Nothing Ventured(22)
“Gino, don’t overdo it.”
“You do not think she is beautiful?”
“Yes, but I don’t want her to run away before we’ve had the first course.”
Beth looked up from her menu. “Don’t worry, I’m not going to run away. Well, not until after the second course.”
“And what can I get you to drink, signorina?”
“A glass of white wine, please.”
“We’ll have a bottle of Frascati,” said William, recalling a wine his father often ordered, though he had no idea how much it would cost.
Once Gino had taken their orders, Beth asked, “Is it William or Bill?”
“William.”
“Do you work in the art world or are you a gallery groupie?”
“Both. I became a gallery groupie at an early age, but now I work with the Art and Antiques unit at Scotland Yard.”
Beth seemed to hesitate for a moment, before she said, “So your visit to the Fitzmolean was just part of your job.”
“It was until I saw you.”
“You’re worse than Gino.”
“And you?” asked William.
“No, I’m not worse than Gino.”
“No, I didn’t mean…” began William, painfully aware how long it had been since his last date.
“I know what you meant,” teased Beth. “I read art history at Durham.”
“I knew I’d gone to the wrong university.”
“So where did you go?” she asked as Gino reappeared with two piping hot bowls of stracciatella.
“King’s. Also history of art. And after Durham?”
“I went up to Cambridge and did a DPhil on Rubens the diplomat.”
“I nearly did a PhD on Caravaggio the criminal.”
“Which would explain why you ended up joining the police force.”
“And did you go straight to the Fitzmolean after that?”
“Yes, it was my first job after Cambridge. And it must have been painfully obvious that last night was my first attempt at giving a discourse.”
“You were brilliant.”
“I just about got by, which will become only too obvious if you attend Tim Knox’s lecture next week.”
“I can’t imagine what it must have been like to stand in for your boss at the last moment.”
“It was terrifying. So, dare I ask if you’re any nearer to finding my missing Rembrandt?”
“Your Rembrandt?”
“Yes. But then everyone who works at the Fitzmolean is possessive about The Syndics.”
“I can understand why. But after seven years, I’m afraid the trail has gone cold.”
“But you can’t have been working on the case for the past seven years?”
“Less than seven weeks,” admitted William. “But I’m confident the Rembrandt will be back in its place by the end of next month.”
Beth didn’t laugh. “I still want to believe it’s out there somewhere and will eventually be returned to the gallery.”
“I’d like to agree with you,” said William, as Gino whisked away their empty bowls. “But no one else in the department agrees with me.”
“Do they think it’s been destroyed?” asked Beth. “I just can’t believe anyone could be that much of a philistine.”
“Not even if it meant they avoided ending up in jail for several years?”
“Does that mean you know who stole it?”
William didn’t reply, and was relieved when Gino reappeared with their main courses.
“I’m sorry,” said Beth. “I shouldn’t have asked. But if there’s ever anything I can do to help, please let me know.”
“There is something you might be able to advise me on. We’ve recently come across an outstanding copy of The Syndics, and I wondered if you knew anyone who specializes in that kind of work?”
“Not my field,” admitted Beth. “I deal with dead artists, and then only if they’re Dutch or Flemish. But I assume you’ve already visited the Fake Gallery in Notting Hill?”
“Never heard of it,” said William, as he touched his jacket pocket, searching for a notebook, quite forgetting that he wasn’t on duty.
“They have a number of artists working for them who can knock up a fake of any master you require, living or dead.”
“Is that legal?”
“I’ve no idea. That’s your department,” Beth said with a grin. “But if you’re not spending every waking hour trying to find my Rembrandt, you must be attempting to solve some even bigger crimes.”
“The theft of a small phial of moon dust, and several signed copies of Winston Churchill’s The Second World War.”
“Are you allowed to tell me more?”
Beth couldn’t stop laughing when William told her about Dr. Talbot and the American undersecretary. She even came up with a suggestion when he mentioned the fake Winston Churchill signed editions.
“Perhaps you should be looking for an unsigned set, so you’ll be one step ahead of your forger.”
“Good idea,” said William, deciding not to tell her that was exactly what he’d been doing all day. “Perhaps we should meet regularly, as you should have been a detective.”