False Impression Read online

  “No word from her,” said Tina. “Barry is the only person who’s reported in so far.”

  “Yeah, I can believe Barry was the first down the stairs, trampling over anyone who got in his way. But who did Barry call?” asked Anna.

  “Fenston. On his mobile.”

  “Fenston?” said Anna. “How did he manage to escape when I left his office only a few minutes before the first plane hit the building?”

  “He’d arrived on Wall Street by then—he had an appointment with a potential client, whose only asset was a Gauguin. So there was no way he was going to be late for that.”

  “And Leapman?” asked Anna, as she took another sip of coffee.

  “One step behind him as usual,” said Tina.

  “So that’s why the elevator door was being held open.”

  “The elevator door?” repeated Tina.

  “It’s not important,” said Anna. “But why weren’t you at work this morning?”

  “I had a dental appointment,” said Tina. “It had been on my calendar for weeks.” She paused and looked across the table. “The moment I heard the news I never stopped trying to call you on your cell, but all I got was a ringing tone. So where were you?”

  “Being escorted off the premises,” said Anna.

  “By a firefighter?” asked Tina.

  “No,” replied Anna, “by that ape, Barry.”

  “But why?” demanded Tina.

  “Because Fenston had just fired me,” said Anna.

  “Fired you?” said Tina in disbelief. “Why would he fire you, of all people?”

  “Because in my report to the board, I recommended that Victoria Wentworth should sell the Van Gogh, which would allow her not only to clear her overdraft with the bank but hold on to the rest of the estate.”

  “But the Van Gogh was the only reason Fenston ever agreed to that deal,” said Tina. “I thought you realized that. He’s been after one for years. The last thing he would have wanted was to sell the painting and get Victoria off the hook. But that’s hardly a reason to fire you. What excuse—”

  “I also sent a copy of my recommendations to the client, which I considered to be no more than ethical banking practice.”

  “I don’t think it’s ethical banking practice that keeps Fenston awake at night. But that still doesn’t explain why he got rid of you so quickly.”

  “Because I was just about to fly to England and let Victoria Wentworth know that I’d even lined up a prospective buyer, a well-known Japanese collector, Takashi Nakamura, who I felt sure would be happy to close the deal quickly if we were sensible about the asking price.”

  “You picked the wrong man in Nakamura,” said Tina. “Whatever the asking price, he’s the last person on earth Fenston would be willing to do business with. They’ve both been after a Van Gogh for years and are regularly the last two bidders for any major Impressionists.”

  “Why didn’t he tell me that?” said Anna.

  “Because it doesn’t always suit him to let you know what he’s up to,” said Tina.

  “But we were both on the same team.”

  “You’re so naïve, Anna. Haven’t you worked out that there’s only one person on Fenston’s team?”

  “But he can’t make Victoria hand over the Van Gogh unless—”

  “I wouldn’t be so sure about that,” said Tina.

  “Why not?”

  “Fenston put a call through to Ruth Parish yesterday and ordered her to pick up the painting immediately. I heard him repeat the word immediately.”

  “Before Victoria was given the chance to act on my recommendations.”

  “Which would also explain why he had to fire you before you could get on that plane and upset his plans. Mind you,” added Tina, “you’re not the first person to have ventured down that well-trodden path.”

  “What do you mean?” said Anna.

  “Once anyone works out what Fenston is really up to, they’re quickly shown the door.”

  “Then why hasn’t he fired you?”

  “Because I don’t make any recommendations he isn’t willing to go along with,” said Tina. “That way, I’m not considered a threat.” She paused. “Well, not for the moment.”

  Anna thumped the table in anger, sending up a small cloud of dust. “I’m so dumb,” she said. “I should have seen it coming, and now there’s nothing I can do about it.”

  “I’m not so sure about that,” said Tina. “We don’t know for certain that Ruth Parish has picked up the painting from Wentworth Hall. If she hasn’t, you’ll still have enough time to call Victoria and advise her to hold onto the picture until you’ve had a chance to get in touch with Mr. Nakamura—that way she could still clear her debt with Fenston and he couldn’t do anything about it,” added Tina, as her cell phone began ringing, “California Here I Come.” She checked its caller ID: BOSS flashed up. She put a finger to her lips. “It’s Fenston,” she warned. “He probably wants to find out if you’ve been in touch with me,” she added, flipping open the phone.

  “Do you realize who got left behind in the rubble?” Fenston asked before Tina could speak.

  “Anna?”

  “No,” said Fenston. “Petrescu is dead.”

  “Dead?” repeated Tina, as she stared across the table at her friend. “But—”

  “Yes. When Barry reported in, he confirmed that the last time he saw her she was lying on the floor, so she can’t possibly have survived.”

  “I think you’ll find—”

  “Don’t worry about Petrescu,” said Fenston. “I already had plans to replace her, but what I can’t replace is my Monet.”

  Tina was shocked into a moment’s silence and was about to tell him just how wrong he was when she suddenly realized that she just might be able to turn Fenston’s crassness to Anna’s advantage.

  “Does that also mean we’ve lost the Van Gogh?”

  “No,” said Fenston. “Ruth Parish has already confirmed that the painting is on its way from London. It should arrive at JFK this evening, when Leapman is going to pick it up.”

  Tina sank down into the chair, feeling deflated.

  “And make sure you’re in by six tomorrow morning.”

  “Six A.M.?”

  “Yes,” said Fenston. “And don’t complain. After all, you’ve had the whole of today off.”

  “So where do I report?” asked Tina, not bothering to argue.

  “I’ve taken over offices on the thirty-second floor of the Trump Building at 40 Wall Street, so at least for us it will be business as usual.” The line went dead.

  “He thinks you’re dead,” said Tina, “but he’s more fussed about losing his Monet,” she added, as she snapped her cell phone shut.

  “He’ll find out soon enough that I’m not,” said Anna.

  “Only if you want him to,” said Tina. “Has anyone else seen you since you got out of the tower?”

  “Only looking like this,” said Anna.

  “Then let’s keep it that way, while we try and work out what needs to be done. Fenston says the Van Gogh is already on its way to New York and Leapman will pick it up as soon as it lands.”

  “Then what can we do?”

  “I could try and delay Leapman somehow while you pick up the painting.”

  “But what would I do with it,” asked Anna, “when Fenston would be certain to come looking for me?”

  “You could get yourself on the first plane back to London and return the picture to Wentworth Hall.”

  “I couldn’t do that without Victoria’s permission,” said Anna.

  “Good God, Anna, when will you grow up? You’ve got to stop thinking like a schoolteacher and start imagining what Fenston would do if he were in your position.”

  “He’d find out what time the plane was landing,” said Anna. “So the first thing I need to do—”

  “The first thing you need to do is have a shower, while I find out what time the plane lands and also what Leapman’s up to,” said Tina, as she st