Jamie mustered the slightest of smiles. ‘Somehow I knew you might have one, Lawrence,’ she said, shaking her head slowly from side to side. ‘Okay, what’s the reason?’
‘Well, we know that Ryder was in Paris after the war, which squares with Fox’s story about Girard working with Ryder, the two of them dealing in art. And anyone with an interest in art—paintings particularly—knows that prior to and during the war years, the Nazis misappropriated—looted might be a better word—vast numbers of paintings and works of art from individuals and private collections.’
Jamie was looking at him like a blasé student at a required lecture. At least she hadn’t interrupted. Not wanting to give her the chance, he quickly followed up.
‘There came a time, towards the end and after the war, when the fleeing Nazis started to unload a lot of these paintings. Possession meant culpability and the works of art could become a liability. As a result, many of them were sold to dealers and were put back on the market, in Paris, Zurich and other European cities.’ Kingston was up and pacing now, clearly back in the old professorial groove. ‘In short, Jamie, what I’m suggesting is that the paintings that Girard is trying to locate could be stolen. That would explain why Fox was vague about them. He had to be. Surely, Girard would know the paintings intimately. He would know the artist, the subject, the size—all of that. No. Fox didn’t tell you all this because he didn’t want you to know how valuable the paintings really are. It wouldn’t surprise me if they were French Impressionist paintings. If that’s the case, they could be worth a bloody fortune. And that’s why you haven’t heard from him. But I have a feeling you will.’
Already, Jamie was shaking her head and smiling. ‘You make it all sound like a movie, Lawrence. Look, I don’t want to be the one to pick holes in your thesis. And maybe there aren’t any but you seem to find the most illogical and convoluted answers to all these things. I know this whole paintings business sounds fishy but you have to admit that there might be perfectly normal explanations for all of these happenings. The man could be telling the truth. Or what he thinks is the truth. After all, he’s learned it all second hand from the Frenchman. If I were you, I’d forget all about it. If you want my opinion, I’d say we’ve seen the last of Fox.’
Kingston returned to his chair, trying not to look too crestfallen. The jury had given its verdict before he could finish his summing-up. He knew that there would never be a better time to tell her than now. He tried to sound as detached as possible. ‘Jamie, I had a brief conversation with a lady from an organization called the Art Loss Register a while back. They have a large database of stolen art and I would imagine other records concerning specific paintings and the names of dealers and galleries involved in the exchange of artworks in the late forties and after.’
‘And?’
‘I’d like to meet her and ask a few questions. Just to satisfy my own curiosity, of course. It’s a subject that fascinates me.’
Jamie was smiling again. ‘If I didn’t know better, I’d say that you want to find out if Ryder was dealing in stolen art? Right?’
‘No, not necessarily. I want to find out if Ryder was, indeed, the guardian of those paintings that Fox is so interested in and, if so, whether they could still be here. At the least, it might corroborate the fact that the paintings in question are a lot more valuable than he would have us believe.’
Jamie got up from her chair and made to leave. ‘If it makes you happy, go ahead, Lawrence.’ At the door, she paused and looked at him over her shoulder. ‘I don’t think I’ll ever get to understand you Englishmen,’ she said, with an indulgent smile. With that, she left the room.
Kingston sat staring at the polished surface of the end table. The best part was that she hadn’t said no. Nevertheless, he knew that, as far as his detective work was concerned, this was doubtless the last concession she was going to make. Anything much beyond this would be to risk alienating her and that was the very last thing he intended to do. He very much wanted her as a partner and even more, as a friend.
He got up and headed for the kitchen to look for Jamie to tell her he was going back to the cottage. When he entered, she had her nose in a cookbook.
‘Well, I’m off,’he said.
She looked up. ‘All right. I’ll see you in the morning.’ She turned away for a second. ‘I still can’t get over Jack.’
‘Try to forget it, Jamie. Think about roses instead. Tomorrow, we can go over my ideas for the rose garden, if you like.’