‘And it is proper to say,’ Mr Thurkle went on severely, ‘that my calling on you is in pursuance only of one among a number of enquiries which I feel bound to make. So please consider everything as tentative at this stage. There is no cause for precipitancy. Only to one or two matters does a certain measure of urgency attach.’
Domberg received this judicious speech with a bow the gravity of which must have made the crispness of his succeeding utterance a surprise.
‘Death duties,’ Domberg said.
‘Ah, yes – that among other things.’
‘Tricky territory, Mr Thurkle. You find the Controller reasonable – but then the Treasury Solicitor turns out to be in on it too. And then there may be a Minister, so that purely political factors obtrude. I’ve never known anybody embark on this business of payment in kind who didn’t feel he ended up with a raw deal.’
‘There is talk of just two pictures – extremely valuable works by Titian.’
‘It would be surprising if there was not.’
‘Then you advise against discharging almost the entire liability to estate duty in that way?’
‘Certainly I do not.’ Domberg was smoothly wary. ‘For one thing, you haven’t sought my advice – not in so many words – and it would be quite improper for me to volunteer it. If you ask us in writing for an expertise and valuation, that, of course, would be another matter. Even so, our position would be a morally delicate one. If you were to decide on a sale—’
‘If Miss Montacute were to decide on a sale.’
‘Quite so, quite so. If there were to be a sale, and you consulted the best informed opinion as to who should conduct it, you would undoubtedly be told – I speak quite frankly – that it would be to your disadvantage to employ any firm other than Comberback and Domberg. And Comberback and Domberg would stand to earn a very large sum of money in commission, should such an exercise in fact come their way. I confess I simply haven’t found the ethical answer to this one, although it isn’t all that infrequently that it turns up.’
‘Most interesting,’ Mr Thurkle said. He was not impressed by this candid parading of the obvious. ‘I believe you used to see Mrs Montacute from time to time. Perhaps your delicacy won’t prevent your telling me whether she had a sale in mind.’
‘Decidedly she had.’ Domberg was unruffled. ‘Everyone knew it was what she was working towards. So if Miss Montacute wants to do the filial thing, she’ll instruct you to sell up – lock, stock and barrel. There need be no delicacy in telling you that, my dear sir.’
‘It seems curious, all the same. I am not well-seen in artistic matters, Mr Domberg, as I believe I have explained. Such leisure as I command is devoted to antiquarian pursuits which it would be irrelevant to particularise. But it has been my impression that the outstanding feature of all these valuable things at Nudd—’
‘Is the way they come together. The finger of taste again—eh? And – as I said – it wasn’t Mrs Montacute’s. She was aware of it; she was proud of it; but it was no part of her passion. Her passion – to put it crudely – was simply the staggering total that a well contrived dispersal would bring in.’ Domberg shook his head sombrely, as one who views an unworthy universe.
‘Then an unknown—’
‘Old Hugo Counterpayne, I suppose, who formed the collection in the first place. Or it’s possible that, later on, Nicholas Montacute hired somebody with the necessary flair for arranging rooms and galleries. Not that I recall hearing of such a thing.’
‘You are yourself, I believe, familiar with Nudd?’
‘Oh, certainly. I was there, along with my assistant, Octavius Chevalley, at the party the poor lady died on.’
‘Indeed?’ Mr Thurkle’s tone disapproved the final preposition. ‘And you met Miss Montacute?’
‘We saw her, but didn’t meet her. She was setting out to walk some dogs. More her line, I imagine, than gushing over Chinese pots. In fact, we must frankly agree that Miss Gloria Montacute is a Philistine.’
‘I don’t know that I will agree to anything of the sort.’ Mr Thurkle showed a proper disposition to defend a client. ‘But it is certainly true that she appears not to have directed much of her interest towards the arts. Her choice of employment, moreover, did for a time strike me as eccentric. One might suppose that an element of what they call social protest has been involved.’
‘In sloshing out tea in an East End hospital?’
‘She would not, I believe, slosh it. She is a careful, as well as in many ways an unusually sensible, girl. Incidentally, I understand that the tea-urn has been taken from her.’ Mr Thurkle produced his first smile. ‘Rather against her inclination, she has been promoted. To the supervision, one supposes, of some part of the domestic arrangements of the hospital. That is why she has taken a holiday abroad. It is to be before entering on her new duties.’
‘It still seems odd. Looked at any way you please, the girl’s a great heiress. Isn’t that right? You’re the authority, I know.’
‘The position is a perplexed one, Domberg.’ It was reluctantly that Miss Montacute’s solicitor bowed to convention in adopting this informal manner of address. ‘There is really very little – except Nudd and its collection. At present, she isn’t drawing a penny from the estate.’
‘She could sell just that fountain – nothing more – and be well set up for the rest of her days.’
‘The point has not escaped me.’ Thurkle said this so drily that he appeared to repent and seek a more companionable note. ‘Of course I have to advise the child on the legal side. And of course there are some guide-lines that are clear enough—’
‘Obviously. You have to maximise what can be got out of it all. That’s why you’ve come to see me.’
‘Prudence is essential, certainly. But one mustn’t forget there’s a human side to the situation. She’s very young, and she’s the sole owner of all those extremely valuable things – without possessing the ballast, so to speak, of having any feeling for them. Suppose we do sell up. Whether she comes out of it with two million or three is of very little significance, I’d say.’
‘Perfectly true. She’d scarcely be felt as a better catch with the one sum than with the other. In fact—’
Domberg broke off. The door of his room had opened, following upon a knock he had failed to distinguish.
‘I’m terribly sorry!’ It was Chevalley who had appeared. ‘I oughtn’t to have barged—’
‘Not at all, my dear Octavius. Come in.’ Domberg was benign. ‘I’d like you to meet Mr Thurkle, who is Miss Montacute’s solicitor.’
‘The fat girl?’ Chevalley asked – so that Thurkle produced his frown. But Chevalley had spoken less with a contemptuous intention than at random, and while still uncertain as to whether he should withdraw. Not – Thurkle might have reflected as he shook hands – a particularly decisive young man.
‘Sit down, Octavius. Mr Thurkle tells me that Miss Montacute has forsaken the cup that cheers, and is travelling on the continent. As the owner of a great collection, she possibly feels it incumbent upon her to perform the Grand Tour.’
‘Nothing of the kind.’ Thurkle hadn’t taken to this joke. ‘She’s on Lake Garda at present, and going on to Venice in a few days’ time.’
‘Venice?’ Chevalley had become alert.
‘Yes. Her forwarding address, as it happens, is that of the pensione once inhabited by Ruskin. But I doubt whether the fact is in her head. And a girl needn’t be made fun of’—Thurkle produced a flash of asperity— ‘simply because she isn’t a prize student from the Courtauld.’
‘Certainly not.’ Domberg shot a warning glance at his assistant. Amusement at Miss Montacute’s expense was out. ‘And we mustn’t be thought to take a narrow view, confined to our own interest. It’s not simply the remarkable collection we must try to consider; it’s the collection as Miss Montacute’s property, and as Miss Montacute’s problem. What ought she to do with it, that she will eventually take genuine satisfaction in having don
e?’
This elevated view of the matter perhaps surprised Chevalley, since it was Thurkle who next spoke.
‘She might present it to the nation.’
‘Like the estimable Sir Henry Tate.’ Against both his better judgement and a further admonitory glare from his principal, Chevalley plunged into the frivolous. ‘Only, she’d have to build a gallery as well. Tate did that, on the site of a prison given him by the government. They might give Miss Montacute Wormwood Scrubs.’
‘Or she might give them Nudd.’ Thurkle was suppressing irritation. ‘And the collection could remain there.’
‘It would be a magnificent gift,’ Domberg said in a tone as reverently admiring as if the vague suggestion were already accomplished fact. ‘But I fear it wouldn’t work. The Government – certainly this present Government – would be far from enthusiastic. An independent picture gallery and museum in the depth of the country would be a considerable charge, and the number of visitors attracted to it might not be all that impressive. In fact, the Government would expect an endowment thrown in – and that I understand to be something which Miss Montacute is not in a position to provide.’
‘Most assuredly she is not,’ Thurkle said.
‘Of course the nation would almost certainly accept the collection – or the collections, to speak more accurately. But the spoils would then be divided: this and that to the National Gallery; this and that to the Tate; this and that to the V and A. Poor Mrs Montacute would have hated the thought of it.’
‘Not if her attitude was what you have declared it to be.’ Thurkle looked at Domberg stonily. ‘You said she was simply holding on for the peak of the market.’
‘Yes, that is quite true. But didn’t I also say she took a certain pride in the total achievement we call Nudd? However, I much hope this is purely hypothetical talk. I much hope Miss Montacute will not give away the collection – either to the nation or to anybody else.’
‘Why do you much hope that?’ Chevalley asked innocently.
‘Because, my dear Octavius, I think the young woman ought to have the money – the enormous sum of money – that the collection can bring in.’
‘A most interesting view.’ It had been after a short silence that Thurkle spoke. ‘And it brings us back to a sale, or a series of sales, conducted by your excellent firm.’
‘Incidentally, yes. But you must credit me – you really must credit me, Thurkle – with my own interest in what you have called the human side of the thing. It is rather fascinating: this girl – an idealistic girl, perhaps, coming in so big a way into just this sort of property. Suppose that she simply unloads all those beautiful things on anybody who will accept them: national collections, municipal galleries, Lord knows what! What would she be doing? Giving away what she doesn’t herself care for or value in the interest of securing for the public at large a kind of pleasure she knows nothing about.’
‘Most interesting,’ Thurkle repeated. But this time he uttered the words without sardonic intention.
‘So she ends up with having achieved a gesture of vague and undirected benevolence – nothing more. When she comes to maturity – for she is as yet a child, as you say – will she take much satisfaction in that? I doubt it. I doubt it because of something you have told me yourself about Gloria Montacute. “An unusually sensible girl,” you called her. And I suspect your standard in such matters to be distinctly high, my dear sir. Now, a thoroughly sensible girl is likely to be disposed to accept responsibility – and to be felt by others as fit for it. Do I begin to make myself clear?’ The philosophic Domberg paused for a moment on this note of serious interrogation, and was rewarded by Thurkle with at least the ghost of a nod.
‘You seem to mean,’ Chevalley interpolated, ‘that she should sell out, display herself as a genuine millionaire, and take what chases her up in consequence. In fact, you want to expose her to fortune-hunters. As a test of character, I suppose.’
‘You put it a little crudely, Octavius.’ Domberg spoke in a fatherly way. ‘And I don’t envisage Miss Montacute precisely as “taking” anything. I envisage her, with all this wealth at her disposal, in some decidedly active role. Consider her work in the East End.’ Domberg now contrived to lend to what he had termed sloshing out tea the suggestion of years of selfless toil in the service of the submerged classes of London. ‘It speaks of a strong sense of dedication, does it not? Social betterment, and so forth. And with wealth at her disposal, and decisions to make—’
‘She would go from strength to strength,’ Chevalley said – and was immediately uncertain whether he had said something merely inane or had honestly punctured this sanctimonious rubbish on his chief’s part. ‘I think,’ he added weakly, and thereby sinking yet further in his own esteem, ‘there’s something in what you say.’
‘But does Mr Thurkle?’ As he asked this, Domberg glanced in modest challenge at his visitor.
‘At least I think that a certain element of realising on the collection is inevitable.’ Thurkle seemed disposed to turn rocky again. ‘No family solicitor, knowing how things stand financially, could responsibly advise otherwise. Nor should I in the least care to see a spectacular giving away of an immensely valuable property. At present Miss Montacute may be an independent young woman, laudably wishing to live on the fair return of her services to society. But her future is necessarily unknown.’ Thurkle paused to frown – this time perhaps upon glimpsing an unnecessary orotundity in the enunciation of so massive a platitude. ‘She may marry. She may marry some worthy but by no means affluent young man. Her present contacts, after all, are in the field of the social services. And one knows what sort of screw labourers in that vineyard command. She may bear children in considerable number—’
‘I’d put money on that,’ Chevalley said. ‘For she’s a monument of the flesh, with divine fecundity written all over her.’
‘No doubt.’ Thurkle had been put a little out of his stride by this – and not the less so because it had revealed in this rather disagreeable young man a flash of feeling one somehow felt to be surprising in him. ‘She may have children and grandchildren. And seeing them struggling in the common mill, she might regret having stripped herself of the means to lift them out of it.’
‘Very true,’ Domberg said gravely. ‘And you express it admirably.’
‘Thank you. And now, perhaps, we may turn to the technical matters upon which I am appealing to you.’ Thurkle paused for a moment to let this sink in. ‘Export licences, for example. It is clear to me that American and other overseas buyers …’
Briskly and cogently, Mr Thurkle put the questions he had in mind. Domberg’s answers were equally to the point; for one whose training (like Chevalley’s) had been as an art historian, he had a notable grip on the mundane side of his present trade. Mr Comberback himself, who had built up the business but was now a background figure drowsed in port, had scarcely been better at it in his heyday. Mr Thurkle departed feeling that these fellows, although they had shark written all over them, knew their job.
The two sharks were left confronting one another. Chevalley didn’t really feel extremely shark-like. But the whiff of the thing was in the air, and he supposed it was his business to play. Moreover, he had a plan.
‘It would be a tremendous sale,’ he said.
‘It would, indeed.’
‘And at a time when comparable affairs look like being thin on the ground?’
‘Perfectly true.’
‘His mind seemed to be inclining that way.’
‘Yes – but I doubt whether it’s his mind that’s in question. I suspect this ignorant girl of having a mind of her own.’
‘How unwarranted and deplorable.’
‘Don’t be flippant, Octavius. We must take this matter seriously – in the interest of the firm.’
‘I suppose so.’ As Domberg pretty well was the firm nowadays, this seemed to Chevalley another piece of humbug. But since his own future clearly depended on his becoming a partner one day, it
was necessary to be discreet. ‘I think,’ he said suddenly, ‘I’ll make our Gloria’s acquaintance.’
‘Make her acquaintance?’
‘If the firm will pay.’ Chevalley heard himself say this in a quite unnecessarily brazen manner. ‘Call it just a small speculative outlay.’
‘Getting introduced, and taking her out to dinner – that sort of thing?’
‘Nothing of the kind. Flying to Venice at the end of the week.’
‘I see.’ Domberg stared doubtfully at his employee. ‘I don’t quite know how you could—’
‘We know where she is. It’s a pensione on the Zattere. And there’s another one next door.’ Chevalley, who knew a lot about Venice, paused momentarily. ‘You don’t suppose she’s under the protection of a male travelling companion?’
‘No, I do not.’ Before this facetious expression, Domberg wondered what, if anything, Chevalley knew about such things. ‘She’s probably with a girl, or a couple of girls, of her own age. Perhaps from her hospital. They’ll be going about in quite a simple way. And I doubt whether you’ll cut much ice by breezing up in a confident fashion, claiming their acquaintance, and taking them for a blow-out at the Gritti Palace.’
‘I’m not a fool,’ Chevalley said shortly.
‘My dear Octavius, I am suggesting nothing of the kind.’ It was a point, Domberg thought, upon which his assistant might usefully develop a more unflawed confidence. ‘Only, you know, she may not be, either. A false move, and you might do more harm than good.’
‘Perfectly true. Of course I’d be in Venice in a professional way – studying Carpaccio, or a project of that kind. It’s something, after all, I’m rather entitled to do.’ Chevalley, like Domberg a long time ago, was rather prickly about having taken to commercial courses.
‘Abundantly,’ Domberg said. ‘In fact, we all hope you’ll be publishing another paper soon. You have your reputation to make. And we are all behind you.’
A Palace of Art Page 7
