Chapter 3 January
"My dear Perry, I am truly honored and curious. Why should such a sumptuous lunch be arranged, and so early after New Years? I am not complaining."
They were at Peregrine Slade's club in St. James's Street.It's the fourth of January, and self-indulgent Britons have just returned to work from the New Year's holidays.Slade was the host, with guest Reggie Fanshawe, proprietor of the Fanshawe Gallery on Ponte Street.At this moment, Fanshawe was looking approvingly at the Dragon Boat wine that Slade ordered at the table.
Slade smiled. He shook his head to indicate that the people at the next table were too close to talk about it now.Fanshawe saw what he meant.
"That intrigues me all the more. Now I have to wait, curb my curiosity, until it's time for coffee."
The two of them went upstairs to the study for coffee.Slade explained succinctly that six weeks ago a stranger had come down the street with an old oil painting that he thought might be of some value, indescribably dirty.As it happens, because of the heavy workload at the Masters Appraisal Office, only one person has reviewed the painting, a young but apparently brilliant assistant appraiser.
He shoved Ivens' appraisal report off the table to the gallery owner.Fanshaw began to read, putting down his reserve Bordeaux for fear of spilling it, and said, "My God." Lest God did not hear, he repeated.
"Obviously you'll have to follow his advice."
"Not necessarily," said Slade.He carefully explained his intentions.Fanshawe's coffee was cold, and he hadn't taken a sip of his wine.
"Apparently there was another letter of the same kind. What would Sebe Mortlake say?"
"The letter has been burned. Sebe went to the country the day before."
"There are still records in the computer."
"Not anymore. I had a computer expert in yesterday. That part of the database has been deleted."
"Where is that painting now?"
"In my office, it has been safely kept."
"Tell me, when is your next master painting auction scheduled?"
"Number twenty-four."
"This young man, he'll notice, he'll protest Sebe Mortlake. Sebe may listen to him."
"Not if he stays in the north of Scotland. I have a friend there and I can go and make arrangements."
"But if the painting is not rejected and returned to its owner, there should be an appraisal report."
"some."
Slade took another piece of paper from his pocket and handed it to Fanshawe.The gallerist began to read the falsified report concerning a work of fine art, probably early in the Florentine school, by unknown artist, title and provenance, valued at £6,000 to £8,000.Fanshawe leaned back in his chair and raised his glass in congratulation.He commented: "What I taught you in school has worked, Perry. You've got your hands in troubled waters. Very well, let's do it your way."
Two days later, Trupington Gore received a letter.Letterhead on Darcy Building.There is no signature below, but it is stamped with the seal of the painting master's appraisal office.The letter asked him to sign an attached form authorizing the auction house to sell his painting, estimated at £6,000 to £8,000.Inside was a stamped return envelope.Unbeknownst to him, the address on the return envelope would allow the letter to arrive on Peregrine Slade's desk intact.
He was ecstatic.Even £6,000 would last him another six months, during which time he would surely be able to find acting work.Summer is perfect for filming on location.He signed the authorization form and mailed the reply.
On the twentieth of that month, Peregrine Slade made a phone call to the head of the Master Painter's Office.
"Saibei, I have something embarrassing, I wonder if you can help me."
"Oh, I'll help if I can, Perry. What's the matter?"
"I have a very good old friend in Scotland. He's kind of lost and apparently forgot that the insurance on his collection has expired. Renewal starts at the end of the month, but the guys at the insurance company insist on business. A new insurance policy will not be issued until the valuation is completed.”
Valuation of large or small art collections for insurance purposes is a service commonly provided by all of London's leading art institutions.Such services can certainly earn a handsome income.But people usually make appointments very early on.
"It's not going to work, Perry. We've got a big auction ourselves in four days, and we've got a lot of work going on here right now. Can we leave it for later?"
"I'm afraid not. Well, how about that young lad you recruited two years ago?"
"Benny? What's the matter with him?"
"Does he have enough experience to deal with it? It's not a huge collection. It's mostly Jacobean. He can do the appraisal for us, just for insurance."
"OK, all right."
On the 22nd, Benny Evans took the night train and set off for Caithness in northern Scotland.He is going for a week.
Slade was sure to attend the Darcy Building auction on the 24th.That morning, he reminded Mortlake, there was an additional work not included in the catalogue, which had been added later.Mortlake was confused.
"What extra work?"
"A poor little painting, probably of the Florentine school. An obscure canvas handled by your young colleague the appraiser Ivans. He examined it when you left here for Christmas. "
"He never mentioned it to me. I thought the paintings were all returned to their owners."
"It's all my fault. I forgot, and he must have. I happened to be here on some errands on Christmas Eve, and I saw him in the hallway. Asked what he was doing, and he said you wanted him to review the last four More than a dozen paintings."
"Yes, I do," said Mortlake.
"Well, there was a painting that he thought might be worth auctioning off. I took it from him and looked at it. I wasn't very interested, so I left it in my office and forgot about it later."
He showed Mortlake the simple estimate that he claimed to be from Benny Ivens, signed of course, and had it read by the head of the Master Paintings Division before he took it back.
"But have we got the authorization from the owner of the painting?"
"Well, yes. I made a phone call to the owner of the painting when I saw the damn thing was still in my office yesterday. He was very happy and faxed the release last night."
Sebe Mortlake had many things to do that morning, and they were far more important than an anonymous, unproven, poor painting worth about as much as his base salary of five thousand pounds.He was looking at a painting, a rare Michele di Rudolph, and a painting by Sano di Pietro.He grunted his assent, and hurried back to the auction room to oversee the preparations there.At ten o'clock in the morning Peregrine Slade stepped onto the stage and took the gavel.The auction has started.
He likes to attend the most important auctions.Sitting on the stage, presiding over the venue, controlling the situation, nodding frequently to famous businessmen, bidders, and old friends from the London fine art circle, and quietly identifying people in the venue that no one had the opportunity to see Agent of my own billionaire.
Today's auction will be a great success.The prices are high.A Veronese painting landed in a prestigious American gallery for more than double its estimate.When the offer for a Michel di Rudolph quadrupled its estimate, the crowd gasped.
During the last twenty minutes of the auction, he noticed that Reggie Fanshawe had slipped into a side seat in the back they had previously negotiated.As the last work of art in the catalog was hammered away, Slade announced to the now-empty hall: "There is one additional work of art that was not included in the catalog. It was added after the catalog went to press."
A porter walked silently forward to place on an easel a dirty oil painting in a chipped gilt frame.Several people craned their necks, trying to see through the dirt covering the pattern to see what it contained.
"It's a bit of a mystery. Probably of the Florentine school, done in tempera on wood, with some sort of devotional scene. Artist unknown. Would anyone offer a thousand pounds?"
There was silence in the venue.Fanshawe shrugged and nodded.
"A thousand pounds has been agreed. Any more?"
Slade scanned the hall and spotted a signal at the far end where Fanshawe sat.Others didn't see the signal because it didn't exist, but since a blink of an eye constituted a bid, no one was surprised.
"There's a thousand-five thousand overtaken by you, sir, the man on the left."
Fanshawe nodded again.
"Two thousand pounds. There's more than... two thousand five hundred... three thousand..."
Fanshawe bid on the imaginary opponent and sealed the deal for £6,000.He was in good standing as a well-known gallerist, so he walked away with the painting.Three days later - with extraordinary promptness - Mr Trupington Gore received a check for just over £5,000, the auction hammer price less commission and VAT.He is very happy.At the end of the month, Benny Ivans returned to London, very relieved to be able to leave Caithness in the harsh January winter, and the desolate and snow-covered castle.He never mentioned the dirty painting to Sebe Mortlake, thinking that Mortlake's silence was a sign of disapproval and a hint of reprimand.
Notes:
Notes: