Chapter Twenty Five
Nathan Clay's First Official Burke Family Dinner was a success; both the food and the conversation were satisfying. Even little Neal had been on his best behavior, only tossing a few of his peas at his dinner companions. Elizabeth normally would have scolded such behavior, but when the other Neal returned fire, she closed her mouth and watched in amusement. She wasn't sure, but guessed it was Neal's first sit down dinner with a two-year-old. After a short volley of green peas, Peter cleared his throat in mock disapproval; the elder Neal looked properly chastised, the younger giggled, and order was restored to the table.
The week before, outside the initial expressions of surprise, greetings, and customary catch up, the conversation had focused on Neal's unexpected appearance in New York. He had spoken in detail about the week he'd spent in Philadelphia, supposedly scouting for possible Gallery locations. Peter had known Neal was following a script; establishing a reason for his visit to New York while concealing the true one. He had even been complicit in the ruse.
Thankfully, as far as Peter knew, tonight there were no underlying issues, required scripts nor acts of deception; it made the evening much more enjoyable. Other than the fact that Neal was recovering from a gunshot wound, it was the dinner Peter had imagined ever since he'd sat with Neal in the Bogota airport four months before. Peter caught Neal up on the goings and comings at the White Collar Office; Elizabeth talked more about her son than her job, and Neal gave them some insights into the Art Gallery business.
"It takes work to sell art," Neal said, "It's a commodity that's generally expensive and serves no practical purpose," He smiled, "and unlike a BMW 760, you can't even drive it around to show it off for an ego boost."
"You seem to be doing pretty well judging by the lifestyle you're enjoying," Peter noted.
"As you well know, Peter," Neal replied with a smile, "I'm excellent at sales. And so is Elodie; She handles the Gallery and show sales, and I deal primarily with private collectors."
Elizabeth, having a working relationship with several New York Galleries, was more familiar with their operating procedures than Peter. The only time he dealt with them was during investigations where they either were, or knew, the victim or perpetrator of a crime.
"Some art dealers research what collectors are paying top dollar for and find new artists who fit the bill," She explained, "Other's take the opposite approach; they find artists they believe in and then try to locate buyers for their art."
"I tend to follow the latter," Neal affirmed, "I start with the artist and go from there. I match the art I represent with buyers who collect similar styles or genres. Then I broker the deal and take a cut of the profit. Everyone walks away happy."
"I get it," Peter said, "It's kind of like working as a fence except the items you're selling aren't stolen."
"Very similar," Neal acknowledged in amusement, "and you generally deal with a better class of people and don't have to meet in alleys or abandoned warehouses."
"Or get double-crossed, shot at or chased by the police?"
"Exactly," Neal's grinned, "all the profit without those pesky consequences of illegal activity."
Neal was the smartest man Peter had ever known; that was what had set him apart from any other criminal he'd ever pursued. Neal's intelligence, skill and sheer audacity had always impressed Peter, but also frustrated him. The young man was more than smart, he was brilliant, and could be successful at anything he chose to do. The problem was he had a habit of making bad choices. Or at least, he used to have.
"I'm glad you found a career that suits your particular talents," Peter returned humorously, "and keeps you free from pesky consequences of illegal activities."
"All that talk about opening a gallery stateside," Elizabeth inserted, "Was it true or was it just part of the story the two of you concocted to keep me from knowing what you were up to?"
"I had no part in the concocting," Peter denied, "He brought that cover story in the door with him as a finished product."
The look she sent Peter indicated her skepticism, but she addressed Neal. "Were you really looking at rental properties in Philadelphia?"
"All cover stories have an element of truth," Neal replied easily, "that's what makes them believable. And I was looking at rental properties."
"But not for an art gallery," Peter asserted, "He was looking for auction space."
Neal opened his mouth but Peter held up a hand, "I know, anything you did in Philadelphia short of murder or an act of terrorism is covered in the immunity deal you signed with the State Attorney. I'm just curious."
"The auction was the original job offer," Neal conceded, "But once I accepted, I was able to convince them to let me handle the other aspects as well. Which led to our little operation that will effectively bring down the Cordero Organization. What are you curious about?" He teased, "My commission?"
He was curious about that, but he was also curious about something else. "No," he answered, "Whether you agreed to do the auction as a way to gather intel on the Cordero drug routes or if you knew providing intel on the Cordero drug routes would allow you to do the auction without fear of legal consequences?"
Neal's eyes twinkled in mischief. "It all sort of occurred to me at once," he related, "That's how you can tell a good plan; it's like puzzle pieces falling into place. You got the Cordero organization and me, well, I got to do what I love to do and make a lot of money in the process."
"You also got shot in the process." Peter reminded him.
"I said it was a good plan," Neal replied, "I never said it was a perfect one."
Elizabeth placed a Thomas the Train plate in front of little Neal with thin apple slices and a dollop of peanut butter, then went into the kitchen. She returned with apple pie, hot from the oven.
"Get the ice cream from the freezer, Peter, and the scoop from the drawer." She sat the pie on the table, and Peter rose to retrieve the requested items. "This auction you held," Elizabeth began cutting the pie and placing generous slices onto the dessert plates. "I guess it was art?"
Apple Pie A La Mode was on the menu as the final course of the three-course meal Elizabeth had prepared. She loved to cook and equated a good meal with feelings of home and family, something she was convinced Neal wanted no matter how much he tried to convince himself otherwise. Peter knew she saw the upcoming six weeks as an opportunity to remind Neal of why New York was his home, and why they were his family. She had promised Peter she wouldn't outright pressure him, but she had her own subtle ways of applying pressure and Peter knew she planned to use every one.
Peter returned and added scoops of vanilla ice cream to the warm apple pie before taking his seat again.
"Some really good art," Neal was saying, "I moved twenty-four lots, mostly single paintings or small collections. There was a Rodin, a Picasso Vase and a bronze by Van Tetrode in there as well."
"Picasso and Rodin I've heard of," Peter wasted no time digging into his pie, "but not the other guy."
"Tetrode was a Renaissance sculptor who worked in Italy," Neal followed Peter's lead and took a bite of his pie. "A collector from Venice had the winning bid; a fourteen-inch sculpture brought in just over three million dollars."
"Agent Elliot says the Task Force estimates the auction brought in about fifty million," Peter peered across the table at Neal, "Are they guessing high or low?"
"A bit low," Neal grinned, "It was closer to sixty, making my commission just shy of six million dollars."
Both Peter and Elizabeth's pie-laden forks stopped en route to their mouths.
"You made six million dollars?" Peter asked incredulously.
"Yeah," Neal, clearly enjoying the shocked look on their faces, continued, "on top of the two hundred and fifty thousand I got up front. Not bad for a week's work."
Peter knew Neal had been well paid to do the auction but was still surprised at how well. Six million dollars. He ran down the list of suspected crimes in Neal's past; he couldn't think of a single instance where he'd made off with a pay off that large. It was likely the biggest score of his life, and for all intents and purposes, it was completely legal.
"You know," Peter lowered his fork and shook his head in amazement, "You never cease to amaze me."
In spite of the paleness of his face, Neal positively beamed at his words. "That's one thing I'm glad hasn't changed."
"So tell me, what are your plans now that you are a millionaire?" Once the question left his mouth he realized he'd posed it incorrectly; he hadn't meant to ask about Neal's plans for his future, just his plans for his money. Neal's exuberance faded at the question and Peter rushed to clarify. "Extravagant purchases, world travel?"
"That's part of what Moz and I need to discuss tomorrow," Neal related, his smile returning. "In addition to being my logistics expert and legal counsel, he's also my financial advisor."
"Of course, he is," Peter responded, glad his misstep hadn't dampened Neal's mood. "Mozzie, too, is a man of many talents."
"It will be good to see Mozzie," Elizabeth broke in. "Peter said he was coming tomorrow and that you were going over to the Waldorf," She met Neal's eyes in concern. "Are you sure you're up to that?"
It was a valid question given the fact that he'd had slept most of the day and still had weariness stamped on his pale face. Dinner had been good, the conversation entertaining, but was also beginning to take its toll. Peter guessed it wouldn't be long before Neal made an excuse to retire to his room.
"Not really," he admitted with a sigh, "but I'll manage. I need to get my things, and I promised Elodie I'd see her before she flies out Tuesday morning."
"Hopefully, she's calmed down," Elizabeth glanced at Neal. "She looked ready to do you bodily harm yesterday."
"She has," Neal assured her. "Yesterday's behavior was very much out of character for her. She's usually the picture of composure; that whole Neal Caffrey thing just caught her off guard."
"She wasn't the only one caught off guard; I have to deal with Jones tomorrow." Peter wasn't looking forward to it, either. "I guess we both have a tough Monday ahead of us."
"You each have to deal with one after they've had a chance to calm down," Elizabeth said, "I had all three of them here at one time. Clinton had just got here, demanding to know when I expected you, when Mozzie and Elodie arrived. And the two of them were arguing when they got here."
He and Elizabeth hadn't really discussed the previous evening's events, other than her clear dislike of Elodie Angevine.
"Who dresses like that for a transatlantic flight?" She'd asked Peter after both Neal's were safely in bed and they had retired to their room. Peter had to admit, Elodie looked like she'd stepped out of Vogue Magazine and into the Burke's living room.
"Who looks like that after a transatlantic flight?" He'd replied, which had earned him a smack from Elizabeth.
"What were they arguing about?" Peter now asked Elizabeth.
"I couldn't tell exactly," Elizabeth recalled, "but I don't think Mozzie was happy she was here."
"He didn't bring her?" Peter had assumed they had come together.
"No," Neal shook his head, "Mozzie said Joulie followed him. He didn't know she was here, until, well she was here. At the house. That's why he didn't warn me."
The thoughts that someone could follow Mozzie without his knowledge was a testament either to his distracted state of mind or their skill level. "Elodie isn't some kind of ex-covert operative or anything, is she?" He asked jokingly
"Not that I'm aware of," Neal returned, "but then again, we have that no questions asked rule so she could be for all I know. Serve me right if she's ex-Interpol or something."
"Yeah, and Neal Caffrey was the criminal that got away," Peter chuckled.
"That would put a serious kink in our relationship."
"No questions asked rule?" Elizabeth interrupted their discourse. "How long have the two of you been together?"
"She's worked at the Gallery two years," Neal answered, "I hired her right after I arrived in Paris."
"I meant, been together as a couple," Elizabeth amended.
"Oh," Neal replied, "We've been seeing each other socially for about ten months now."
Ten months ago was when Peter had gotten the first call from Nathan Clay. Before that, even though he'd known Neal was alive and in France, he hadn't known what identity he had assumed. Neal had said it took him time to figure out who he was. Peter guessed that about ten months ago, he had come to some understanding of who that was.
"That's a long time. Are things," she paused, "serious between you two?"
Neal's eyes twinkled. "There's no chance of an Auntie Elodie if that's what you're asking."
"You heard that, huh?" She had started the after dinner clean up, beginning with her son. Using a napkin, she was wiping peanut butter from his fingers and face. "We were just curious; that's all."
"Elizabeth was just curious," Peter corrected, "I told her your love life wasn't any of our business."
"It's more of an arrangement than a love life," Neal explained, "and I wouldn't categorize us as a couple in the usual sense of the word."
"Really," Elizabeth's eyebrows raised in question, "exactly how would you categorize yourselves?"
Peter gave Elizabeth a warning look; they had discussed the importance of not pressuring Neal during his stay. If he couldn't ask about Neal's plans for the future, Elizabeth didn't need to be asking about his plans with Elodie. The two could well be intertwined.
"Elizabeth," Peter began, "This isn't-"
"We are a couple at social events," he defined over Peter's objection. "Going together keeps the little old ladies from trying to set me up with their granddaughters; and privately, we are consenting adults who enjoy each others company. That's all. There's no strings attached."
"She came all the way from France to see you and was upset when she got here." Elizabeth looked at him doubtfully. "Sounds like some kind of strings are attached."
"No," Neal stated with certainty, "She came because she was curious and was upset because she was the only one here who didn't know about my past." He shrugged. "She was embarrassed; her pride was injured, not her heart."
Neal's characterization of the relationship between he and Elodie aligned perfectly with Elizabeth's initial assessment. She'd said all along it wasn't love; that it was more show than substance.
Elodie Angevine and Nathan Clay; Miss Vogue and Mr. GQ. Peter imagined they made quite an impression at Parisian social events.
"Then I'm sure things will work out fine once the two of you talk," Elizabeth removed little Neal from his chair and placed him instinctively on her hip. "Pride heals much faster than the heart."
Neal grinned at Peter, "I'm hoping my recent exploits as a crime fighter will offset any reservations she has about selling art for a convicted forger."
"Then I'd leave out the little matter of that Matisse if I were you," Peter advised.