The Vintage Caper

hands. “Just one question,” he said. “When do we do this?” Sam looked at his watch. “In about six hours.”

Twenty-one

    The hours after lunch were spent finalizing the evening’s plans. Philippe rented an unmarked white van—he described it as a plumber’s Ferrari—easily big enough to hold fifty cases of wine. Sophie called Vial to tell him that she and Sam would be taking exterior reference shots in the gardens around the house for an hour or so in the evening, and suggested that they meet for a drink afterward. Vial didn’t need to be asked twice.
    Sam spent the afternoon in a state of enforced inactivity, a kind of expectant limbo. There was little he could do now but hope for the best; luck had to be with him during the first crucial stage. He took his second shower of the day and changed into an outfit suitable for nocturnal burglary: dark-blue trousers, dark-blue T-shirt, dark-blue windbreaker. Everything else he threw into his suitcase. He checked and rechecked the batteries in his camera and penlight, and charged his phone. He went once again through the list of stolen wines before putting it in his pocket. He paced up and down his terrace, for once oblivious to the view. He came close to twiddling his thumbs. He was more than ready to go.
    The sun was beginning its daily dip toward the horizon, and the slanting golden light was a photographer’s dream as Sophie and Sam made their way up the entrance steps to the Palais du Pharo. Before they had a chance to ring the bell, the front door opened. The housekeeper, an elegant, gray-haired woman in a crisp linen dress, came out to greet them.
    “Florian told me to expect you,” she said. “You must let me know if there’s anything I can do to help.”
    Sophie thanked her. “We’ll be outside for most of the time,” she said. “It’s such a marvelous light between now and sunset. But perhaps we could come indoors for one final shot through the living room window—you know, that moment just before the sun disappears into the sea. We saw it when we were with Monsieur Reboul, and it was quite spectacular.”
    The housekeeper nodded. “I’ll leave the terrace door open for you. I’m sorry you won’t have a chance to see Monsieur Reboul tonight. But he gets back tomorrow, and I’m sure he’d love to see the pictures.” With a smile and a regal flutter of her hand, she turned and went back inside.
    “What a bit of luck,” said Sam as they walked around the house toward the gardens overlooking the sea. “Tomorrow would have been too late. I imagine there’s always a reception committee when Reboul gets back from one of his trips.” He took his camera from his pocket and turned it on. “She’s quite a grand lady for a housekeeper, isn’t she?”
    Sophie looked up at the towering façade: three floors and countless windows. Reboul could have lodged a small army in there. “It’s quite a grand house.” She stopped, and put a hand on Sam’s arm. He could feel it was trembling. “Sam, I’m nervous.”
    He squeezed her hand and grinned. “Me too. That’s the way it should be. It’s when you’re not nervous that you get careless. Listen—you’ve been great all through this, and it’s nearly over. One last effort and you’re done.” He took her arm and guided her through the garden, his free hand panning the camera across the view. “Now, you’re in charge. Tell me where to start, and remember to point at what you want me to shoot. Wave your arms about. Stamp your foot. Tear your hair out. Make like a creative director. You’ll have an audience. I’m pretty sure our friend indoors will be keeping her eye on us to make sure we’re not disturbing the lavender.”
    They photographed the terrace, the clipped formality of the gardens, the 180-degree view, all the time conscious of the sun’s slow progress as it dropped closer and closer to the sea. Just before they had finished, Sam stopped, put his phone to his ear, and went through the motions of taking a call before putting the phone back in his pocket. “My excuse for leaving,” he said, and passed the camera over to Sophie. “Let’s go inside for the shot through the window. This is where I disappear. Can you take pictures with your fingers crossed?”
    They went into the house from the terrace, and crossed a small lobby before reaching the living room door. It was open. They were well inside the room before they realized they were not alone.
    “I’m sure you