” said Anna, as Duval helped her onto the bed.

“It’s not a problem, madame,” said Maria. “Should I call for a doctor?”