Masterclass

by Morris West

  However, we are indebted to Mr Mather for more than the text. In the account books of the period he found reference to a commission given by the Palombini family to the great Raphael for two portraits and a set of cartoons for an altar-piece. These entries are printed in facsimile in the text; that they are genuine is beyond question.

  Mr Mather has the modesty of a sound scholar. He is well versed, though by no means an expert, in Renaissance painting. His real discipline is palaeography. Very wisely, therefore, he decided that the investigation of the fate of the missing Raphaels should be placed in more competent hands. So he came to us at Belvedere to seek advice and direction as to how to proceed. Modest man that he is, he waived all claims to credit or reward but promised his full cooperation as a scholar in the work of tracking down and identifying the missing pictures – if indeed they have survived the ravages of four hundred and fifty-odd years.

  We are happy now to welcome Mr Mather as a consulting editor to Belvedere and to commend this, his first published work, to our readers.…

  Harmon Seldes.

  As he laid down the first sheet, Danny Danziger asked him, ‘Well, how does that grab you, Mr Mather?’

  Mather shrugged and laughed.

  ‘He’s a patronising son-of-a-bitch. But he gives me a useful reference. I’m young – which is nice to know. I’m a sound scholar. I’m modest – which means I know how to suck up to my elders and betters. What more can I want?’

  ‘What he’s grabbing for – a lot of kudos and a lot of money if those works ever come to light.’

  ‘Never happen, sweetheart. The trail’s been cold for more than four centuries. He’s chasing fool’s gold.’

  ‘You think so? Read on a bit further.’

  He found the place in the text and continued reading.

  Presuming that the works are still in existence, where might one expect to find them? The first and least likely possibility is that they are gathering dust in an attic or hanging unrecognised in some decaying villa. The second guess would be that they are in the possession of one of those wealthy but discreet connoisseurs – Greek, German, Brazilian, Mexican, Swiss – whose collections are totally unknown to the public. Then there are those well-known dealers, the elders and lords of the trade whose holdings in great art are equally unknown, whose dealings are for the most part secret, who manage by some miraculous process to maintain a large private stock of masterpieces and yet have a sufficient cash flow to live like Renaissance princes.…

  ‘He’s covering all bases, isn’t he?’ Mather was thoughtful. ‘He’s sticking to the assumption that the works are still in existence.’

  ‘He’s doing a lot more than that. He’s tossing bait to the biggest sharks in the sea – the underground collectors – and to the most powerful dealers like Berchmans et Cie. Bear in mind that in his young days Seldes tried to get a job with old Berchmans, but he was turned down. The snub has rankled ever since. Berchmans, you also have to remember, is probably sitting on more grade-A masterpieces than any other dealer in the world. However, there’s a catch. The art appreciates every day, but you can’t eat it and you can’t spend it…and once you’ve sold a picture it passes out of your hands for ever – unless, of course, there’s a chance that you can represent the buyer’s estate when he dies and start the recirculation process. But Seldes knows that there’s always a chance that Berchmans is sitting on the pictures right at this moment.’

  ‘You make me feel like a hick from Hicksville.’

  ‘Now look at the illustrations Seldes has presented. Raphael portraits: Elizabeth Gonzaga, Emilia Pia of Montefeltro, Maddalena Donni. Raphael cartoons: studies for the Story of the Madonna, for the Dream of Calvary, for the Terranova Madonna. All these works were executed in the period 1504–1506. So what we have here is an identification code which can be immediately applied to the pictures if they ever turn up. I did warn you never to underrate him.’

  Mather read the piece once more, trying to picture how it would look if his own photographs were inserted into the sequence. Finally he restacked the pages and passed them across the table to Leonie.

  ‘You’re right. He’s exploited the information in a way I never could have done. How soon will all this stuff be set in type?’

  ‘It will be ready by Friday. Then it comes back to me for proofing.’

  ‘Will you make sure I get a copy of all the items at the same time?’

  ‘Sure. What do you have in mind?’

  ‘I’ll explain later: Would you pass me the phone, please?’

  When she handed him the instrument he dialled the number of the magazine and asked for Harmon Seldes.

  ‘Harmon? Max Mather. I’m with Miss Danziger. I’ve just approved the draft of my stuff and she was kind enough to show me your material. I’d like to compliment you; it’s a brilliant approach – no exaggerated claims, a very handy reminder of where any discoveries would have to fit in the catalogue raisonné. I found it most illuminating. Complaints? Not a one. My own work often leaves much to be desired – so I admire a man who gets it right the first time. To change the subject for a moment…you know of my connection with Anne-Marie Loredon and her new gallery? Well, now that the Raphael piece is done I’d like to work up a piece on her opening show – the posthumous exhibition of Madeleine Bayard. Given all the circumstances, I think it could make an important item. Good, I’m glad you like the idea. Makes me feel I may be able to earn my keep. Do you mind my discussing it with Miss Danziger? I presume you’ll want her to keep an eye on my stuff, at least for a while . Thanks. ‘Bye.’

  He looked – up to find Danny Danziger studying him with distaste, as if he were a specimen under a microscope.

  ‘Well, well, well, aren’t you the smooth one? Seldes is screwing you blind and you’re lathering him with compliments.’

  He answered with a grin, ‘Biretta in mano non fa mai danno.’

  ‘You forget,’ she reminded him tartly. ‘I don’t speak Italian.’

  ‘Old Roman proverb: It never does any harm to go cap in hand to the pope.’

  ‘I’m not a papist, so it doesn’t signify. But I’m afraid I can’t help you with your Madeleine Bayard piece; I’ve got other commitments.’

  ‘That’s my loss, but of course I understand. Did you by any chance know Madeleine Bayard? Are you familiar with her work?’

  ‘I met her briefly; I have a passing acquaintance with her work. It doesn’t interest me enough to work on it.’

  ‘Fair enough. Then I’ll try alone and see how much I’ve gleaned from you.’

  ‘Won’t you ever learn, Max Mather? I’m the last woman in the world to need compliments!’

  ‘Do you know why, Danny D.?’

  ‘Tell me!’

  ‘Because no one ever taught you to accept them gracefully – and that’s a bloody shame. Now, do you want to throw me out or do I get a drink before I go?’

  Half an hour later he walked out into the raucous twilight of Manhattan. He was the richer – or the poorer! – for a new piece of information: that Leonie Danziger was one of the players in the lethal psychodrama of Madeleine Bayard. He could afford to wait for the answer to all the questions that arose out of that simple proposition. For the present he was glad of the clatter, the mess and the jostle of homing New Yorkers. Their indifference endowed him with anonymity, kept him safe from prying eyes. It also made him feel desperately alone, as if he were the sole mourner at his own funeral.

  There were letters in his box and the porter had a package for him. He poured himself a stiff drink and sat down to open them: first a note from the architect, accepting his deposit and agreeing to supervise the construction of his studio apartment; next a brief letter from Claudio Palombini:

  …to thank you for the courtesy of your communication and to tell you, with great regret, that I can add nothing to the facts you have already on the Raffaello works. It is clear that they were commissioned and delivered to my ancestors, but I cannot enlighten you as to their late
r history. A great pity, because at this moment I could use the money they would undoubtedly bring in the market.

  However, as your own experience will confirm, we Palombini have always been Philistines, trading in material things: wine, oil, hides and manufactured goods. We have sometimes been buyers of paintings, but only spasmodically patrons of the arts. In fact, it helped to refurbish our reputation to have you as our scholar in residence. Be sure we shall welcome you back whenever you choose to come.

  Affectionate salutations,

  Claudio

  The package was a surprise. It contained a small pencil drawing of a building under construction which was signed and dated: Boccioni, Milano, 1910. With the drawing was a card:

  An apology and a small token of repentance for my professional indiscretion in respect of Miss Loredon.

  I am sure you are familiar with Boccioni’ s work. I have a portrait and a landscape which I shall be happy to show you when we dine together.

  Edmund Bayard

  Mather was baffled by the nerve and style of the man. The Boccioni drawing – recognisable as one of the themes developed for ‘The Rising City’ – was valuable enough to make honourable amends yet not so expensive as to seem a bribe or a solicitation. The choice of artist – a futurist innovator – paid a graceful deference to his Italian connections. The invitation to dine was a deft touch: no date was named, so no immediate decision required. Wondering how Bayard had dealt with Anne-Marie, he called and found her only too eager to tell him.

  ‘There’s a long letter of explanation. He was worried about my safety…all that jazz. My house is full of flowers; there’s a card that says, “But love is blind and lovers cannot see, the pretty follies that themselves commit.” It’s signed “E.B.” ’

  ‘He should have signed it “W.S.” He picked it up from Shakespeare in the Park.’

  ‘I don’t care where he picked it up. It’s landed here with at least two hundred dollars’ worth of exotic blooms and I’m just trying to figure out how to respond.’

  ‘Easy. Give him the same line of crap he’s handing you: “Sir, you do me much honour, but my heart is to the muses dedicate…in short, there’s no goddamn chance in the world we’re going to be lovers.” By the way, I’ve got some news for you – Harmon Seldes has agreed to run a piece on the Madeleine Bayard exhibition.’

  ‘Max, that’s wonderful – it’s money in the bank already.’

  ‘So ask yourself and then tell me what needs to be said about the woman. I’ll be doing my own researches, but I’ll need all the biographical background I can get – also photographs of the canvases.’

  ‘I can take you to Bayard’s house and show them to you.’

  ‘He’s already invited me to dinner, but I need the photographs for reference as I work.’

  ‘I’ll arrange it. Anything else?’

  ‘Yes. The man’s obviously crazy for you, but by me he’s crazy, period. So take a cold shower and forget about him. Good night.’

  In spite of the jokes and the teasing tone they affected since they had changed from some-time lovers to most-time friends, Mather was worried. Bayard was turning his own discomfiture into a triumph. It was impossible to reject his gestures of amends, and it would be folly for Anne-Marie to turn a powerful penitent into an insulted enemy.

  Once again Mather was fatally compromised by his own self-interest. He was engaged in a paradoxical enterprise: to construct a legal trade on a morally dubious act. He, least of all, could afford enemies or ill-sayers. He had to be the little friend of all the world. He could only hope that the web of half-truths which sustained him would not tear apart and dump him neck-deep in a cesspit.

  SEVEN

  Forty-eight hours later he had a call from Leonie Danziger, with a cool and well-rehearsed little speech.

  ‘Max? I’m calling to tell you that I’ve changed my mind on the Bayard item. I will edit it for you. I can use the money. You can certainly use my skill. The proofs of your Tuscan piece and Seldes’ Raphael article are on their way to you by courier – six copies of each. I’ve charged the expenses to Belvedere.’

  ‘That was very thoughtful of you. Thank you.’

  He called Bayard at his office, thanked him for the Boccioni sketch but protested that he could not accept it.

  ‘Its proper place is in your collection. I should, however, be happy to dine with you. We need to talk privately about the exhibition. Seldes has commissioned me to do a piece on it for Belvedere, so I need to see the pictures and build up my own portrait of the artist. The sooner I can do that, the better.’

  ‘How does Thursday suit you?’ Bayard was brisk but cordial.

  ‘Fine.’

  ‘Then let’s say seven for seven-thirty at my place. Just the two of us.’

  ‘Thursday it is.’

  ‘And I insist you keep the Boccioni. No arguments. ‘Bye.’

  As preparation for the evening, Mather spent a full day in the City Library reading the press reports of Madeleine Bayard’s murder. He also did some discursive reading on Boccioni and the Futurists and copied the Who’s Who biographical entry on Edmund Justin Bayard. As a final precaution he called Anne-Marie, only to discover that Bayard had already been in touch with her.

  ‘He’s very pleased you accepted his invitation. The notion of a Belvedere article appeals to him. He feels your friendship and goodwill are important. Will you let me know how the dinner goes?’

  ‘Of course. But more to the point, what are your relations with him now? What did you do about the flowers?’

  ‘Pretty much what you told me: I thanked him for the thought, told him I was happy to continue our association but that I couldn’t take any emotional pressures.’

  ‘He understood?’

  ‘Let’s say he didn’t argue, though I’m not sure how much he understands. But I feel better able to cope with him now.’

  ‘Question: the canvases you’re exhibiting are all hung in his house?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘What about miscellaneous material – sketches, notes, tentative works, half-finished projects?’

  ‘In addition to the major works, there are about seventy sketches and studies and we’ll be exhibiting those too. If there are more, Bayard hasn’t shown them to me. I asked about writings; he responded only vaguely. Why do you ask?’

  ‘They’re the sort of miscellanea that can dress up an article beautifully. Anyway, I’ll ask him at dinner. How is the studio coming along?’

  ‘The place is a shambles but the plumbers and builders are on schedule. The architect has found exactly the lighting we want – oh, and they’re already well advanced with your living area. We should go down together and take a look.’

  ‘We shall…but leave it until after my dinner with Bayard. It’s funny, I feel I really need some training for that meeting.’

  ‘You’re right. You can’t do this one on a wing and a prayer. One moment Bayard has all the charm in the world; the next, he can be cold and formidable.’

  All of which made Mather feel as edgy and uneasy as a student about to take an oral test with a board of examiners. In the event he was totally disarmed. He and Bayard were immediately on first-name terms. The meal was excellent, the wines chosen with care. Bayard was relaxed and open, a thoughtful talker but a good listener who knew how to coax the best performance out of a guest. He was modest about his own collection and quite eloquent about Madeleine’s; he was effusive in his thanks for the Belvedere article which he saw as an enormous asset. By the time they arrived at the coffee and brandy, Mather was hopeful of a good discussion.

  He asked, ‘Are you ready for question time?’

  ‘I think so.’

  Mather took out a small tape recorder and set it on the table between them. He explained, ‘Whatever you don’t want on the record, we can erase immediately. I need three categories of information from you. The first is for the Belvedere article; that’s professional and technical background, the artist’s mind-set, that
sort of thing. The second is publishable material for the popular press; that’s biography, gossip, names to drop, what celebrities will be invited. The third is rebuttal, if the rumours circulated in the yellow press at the time of your wife’s death are brought up again.’

  Bayard was instantly wary. ‘Rumours? I was not aware of any rumours.’

  ‘That’s understandable. You were in deep distress. You probably did what we all do: half-read the papers and blocked out any unpleasant items. Here’s the kind of thing I mean.…’ He rifled through his notebook. ‘This is from the New York Post: “Madeleine Bayard, a beautiful and talented woman, had many friends among the raffish, coffee-house crowd in SoHo. Homicide detectives do not discount the possibility of a crime of passion.” The moment the exhibition is announced, that little item will take on a new lease of life. Maybe a couple of names will get dropped into a gossip column: “Once romantically linked…” that sort of thing. Someone may turn up with a sketch or a letter. You know that the yellow press pays good money for that kind of item. How do we at the gallery respond?’

  ‘You don’t,’ Bayard said curtly. ‘You let it ride. If I’m libelled and I think I can win, I’ll sue. For the rest, you and Anne-Marie and anyone else connected with the gallery buy out of the argument. You weren’t involved in Madeleine’s life or death. You are concerned only with her genius. Look, Max, I understand the thrust of your questions. I know you need some background just so you don’t make fools of yourselves. So let’s start with that. Switch off the tape. This must be off the record, way off.’

  ‘Understood; but then you have to be specific about what I can use.’

  Bayard waited a moment, then launched into a narration, simple and intimate, more poignant than anything Mather had expected of him.