“Hmph. You’re not worried about the coppers. You just didn’t want to miss anything.” Gallowglass wagged a finger at him. “I’m on to you, Hamish.”
“Here’s Fernando,” Sarah said in a tone suggesting that deliverance had come at last.
Fernando tried to hold open the door for Ysabeau, but Adam beat him to it. My mother-in-law looked like a youthful film star, and every male head in the room turned as she entered with Phoebe in her wake. Fernando hung back, his dark coat the perfect backdrop for Ysabeau’s off-white and taupe ensemble.
“No wonder Ysabeau prefers to stay at home,” I said. She stood out like a beacon on a foggy day.
“Philippe always said it was easier to withstand a siege than to cross a room at Ysabeau’s side. He had to fend off her admirers with more than a stick, I can tell you.” Gallowglass rose as his grandmother approached. “Hello, Granny. Did they give in to your demands?”
Ysabeau offered her cheek to be kissed. “Of course.”
“In part,” Phoebe said hastily.
“Was there trouble?” Gallowglass asked Fernando.
“None worth mentioning.” Fernando pulled out a chair. Ysabeau slid onto it gracefully, crossing her slim ankles.
“Charles was most accommodating when you consider how many company policies I expected him to violate,” she said, refusing the menu Adam offered her with a little moue of distaste. “Champagne, please.”
“The hideous painting you took off his hands will more than compensate for it,” Fernando said, installing Phoebe into her place at the table. “Whatever made you buy it, Ysabeau?”
“It is not hideous, though abstract expressionism is an acquired taste,” she admitted. “The painting is raw, mysterious—sensual. I will give it to the Louvre and force Parisians to expand their minds. Mark my words: This time next year, Clyfford Still will be at the top of every museum’s wish list.”
“Expect a call from Coutts,” Phoebe murmured to Hamish. “She wouldn’t haggle.”
“There is no need to worry. Both Sotheby’s and Coutts know I am good for it.” Ysabeau extracted a slip of paper from her sleek leather bag and extended it to me. “Voilà.”
“T. J. Weston, Esquire.” I looked up from the slip. “This is who bought the page from Ashmole 782?”
“Possibly.” Phoebe’s reply was terse. “The file contained nothing but a sales slip—he paid cash—and six pieces of misdirected correspondence. Not a single address we have for Weston is valid.”
“It shouldn’t be that hard to locate him. How many T. J. Westons can there be?” I wondered.
“More than three hundred,” Phoebe replied. “I checked the national directory. And don’t assume that T. J. Weston is a man. We don’t know the buyer’s sex or nationality. One of the addresses is in Denmark.”
“Do not be so negative, Phoebe. We will make calls. Use Hamish’s connections. And Leonard is outside. He will drive us where we need to go.” Ysabeau looked unconcerned.
“My connections?” Hamish buried his head in his hands and groaned. “This could take weeks. I might as well live at the Wolseley, given all the coffees I’m going to have with people.”
“It won’t take weeks, and you don’t need to worry about your caffeine intake.” I put the paper in my pocket, slung my messenger bag over my shoulder, and hoisted myself to my feet, almost upsetting the table in the process.
“Lord bless us, Auntie. You get bigger by the hour.”
“Thank you for noticing, Gallowglass.” I’d managed to wedge myself between a coatrack, the wall, and my chair. He leaped up to extricate me.
“How can you be so sure?” Sarah asked me, looking as doubtful as Phoebe.
Wordlessly I held up my hands. They were multicolored and shining.
“Ah. Let us get Diana home,” Ysabeau said. “I do not think the proprietor would appreciate having a dragon in his restaurant any more than I did having one in my house.”
“Put your hands in your pockets,” Sarah hissed. They really were rather bright.
I was not yet at the waddling stage of pregnancy, but it was still a challenge to make my way through the close tables, especially with my hands jammed into my raincoat.
“Please clear the way for my daughter-in-law,” Ysabeau said imperiously, taking my elbow and tugging me along. Men stood, pulled their chairs in, and fawned as she passed.
“My husband’s stepmother,” I whispered to one outraged woman who was gripping her fork like a weapon. She was appropriately disturbed by the notion that I had married a boy of twelve and gotten pregnant by him, for Ysabeau was far too young to have children older than that. “Second marriage. Younger wife. You know how it is.”
“So much for blending in,” Hamish muttered. “Every creature in W1 will know that Ysabeau de Clermont is in town after this. Can’t you control her, Gallowglass?”
“Control Granny?” Gallowglass roared with laughter and slapped Hamish on the back.
“This is a nightmare,” Hamish said as more heads turned. He reached the front door. “See you tomorrow, Adam.”
“Your usual table for one, sir?” Adam asked, offering Hamish his umbrella.
“Yes. Thank God.”
Hamish stepped into a waiting car and headed back to his office in the City. Leonard tucked me into the rear of the Mercedes with Phoebe, and Ysabeau and Fernando took the passenger seat. Gallowglass lit a cigarette and ambled along the sidewalk, emitting more smoke than a Mississippi steamboat. We lost sight of him outside the Coach and Horses, where Gallowglass indicated through a series of silent gestures that he was going in for a drink.
“Coward,” Fernando said, shaking his head.
* * *
“Now what?” Sarah asked after we were back at Clairmont House in the cozy morning room. Though the front parlor was comfortable and welcoming, this snug spot was my favorite room in the house. It contained a ragtag assemblage of furniture, including a stool that I was certain had been in our house in the Blackfriars, which made the room feel as if it had been lived in rather than decorated.
“Now we find T. J. Weston, Esquire, whoever she or he may be.” I propped up my feet on the age-blackened Elizabethan stool with a groan, letting the warmth from the crackling fire seep into my aching bones.
“It will be like finding a needle in a haystack,” Phoebe said, allowing herself the small discourtesy of a sigh.
“Not if Diana uses her magic it won’t,” Sarah said confidently.