Read Online The Uncommon Appeal of Clouds: An Isabel Dalhousie Novel (9) by Alexander McCall Smith - Free Book Online
Authors: Alexander McCall Smith
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with the thieves,” Duncan said. “In our case,
though, there’s something unusual going on.”
She waited. The waitress had come to clear their plates.
“They want to talk to me,” he said quietly. “They’ve made the initial approach to
the insurance company, but they seem to have gone off them for some reason. Maybe
it’s something the insurers said. Perhaps they rather scared the thieves off. Anyway,
they’re now talking directly to me.”
She asked what the insurance company thought of that. They were surprised, he said,
and unsure what lay behind it. They felt it might be unwise for him to talk directly
to the thievesand they were also at pains to stress that Duncan had no power to negotiate in relation
to the return of the painting. That was their affair as insurers and the thieves would
have to go to them for that. After a while, though, they had changed their tune when
it came to initial talks, especially after the thieves had gone quiet for a few weeks.
Duncan could talk directly to anybody, as long as he kept them informed and did not
try to commit them to any payment.
“So what would you like me to do?” Isabel asked.
Duncan stared at her uncertainly.
“I’m perfectly happy to help,” she prompted. “You needn’t feel awkward about asking.”
“I have to meet them,” he said. “They’ve told me they’re going to be in touch about
a meeting. I don’t yet know where it’s going to be.”
“How did they contact you?”
“Initially by letter. Anonymous, naturally. Printed on a plain sheet of paper and
postmarked Glasgow. It told me nothing.”
“You showed it to the insurance people?”
He nodded. “They photographed it. I’m not sure if they showed it to the police. The
police have been informed, of course, but seem to be taking a bit of a back seat at
present. It seems the insurance company doesn’t think it helps to involve them too
closely at this stage, as far as I can tell.”
“You said—‘initially.’ Have they been in touch again?”
He shifted in his seat uneasily. “They telephoned me. At three in the morning.”
She waited for him to continue.
“They asked me if I had received their letter. That’s how I knew it was the same people.
The insurance people say that you get all sorts of cranks phoning up pretending to
be the thieves,trying to get in on things. At least we know this is the same group.”
It occurred to Isabel that they might still be impostors who had nothing to do with
the theft. How could he tell?
“The letter had a photograph with it. It was a close-up of a section of the painting
under strong light. It couldn’t have been taken when it was in our possession, on
the wall—the lighting was quite different.”
Their coffee had arrived. Duncan took a sip, looking at Isabel over the rim of his
cup. “They said they’d phone to make the arrangements quite soon. They said it wouldn’t
be them I would be meeting—it would be somebody acting for them. I thought I might
tell them that I’ll be accompanied by a friend. I’ll stress that you have nothing
to do with the insurance company.”
He waited expectantly. “All right?”
Isabel nodded. “All right.”
He looked relieved. “Thank you. And I’m sorry that this has all been about me and
I haven’t asked you anything about yourself. I know that you edit a journal—Martha
told me that—and I know that you have a reputation as being somebody who sorts out
people’s difficulties. But apart from that?”
“I live in Merchiston,” Isabel said. “Just round the corner from here. I run the journal
from the house. And I’m married to a musician. He plays the bassoon.”
Duncan listened politely. “I see.”
“And I have a three-and-three-quarter-year-old son called Charlie. And that, I suppose,
is it. And you? Do you have family?”
“I have two children by my first wife,” said Duncan. “My daughter is thirty
though, there’s something unusual going on.”
She waited. The waitress had come to clear their plates.
“They want to talk to me,” he said quietly. “They’ve made the initial approach to
the insurance company, but they seem to have gone off them for some reason. Maybe
it’s something the insurers said. Perhaps they rather scared the thieves off. Anyway,
they’re now talking directly to me.”
She asked what the insurance company thought of that. They were surprised, he said,
and unsure what lay behind it. They felt it might be unwise for him to talk directly
to the thievesand they were also at pains to stress that Duncan had no power to negotiate in relation
to the return of the painting. That was their affair as insurers and the thieves would
have to go to them for that. After a while, though, they had changed their tune when
it came to initial talks, especially after the thieves had gone quiet for a few weeks.
Duncan could talk directly to anybody, as long as he kept them informed and did not
try to commit them to any payment.
“So what would you like me to do?” Isabel asked.
Duncan stared at her uncertainly.
“I’m perfectly happy to help,” she prompted. “You needn’t feel awkward about asking.”
“I have to meet them,” he said. “They’ve told me they’re going to be in touch about
a meeting. I don’t yet know where it’s going to be.”
“How did they contact you?”
“Initially by letter. Anonymous, naturally. Printed on a plain sheet of paper and
postmarked Glasgow. It told me nothing.”
“You showed it to the insurance people?”
He nodded. “They photographed it. I’m not sure if they showed it to the police. The
police have been informed, of course, but seem to be taking a bit of a back seat at
present. It seems the insurance company doesn’t think it helps to involve them too
closely at this stage, as far as I can tell.”
“You said—‘initially.’ Have they been in touch again?”
He shifted in his seat uneasily. “They telephoned me. At three in the morning.”
She waited for him to continue.
“They asked me if I had received their letter. That’s how I knew it was the same people.
The insurance people say that you get all sorts of cranks phoning up pretending to
be the thieves,trying to get in on things. At least we know this is the same group.”
It occurred to Isabel that they might still be impostors who had nothing to do with
the theft. How could he tell?
“The letter had a photograph with it. It was a close-up of a section of the painting
under strong light. It couldn’t have been taken when it was in our possession, on
the wall—the lighting was quite different.”
Their coffee had arrived. Duncan took a sip, looking at Isabel over the rim of his
cup. “They said they’d phone to make the arrangements quite soon. They said it wouldn’t
be them I would be meeting—it would be somebody acting for them. I thought I might
tell them that I’ll be accompanied by a friend. I’ll stress that you have nothing
to do with the insurance company.”
He waited expectantly. “All right?”
Isabel nodded. “All right.”
He looked relieved. “Thank you. And I’m sorry that this has all been about me and
I haven’t asked you anything about yourself. I know that you edit a journal—Martha
told me that—and I know that you have a reputation as being somebody who sorts out
people’s difficulties. But apart from that?”
“I live in Merchiston,” Isabel said. “Just round the corner from here. I run the journal
from the house. And I’m married to a musician. He plays the bassoon.”
Duncan listened politely. “I see.”
“And I have a three-and-three-quarter-year-old son called Charlie. And that, I suppose,
is it. And you? Do you have family?”
“I have two children by my first wife,” said Duncan. “My daughter is thirty
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