“Films, of course,” she replied, looking offended. “Film, video, TV movie of the week.”
“Oh,” I said. “Well, what can I do for you? If you’re thinking I’ll sell you the sword cheap, I won’t. I’m sorry there weren’t two of them so we could both have one, but that’s life.”
“I’m sure we could work something out,” she said. “Perhaps we could borrow it from you, or, if you insist, rent it.”
“For what?”
“A film!” she said, as if I was stupid. I just turned and walked away from her.
“I’m sorry,” she said again, catching up to me. I caught sight of my driver and signaled to him. He nodded and went bounding off to get the car. “I’m not doing this right, am I?” she said. I could see on closer examination that she was younger than I had at first thought, barely older than Jennifer, probably, despite her confident air and tons of makeup. And Jennifer, too, at university in California, had been bitten by the movie bug and was talking about a career of some kind there. Rob had been horrified, of course.
“You’re talking to the wrong person, I’m afraid,” I said, softening at the thought of Jen. “I’m just a dealer, and I’ve purchased this for a client. If you’d like me to ask him if he’d be interested in lending or renting it, then send me the details.” I handed her my card.
She stared at it for a moment. “I guess that’s it then. I’ll have to come up with something else. This is not my day.”
“Could I give you a lift somewhere?” I asked her as my car pulled up. “It’s air-conditioned,” I added. She was looking rather hot in that red suit.
“I was just going back to work,” she said. “I could probably walk.”
We both looked down at her red suede high heels. “I’d take me up on my offer if I were you,” I said.
“So much for power dressing,” she said, smiling for the first time. “I accept.” She gave directions to my driver in what I took to be passable Thai, because he nodded and pulled away.
“I work for a travel agency,” she said. “It’s not too far, although in this traffic, it will take awhile.”
“I thought you were in films,” I said.
“So far, that’s really just a dream,” she said. “I’m sure that the project I’m working on will change all that.”
“Have you been in Thailand long?”
“A couple of years. I came out here to work on a film, actually. That’s what I did in the States. I fell in love with Thailand, everything about it, even the heat. So when the time came to go back, I quit and got the job with the travel agency. I manage two of their offices. It’s not the best job ever, but it’s not bad, and it allows me to stay here awhile longer.”
“So what is this film about?” I asked. “The one you need the sword for.”
“I can’t tell you that,” she said. “It’s all very hush-hush.”
“I see,” I said. “It will be difficult for me to convince my client to lend you this if I can’t tell him what it’s about. I’m sorry to have to say that a card with Tatiana Tucker, Producer, on it is not very reassuring in terms of lending an exceptionally valuable antique.”
“You really would talk to him?”
“Sure. I have no idea what he’d think of the idea, but yes, of course I would as him. So is this a historical drama of some sort? Sixteenth-century Siam or something like that?”
“Sixteenth century!” she exclaimed. “Who cares what happened that long ago?”
“I do,” I said. “Perhaps I delude myself, but I can’t help feeling there are others like me.”
“I’m sorry,” she said. “I’ve offended you again.” She looked about as if she thought someone might be hiding in the trunk with a listening device, or that the driver might be a spy. “Helen Ford,” she whispered.
“What?” I said.
“Helen Ford,” she repeated. “You probably never heard of her, but you will.”
“Isn’t she the one who… ?” I paused, searching through my memory to the newspaper clippings Will had sent Natalie.
“Chopped her husband into little bits? That’s her. Don’t you think it’s a fabulous idea? I’ve pitched it to a major studio, and they’re interested, but they need more before they make a final decision. Docudramas are huge right now. I’m thinking I might even be able to find her.”
“But she’s dead,” I said. “She was executed March 1, 1952.”
“No, she wasn’t. There was an appeal, and the sentence was commuted. She was supposed to serve life in prison, but I think she was only there a couple of years, maybe three, and then she just disappeared. I think this is really interesting, don’t you? I mean normally when a farang is charged with something and found guilty, they are simply deported to their home country to deal with, particularly when the crime is against another farang, if you see what I mean. But the whole expat community was up in arms about this crime, and it really was horrendous. So how did she get off, and where did she go?”
“Back to the States?” I said.
“Maybe, but there is no record of her doing that.”
“That was fifty years ago. She could be long gone.”
“Yes, but if she’s alive, she’s only seventy-eight. That’s not impossible.”
“So what gave you this idea?” I said. “I went to an Independence Day party,” she said. “At the apartment of an antique dealer, just like you. He told me all about her, or at least I managed to extract the information out of him after a few drinks and a lot of eyelash batting. He was writing a book. He gave me a copy of the first chapter. He had an agent and everything, Rowland, some name like that. The agent was at the party, but I didn’t like him. Will said that what was really interesting was not the murder but the fact that she’d been able to just disappear. He said somebody must know where she went, even if they hadn’t talked in fifty years, and he had a pretty good idea who might know, even if she wasn’t saying. I told him it would make a fabulous documentary, and he agreed. I sent an E-mail proposal off to a couple of studios right away, and got a semipositive reply. I was hoping Will—that’s his name—would be a consultant and help me out a bit, but I haven’t been able to get in touch with him since. I don’t want you to think I was just stealing his idea, or anything.”
“Will Beauchamp,” I said. “You know him? No kidding!”
“I know him. He’s gone missing, I’m afraid.”
“Oh dear,” she said. “What do you mean by missing?”
“No one seems to have seen him since the July fourth party.”
“No kidding? I’m really not having much luck here, am I? He had a portrait of her, Ford, I mean. It was really eerie, kind of scary even. It was going to be a real feature of the film. I was going to get someone to scan the image and then computer age her, to see what she might look like now. I don’t suppose you know where that picture might be.”
“I have no idea,” I said.
“I remembered the artist’s name: Robert Fitzgerald. Will told me that he was the painter of choice in those days when the rich and famous wanted their portrait done. I phoned Fitzgerald, asked if he happened to have another, or a photograph of it, but he didn’t. I was hoping it would be part of the auction, but no such luck.”
“The artist is still alive after all this time?”
“Sure, although now that you mention it, he didn’t sound all that old. He knew which portrait I was talking about. I told him I’d seen it at Will Beauchamp’s place, and he didn’t argue with me or anything. But he said it was an original and there were no photos and no copies. I didn’t tell him who I thought it was, though.”
“So you haven’t seen Beauchamp since July fourth either?” I asked.
“No. I’ve tried. We exchanged phone numbers. He gave me two, one for his store and one for his home, but I haven’t been able to reach him at either. I thought he was kind of interested in me, if you get what I’m saying. As a potential lady friend, I mean. I was surprised not to hear from him. I wasn’t really interested in him that way, though, although I’ll admit I flirted a bit. He was kind of old. Oops, I’ve done it again, haven’t I?”