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“Madame Rolfe and I avoid them.” Gabriel glanced at the gallery’s heavy glass door. “Shall we go inside? It doesn’t take long for her to attract a crowd.”
Fleury used a handheld remote to unlock the door. In the vestibule, a bronze life-size bust of a young Greek or Roman man stood atop a plinth of black marble. Next to it was an unoccupied receptionist’s desk.
“As you requested, Herr Ziegler, it’s just the three of us.”
“No hard feelings, I hope.”
“None at all.” Fleury placed the remote on the desk and escorted them into a high-ceilinged room with a dark wooden floor and walls of garnet red. “My main exhibition room. The better pictures are upstairs. If you wish, we can begin there.”
“Madame Rolfe is in no hurry.”
“Neither am I.”
Dazzled, Fleury led his internationally renowned visitor on a laborious tour of the room’s collection while Gabriel conducted an unchaperoned survey of his own. The first work to catch his connoisseur’s eye was a large Rococo painting depicting a nude Venus and three young maidens. The inscription at the bottom of the canvas suggested the work had been executed by Nicolas Colombel in 1697. Gabriel doubted that was the case.
He placed a hand to his chin and tilted his head to one side. Amoment passed before Fleury noticed his interest in the work and joined him before the canvas.
“I acquired it a few months ago.”
“May I ask where?”
“An old private collection here in France.”
“Dimensions?”
Fleury smiled. “You tell me, Monsieur Ziegler.”
“One hundred and twelve by one hundred and forty-four centimeters.” He paused, then added with a disarming smile, “Give or take a centimeter or two.”
“Very close.”
Only because Gabriel had deliberately misstated the painting’s actual dimensions. Any fool could see that the work measured 114 by 148 centimeters.
“It’s in remarkable condition,” he said.
“I commissioned the restoration after purchasing it.”
“May I see the conservator’s report?”
“Now?”
“If you wouldn’t mind.”
When Fleury withdrew, Anna approached the painting. “It’s beautiful.”
“But too large to transport easily.”
“You’re not thinking about buying something, are you?”
“Not me,” said Gabriel. “But you certainly are.”
Before Anna could object, Fleury reappeared, empty-handed. “I’m afraid Bruno must have misfiled it. But if Madame Rolfe is interested in the painting, I can forward you a copy by email.”
Gabriel produced his phone. “Would you mind if I photographed her standing next to it?”
“Of course not. In fact, I would be honored.”
Anna inched closer to the painting and, turning, adopted the smile she wore when acknowledging the applause of a sold-out concerthall. Gabriel snapped the photograph, then moved to the neighboring painting.
