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Chapter 17
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The bell jingled in the gallery door, announcing Ashford's arrival.
He stepped inside, unbuttoning his overcoat and glancing around, unsurprised to see Williams hurrying purposefully towards him.
"How can I assist you, Lord Tremlett?"
Ashford quirked a brow. "I don't suppose you'd believe I'm here to browse." Without awaiting a reply, he strolled inside, making his way slowly towards the far wall, glancing at each of the paintings as he did. He counted two, no three, frames that were bulkier than Sardo's customary one—and there was the fourth, the abstract Noelle had spoken of, tucked away in the corner, just as she'd said.
Well aware that Williams was right on his heels, Ashford slowed, tossing the curator a polite smile. "No, of course you wouldn't. Not after our interrogation yesterday." He halted, purposely choosing an innocuous still life alongside which to stop, swerving about to study its design. "Actually, I do have a specific reason for my visit."
Williams emitted an audible sniff. "I'll summon Mr. Baricci."
"That won't be necessary. I've come today to purchase a painting."
"What?" Williams blinked. "Is this your attempt to be amusing, my lord?"
"Not at all." Ashford stood back, studying the fine detail of the flower arrangement. "Despite my distrust for Baricci, I can't deny he has an eye for talent. And as it happens, I'm not the only one who thinks so. A particular lady I'm eager to impress is very taken with André Sardo's paintings."
"Would that lady be Noelle Bromleigh?"
"And if it is?" Ashford shot Williams a challenging look. "Is Baricci going to refuse my patronage because I'm gifting his daughter with a work painted by the artist he intended to be her lover? Funny, I always thought your employer was shrewder than that, readily able to separate business matters from personal ones."
"He is." Williams shifted uncertainly, trying to assess the plausibility of Ashford's explanation.
"Good." Ashford pressed his advantage another notch. "Because I've come prepared to buy." A contemplative pause. "Unless, of course, you're refusing to do business with me. In which case, I'd be forced to ask you why—and who knows what issues might arise from that question."
"Such is not the case." Williams clasped his hands behind him, walking over to inspect the still life. "Of course we'll do business with you—if, in fact, it's business you've come to do."
"You doubt that?"
"To be blunt, yes."
"Fine. Then suppose I dispel your misgivings by showing you just how serious a buyer I am." Ashford whipped out a thick pile of folded pound notes. "Better?"
Swallowing, Williams stared at the large sum, then at the still life that Ashford had resumed studying. "You've selected a fine piece of work," he said cautiously. "What are you prepared to offer for it?"
"I'll offer five hundred pounds."
Williams started. "What did you say?"
"You heard me. Five hundred pounds. Is that an acceptable price?"
"I think you know it's far more than acceptable, Lord Tremlett. It's outlandish. I'm sure Mr. Baricci would agree. In fact, I'm sure he'd wonder why you would offer such an excessive sum for a work, however splendid, painted by a relatively unknown artist."
"Let's just say I'm eager to win this particular lady's affections—and to assuage whatever bad feelings the artist in question might harbor. Since we all know he'll never have the lady, perhaps he'll settle for a healthy sum of money instead—that is, if Baricci intends to turn a substantial percentage of the payment over to him. I'd hate to think he'd cheat his suppliers."
"He wouldn't." Williams's tone was icy, but convinced. "Very well, sir. Five hundred pounds it is, of which a healthy portion will go to Mr. Sardo. You can verify it with him yourself once the transaction is complete."
"Good. Then we have a deal?"
"We do." Despite his delight over the enormous sum he'd just procured, Williams wanted Ashford gone as quickly as possible. "This won't require more than a few minutes. I'll take down the still life, wrap it up for you, and prepare your receipt. You'll be on your way in no time—"
"That's not the painting I want."
