Again, Matthew’s involvement was no secret, yet del Carros’ speaking his name made her uneasy. There was nothing about this encounter, it seemed, that did not make her uneasy.
“He was very gentle. He only looked at it.”
“And what useful analysis did he provide you?”
None of your damn business, she wanted say, but restrained herself. There was more to learn here. Her real annoyance came from not being able to figure out what he was after. She no longer had the icon, so what she might have learned could be of little importance. Unless he felt that certain information held value, or threat, quite apart from ownership.
“Mr. Spear works for the Metropolitan Museum, not for me. He confirmed that the work was old, possibly as old as the St. Catherine’s group. That was about it.”
“Yet he has taken a very personal interest in the work’s recovery, has he not?”
“You would have to speak to him about that.”
“Very well. To the point. Where is the icon now, Ms. Kessler?”
“I never claimed to know exactly where it was.”
“Your educated guess, then. Whatever it was you came here to tell me.”
She stared at the altar, picking through the scattered facts in her brain for an answer that might halfway satisfy him.
“There’s a man named Dragoumis. A businessman, who was the intermediary for the church, or claimed to be.”
“I know who he is.”
“The police think that he might have stolen the icon from himself. The Russian mob was in on it with him. He used the church to get the price down, then had it stolen to avoid turning it over.”
He nodded slowly, but without satisfaction.
“Someone reading the newspapers closely could have discerned that much. Though I thank you for confirming it. Is there anything else?”
“The icon may be in Greece now.”
“Why do you say that?”
“Why else would Dragoumis have gone there?”
“I can think of a number of reasons. Do I take it, then, that you have no reliable information that the icon is in Greece?”
Ana prided herself on quick thinking. Even now, she could dredge up numerous tidbits of fact to support her assertion, but they would all be known to him, she felt sure. She remained silent. Del Carros nodded again and slumped back in the hard wooden chair, disappointed less with her, it seemed, than with the world in general. They both faced forward. A burly, bearded sightseer entered the chapel from the far door and began carefully examining the altar.
“Tell me, Ms. Kessler,” del Carros said finally, “why your continued interest in the work? You did receive a tidy sum.”
“I’m not interested in it,” she answered.
“I find that hard to believe. Could it be that you have found parting with it more difficult than you expected?”
“You find it hard to believe because you’re obsessed, so you think everyone else must be. It’s a bit egocentric, if you’ll forgive my saying so.” Her words carried more edge than she intended. Must be careful. “I truly don’t care about the icon. I’m only here because I hoped to learn some things about my grandfather. I guess I should have been clearer about that.”
“Then we have both been disappointed,” the old man said, empathetically. “And sadly, I now lack any incentive to speak to you on that subject. Though I could not have told you much in any case. So I must apologize once more for taking you out of your way.”
She was being dismissed. Just like that. As she had been her whole life, whenever she pressed too hard, whenever the questions got sticky. These men. Her father, her grandfather, Wallace, her miserable ex, Paul. Even Matthew. Push them at all and they clammed up, shut down, sent her packing, their precious mysteries preserved.
“I think you’re being a little unfair,” she said, trying to control her anger.
“Oh?” He seemed amused.
“I’ve tried to be straight with you. And you’ve really told me nothing useful. I don’t have the information you want, but I feel that if we shared ideas, we could help each other.”
“So, I am egocentric and unfair.” He was ignoring her overture. “Is there anything else?”
“OK. You’re dishonest.”
“And a liar also.”
“Don’t put words in my mouth.”
“And how do you believe that I have been dishonest with you?”
“You tease me with these hints about my grandfather, then tell me that you know nothing. And you left an awful lot out of that story you told.”
“Is that being dishonest? In my business we call that being careful. And you have been careful today also, though you are being rather careless now.”
“When were you in Greece to see the icon?”
“What does it matter?”
“Maybe it was during the war? And maybe you were there without an invitation? And maybe you had more in mind than looking?”
He no longer appeared to be amused, and she knew she had gone too far, knew it even as she was saying it. She was terrible at games. Quick to catch on, but impatient.
“Someone has been telling you stories,” the old man said slowly, studying Ana.
“No. Just some thinking on my own.” Too much thinking was a bad thing, she had heard. Too much talking about what you thought was worse. “Why don’t you set me straight?”
“Tell me what you’ve been told, and I will fill in the details.”
“I haven’t been told anything. That’s the problem, do you see? I’ll just keep getting things wrong until someone tells me the truth. Meantime, God knows what I’ll come up with.”
She had struck a nerve. He felt threatened by her. This was risky, and she must be careful not to overplay her hand. In the end, she was holding no cards.
“You think I was some wartime profiteer, yes? Because I did business with your grandfather.” He lowered his voice as the bearded man wandered closer, but his whisper was harsh, unpleasant. “Doing business with a thief does not make you one. We were very different men, I assure you.”
“Are you calling my grandfather a thief?”
“I have told you that my sins are heavy, but at least I know what they are. I was forthright in my actions, and I believed certain things, right or wrong. Your grandfather believed in nothing, had no scruples, played every angle. All from his fat, easy perch of neutrality.”
“Hang on now.” It was one thing to have your own suspicions, another to have a stranger attack what was yours. “I didn’t come here to listen to you insult my family.”
“Did you not?” He was clearly warming to his subject. His round, wrinkled face was flushed pink. “You came to learn about your grandpa, no? It’s what you have been begging me to speak of. What did you expect to hear? Does my opinion of him surprise you?”
Jan had appeared in the far door, shadowing the bearded man about thirty feet behind.
“I know he was involved in some shady deals,” Ana responded. “And he felt bad about those. But he truly believed he was saving works that would have vanished otherwise.”
“Child, you have no idea. The museums would not take work from him, and they will not take it from you, because they know it is tainted. Your legacy is dirty money. You sleep among pilfered treasures. I am sorry if I am the first to tell you this, but somehow I doubt that.”
Ana was too shaken to think clearly. She had broken his shell but had not found what she wanted inside. The bearded man wandered out the near door, and Jan doubled back to the far one. When she glanced at del Carros again, his face was placid once more.
“You know,” he said, in a very different tone, warm, surprised, “I now begin to think that I am the foolish one, and that you are a clever girl.”
“I don’t know what you mean.”