The Lost Island Read Free Page B

fine,” the man repeated, his voice hushed with veneration. “It is believed to be by the workshop of the Master of the Privileges of Ghent and Flanders.”
    “I see,” said Gideon. “Nice.”
    “It depicts the Annunciation, of course,” the dealer added.
    “And how much is it?”
    “We have a price of four thousand six hundred pounds on that very rare page.” The man’s voice became pinched, as if discussing sums of money were distasteful to him.
    “What’s that, about eight grand?” said Gideon. He peered closely at it.
    “Would you like to examine it with a loupe?”
    “A what? Oh, thank you.”
    As Gideon examined it, the dealer went on, hands clasped, his buttery accent filling the small shop. “As you probably know,” he said, his tone implying that Gideon certainly did not know, “the medieval book of hours came from the monastic cycle of prayer, simplified for private devotions. They represent some of the finest works of medieval art in existence. They were incredibly expensive—the cost of a book of hours in the fifteenth century was about the same as buying a good farm, buildings and all. Only royalty, nobility, and the very wealthy could afford one of these books. Just look at the detail! And the color. I especially direct your attention to the blue in the sky—a pigment made with crushed lapis lazuli, which in the Middle Ages was more expensive than gold. The only source of lapis at the time was Afghanistan.”
    “I see.”
    “Are you a collector?” the dealer asked.
    “Oh, no. I’m just looking for an anniversary present for my wife. She’s religious.” Gideon gave an indulgent laugh, signaling that he himself was not.
    “May I introduce myself?” the dealer said. “I am Sir Colin Griggs.”
    Gideon glanced up at the fellow extending a small white hand, his chin thrust slightly forward, his back straight. He was about as much a “sir” as Gideon was a lord. He took the hand and shook it enthusiastically. “I’m Gideon Crew. From Texas. Sorry, you can’t put any ‘sir’ in front of my name, I’m hardly even a mister.” He gave a belly laugh.
    “Ah, Texas, the Lone Star State. You have excellent taste, Mr. Crew. Can I answer any other questions about the item?”
    “How do I know it’s real?”
    “I can assure you it’s real beyond all doubt. We stand behind everything we sell. You would be welcome to have it examined by an expert after your purchase, and if there were any doubts we’d immediately refund your money.”
    “That’s good. But…well, I have to say this four thousand six hundred pounds is a lot of money…how about making it four thousand, even-steven?”
    Sir Colin gathered himself up into a ramrod of disapproval. “I’m sorry, Mr. Crew, but at Griggs and Wellington we don’t negotiate.”
    Gideon bestowed a genial, Texas smile on the snobby Brit. “Aw, don’t play that game. Everything’s negotiable.” He took out his credit card. “Four thousand or I’m outta here.”
    Sir Colin allowed the disapproval on his face to ease somewhat. “I suppose—for someone who appreciates it as much as you do—we could make an exception and lower the price to four thousand four.”
    “Four thousand two.”
    The expression on Sir Colin’s face indicated that this was a painful and unpleasant discussion. “Four thousand three.”
    “Sold.”

5
    A FTER A QUICK trip back to his hotel room for a change of clothes, Gideon set off with the precious page for the London offices of Sotheby’s, where the final test of his scheme would take place. It was a stiff three-mile walk that took Gideon through some fascinating byways, as well as Hyde Park. It was a splendid late-summer day, and in the park the ancient trees were in full leaf, cumulus clouds drifting overhead like sailing ships, the greensward alive with people. London was an extraordinary city, and he told himself he really should spend more time there—maybe even live there.
    And then he remembered his