The Modigliani Scandal Part 17

Good morning, Monsieur Renalle.

Good morning to you. I am sorry I could not write to you in advance, Mr. de Lincourt, but my company is representing the estate of a collector and there is a little urgency. Mitch p.r.o.nounced t with his tongue on the roof of his mouth, made c at the back of his throat, and softened the g in "urgency."

What can I do to help you? the dealer asked politely.

I have a picture which ought to interest you. Its a rather early van Gogh, ent.i.tled The Gravedigger, The Gravedigger, seventy-five centimeters by ninety-six. Its rather fine." seventy-five centimeters by ninety-six. Its rather fine."

Splendid. When can we have a look at it?

I am in London now, at the Hilton. Perhaps my a.s.sistant could pay you a visit this afternoon or tomorrow morning?

"This afternoon. Shall we say two-thirty?"

"Bien-very good. I have your address.

Have you a figure in mind, Monsieur Renalle?

We price the work at about ninety thousand pounds.

Well, we can discuss that later.

Certainly. My a.s.sistant is empowered to come to an agreement.

I look forward to two-thirty, then.

Goodbye, Mr. de Lincourt."

Mitch replaced the receiver and sighed heavily.

Anne said: G.o.d, youre sweating.

He wiped his forehead with his sleeve. I didnt think Id get to the end of it. That b.l.o.o.d.y accent-I wish Id practiced more.

You were marvelous. I wonder what the slimy Mr. de Lincourt is thinking right now?

Mitch lit a cigarette. I know. Hes delighted to be dealing with a provincial French agent who doesnt know the price of a van Gogh.

"The line about representing the estate of a dead collector is great. That makes it plausible that a minor dealer in Nancy should be arranging the sale.

And h.e.l.l be in a hurry to close the deal in case one of his rivals hears about the sucker and gets in first." Mitch smiled grimly. Okay, lets do the next on the list."

Anne picked up the phone and began to dial.

The taxi stopped outside the plate-gla.s.s windows of Crowforths in Piccadilly. Anne paid the driver while Mitch lugged the canvas, in its heavy leather case, into the art dealer's splendid premises.

A broad, open staircase of Scandinavian pine ran up from the ground-floor showroom to the offices above. Anne led the way up, and knocked on a door.

Ramsey Crowforth turned out to be a wiry, white-haired Glaswegian of about sixty. He peered at Anne and Mitch over his spectacles as he shook hands and offered Anne a seat. Mitch stayed standing, the portfolio clutched in his arms.

His room was paneled in the same pine as the staircase, and his carpet was an orange-brown mixture. He stood in front of his desk, his weight on one foot, with one arm dangling at his side and the other on his hip, pushing his jacket back to reveal Lurex suspenders. He was an authority on the German Expressionists, but he had awful taste, Anne thought.

So youre Mademoiselle Renalle," he said in his high-pitched Scots accent. And the Monsieur Renalle I spoke to this morning was ...

My father, Anne supplied, avoiding Mitchs eyes.

Right. Lets see what youve got.

Anne gestured to Mitch. He took the painting out of the case and stood it on a chair. Crowforth folded his arms and gazed at it.

An early work, he said softly, speaking as much to himself as the others. Before Munchs psychoses really took hold. Fairly typical ..." He turned away from the picture. Would you like a gla.s.s of sherry? Anne nodded. And your er ... a.s.sistant? Mitch declined, with a shake of his head.

As he poured, he asked: I gather youre acting for the estate of a collector, is that right?

Yes. Anne realized that he was making small talk, to let the impact of the painting sink in before he made a decision. His name was Roger Dubois-a businessman. His company made agricultural machinery. His collection was small, but very well-chosen.

Obviously. Crowforth handed her a gla.s.s and leaned back against his desk, studying the picture again. "This isnt quite my period, you know. I specialize in Expressionists in general, rather than Munch in particular: and his early work isnt Expressionist, obviously. He gestured toward the canvas with his gla.s.s. I like this, but I would want another opinion on it.

Anne felt a spasm of tension between her shoulders, and tried to control the blush which began at her throat. "I would be happy to leave it with you overnight, if you wish, she said. However, there is a provenance. She opened her briefcase and took out a folder containing the doc.u.ment she had forged back in the studio. It had Meunier's letterhead and stamp. She handed it to Crowforth.

Oh! he exclaimed. He studied the certificate. "This puts a different complexion on matters, of course. I can make you an immediate offer. He studied the picture again for a long moment. What was the figure you mentioned this morning?

Anne controlled her elation. Thirty thousand.

Crowforth smiled, and she wondered whether he, too, was controlling his elation. "I think we can meet that sum.

To Annes astonishment, he took a checkbook from his desk drawer and began to write. Just like that! she thought. Aloud she said: Would you make it out to Hollows and c.o.x, our London representatives. Crowforth looked mildly surprised, so she added: "They are simply an accounting firm, who arrange the transfer of funds to France. That satisfied him. He tore out the check and handed it to her.

Are you in London long? he inquired politely.

"Just a few days. Anne was itching to get away now, but she did not want to arouse suspicion. She had to persist with the small talk for the sake of appearances.

"Then I hope to see you next time you come. Crowforth held out his hand.

They left the office and walked down the stairs, Mitch carrying the empty case. Anne whispered excitedly: He didnt recognize me!

Not surprising. Hes only ever seen you from a distance. Besides, then you were the dowdy, mouselike wife of a flamboyant painter. Now youre a vivacious French blonde.

They caught a taxi just outside, and directed the driver to the Hilton. Anne sat back in the seat and looked at the check from Crowforth.

Oh my G.o.d, we did it, she said quietly. Then she began to sob.

Lets clear out of here as quickly as we can, said Mitch briskly.

It was one oclock on the day after they had moved into the Hilton. The last forged masterpiece had just been delivered to a gallery in Chelsea, and there were ten checks in Annes genuine lizard-skin handbag.

They packed their small suitcases and cleared the room of the pens, papers, and personal possessions they had left around. Mitch took a towel from the bathroom and wiped the telephones and the shiny surfaces of the furniture.

The rest doesnt matter," he said. The odd single print on a wall or a window will be no use at all to the police. He threw the towel into the sink. Besides, there will be so many other prints everywhere by the time they cotton on, it will be a lifes work sorting them all out.

Five minutes later they checked out. Mitch paid the bill with a check on the bank where he had opened the account in the names of Hollows and c.o.x.

They took a taxi to Harrods. Inside the store they separated. Anne found the ladies and entered a cubicle. She put her case down on the toilet, opened it, and took out a raincoat and souwester-style hat. When she had them on she closed the case and left the cubicle.

She looked at herself in the mirror. The coat covered her expensive clothes, and the inelegant hat hid her dyed-blonde hair. A wave of relief swept over her as she realized it no longer mattered whether anyone recognized her.

That possibility had kept her on edge right throughout the operation. She did not know any of the people in that stratum of the art world: Peter knew them, of course, but she had always kept out of his relationships with them. She had gone to the odd gallery party, where n.o.body had bothered to speak to her. Still, her face-her normal face-might have been vaguely familiar to someone.

She sighed, and began to clean off her makeup with a tissue. For a day and a half she had been a glamorous woman of the world. Heads had turned as she crossed the street. Middle-aged men had become slightly undignified in her presence, flattering her and opening doors for her. Women had gazed enviously at her clothes.

Now she was back to being-what had Mitch called it? The dowdy, mouselike wife of a flamboyant painter.

She would never be quite the same, she felt. In the past she had never been much interested in clothes, makeup and perfume. She had thought of herself as plain, and she had been content to be a wife and a mother. Now she had tried the high life. She had been a successful, beautiful villainess-and something hidden, from the depths of her personality, had responded to the role. The ghost had escaped from its prison in her heart, and now it would never go back.

She wondered how Peter would react to it.

She dropped the lipstick-stained tissue in a waste-paper basket and left the powder room. She left the store by a side entrance. The van was waiting at the curb, with Peter at the wheel. Mitch was already in the back.

Anne climbed into the pa.s.senger seat and kissed Peter.

h.e.l.lo, darling, he said. He started the engine and pulled away from the curb.

His face was already shadowed with bristles: in a week he would have a respectable beard, she knew. His hair fell around his face and down to his shoulders again-the way she liked it.

She closed her eyes and slumped in her seat as they crawled home. The release of tension was a physical pleasure.

Peter pulled up outside a large, detached house in Balham. He went to the door and knocked. A woman with a baby opened it. Peter took the baby and walked back down the path, past the sign which said Greenhill Day Nursery," and jumped into the van. He plunked Vibeke on Annes lap.

She hugged the baby tight. Darling, did you miss Mummy last night?

"Allo," said Vibeke.

Peter said: We had a good time, didnt we, Vibeke? Porridge for tea and cake for breakfast.

Anne felt the pressure of tears, and fought them back.

When they arrived home, Peter took a bottle of champagne from the fridge and announced a celebration. They sat around in the studio drinking the sparkling wine, giggling as they recalled the worrying moments of the escapade.

Mitch began to fill out a bank deposit slip for the checks. When he had added up the total he said: Five hundred and forty-one thousand pounds, my friends.

The words seemed to drain Annes elation. Now she felt tired. She stood up. Im going to dye my hair mouse-colored again, she said. See you later.

Mitch also stood up. Ill go to the bank before they close. The sooner we get these checks in, the better."

What about the portfolios? Peter asked. Should we get rid of those?

Throw them in the ca.n.a.l tonight, Mitch replied. He went downstairs, took off his polo-necked sweater, and put on a shirt, tie, and jacket.

Peter came down. Are you taking the van?

No. Just in case there are small boys taking car numbers, Ill go on the Tube. He opened the front door. See you.

It took him just forty minutes to get to the bank in the City. The total on the deposit slip did not even raise the cashiers eyebrows. He checked the figures, stamped the check stub, and handed the book back to Mitch.

Id like a word with the manager, if I may, Mitch said.

The cashier went away for a couple of minutes. When he came back he unlocked the door and beckoned Mitch. Its that easy to get behind the bullet-proof screen, Mitch thought. He grinned as he realized he was beginning to think like a criminal. He had once spent three hours arguing with a group of Marxists that crooks were the most militant section of the working cla.s.s.

The bank manager was short, round-faced and genial. He had a slip of paper in front of him with a name and a row of figures on it. Im glad youre making use of our facilities, Mr. Hollows, he said to Mitch. I see youve deposited over half a million.

A business operation that went right, said Mitch. "Large sums are involved in the art world these days.

You and Mr. c.o.x are university teachers, if I remember aright.

"Yes. We decided to use our expertise in the market, and as you can see, it went rather well.

Splendid. Well now, is there something else we can do for you?

Yes. As these checks are cleared, I would like you to arrange the purchase of negotiable securities.

"Certainly. There is a fee of course.

Of course. Spend five hundred thousand pounds on the securities and leave the rest in the account to cover the fee and any small checks my partner and I have drawn.

The manager scribbled on the sheet of paper.

One other thing, Mitch continued. I would like to open a safe deposit box.

Surely. Would you like to see our vault?

Christ, they make it easy for robbers, Mitch thought. "No, that wont be necessary. But if I could take the key with me now.

The manager picked up the phone on his desk and spoke into it. Mitch stared out of the window.

Its on its way, said the manager.

Good. When you have completed the purchase of securities, put them in the safe deposit.

A young man came in and handed the manager a key. The manager gave it to Mitch. Mitch stood up and shook hands.

"Thank you for your help.

My pleasure, Mr. Hollows.