“Because the National Gallery was in the final stages of assembling a major Rembrandt exhibit. A number of prominent American and European museums had agreed to lend their own Rembrandts, but I’d heard rumors about a pot of money that had been set aside for a new acquisition. I’d also heard they wanted something that could generate a few headlines. Something sexy that could turn out a crowd.”

“And your newly discovered Rembrandt fit that description.”

“Like one of my tailor-made suits, petal. In fact, we were able to reach a deal very quickly. I was to deliver the painting to Washington, fully restored, in six months’ time. Then the director of the National Gallery would unveil his prize to the world.”

“You didn’t mention the sale price.”

“You didn’t ask.”

“I’m asking.”

“Forty-five million. I initialed a draft agreement of the deal in Washington and treated myself to a few days with a special friend at the Eden Rock Hotel in Saint Barths. Then I returned to London and started looking for a restorer. I needed someone good. Someone with a bit of natural discretion. Which is why I went to Paris to see Shamron.”

Isherwood looked to Gabriel for a response. Greeted by silence, he slowed to a stop and watched the waves crashing against the rocks at Lizard Point.

“When Shamron told me that you still weren’t ready to work, I reluctantly settled on another restorer. Someone who would jump at the chance to clean a long-lost Rembrandt. A former staff conservator from the Tate who’d gone into private practice. Not quite as elegant as my first choice but solid and much less complicated. No issues with terrorists or Russian arms dealers. Never asked me to keep a defector’s cat for the weekend. And no dead bodies turning up. Except now.” Isherwood turned to Gabriel. “Unless you’ve given up watching the news, I’m sure you can finish the rest of the story.”

“You hired Christopher Liddell.”

Isherwood nodded slowly and gazed at the darkening sea. “It’s a shame you didn’t take the job, Gabriel. The only person to die would have been the thief. And I’d still have my Rembrandt.”

CHAPTER 6

6

THE LIZARD PENINSULA, CORNWALL

Hedgerows lined the narrow track leading north from Lizard Point, blocking all views of the surrounding countryside. Isherwood drove at a snail’s pace, his long body hunched over the wheel, while Gabriel stared silently out the window.

“You knew him, didn’t you?”

Gabriel nodded absently. “We apprenticed together in Venice under Umberto Conti. Liddell never cared for me.”

“That’s understandable. He must have been envious. Liddell was gifted, but he wasn’t in your league. You were the star, and everyone knew it.”