Page 78 of All I Want for Christmas

‘Says the capitalist advocate of the Foundation of the artist’s patron’s family,’ Margit snapped.

Helle blinked slowly, like a cat deliberating whether to sleep or strike. ‘Ethically, it still belongs to the family of the man who bought it directly from the artist with honest coin. And I don’t believe the Danish people would support you choosing to go into a costly and lengthy court battle for something that you know to have been sold under duress, threats of violence and even death. Is that who we are? Surely to choose to upholdthat corruption would mean becoming corrupt ourselves? Let’s right the wrong and do the right thing.’

‘This has nothing to do with right and wrong!’ Margit spat. ‘That’s spin for the press release you want to put out! You know, I might find this all rather more palatable if you hadn’t already agreed your price with the Fleishmans.’

‘They will finally get the compensation they are due, after all this time,’ Max said simply. As if this was simple.

‘Think about it in real terms, Margit,’ Helle said. ‘Ownership is just paperwork. All it really means is that the painting will hang a mile down the road from where it is now, still in the public domain. Isn’t that better than it going back into a private collection in Germany?’

‘Don’t pass this off as public service,’ Otto said coldly. ‘This is about you getting your full flush.’

Max spread his hands appeasingly. ‘I don’t deny it – our founder’s mission would be accomplished, to have Trier’s greatest work restored to his namesake collection. But that doesn’t make us villains. It’s every artist’s dream and every patron’s ambition.’

Margit gave a small scoff of disgust. ‘You’ve been lining up your backers for years, waiting for precisely this moment.’

‘I’ve never made any secret of our hopes, Margit, but this particular moment – with the link to Lilja Madsen – could not have been foreseen. In that, we have simply been lucky.’

His head inclined fractionally towards Darcy, acknowledging her unwitting role in all this. He’d been in the right place at the right time because of her – returning a scarf, apologizing for a kiss, just as she made the discovery that toppled the dominoes.

‘I would like us to resolve this amicably, Margit, but you should know the Fleishman heirs would like to seeHer Childrenwithin the Johan Trier collection at the Madsen Foundation. They are prepared to engage their lawyers to file the claim against the state as soon as next week.’

‘Next week?’ Margit almost barked the words.

Darcy looked between them all in dismay, feeling like a child in the middle of an adults’ argument. She watched as Otto ran his hands down his face. They were hemmed in from every side, and she realized that while she had been calling her advisor to excitedly tell him about her discovery, Max must have been calling not just Helle, but his syndicate of backers. He had their approval to issue his threats with full sanction. They had check-mated the museum’s queen.

She stared at him in dismay. ‘This is your moment,’ he had said to her as they were walking in – knowing full well it was about to be his.

Helle leaned forward and patted the papers on the table. ‘Read this, and then let’s talk, Margit,’ she said in a quiet voice. ‘I do believe we can reach a mutually satisfactory resolution.’

Margit gave her a hostile look. ‘I beg to differ.’

‘The evidence is compelling,’ Helle said, undeterred, closing up her bag again. ‘In the meantime, while this is all under review, we wish to be involved with all further developments in this project.’

‘Absolutely not!’ Margit snapped. ‘It’s not your painting yet.’

‘No – but it is our archives you are using for research,’ Max said coolly. ‘Not to mention we are generously loaning you a very substantial number of paintings for the retrospective.’

Darcy gasped. Was he seriously threatening, on top of everything else, to forbid her access? To pull their loans for the exhibition? She saw Max flinch at her stunned response, but he didn’t look her way.

Margit’s eyes narrowed. ‘Are you blackmailing us, Max?’

‘I’m simply reminding you that this project is a collaboration. Work with us and we’ll work with you. Whatever Darcy discovers, she must share. I don’t think that’s an unreasonable request, given we all have our vested interests.’

Darcy stared at his profile as she understood now what it was she had read in his eyes at the market. He had known exactly what he was coming over here to do. Viggo had warned that he was bullish; bullying was more like it. She had thought she’d caught glimpses of the real man, the softer flesh and blood beneath the veneer – but she saw now that he was hard all the way through, his soul shellacked. He had betrayed her trust and she felt awash with guilt that she had brought him here with her today. She had brought the wolf into the sheep’s pen.

‘As Helle said, let’s talk again when you’ve had a chance to read the file.’ He pulled his feet in and readied himself to stand. ‘Darcy, you’ve got my details. I’ll expect to hear from you,’ he said, meeting her gaze briefly. But she couldn’t hide her feelings the way he could and she watched, silent and pale, as he got up with his colleague and left the room.

She saw Ida in the corridor trying to catch his eye again as he left and this time, his head turned slightly in her direction. The girl blushed, throwing an excited, wide-eyed look at his back in his wake.

Darcy looked away.

Known entities. Managed outcomes. She looked down at the carousel in the bag by her feet. It hadn’t been an apology for what had already passed, but for what was to come.I don’t want you to hate me.He couldn’t do his job until she did hers.

We’re not friends, she had said to him that night on his steps. But until now, she hadn’t realized they were enemies.

Chapter Sixteen

Darcy paced outside in the courtyard. The silence that had pulsed in the long moments after Max and Helle’s exits had been deafening and Margit had – unsurprisingly – wanted to talk to Otto alone. Darcy had been glad of the opportunity to escape and catch her breath. The cobbles were slippery with frost, but she didn’t care. The aftershocks of what had just happened hummed through her bones and she couldn’t shake it off. She had to move, shunt the news around her body, not let it settle or stick. Her good news had been hijacked in a way she could never have foreseen, tacked onto a bigger plan with consequences far more significant than putting a name to a face and a biography on a wall.This is your moment, he’d said, mere seconds before switching from ally to enemy. His smooth volte-face had felt personal to her, but she knew it had never been that for him. It was simply how business was done at the highest level: take every opportunity without hesitation. Make the kill. Backstabbing and plotting, threats issued behind dead smiles – it was all just part of winning. Too late, she remembered his bio: ‘Likes skiing, wine, winning.’

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