Page 170 of Portrait of an Unknown Woman

“The magazine?”

“Haven’t you heard? They’re about to publish a story about your boss. By tomorrow morning, the town house will be surrounded by camera crews and reporters. Who knows? If you play your cards right, you might be able to earn a little extra money. But I beg of you, don’t sell those naughty videos you’ve saved on your computer. My poor mother will never get over it.”

“Mr. Somerset ordered us to wipe the system this afternoon.”

“That was wise of him. Now be a love, Tyler, and check the website for me. It’sVanity Fair. I can spell it for you, if that helps.”

The phone rang before he could reply. “Yes, Mr. Somerset,” he said after a moment. “No, Mr. Somerset. She was no trouble at all... Yes, I’ll tell her, sir.”

He hung up and slipped the phone into his jacket pocket.

“Tell her what?” asked Magdalena.

The security guard pointed toward the black Range Rover speeding across the tarmac. “Mr. Somerset would like a word with you in private before we leave.”

He braked to a halt a few yards from the Sikorsky’s tail and popped the Range Rover’s rear door. Magdalena took inventory of the cargobefore climbing into the passenger seat. Phillip stared straight ahead, hands gripping the wheel. An unlocked cell phone lay on the center console. It was not his usual device.

At last he turned and looked at her. “What happened to your face?”

“Apparently, I said something that offended the sensibilities of your friend.” Magdalena paused. “We were never properly introduced.”

“Silk,” said Phillip. “Leonard Silk.”

“Where did you find him?”

“Smith and Wollensky.”

“Chance encounter?”

“There’s no such thing where Leonard is concerned.”

“What was the occasion?”

“Hamilton Fairchild.”

“Buyer?”

Phillip nodded.

“Which painting?”

“Saint Jerome.”

“Follower of Caravaggio?”

“Circle of Parmigianino. I dumped it on Hamilton in a private treaty sale arranged by Bonhams.”

“I was always fond of that picture,” said Magdalena.

“So was Hamilton until he showed it to an art dealer named Patrick Matthiesen. Matthiesen told Hamilton that, in his learned opinion, the painting was the work of, how shall we say, a later imitator.”

“I assume Hamilton wanted his money back.”

“Naturally.”

“And you refused?”

“Of course.”