Eternal Empire Read Free

Gallery. How may I help you?”
    â€œGood morning,” a woman said smoothly on the other end, giving a name that Maddy forgot at once. “I’m a reporter at the
Guardian
here in London. May I please speak with Maddy Shaw?”
    Maddy’s rational mind told her to hang up, but part of her wanted to know how bad it was. “Speaking.”
    â€œOh, very good,” the reporter said, pausing as if to transfer the phone to the crook of her shoulder. “I’m calling in regard to the incident yesterday at the Metropolitan Museum of Art. I don’t know if you’ve seen the news—”
    â€œI’ve heard something about it,” Maddy said carefully. “A man was shot, wasn’t he?”
    â€œYes, but only after defacing a painting by Eugène Delacroix. Apparently the damage is quite severe. I was wondering if you cared to comment.”
    Maddy closed her eyes. “And why would I have anything to say about this?”
    The reporter pounced on this at once, as if she had been expecting this sort of evasion. “Well, I apologize in advance if my information is incorrect, but I was told that you were the Maddy Blume who broke into an installation three years ago at the Philadelphia Museum of Art.”
    â€œAnd what makes you say that?” As Maddy spoke, feeling as if she were trapped in the kind of conversation that one has in a nightmare, she saw the gallery door open and another employee, the registrar and shipping handler, enter with a look on his face that implied that he already knew everything.
    With an effort, she returned her attention to what the reporter was saying. “I’m sure you’re aware, of course, that this recent incident has been widely reported, and many stories have referred to the events in Philadelphia. As it happens, your picture appeared in a few places online, and it was recognized.”
    â€œIt was recognized,” Maddy said flatly. “Which means you got a call. Let me guess. Was it someone from another gallery?”
    The reporter dodged the question. “I understand that you want to move on. I really do. But people will be asking about this anyway. If you agree to talk to me, we can set the tone for the conversation—”
    Maddy was about to reply when she realized that her hand, seemingly of its own volition, had hung up the phone. She also became aware that the registrar was staring at her from his desk. “What have you heard?”
    â€œEverything,” the registrar said simply. “It’s all over the city. So is it true?”
    Before Maddy could respond, the phone rang again. According to the display, it was the same number as before. “It depends on what they’re saying. In any case, I don’t want to talk about it now.”
    Something in her tone of voice told him that she meant it. The registrar turned away, switching on his computer, although she could feel the curiosity radiating off him in waves. Her phone rang three more times, then stopped. She waited for the length of a voicemail, then picked up the receiver and deleted all messages without bothering to play them back.
    When she was done, she sat there for a moment, weighing the tempting prospect of giving in to despair. Then she saw clearly what she had to do. A glance at the clock told her that there wasn’t much time. Ignoring the registrar, who was casting pointed looks in her direction, she opened the topmost drawer of her desk, fished out a flash drive, and inserted it into her computer.
    She was copying a set of files when the door opened again and Alvin Beardsley appeared. The gallery owner gave Maddy a nod as he entered, then went without a word to his private office. Maddy remained at her desk for another minute, then put the flash drive in her purse and rose to meet her fate.
    The gallery was located in Mayfair, and like most of its fellows, it was a featureless white cube with track lighting and a concrete