MasterStroke Read Free Page A

for a server. She ordered a glass of red, something not too heavy.
    With her first sip, she realised the côtes du rhône was just what she needed. The feeling of ease was almost immediate. Kicking off her shoes, she curled her legs under her. Jack was close but not too close, relaxing as well, looking for all the world like he belonged in such surroundings. He could well be a model in a 1970s whisky ad, of the sort that would have featured in Playboy magazine. Sandrine smiled slightly at the sudden mischievous thought. If he was wearing tasselled loafers, the image would be complete.
    “What do you do for a living, Mr Lucas?”
    He cast his eyes upwards and his brow furrowed somewhat. Sandrine didn’t find this evasive, merely it gave the impression it was the first time he’d ever been asked the question and was concentrating on an answer. It was almost endearingly boyish.
    “Firstly, it’s Jack. Not Mr Lucas. Well, I’m a consultant. Import – export. With a bit of salvage and recovery on the side.”
    “That sounds mysterious. What does that mean?”
    “People come to me if there is something they’re looking for. Or if they’ve lost something and want to find it.”
    “Such as?” Her curiosity was well and truly aroused.
    “I mainly deal with collectors. It could be a special car they’re looking to add to their collection. Or a piece of artwork, coins, stamps. Anything, really.”
    “Sounds fascinating. Does it require a lot of work?”
    “Of course. Each new request requires a hell of a lot of research, finding the right people to talk to, experts to verify authenticity, tracking back to discover who has the item and whether they’ll part with it and for how much.”
    “What if they don’t want to part with it?”
    “That’s when it can get a little sticky. It’s a complication, of course, but, in general, everybody has their price. It’s just a matter of working out what it is.”
    Sandrine was surprised to find that she was beginning to enjoy Jack’s company. There was a confidence about him, the way he moved and talked, that was compelling. She was a people watcher and it was apparent he was as well. And while he appeared totally at ease, he had a relaxed intensity she found fascinating, especially in the way he would occasionally cast a casual glance around the room for she was sure he would miss few details.
    “What are you trying to find at the moment?”
    Jack smiled a big lop-sided smile that crinkled his eyes.
    “I’m good at keeping secrets, Sandrine. I have to be in my line of work. New business comes in because my regular clients are satisfied with the job I do and how I protect their interests. If I start blabbing, my business would be in serious trouble.”
    It was a rebuff but a very mild one. Sandrine could appreciate his position. But his reticence was only fuelling her desire to find out more about him.
    “Jack, come on. You’ve told me so much already. Surely you don’t do this every time you meet someone new.”
    His steady gaze and the lingering silence that went with it were both infuriating and electric.
    After a few moments, he relented.
    “OK, for example. I have a client. A collector with much more money than self-control. He has a thing for silversmiths of the late nineteenth century Russian imperial court.”
    “Faberge?”
    “Peter Carl Faberge was the best known but there were others who produced work that was just as amazing. At this moment, this collector is mad for kovshs, Russian drinking cups of beautifully-crafted silver and enamel. Most of this stuff comes up at the better-known auction houses on a fairly regular basis but I’m looking for unusual pieces, the sort of items that are talked about amongst collectors but very rarely see the light of day.”
    “Wow, that sounds fascinating,” Sandrine exclaimed enthusiastically. He really has the most amazing life.
    “Much of it disappeared following the 1917 Revolution. And that’s where the