“Circle of Orazio Gentileschi.”
“Pish posh.”
“I couldn’t agree more.”
“Have you got a second opinion?”
“Niles Dunham.”
“Good enough for me. But how’s the provenance?”
“Airtight.” Sarah raised her glass to her crimson lips. “Interested?”
Oliver allowed his eyes to wander over her form. “Definitely.”
“In the painting, Oliver.”
“That depends on the price.”
“Fourteen.”
“The record for an Artemisia is four-point-eight.”
“Records are made to be broken.”
“I’m afraid I don’t have fourteen lying around at the moment,” said Oliver. “But I might have five. Six in a pinch.”
“Five or six won’t do. You see, I’m quite confident you’ll unload it in short order.” Sarah lowered her voice. “Next day, I imagine.”
“How much will I get for it?”
“Fifteen.”
He frowned. “You’re not up to something illegal, are you?”
“Naughty,” said Sarah. “But not illegal.”
“There’s nothing I love more than naughty. But I’m afraid we’ll need to adjust the terms of the deal.”
“Name your price, Oliver. You have me over a barrel.”
“If only.” He lifted his gaze toward the skylight and with the tip of his forefinger tapped his damp lips. At length, he said, “Ten for you, five for me.”
“For a day’s work? I should think a cut of three million is more than sufficient.”
“Ten and five. Hurry, Sarah. The gavel’s about to fall.”
“All right, Oliver. You win.” She touched her champagne flute to his. “I’ll send over the contract in the morning.”
“What about the restoration?”
“The buyer has someone in mind. Apparently, he’s quite good.”
“I certainly hope so. Because our lute player needs a great deal of work.”
“Don’t we all,” sighed Sarah. “I nearly had a heart attack in Hyde Park today.”
“What were you doing?”
