by Morris West
‘Would you think of sub-leasing two floors to me?’
‘What would you do with them?’
‘Convert one into an apartment for myself. Set up the other as a studio and lecture hall. I have the notion of inviting Nicki Tolentino to New York to give a series of lectures and master classes. If that works, I’ll invite other experts.’
Anne-Marie ruminated for a long moment, then she demanded, ‘Would you share Nicki with me?’
‘Share him how?’
‘We split costs and receipts – but I run him under the auspices of the gallery. It would be a marvellous draw card – establish us at one stroke amongst the serious professionals.’
Mather grinned at her over the lip of his glass. ‘Now who’s driving a hard bargain? Any sweeteners to the deal? Think carefully now, because I’ve got news you haven’t heard yet.’
‘What sort of sweeteners did you have in mind?’
‘In Florence you suggested we might work together. Are you still interested?’
‘What would you do?’
‘Just as you suggested. I set up in Europe. You use me as buyer, seller and fixer. We split commissions. I commute between here and the Continent, so we’re in constant contact.’
‘Done!’
‘Then, so you know how lucky you are, you’ve just hired the new contributing editor of Belvedere.’
‘Max, you old fox! I don’t believe it.’
‘You’d better believe it, bambina. I had lunch today with Harmon Seldes. We made a deal for publication of extracts from my Florentine monograph. He also hired me on to the staff. So you see, Miss Loredon, you have a friend on the most prestigious art journal in the world. You’ve just landed right side up on the trampoline and you’re three feet in the air already.’
‘How much of this did you have planned before you got to New York?’
‘Not a lot, sweetheart. I’m an inspired improviser. Does that bother you?’
‘No…I’m glad to have you around. I’ve been feeling very exposed.’
‘To what? Or should I say to whom?’
‘To everything; but to Bayard in particular. I’ve been absolutely dependent on his goodwill. I still am.’
‘It seems to me he’s cut himself a pretty good deal: a lease on his building, his wife’s pictures coming to market, an eager and beautiful agent for his own collection. Anything else to add to the list?’
‘It’s none of your god damn business, Max!’
‘Under the circumstances, it is. I’m not looking for a ménage à trois.’
‘Why not, Max? From what I know, you’re quite comfortable in that sort of arrangement.’
The instant the words were uttered she regretted them. Mather’s reaction was strange. He was silent for a long moment, staring down at the backs of his hands. Then he answered quite lightly, ‘You’re right, of course. I am very good in three-cornered situations, so long as I know the ground rules from day one. I’m flexible, I’m reasonably good-humoured, a live-and-let-live kind of guy. I’ve managed to stay friends with most of the women I’ve known.’
She reached out and imprisoned his hands in her own. ‘Please, Max! I was bitchy. I apologise. There’s nothing between me and Bayard except business. He’s made one pass at me, but that was on the first day. Since then he’s been very correct, very hard-nosed in our dealings. Still, I know he’s attracted to me so I keep my guard up all the time I’m with him. Can you forget what I said? We should both be celebrating, not quarrelling.’
Mather gave her a lopsided grin. ‘We should. We shall. But let’s talk a little more business first. The Madeleine Bayard exhibition. You’re aware that the murder story is going to be revived; how will you handle it?’
‘Exploit it for all its worth.’
‘And Bayard will agree to that?’
‘Has agreed.’
‘He’s a nut – and so are you!’
‘Ground rule one, Max! Never tell me how to run my business.’
Mather snapped back at her, ‘You won’t live to run your business if you play psycho games in this town. Haven’t you heard of copycat crime? You play it down, for God’s sake! The elegiac note: “Life is short. Art is long. Madeleine Bayard is immortalised in her work.” I’ll write the damned copy for you if I have to.’
‘All right, Max, all right! I’ll think about it.’
‘When do you propose to open the gallery?’
‘We’re at the end of January now. I want to be open by mid-April at the latest. I’ve budgeted for a premium payment to the contractors if they can make it by the first of April.’
‘Which means you should be able to run two exhibitions before the fourth of July. You’re opening with the Madeleine Bayard. What’s next?’
‘Oliver Swann, from New Mexico. He paints landscapes that are so full of raw power you can’t believe they exist. He’s a colourful character too. He’ll make good copy. After that, for the summer, I’m not sure.’
‘That could be the time to bring in Niccoló Tolentino to run a month of master classes and lectures. You could charge a stiff admission. Publicise it well enough and you’d have queues outside the gallery. Think about it. If it makes sense I’ll get in touch with Nicki right away.’
Apropos of nothing at all, Anne-Marie said:
‘You’ve changed, Max. I’m seeing a different man from the one I knew in Florence.’
‘How changed? Better? Worse? More, less?’
‘More drive, more calculation. Suddenly you’re a man in a hurry. You never used to be like that. You’d drift into town. We’d have fun. You’d drift out again. I liked that. Now I’m not so sure….’
The waiter set down two plates of fettucine in front of them, flourished the pepper and the parmesan, poured the wine, wished them good appetite and withdrew.
They were half-way through the pasta when Mather said casually, ‘I was going to ask you a favour.’
‘Ask.’
‘Would you introduce me to your father? I’ve got a couple of rather valuable items I’m thinking of selling. I’d like to get some advice – preferably from a friendly expert.’
‘What sort of things, Max?’
‘Heirloom stuff – a Tompion watch which I am told is quite valuable, an antique ring with a carved emerald…a couple of other items. I’m going to need cash to subsidise the sub-lease and renovation of your building.’
‘Father won’t value the stuff himself, but he’ll get you an expert opinion from within the company. I’ll tell him to expect a call from you.’
‘Thanks.’ He raised his glass in a toast. ‘Here’s to old times – and to better ones!’
They drank, they ate, they talked. An hour later he walked her the six blocks to her apartment. She didn’t ask him in. He did not linger. He kissed her on both cheeks, Italian-style, and turned to go.
Anne-Marie stopped him. ‘Max…’
‘Yes?’
‘Are you mad at me?’
‘Of course not…but I will be if you stand around flatfooted explaining that you’ve got a headache. I’ll call you in the morning – and don’t forget to telephone your father.’
‘I won’t. Good night, Max.…’
A blown kiss and he was gone, striding out jauntily and whistling an off-key version of La ci darem la mano. He was not too dissatisfied. A little after-dinner sex would have been pleasant, but he could get that by lifting the telephone. The important thing was that his identity, sketchy after a long absence, was now being fleshed out to lifesize. The publication of his material would give him the authority of a scholar. As consulting editor to an important magazine, he could go anywhere and ask what questions he chose. As associate of a new and well-connected gallery, he would be courted by dealers everywhere.
His next need was for local legal guidance – and who better to supply it than Anne-Marie’s landlord, attorney for the Art Dealers’ Association of America?
Edmund Justin Bayard leaned back in his chair, made a spire of his
fingertips and, peering over the top of it, studied his visitor. He liked what he saw: a youngish, handsome fellow, well-groomed, the suit cut by a good tailor, the shirt and tie custom-made, the cufflinks and the watch expensive but not gaudy. He asked, ‘Who recommended me to you, Mr Mather?’
‘Your name came up in conversation with Anne-Marie Loredon, with whom I dined the evening before last. She told me among other things that you are the attorney for the Art Dealers’ Association of America. So here I am.’
‘And how may I help you?’
‘Let me explain first that I’m not an art dealer, I’m a scholar – a palaeographer and a historian with a special interest in the history of European art. I’m publishing some material in the Belvedere, where I’ve just been appointed consulting editor. Miss Loredon has asked me to act for her in Europe. I’ve never done it before, so I thought I should familiarise myself with the elements of the law about the acquisition and disposal of major art works originating in Europe. If I am to recommend a purchase, I must know the legal requirements on title, provenance, export and import. In this field I’m a complete novice.’
Bayard smiled tolerantly. ‘Don’t feel too badly about it, Mr Mather. There are a few simple principles. After that, you’re up to your neck in statutes which change at every national border.’
‘I thought perhaps there might be some published guidelines, a handbook put out by the Dealers’ Association?’
Bayard laughed – a dry, barking sound that ended in a splutter.
‘My dear Mather, that’s a real testimony to your innocence. Handbook? My God! The main aim of any dealer is to publish as little as possible, and to promise even less, about the goods he sells. He’s the innocent always, acting in good faith between a willing buyer and a willing seller. Tell him you picked up a del Sarto at an auction in Liechtenstein; he’ll be prepared to take your word for it. He’ll be deliriously happy if you can produce some reasonable paperwork. If anyone contests your title to the work the dealer will step back and leave the two of you to fight it out. Show him a half-way decent forgery and he’ll look at it with his blind eye and calculate his chances of palming it off. He doesn’t need an abacus to tell you when the statute of limitations expires on a stolen art work. He makes no guarantees about provenance even if there is one. What he’s selling is what the owner represents, what the buyer sees. If it fell off the back of a truck and the owner comes screaming to reclaim it, the dealer disclaims all responsibility.
‘Seriously though, Mr Mather, as dealer or agent your safest stance is to treat each case on its merits and pass the responsibility on to the buyer. If there’s doubt about title or provenance, just state your reservations; leave the rest to Miss Loredon and her attorneys.’
‘Who, presumably, would be you?’
‘Not necessarily; though once she qualified as a member of the Association she would have access to my advice. As she probably told you, she’ll be buying and selling for my personal collection. So there could be occasions when you and I become directly involved.’
‘Would you be willing to take me as a client?’
‘If you chose to retain me, yes.’
‘I’d like to do that.’ Mather offered his card. ‘That’s my address and telephone number, both temporary. I’m hoping to sub-lease the top two floors of Miss Loredon’s building.’
Bayard looked at him with sudden new interest. ‘Two floors? That’s an awful lot of space.’
‘One as my living quarters; one will be a lecture hall and studio. I’m proposing to bring over the senior restorer from the Pitti in Florence to conduct a series of summer seminars on conservation and related subjects. Miss Loredon is keen on the idea. She’d like to participate. If it’s a success, I’ll bring over other European experts in related disciplines.’
‘An interesting project…very. You knew Miss Loredon in Florence?’
‘Yes. She was there under the auspices of the Belle Arti. I was archivist to one of the old families. We met by chance. I was able to introduce her to local artists and craftsmen; we did a lot of the galleries and churches together.’
‘Do I hear romantic overtones, Mr Mather?’
‘No. The Florentine lady with whom I was deeply in love died a few months ago. I’m not ready for any new commitment. Miss Loredon has her own ambitions which do not include me.’
‘Do you think she’ll achieve them here in New York?’
‘Probably. She’s got good taste and a wide education. She’s very determined. People like her. So yes, I’d say she has more than a sporting chance. By the way, she was vastly impressed with your late wife’s pictures.’
‘I know. That is why I have commissioned her to bring the works to market.’
‘Which raises another reason for my visit, but I find it hard to broach the subject without seeming impertinent.’
‘Please, say what you want.’
‘Miss Loredon and I were discussing the exhibition and the inevitable press stories about your wife’s murder. She told me you had discussed it and decided to confront and even exploit the publicity.’
‘That’s about the size of it, yes.’
‘I disagreed,’ said Mather flatly. ‘I told Anne-Marie so.’
‘And?’
‘First she told me to mind my own business; then she consented to think about it.’
‘What was your objection?’
‘Copycat crime – incitement of the unstable by lurid stories luridly told. Besides which, works of art themselves create a potent magic, especially when people congregate to view them.
Bayard thought about the proposition for a moment, then nodded a guarded agreement. ‘I understand your reasoning; I’ll talk further with Miss Loredon. Is there anything else?’
‘I’d like to ask you a couple more questions.’
‘You’re paying for my time, Mr Mather.’ Bayard was relaxed again.
‘What, precisely, constitutes title to a work of art?’
‘Possession first. It’s still nine points of the law. Then, any evidence of legal transmission: a bill of sale, a deed of gift, a will – even a birthday card.’
‘I am told that the title may lapse after a certain period of time?’
‘If an article has been lost, stolen or strayed for thirty years, title is deemed to have lapsed.’
‘So thirty years after he’s robbed you the thief can turn up on your doorstep and offer to sell you the very item he’s stolen?’
‘Precisely. If you don’t meet his price, he can tuck it under his arm and walk away, scot-free. He’s protected in two ways, you see. He can’t be prosecuted for the crime because the statute of limitations applies, and after thirty years the title to the object is his by right of possession.’
‘Next question, then: export and import. Certain countries restrain or altogether prohibit the export of major art works deemed to be national treasures?’
‘Correct.’
‘Yet most countries will permit the import of illegally exported art works.’
‘Not quite, Mr Mather. The proposition is really a negative one. Most countries do not deem it their duty to ask whether or not the export was legal, especially if no other criminality is involved – for example, the objects are not listed by Interpol as stolen. What happens in practice is what I explained to you at the beginning – the dealer, or the auctioneer, doesn’t ask. He’s satisfied with evidence of title. He’s delighted with a good provenance. He’s not expected to act as customs officer for the French, the British or the Italians. On the other hand, he’s wise not to involve himself directly with any smuggling operations. Also, he withholds all payment until the goods are safely in his own hands, in the land where he proposes to sell them.’
‘It seems I have a lot to learn.’ Mather gave a wry grin.
‘I’m sure you’re a fast learner,’ said Bayard blandly. ‘Now, let me put a question to you.’
‘Please.’
‘Has Miss Loredon offered you any share in her
business?’
‘No. Any reason for the question?’
‘A simple one. I asked her to consider a partnership with me. She turned me down.’
‘I wouldn’t take it personally.’
‘I’m delighted to hear you say that, Mr Mather. I make no secret of the fact that I have a very great interest in the lady…’
‘In that case,’ said Mather with a grin, ‘I’ll offer you some advice – free of charge! Don’t rush your fences. This is one very independent lady.’
‘I’ll remember that, Mr Mather, and thank you.’
‘Thank you, Mr Bayard.’
As soon as Mather had gone, Bayard lifted the telephone and dialled a number in Murray Hill.
‘Lou? Bayard. Another name in the Loredon circle – Maxwell Mather. He knew her in Italy. He’s going to be associated with her gallery. I don’t think there’s anything beyond friendship, but I’d like to know exactly where he fits in her scheme of things. I’ll read you the address. What’s that? Oh yes, so far I’m very satisfied. She checks out cleaner than I expected…’
FOUR
Hugh Loredon, auctioneer extraordinary, was the perfect image of a country gentleman: white hair, ruddy complexion, a taste for tweeds and fancy waistcoats, a roving eye for women, an agreeable wit, an eloquent tongue – and a feral instinct for the taste and temper of an auction crowd. Mather, who was entertaining him to lunch in his apartment, was treated to an hour of dissertation and anecdote.
‘Look down on them from the rostrum and they’re like a basket of cobras ready to rear up and bite you. So first of all you have to charm ’em, make music, hypnotise ’em into a rhythm of bidding. They’ve all studied the catalogues; they all know what they want to buy, they’re all wondering whether their pockets are deep enough. After a while you learn to read your regulars. If you can get them settled down, they help with the rest of the crowd. I’ve worked London, Paris, New York, Geneva. Each one is different, but they’re all the same: greedy and slippery. Sometimes you get a real sexual current coming up from the floor. There’s one woman who bids by touching her left nipple with her right hand, another who keeps opening and closing her legs like a pair of bellows. Very distracting, I assure you, because she’s got very good legs. This is a splendid meal, by the way. Where did you learn to cook?’
