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13
Rue de Miromesnil
“Are you familiar with Pierre-Henri de Valenciennes?”
Gabriel sighed before answering. “Valenciennes was one of the most important landscape artists of the neoclassical period. He was among the earliest proponents of workingen plein airrather than in a studio.” He paused. “Shall I go on?”
“I meant no offense.”
“None taken, Maurice.”
They had retreated to Durand’s cramped rear office. Gabriel was seated in the uncomfortable wooden armchair reserved for visitors; Durand, behind his spotless desk. The light of his antique lamp was reflected in his rimless spectacles, obscuring his watchful brown eyes.
“A number of years ago,” he continued, “Galerie Georges Fleury exhibited a stunning landscape said to have been painted by Valenciennes in 1804. It depicted villagers dancing around classical ruins at dusk. Oil on canvas, sixty-six by ninety-eight centimeters. Immaculate condition, as Monsieur Fleury’s paintings always are. A collectorof considerable expertise and means whom we shall refer to as Monsieur Didier entered into negotiations to purchase the painting. But the talks broke down almost immediately because Monsieur Fleury refused to budge on the price.”
“Which was?”
“Let’s call it four hundred thousand.”
“And how much was Monsieur Didier willing to pay you to steal it for him?”
“The rule of thumb is that a painting retains only ten percent of its value on the black market.”
“Forty thousand is rather small beer for you.”
“I told him so.”
“How much did he offer?”
“Two hundred.”
“And you accepted?”
“Unfortunately.”
From the cabinet behind his desk Durand removed a bottle of calvados and two antique cut-glass tumblers. Nearly everything in the room was from another age, including the little black-and-white video monitor he used to keep watch on his front door.
He poured two glasses of the brandy and offered one to Gabriel.
“It’s a bit early in the day for me.”
“Nonsense,” said Durand after consulting his wristwatch. “Besides, a little alcohol at midday is good for the blood.”
“My blood is just fine, thank you.”
“No lingering effects from that unpleasantness in Washington?”
“Only an abiding concern for the future of American democracy.” Gabriel reluctantly accepted the brandy. “Who handled the job for you?”
“Your old friend René Monjean.”
“Any complications?”
“Not with the robbery itself. The gallery’s security system was rather outmoded.”
“Surely you didn’t take just the one painting.”
“Of course not. René grabbed four others to cover our tracks.”
