by Morris West
Love, Max
That was the hardest and most bitter mouthful to chew on. Max, too, was escaping her. Dear faithless, unreliable Max – companion of carefree hours in Tuscany – was changing into someone quite different. He had purposes of his own now and would not long be content to be a junior lieutenant to Anne-Marie Loredon or, indeed, to any other woman. If she wanted to hold him, and she was still not sure that she did, then she would have to reach out and grab him before he waltzed away with another woman – like that Leonie Danziger who had called to offer sympathy and had seemed to know a great deal more than she told about Hugh Loredon and the Bayards.
On the other hand, Anne-Marie wasn’t really sure she wanted anyone just at this moment. There was too much to do. She wasn’t eager for sex, though she could use some soothing. Ambition seemed to chew up an awful lot of adrenalin – and besides, she had always enjoyed sex most when there was a laugh in it…just like the late Hugh Loredon.
For Edmund Bayard, the renewal of police inquiries was no surprise. It had been clear from the first that the exhibition of Madeleine’s canvases, on the murder site itself, would raise gossip and rumour all over again. It was equally clear that the police had to move in order to protect themselves against criticism.
The fact that Hugh Loredon had made some kind of death-bed confession did not surprise him either. All his life the man had been a mountebank, a woman-chaser, an irresponsible meddler in other people’s lives. Whatever he had written – an act of tardy repentance or a final testament of malice – would still have a nuisance value; but it would have no strength in law unless it could be confirmed by other evidence which Bayard could not see forthcoming. His own alibi had been tested and re-tested. It still stood rock-solid.
What bothered him in the new line of police questions was the mention of papers belonging to Madeleine and the fact that he could not identify them. The suggestion was, clearly, that Mather had seen them and had been thus enabled to write so poignantly about Madeleine’s life and work. Given the existence of such personal records, given that they could fall into the hands of the press, his own privacy – that small place of quiet still left in his existence – was immediately threatened. His fragile self-respect could be shattered at one blow; and all the king’ s horses and all the king’s men would never put it together again.
This was the real threat hanging like a hurricane cloud over his life. Madeleine had made him a cuckold hundreds of times over. Worse still she had made him a fool, an object of scorn to her lovers and cronies. He had survived it once and come within a shout of salvation with Anne-Marie. But if that failed and she made no answering call to him, then would come the true horror and his world would take on a doomsday look.
He had suffered this dread before. It was a symptom of the depressive illness that had affected him in recurrent cycles throughout his life but which had only been clinically identified in later years. He had learned to master the wild swings from mania to depression, riding them as a sailor rode the swells, taking them on the shoulder, never on the snout of the ship, sliding down and clawing up but never letting the sea batter him to pieces…But now the sea was rising mountains high and sanity seemed a frailer craft than it had ever been.
If only Anne-Marie would bend to him. If only he could break through the hedges of measured affection to the well of passion that lay beyond them. She must have sexual needs. She could not always live like a nun. She had not always done so; Max Mather was witness to that. What then? Who, then, was his rival? He would give Anne-Marie until the exhibition, then he would, he must, force her to declare herself.
Which brought him back, face to face, with Mather. The man had all the talents of an attractive rogue: an adequate education, good taste cultivated at the expense of others, a charm of deference, with a handsome face and an athletic body thrown in for a bonus. It was too much for one man. It was more than too much that he should have written so intimate and accurate a portrait of Madeleine and depicted so tragic a picture of her doomed and destructive marriage. Worse still was the fact that there was no malice in Mather’s work; yet its very compassion was an affront. Client Mather might be, friend of Anne-Marie, valuable associate in the business of the gallery, but at this dark moment he became the focus for all the dreads and distrusts that had once been centred on Hugh Loredon. Cool reason told Bayard this was a folly, urgent and dangerous; but inside the hurricane cloud there was no reason – only turbulence, darkness and the seeds of destruction…The buzzer on his telephone startled him into reality. He snatched up the receiver to find a member of the buying syndicate on the line.
‘Ed, the boys have all had a look at the transparencies from Holland – what’s the guy’s name, Cornelis Janzoon? They like the stuff very much. They want to know what’s the possibility, and when, of staging an exhibition in New York. If that could be arranged, then clearly we ought to buy some stuff now and hold it.’
‘I know that Max did discuss an exhibition with Janzoon. He probably hasn’t raised it yet with Anne-Marie. Her father died very recently, as you know. But leave it to me. I’ll get on to it. If we do buy, how much would you authorise for the syndicate?’
‘With an exhibition – fifty thousand. Sixty tops.’
‘I’ll talk to Anne-Marie and get back to you. We’re expecting Mather here in a week or so.’
‘Are you all right, Ed? You sound rattled.’
‘I’ve had a bad morning with a troublesome client.’
‘Don’t let ’em get to you, Ed. You’re the guru, so keep ’em ignorant and humble. Have a nice day!’
Bayard put down the receiver and then called Anne-Marie at the studio. He asked, ‘Have you had a chance to look at the Janzoon material that Max sent from Amsterdam?’
‘I have, yes. It looks very interesting.’
‘Interesting enough to offer an exhibition?’
‘It’s too early to make that decision, Ed. We have to see how we go with Madeleine’s work. Then we’re signed for Oliver Swann – that’s two figurative artists in a row. I think we have to consider a fairly wide excursion for our third show. We’ve got several options. I’d like to keep them all open. So I don’t want to be pressed on this matter until we’re launched.’
‘I know. It was just that members of our syndicate are very interested in Janzoon.’
‘And they’d like to do a little punting and let me hike the market for them! I won’t play that game, Ed. I’m sure Max won’t, either.’
‘He’s a member of the syndicate.’
‘But he also represents me; so if there’s any conflict of interest it had better be declared right now!’
This was getting out of hand. Bayard tried to mollify her.
‘I’m sure there’s none. Max has acted quite properly. He’s sent back recommendations. Now it’s up to the syndicate to decide what it wants to buy – it’s up to you to decide what you want to exhibit.’
‘Just so everybody knows the rules!’
‘Be sure they do. Can I offer you lunch? Dinner?’
‘I’d love it – if you give me a rain-check until the end of the week. I’m up to my eyes in work right now.’
‘Why don’t you hire some help?’
‘Because I’m trying to keep overheads down and I can do it cheaper and faster myself. By the way, I had a visit from the police today.’
‘And what the devil did they want?’
‘Comments on a letter my father wrote them before he died.’
‘Did they offer to show you the letter?’
‘No.’
‘Then I hope you declined to make comment.’
‘More or less. They also asked when Max would be back.’
‘Let me repeat my advice. Don’t allow them to draw you into comment or speculation about material they’re not prepared to display to you.’
‘I’ll do just as you say. Call you Friday, early morning.’
‘I’ll look forward to it. Have you heard from Max?’
&
nbsp; ‘Just a long fax message about Niccoló Tolentino, with a list of his twelve lecture subjects. That’s another thing I have to start promoting. Max expects to arrive Sunday afternoon on Air France from Paris. It’ll be nice to see him again.’
‘Very nice,’ Bayard agreed. ‘Very nice indeed.’
In Zurich it was the end of the day. Niccoló Tolentino had been embraced, encouraged, documented, supplied with travel funds, sworn to silence and shipped back to Florence on an afternoon flight. Max Mather and Alois Liepert were conferring on the next steps in the Raphael strategies. Liepert’s recommendation was clear and emphatic.
‘Now we need a waiting period – a cooling-off time. You know you have the originals. You can produce them at any time. Palombini doesn’t have to meet his notes until the end of June. The articles are published now. Curiosity – and, therefore, market value – will rise. So sit tight, Max. Possess your soul in patience. You need to go back to America. Go! Leave me a power of attorney and I can do anything that needs to be done. The companies function by procuration, so they can perform legal acts without you. If you are going to be a good dealer, Max, you must learn one lesson: patience. You are not – as history proves – a very patient man.’
‘I agree, Alois. So be it, then. I push off to America. You’re in charge here. But what am I going to do about Gisela?’
‘Forgive me, my friend, but you are rushing that one too. This is a very bright, very modern but also very traditional Swiss girl. This is still Reformation country here. Calvin and Zwingli walk the mountains. Gisela loves you. She approves of an active sex life between lovers. But any hint of sharp trading in business and she bridles. Now that we have our contract, I can wear the Palombini situation. I’ve worn much worse with many other clients. As a lawyer, Gisela wears it too – indeed, she constructed it; but she dropped a phrase to me the other day which gave me pause. She said, “In a marriage you need ‘compatibility of conscience’ ”.’
‘I get the message.’ Mather shrugged ruefully. ‘I guess that’s what I’m trying to do now: work out a way of paying debts – financial and emotional – without bankrupting myself or ruining the reputation I’m just beginning to build.’
Liepert nodded a sober assent. ‘I approve that. There are few absolutes in human affairs – and the law is often a braying ass.’
‘I totally agree.’ Gisela swept in, apple-cheeked and windblown after her walk from the university. She kissed them both, then collapsed into a chair. ‘What do you have to drink, Alois?’
‘Whatever’s in the cabinet. Help yourselves. I’ll be back as soon as I’ve signed the mail and…’
The telephone rang. Liepert picked it up, listened for a few moments, then handed it to Mather. ‘America on the line for you.’
Without thinking, Mather pressed the conference button and Leonie Danziger’s distorted voice crackled about the room.
‘Max, this is Danny. The police are here. They’ve arrested me for the murder of Madi Bayard. This is the one phone call I’m allowed. Help me, please!’
‘I will. Now be very calm and answer me clearly. Have they read you your rights?’
‘Yes.’
‘Then stand on them. Be silent. Don’t say a word until I can get an attorney to you. Understand?’
‘Yes.’
‘Is Carol with you?’
‘No. She has classes.’
‘Ask the arresting officer if he’ll let you leave a note just to tell her what’s happened. Tell her to expect a call from me. I’ll leave here as soon as I can get a flight. Then we’ll see if we can get you out on bail. What’s the exact charge?’
‘Murder in the first degree.’
‘Oh, God, it’s not possible! Ask the arresting officer if he’ll speak to me, please.’
There was a short pause, a murmur of unintelligible talk and then a neutral voice answered.
‘Sam Hartog speaking. Who is this?’
‘Max Mather. Is the charge as Miss Danziger states it?’
’I’m afraid so. Murder one.’
‘I’ll be calling an attorney for her.’
‘That’s wise.’
‘Naturally he’ll be applying for bail.’
‘Naturally…When do you expect to get back, Mr Mather?’
‘Tomorrow – the next day, as soon as I can get a flight.’
‘We’d like to talk to you immediately you get in.’
‘The wish is mutual; give me a number. Thank you. Where are you taking Miss Danziger now?’
‘To the precinct. The sooner you can contact her attorney the better. Would you like another word with her?’
‘Please…Danny, it’s all in hand. I’ll have an attorney for you within the hour. And very soon I’ll be with you. Courage, now!’
‘Oh Max, how can I thank you?’
‘Hang in there. I’ll be with you as soon as I can.’Bye now.’
‘I’m impressed,’ said Gisela. ‘Sir Galahad, instant to the service of a damsel in distress. You will be explaining all this to us?’
‘I will. Now pipe down and let me get on.’
He was already dialling the number of Ed Bayard’s office. Bayard – the secretary informed him – was in closed conference with a client.
‘Then please get him out of it! Tell him Max Mather is on the line from Zurich and this is a grade A emergency!’
Bayard came on the line. He was curt and irritable. ‘What the hell is this emergency!’
When Mather told him, he was shocked into silence.
‘So I need a good attorney, now!’
‘I can’t help you, Max. We’re a commercial law partnership, not a criminal practice.’
Mather exploded into fury. ‘What the hell kind of answer is that?’
‘A prudent one.’ Bayard was cold. ‘The victim was my wife . It would seem wise and necessary to maintain an arm’s length position from the accused, wouldn’t you say?’
‘So maintain it. Give me a number, Ed; I’ll sort the rest out when I get back to New York.’
‘Wait a moment.’
He waited three long minutes before a secretary came on the line with the information.
‘The name you require, sir, is George Munsel. The code is 212, the number is 735 4141. Do you have that?’
‘I have it,’ said Mather and slammed down the phone.
‘Can I help?’ Gisela asked.
‘Not yet. Just pour us both a drink.’
He dialled the Manhattan number and was connected to a cool university club voice that identified itself as George Munsel. Mather plunged straight into a brisk recital of the circumstances and the needs of Danny Danziger, at the end of which Munsel asked, ‘And how did you find me?’
‘I asked Ed Bayard, who represents me. He suddenly invoked prudence and conflict of interest. I chewed him out. His secretary came back with your number. I have to underline the fact that he didn’t recommend you.’
Munsel laughed – a relaxed sound. ‘Who’s footing the bill?’ he asked.
‘I am. You’ll get a cheque as soon as I arrive.’
‘Bail?’
‘She’s got steady and lucrative employment, owns her own apartment. I just can’t see her as a fugitive.’
‘How much do you know about this business?’
‘I wasn’t involved in it, if that’s what you mean – I was out of the country all of last year and the year before. But because of my connection with Anne-Marie Loredon and her late father I’ve been sucked into the tide-rip . Also, I’m sitting on Madeleine Bayard’s private papers.’
‘Where are they?’
‘Here in Zurich.’
‘Leave them there. Bring a set of notarised copies: I repeat, notarised.’
‘Got it. I hope this means you’ll take the case?’
‘First I have to talk to Miss Danziger. I should be on my way now. Call me when you hit Manhattan.’
‘Will do. And thanks.’
Gisela handed him a large whisky. His next call
was to Anne-Marie Loredon at the gallery. She had just heard the news on radio and was almost incoherent with shock.
‘This is terrible for us, Max. Three weeks from opening and now this bloody mess! I need you here, I just can’t face this by myself.’
‘I’ll be there tomorrow. Sit tight. We don’t cower under the threat, we exploit it. As soon as I get in we’ll call a meeting of our advertising agents and PR people. Have you heard from Bayard?’
‘No. Have you?’
‘Yes, I spoke with him – asked him to find me an attorney for Danny Danziger. He ran for the hills. You can tell him from me, he’s a shit.’
‘That’s not fair, Max. This woman’s accused of murdering his wife. How can you expect him to set up her defence?’
‘Let’s not argue, lover! There’s worse to come. We need to stand together. I’ll call you as soon as I arrive. We’ll have drinks and a council of war at my place.’
‘What do I say to the press?’
‘You’re surprised; you’re shocked; you can’t believe it. You hope justice will be done…and there’s a strange echo of Greek drama which they, too, will catch when they see the exhibition – which will most definitely start on time. Write that down before you forget it. See you!’
‘And another stricken woman takes heart from the presence of this young knight.’ Thus Gisela Mundt with operatic gestures. ‘That’s two so far. How many more?’
Mather laughed in spite of himself.
‘Well, I might have to go to one of my wealthy widows to raise bail. If she won’t do it, then I’ll just have to work through my black book. Seriously, though, this is quite macabre. It’s the story Hugh Loredon told me in Amsterdam. I called him a liar. But clearly the letter he wrote must say Danny Danziger was the killer. Why? Why would a man lie when he’s facing certain death?’
‘Because there’s no more perfect time,’ Gisela suggested. ‘You can get away with anything. Now let’s ring Swissair and see what flights they’re offering to New York.’
