The Fool

"Excuse me, Jun," Sinclair left the man's side and approached Carrie. "We meet again." He said with a smile.

"Mr. Mansvelt, how lovely that you have come to view the exhibit. We must get a photo for the Museum Press release about opening day visitors," she said with a smile equal to his.

"It seems we have a problem to discuss," he murmured quietly.

"We do?" she asked genuinely curious.

"There was a theft at the Rackham mansion during the party last night, and you were seen in the vicinity of it at around the time it happened," a small smile played around Sinclair's mouth as he spoke, thinking he could use this information as a bargaining chip.

"Yes, I was just telling the police about my mistake and getting lost in those corridors. They were concerned that you hadn't told them about finding me up there," Carrie whispered the last sentence and furrowed her brow in confusion.

"It slipped my mind at the time," he brushed it off. "I am sure they will ask me to confirm your story, or, at least, the version you gave of last night's events. Tell me, though, how did you do it?" He asked as if he knew for a fact she was the thief.

"Me?" she asked with as much wide-eyed innocence as she could muster. "Are you trying to deflect the spotlight away from yourself, Mr. Mansvelt? I was very honest with the police; I imagine, however, that they will want to know why you weren't as forthcoming. As will your friend, Mr. Rackham." Bravely she moved closer to him, invading his personal space and leaning up to whisper in his ear, "I imagine there will be a few other men who wonder why you've kept this information under your, hat."

"Care to hazard a guess how many?" he asked, showing no surprise at her words. If she were the April Fool, she would know how many Hats there were.

"Now how would I know that?" she laughed and stepped back. "Guessing is never good; I don't like to leave anything to chance."

"But the chance is where the thrill is," he chuckled, seeing her beauty shine from within her cleverly crafted persona as she laughed. He was no longer buying into any argument about her guilt, but curiosity made him reticent to share his suspicions just yet.

"Ah, yes, I have followed your exploits from time to time in the media. Fast cars, fast planes, fast women, I imagine the thrill in taking chances never gets old for you, Mr. Mansvelt," she laughed again. "I'm afraid a little museum mouse like me is quite boring in comparison. I like to know what's around the next corner, so I don't get lost."

"And yet you were lost when I found you, how troubling," Sinclair said, the corner of his mouth turning up. "Have lunch with me?" he said, suddenly changing the subject.

"I won't be getting a lunch break today, look how busy it is in here," she said, glancing around and seeing Jun keeping an eye on her from where he spoke with another VIP guest.

"Dinner then, and I'll make it worth your while," he said, knowing he was the last of the Hats on her list. So sure was he that she was the April Fool he was willing to take the risk of being able to trap her by dangling bait that she wouldn't be able to resist.

"Worth my while?" she raised an eyebrow at him in askance.

"I, like my associates, am an antiquarian, and have a decent collection of items from the Stuart and Regency periods. We could discuss a showing that you could curate yourself," he teased, knowing if she really was the person she portrayed here at the museum this was an offer she couldn't turn down.

"You have a collection to rival this?" she swung her arm out gently indicating the exhibit. Her brain was doing starbursts of joy that her plan was working, and soon she would have access to his home on his private island and his remarkable collection of antiquities, which she could only ever find snippets of information about. She wasn't sure that even he knew its exact size or value.

"I believe mine has better quality pieces, but, yes," he said seriously.

"You would let me; an assistant curator, handle your collection?" she asked, stunned by the proposition, which, in all honesty, she didn't have to fake. She was stunned that her plan was working so fast. Too fast, she considered. He was playing a game of his own, she realised, and stared into his eyes as she asked the question.

"I would," he answered.

"Why would you do that?" she blurted before she could help herself. She was trying to work out what game he was playing. She had known taking on Sinclair Mansvelt at close quarters would be a dangerous game of cat and mouse, and faced with being the mouse already she was suddenly unsure of herself.

"Because I think we have far more in common than you are willing to admit to, and that intrigues me. Not to mention the fact that you looked beautiful last night, and I would like to see you in a dress and heels again," he said softly. It sounded almost like a command, and he looked at her with heat in his eyes, making her feel even more off balance.

"Not so much a business dinner then," she accused, trying to gain the upper hand again.

"There is no rule against wearing a dress to a business dinner, or talking business over a friendly dinner," he shrugged off the accusation.

"Just dinner to talk about your collection?" She asked, confirming that she was not agreeing to anything further than dinner. "In a public place," she added.

"It's true I find you infinitely attractive, Miss Ward, but I have no need to force myself on you, or anyone, for that matter!" he said more sharply than he had meant to when faced with the meaning behind her words. He was a man always in control, and her hint that he would be anything other than a gentleman toward her during the dinner angered him.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean that the way it came out," she immediately apologised and cursed herself for almost ruining the plan. This was what she wanted, after all; it was just that she had thought she would have to work a little harder for it. "Dinner sounds nice. Where should I meet you?"

"I'll make a booking somewhere very public and call you with the details. Here," Sinclair handed her his phone, "If you wouldn't mind adding your number, please."

Carrie took the phone and added her contact details, reluctantly handing it back. What she could do with the details in that phone made her mind crazy.

*****

"Happy birthday, Robyn," Carrie said softly, laying a small bunch of day lilies on the grave of the woman who had not so much raised her but rather created the perfect tool to regain their family name and bring honour to it again. Each year, after the high of the heist, she missed her mother and the detailed debriefing they would have before moving on to the next phase of their ten-year plan. "It all went smoothly, just as you said it would," she spoke quietly, plucking at the few weeds that had grown since her last visit. She sat and closed her eyes and could hear her mother's voice in her mind going through the heist step by step.

"I need you, Robyn," she said quietly to the head stone. "I'm not sure I can do this without you. Jordan doesn't understand why I need to go over everything once the high has worn off," she sighed. "The last one is not what I expected," she said in her silent conversation, filling in her mother's dismissal of each of her concerns as if she was there beside her. Mansvelt was dangerous, not only in his knowledge and skill, but in his overtly masculine sexuality, and she could feel a magnetic attraction to him that she found hard to resist.

Her mother had created the April Fool persona before Carrie was born. She had been created to fulfil that role. Her life had been mapped out for her in minute detail from the moment she took her first breath and she had confidently gone through every phase with determination and skill honed from a life spent in training. The thought of becoming involved with Sinclair Mansvelt to pull off the final heist was beyond daunting, and she wanted nothing more than to talk to the woman who had made her into the ice princess she was today. The only person she willing let into her life was Jordan, and that was a need more so than a want, at least from her perspective.

"Excuse me," and elderly lady interrupted her thoughts. "I think I've got turned around a bit and I can't seem to find my husband."

"I'll help you find the groundsman," Carrie said easily coming to her feet. "He'll have a map or something, I'm sure."

"It's been quite a day for me," the old lady said as Carrie took her arm. "I was at the museum when the police took one of the men who worked there away for stealing some of the artefacts from the latest exhibit. It was quite distressing to watch."

"Oh gosh," Carrie said her eyes widening. "That's terrible!"

"He was a Fool," the woman nodded wisely and small smile lifting the corners of her mouth. "Not the only fool at the museum, perhaps, but foolish enough." She stopped walking and looked at the grave before them. "Ah, here he is, I must have walked straight past him. I'll be fine now, thank you, sweetheart, I just wanted to visit with him before I went home tomorrow."

"You're not from London?" Carrie asked pleasantly.

"No, not at all, I come once a year to check on my grandchildren and visit my husband. I live in New Zealand these days," she explained.

"That's a long flight, I hope it goes smoothly for you," Carrie said. "I'll leave you to talk to your husband."

"Thank you again," the woman embraced her and whispered, "You did well, Carrington, stay strong, Mansvelt won't be an easy mark."

"I'm glad I could help," Carrie said louder than she had meant to, sure that she would be being watched, if not by Mansvelt then by Rackham and his henchmen. She turned and walked away from the woman. While grateful to have seen her grandmother, the risk wasn't worth it with so much at stake. She imagined the risk would be lessened with all eyes on the arrest of the assistant from the museum, but she knew Robyn would never have allowed it. She hurried to put distance between herself and the elderly lady.

She saw the police car in front of her home and took a deep breath. She and Jordan had expected this and had made sure nothing incriminating would be found in their home. The only single piece of evidence they had that could tie her to the theft was being seen on the second floor during the party.

She walked in and smiled sweetly, charming the officers with her shock on hearing about her colleague's involvement in the theft from Miles Rackham. She felt no guilt about framing her work colleague. He was one of the worst human beings she had ever met, and she hoped they would look into his private affairs and discover his many other crimes.

Carrie knew when the pistol wasn't found with the other stolen pieces and her collegues history was checked the Hats would know he wasn't the April Fool. For now, though, she could breathe a little easier and start the next phase of her plan for the final heist next year.

*****