Sole Remedy Ch 2

Present Day, London England

I.

“This is really fortuitous, Alice,” said Robert. Absently, he was rubbing his thumb along that bit of her hand between her thumb and forefinger. “I was actually thinking of calling you up for help.”

“Oh, yes? What’s the matter, Robert?”

“It’s my wife. Her father’s gone missing.”

Robert had married an Englishwoman a couple of years after setting up permanently in London, and had two kids. He was faithful to her 360 days of the year, bending his vows only when Michele was in town - for they both knew that they were ships that passed in the night. They enjoyed the experience immensely, but their real lives took precedence.

“Tell me all about it,” said Michele.

“He is, or rather, he was an art appraiser for an art gallery, and he did consulting work for a few auction frims. You’ve heard of Sotheby’s and Christie’s, yes? Merrison’s was about the fifth ranked auction house in the City, and they have been trying to move up to the fourth rank for a long time. They recently acquired the estate of a well-known art collector – it was quite a coup for them. Jennifer’s father, Colin, was the appraiser for the collection.

And, well…he made a mistake. Mis-identified one of the paintings…and placed a value on it that was $200,000 less than what it should have been.”

“Ah oh,” said Michele.

Robert nodded.

“An American collector was at the auction. He recognized that painting for what it was, and bought it, for at least $200,000 less than what it should have gone for. He sends the painting home to the States. And then, he told the damn press! Crowing about his triumph! Colin was humiliated. He wasn’t fired from his job, but he was so embarrassed that he quit. And a couple of days ago…he disappeared.”

“Surely he didn’t disappear,” Michele said. “Tell me you looked for his passport.”

Robert nodded again. “His passport is gone. He didn’t tell his wife, or Jennifer, where he was going, but of course it’s obvious. He’s gone to the States to get his revenge on this art collector who not only cost him his job but also humiliated him in the process.”

“And you want me to track him down.”

“Yes. I….I wouldn’t have thought Colin had a violent bone in his body, but we all know that in these uncertain days, even the mildest of people can go postal.”

It was Michele’s turn to nod.

“Jennifer is sure that he’s just gone to the States to have a verbal altercation with the man – shout at him a bit and curse him for being a money-grubbing, publicity hunting son of a bitch. But the fact that he didn’t tell anyone he was going, that’s what’s got me worried.”

“Well, what’s the name of this son of a bitch?”

“Alan Pretorius.”

Michele nodded again. “Okay, Robert. I’ll handle this personally. I’ll leave for New York first thing tomorrow.”

Robert kissed her hand. “Thanks,” he said simply.


II.

The flight back to New York was a pleasant one – first class again, of course.

Robert had given her several photos of his wife’s father, Colin Seaforth, in a variety of poses – full face, profile, laughing. She had studied them closely and now felt she could pick him out of a crowd of people at a hundred yards.

She’d also surfed the web and found the news of the mislabeled masterpiece. She had remembered hearing about the event in the news a month or so ago. It had merited a couple of paragraphs in the Arts section in the New York Times. However, the British papers had covered the story ad nauseum for several weeks, and had excoriated Colin Seaforth for his incompetence, and Merrison’s for their incompetence in using him as an art appraiser, despite the fact that this was his first ever mis-step - that had been found out, the papers said tartly.

Michele shook her head at this coverage. If she had been in Seaforth’s shoes, she wouldn’t have gone after the millionaire but rather after these ghouls and vultures that were destroying her reputation for their own amusement.

But Seaforth had obviously decided that it was Alan Pretorius who would have to pay.

Alan Pretorius was indeed a very wealthy man, and she’d found plenty of information about him on the web. He had recently remarried, a woman 30 years younger than himself (he was 60, she, 30), and it had been on their honeymoon that they’d stopped in at the Merrison gallery “on a whim,” he had told one reporter. He had recognized the painting for what it was, a "lost" painting by a Japanese artist who had visited England before Japan cut itself off from the outside world for two centuries…before being opened up by the “Black Ships” of Commodore Perry in 1854. The painting had been described in literature of the day, but no illustration of it had existed,andeverybody (who thought of such things) had assumed it'd been destroyed. Pretorius, an expert on Japanese art, had recognized it immediately from the description, as would have anyone who was an expert in Japanese art minutiae, something Colin Seaforth apparently had not been.

After purchasing the painting for a song, Pretorius had sent it back to his home in the States, while he and his new bride continued their honeymoon.

They had returned from that honeymoon a couple of weeks ago, and in three more days, there was to be a costume party at Pretorius’ mansion, where his new acquisition would be unveiled.

“That’s it,” Michele had thought to herself, tapping her latop screen. “During the party. Whether it’s just going to be a verbal altercation or something violent, he’s going to do it at this party.”

Michele was a firm believer in “the flux,” a concept she had first read about in a Modesty Blaise novel. “The flux” was simply a magnetic force that caused coincidences to happen. Pretorius was giving a party for all his rich friends to show off his new painting , Colin Seaforth had gone to America without telling anyone why…he had obviously read about this part and intended to crash it.

Michele nodded her head. So would she.