I've never actually figured out what my time is worth, believing that dividing the rather paltry profit McClintoch Swain turns from time to time by the number of hours I put into the business would just depress me. However, while I prefer not to discuss money in general, and my commission in particular, I will say that there was no question that the sum would be more than my time would normally fetch.
Still, I hesitated, and he, poor man, took that to mean the amount wasn't enough. "If you can keep the selling price under two million, I'll up your commission another percentage point. Under a million and a half, one more."
"I'm sure that will be satisfactory, Mr. Lake," I replied in as neutral a tone as I could muster. My heart soared like a hawk, actually. Even if no one ever knew that I had been Lake's purchaser, this would be my entree into a level of the art world I'd never thought I'd see. And for a good cause, too: uniting the Chimera with the missing hero.
"Good," he said, handing me a piece of paper. "Anything else?"
"What if I can't get the Bellerophon, for whatever reason?"
. "I reward success, not failure, Ms. McClintoch. However, I do try to be fair. The ten thousand I will deposit in your account should more than cover your out-of-pocket expenses, and I will consider it nonrefundable, no matter how much or how little of it you spend. Is that satisfactory?" I nodded.
"Then, here is the account number and password. I suggest you memorize both and throw away the paper."
I looked at it. The bank was Marzocco Financial Online, and the account number was 14M24S—one for the money and two for the show. The password was easy, too. It was Chimera. I tore up the piece of paper and handed the scraps back to Lake. "Got it," I said. "Now, who has the Bellerophon?"
"I believe, on fairly good authority," he said, "that it's in the hands of a collector in France by the name of Robert Godard. I've never met the man, but I think he's had it for a few years now. It may even have been in his family for a generation or two. I'm not sure Godard knows what he's got, the missing half of the Arezzo bronzes, I mean. I'm sure he knows it's good. He's a collector, after all, but he may not have put two and two together, as it were. Probably thinks he has a rather unusual equestrian statue. I'd like it to stay that way. It will keep the price down."
I nodded. "I'm not entirely sure myself that the two pieces go together," Lake went on, "but I believe they do, and when we see them side by side, I think it will be clear they do."
"You say Godard has had the bronze for a long time. What makes you think he'll sell it now?"
"My sources tell me he's ready to sell. Financial hardship, is, I think, the term that comes immediately to mind." He must have seen something in my face. "I've heard you have a somewhat suspicious nature," he said.
Who, I wondered, had he been talking to about me ? I wouldn't characterize myself as suspicious, just cautiously skeptical, that's all, what I'd call a healthy attitude in a business that occasionally appeals to people with baser motives and where the phrase caveat emptor, buyer beware, is a useful phrase to remember. What I'm trying to say is that fakes abound in the antique trade. I like to think I haven't been had very often.
"I had nothing to do with his current situation, I assure you," Lake said. "He brought it on himself. I merely hope to profit from it. Godard is a collector who doesn't know when to stop. I do." He looked about the room for a moment, at the jumble of art and artifacts, and then permitted himself a small laugh. "Although I'll grant you this may not be apparent at first glance." I laughed, too. I rather liked the man.
"Do you know where I can find him?"
"The best way to contact him is through a dealer, a freelance type—he doesn't have a retail operation—by the name of Yves Boucher. You can get in touch with Boucher in Paris. Antonio will give you his number," he added. I gathered Antonio was the rather pretty young man who'd accompanied me to the house. "I suggest you go to Paris right away, as early as tomorrow morning if possible. Antonio will give you some cash to cover your expenses until the money is transferred. It will be there this evening. You can check anytime tomorrow. Antonio will also give you a phone number where he can be reached. He'll be our go-between. When you've gotten in touch with Boucher and then Godard, and have some idea of the price range, you can call Antonio. Once we've agreed on the price, I'll transfer the money to your account. You understand I don't want my name associated with this in any way, do you not?"
"I do," I replied. "You have my word that your name will never be mentioned."
"Thank you," he said. "And you have mine in this matter." I'd heard that Lake was one of those people who closed multimillion-dollar deals on the strength of a handshake. I decided if it was good enough for him, it was good enough for me. Heaven knows I'd had occasion to discover from time to time how worthless signed contracts could be.
"You'll have to arrange the bank transfers," he went on. "It will all be in your name. But I'll ensure the money is there. Don't worry about that. You'll probably have to give them a deposit on it. Just let Antonio know. Now I must get back to work, although this is much more interesting, and I'm afraid you will have to submit to the rather theatrical device of the blindfold again. I do apologize for it," he said, extending his hand and smiling rather engagingly. "Anna will see you to the door."
"Do you mind if I use the facilities before I go?" I said, trying to look embarrassed. "All that tea ..."
"But of course," he said. "How thoughtless of me. Anna will show you the way."
He rang for the maid. "I will get it, by the way," he said, as we awaited Anna's arrival.
"The Bellerophon? Of course you will," I said.
"The Bellerophon, yes. But I meant the Apollo. Mar-iani finds himself in some financial difficulties. I confess this time I had a hand in some of them. He'll have to sell it any day now, at much less than he paid for it, and rather closer to what it's worth. It's a matter of time. I'll be there." The tone was mild, but there was no doubt in my mind that there was a ruthless mind behind it. I found myself feeling a little sorry for Mar-iani, and, for the first time, more than a little apprehensive about my own dealings with Lake. I didn't think he'd brook failure on my part. It also occurred to me that at least where Etruscan statuary was concerned, Lake, like Cosimo de Medici before him, rather aspired to the title of dux magnus Etruscus himself.
The feeling lasted for only a moment, however. "It's been a pleasure, Ms. McClintoch," he said. "I'm glad we'll be doing business together." He gave me another lovely smile, and despite my misgivings, for a fleeting second or two, I found myself hoping our relationship would be a long and mutually rewarding one. He nodded in my general direction, then disappeared down the hall.
Anna not only accompanied me along a rather gloomy hallway, the doors on either of it shut tight against prying eyes like mine, but also waited outside the door. The window was frosted glass on the bottom, but not on the top, and as quickly and quietly as I could, I stood on the toilet seat and peered out. I found myself looking out on to a rather spectacular rooftop garden, with cascading flowers and shrubs, a small table with two chairs, and off in one corner, the dominant feature, a statue of Michelangelo's David, life size. I smiled to myself. I was sure if I asked Lake about it— which I couldn't, of course, given my subterfuge— he'd tell me the David in the Accademia in Florence was the copy, the one on his roof the genuine article. Craning my neck, I could see down the street a little to some cafe umbrellas and the letters FECIT on the edge of a high building. I was almost certain I pretty much knew where I was.