Page 16 of The Chase
He peered over his rounded spectacles at Tobias. “The plan is to authenticate before you buy?”
“It’s a time issue,” said Tobias. “It’s the kind of investment I’m willing to make but only if we can confirm its authenticity.”
“Which painting?” I asked.
“Mr. Wilder is hoping to move fast,” said Logan.
“You’re not going with an American firm?” said Adley.
“Discretion is essential,” replied Logan.
“It’s in the UK?” I wondered why he was not going with the firm he usually used. After all, his vast collection had been authenticated.
“It’s a well-sought-out piece,” said Tobias. “I need discretion.”
“We’re ahead of the curve with this one,” said Logan. “We want to move fast.”
“Huntly Pierre guarantees a strict privacy policy,” said Adley. “Our service is confidential.”
Logan’s glare locked on me. “How long have you worked for the firm?”
“Well, I’ve been with Huntly Pierre—” I looked over at Adley.
He gave a reassuring smile. “I can assure you Ms. Leighton’s art pedigree is exceptional.”
“If you don’t mind,” said Logan. “We’re merely crossing our t’s.”
“Of course.” Adley gestured for her to continue.
Tobias picked up a pen embossed with the company insignia and tapped it on the desk. “Tell us more about you, Ms. Leighton.”
“I studied art here in London.” I smiled, hoping that would allay their concerns. “I’ve loved art all my life.”
Logan opened the beige folder in front of her and read. “Courtauld Institute of Art?”
There was a flipping folder on me?
A wave of nervousness circled my stomach. “Yes, I graduated—”
“With honors.” Tobias’s stare locked on mine. “Impressive.”
“The Courtauld’s just down the road,” I told them brightly. “I can arrange a visit if you like.”
Logan’s frown narrowed. “We’re more interested in your current experience.”
“Oh, well, I’ve not been with the firm that long. But I’ve been immersed in the art world all my life. My father was an honorary member of the Royal Academy of Arts.”
“Are you a member?” asked Logan.
“No,” I said, “you have to be voted in. Members are usually practicing artists.”
Tobias reached out for that folder and slid it toward him along the desk. Turning the pages slowly, he seemed to be reading every single line of whatever was in there. If silence could have been considered a weapon he’d mastered the art of using it.
That Jackson Pollock was jarring my nerves, those swirls of white on black, those yellow blotches had hit the canvas with precision. To an untrained eye they would have appeared like a madman’s call for help.
Adley leaned forward. “Zara has a natural flair for—”
“Is this your first day?” Logan sounded incredulous. Tobias’s stare slowly lifted to hold mine.
