The Last Judgement

‘Of course without you. I don’t want you to strain your leg.’

Argyll looked a little peeved. ‘Is it so important, really?’ he asked.

‘Maybe not, but we’ve lost another lead. That is, no calls were made from Paris to Ellman’s number. I just talked to Janet. He’s going to ask the Swiss nicely to see what they can do from their end. But Besson is fast becoming one of the few areas left to explore.’

‘I hope you’re going to be careful. You don’t want me to hang around discreetly in the background?’

‘No. You can’t be discreet, and if Besson so much as catches a whiff of you, it’ll be ruined. Don’t worry. I’ll be fine. Must get more of these things,’ she said reflectively, as she put on her coat and checked to make sure she still looked as beautiful.

And she walked out the door, leaving Argyll feeling a trifle abandoned and more than a little concerned.

By the time she came back, the ebullient mood had dissipated. She walked in the door of the hotel room, clicked on the light, and collapsed in the easy chair by the window.

Argyll had, within ten minutes if he judged it right, just fallen asleep after a long, anxious but otherwise extremely dull evening, and was not amused. He looked at his watch.

‘God almighty. It’s one in the morning.’

‘I know.’ Her hair was dishevelled, the dress awry, and her feet dirty. She looked tired, but very stimulated.

‘What on earth happened? You look as though you’ve been dragged through a hedge.’

‘Quite close. And my own fault as well. Dammit.’

He sat up, shook himself awake, and looked at her more closely. ‘You do look a mess. I’ll run you a bath.’

She nodded, and he trotted next door to oblige while she searched the little fridge in the corner for something restoring.

‘I’ve been on mineral water all evening,’ she complained. ‘I thought I’d better keep my wits about me.’

When the bath was run, she dropped in with a loud sigh of relief, while Argyll perched on the toilet and pressed for an account of the evening’s entertainment.

To begin with, she began, it went like a dream, if an extended one. She’d gone to Besson’s street, checked he was at home, and waited. He’d emerged at nine and gone, alone, to a restaurant near by. She hadn’t anticipated such a golden opportunity arising quite so soon, but who was she to throw it away? So she’d gone in, made sure Besson was eating on his own, and bribed the waiter to give her an adjoining table.

She’d given him a long sultry look from over the top of her aperitif and, within ten minutes, bingo. She was sitting at his table and the evening was off to a roaring start.

‘Not only did he pay for the meal,’ she said parenthetically, ‘but he was quite delightful company. I’ve never had so many compliments thrust upon me in such a short space of time in my life.’

Argyll grunted non-committally.

‘You should try it some time,’ she said. ‘It works wonders.’

Another grunt. ‘I have been,’ he pointed out. ‘The only response I get is warning about spilling my soup.’

‘And,’ she went on, ‘if I may say so, I gave pretty good value for money as well. I laughed. I simpered. He told his little stories about the art world, and I smiled, looked grave and appalled in all the right places, and occasionally rested my hand appreciatively on his arm at particularly well-delivered anecdotes. I told him how wonderful it must be to have beautiful objects in his arms all the time, and gave him a lustful look. Such fun.’

Argyll was beginning to feel uncomfortable, so he crossed his arms and listened.

‘I really laid it on with a trowel. I was fascinated by his stories and, in short, behaved like a complete moron. And he fell for it. Hook, line and sinker. Really. It’s amazing how gullible men can be. At least you would never be that easily taken in.’

‘I should hope not, indeed,’ Argyll said, crossing his legs for the sake of symmetry.

‘The important point was that he did have this painting on his hands — he didn’t say where he’d got it.’

‘That’s not so great. We knew that.’

‘Patience. The only touchy moment was after the meal, when he suggested going back to his apartment. I had this horrible vision of running around the sofa protesting my virtue. And, as you point out, I still hadn’t found out much. Fortunately, I remembered about the club. So I suggested we go dancing instead. I was sure someone like him knew all the best places. Can’t say I was in the mood, but duty calls and all that.’

‘And so you did?’

‘And so I did.’

‘So that’s why you’re so tired.’

‘Certainly not. I’m in my prime. Men may start going downhill in their thirties, but women are at their peak. I could dance all night if need be. Not that I get the opportunity with you. Besson, however, is a wonderful dancer, if a little touchy-feely.’

Argyll restrained himself. He had a feeling Flavia was enjoying this. ‘So why the dishevelled, exhausted look?’