The champagne was almost finished and the bowls of strawberries and jelly babies had been emptied. But the five old friends still danced around the suite as best they could, waving champagne flutes in celebration. Each of them kept going up to the paintings to admire them—they couldn’t believe that they had really done it!
‘Just imagine, we’ve got hold of a genuine Renoir,’ Anna-Greta said, sighing devoutly and carefully patting a corner of the painting. ‘I could never have dreamed of this.’
For a large part of the day, they had discussed which painting was best—without coming to any agreement. Martha was especially fond of the Monet and remembered that there were more paintings by him at the museum. For a moment she wondered whether they should go and steal them too. But then she recalled what she had read in several novels: it was foolish to repeat one’s crimes. It increased the risk of getting caught. First they must get some ransom money for the paintings they had already stolen. She calmed down and went out onto the balcony, where her fellow criminals were standing with champagne glasses in their hands. With smug expressions, they watched the chaos down on the street below.
‘To think that we are the ones who have caused this,’ laughed Christina as she pointed. A large area outside the National Museum was cordoned off, journalists were running around, police cars drove back and forth, and several TV teams were filming. Lots of people were standing outside the barriers, gawking.
‘There couldn’t possibly have been a robbery at the National Museum, could there?’ said Anna-Greta before releasing such a horsey neigh that the others couldn’t help but join in. They toasted one another and even did a few dance steps up there on the balcony. When the police cars had disappeared they tired of the spectacle and withdrew to the suite. Rake and Brains wanted to have a swim before dinner. While the men were doing this, the women sat on the sofa and looked out across Stockholm through the enormous panorama window. Christina busied herself with a watercolour of the Royal Palace, and Anna-Greta unwound with a sudoku puzzle. Martha observed them and was envious of their calmness. She was unable to take it easy at all because she had suddenly thought of something: Where could they store the paintings while they waited for the ransom money? When she was young, she had planned many consecutive things and was proud of her planning skills, always having been able to keep several things in her head at the same time. Now she had completely overlooked this essential detail.
She got up and went into the bedroom, where the paintings were leaning against the foot of the bed. If she looked at them long enough, perhaps she might think of something? But while she stood there she became all the more worried. She was the one who had planned the theft and urged the others to join her, so she must be the one to complete the assignment in a smart manner. But where in the name of heaven could they put the paintings? All day long they had watched the police going in and out of the museum and surely soon they would be coming to the hotel to seek out witnesses. What if they searched the premises? Martha wasn’t too sure if they could do this. The English crime novels were only fiction after all. And as she stood there she thought of something else. The staff down in reception had taken Anna-Greta’s credit card when they checked in. So the hotel would not only know who was staying in the Princess Lilian suite but they would also have done a credit check. If the account with the monthly pension deposits were to suddenly increase by several million, undoubtedly it would attract attention. Martha let out a little sigh. Being a criminal was more difficult than she had thought. She would simply have to discuss this with the others.
‘Has anyone thought about which bank account we can use for the ransom money?’ she asked.
‘Haven’t you?’ Anna-Greta said, looking up with surprise from her sudoku puzzle. ‘You were the one who was organizing everything—you made a particular point of emphasizing that.’
Martha tried to keep calm.
‘They took the credit card number when we checked in. So where can the museum deposit the ransom money?’
‘It will have to be like in the good old days, a suitcase full of banknotes,’ said Anna-Greta.
‘First and foremost, we must hide the paintings,’ Christina interrupted them, being of the opinion that one should deal with things in the right order. ‘I saw a good place under the bed.’
‘That’s too risky. What if they vacuum there?’ said Martha.
‘They never do that at hotels.’
‘Oh yes, they certainly will here at the Grand Hotel,’ Martha answered, starting to pace the room. ‘No, we must think of something else. The simplest things are always the hardest to think of.’
That sounded too abstract for Anna-Greta, who shook her head. Christina chewed on the end of her paintbrush.
‘“Hear a prayer from devout lips,”’ she mumbled.
‘You what?’
‘A quote from Carl Jonas Love Almqvist,’ Christina answered.
Martha sighed; Christina was quoting from her Swedish classics again. She wandered round the suite once more. She peered in the kitchen, walked slowly through the library, visited the bedroom and finally ended up in the lounge again. Not a single good idea had occurred to her. For a long time she stood there and stared at the palace and the Riksdag building before she turned round.
‘Have you thought about how different we are? We belong to a very rare group of thieves who aren’t afraid of ending up in prison; we just want to delay that a little while. So we can take bigger risks. I suggest that we hide the paintings right under the nose of the police. Where they won’t think of looking and where they won’t start searching until we have got the ransom money.’
‘I know where—the museum!’ Anna-Greta called out.
‘No, I’m serious,’ said Martha.
‘Well, we have the paintings here, so why not enjoy the fine art in the meantime?’ Christina said, putting down her paintbrush. Her watercolour of the palace was not finished, but it resembled one of those paintings you can buy at the Salvation Army charity shop. With a sigh, she put her brush and paints back into her big bag.
‘Enjoy the fine art?’ The others looked at her, puzzled.
‘Yes, I know a safe place where nobody will look. Give me a few minutes and I’ll arrange it.’
Martha and Anna-Greta watched as she walked out of the room with her bag over her shoulder.
‘Leave her to it,’ said Martha. ‘You never know what she might come up with.’