“I’d love nothing more,” replied Anna.
The painting was stored in a crowded vault in Building 3, Corridor 6. The markings on the metal shipping crate contained no clue as to the contents—a portrait of a woman, oil on canvas, painted by Picasso in his studio on the rue la Boétie in 1937. They all four gazed at the painting for a long moment in silence.
“Dimensions?” asked Lovegrove at last, as though it were the least of his concerns.
“Ninety-four by sixty-six centimeters,” replied Ricard.
Lovegrove looked at Anna. “What do you think?”
“Give him whatever he wants,” she said, and walked out.
* * *
The negotiations commenced late the following morning after Lovegrove had settled into his office in Cork Street. As promised, the owner of the Picasso—Ricard claimed not to know his identity, or even whether the owner was an individual or a consortium of investors—played hard to get.
“He wants the Modigliani, the Van Gogh, the Cézanne, and the Monet.”
“For a single Picasso? I’m sure he does,” replied Lovegrove. “But he’s not going to get them.”
“Perhaps you should put the offer to your client before you say no.”
“I won’t allow her to make a foolish deal, no matter how badly she wants that painting.”
Forty-eight hours passed before Lovegrove heard from Ricard again. It seemed the owner of the painting had refused to move off his opening position. The ball, said Ricard, was on Lovegrove’s side of the net.
“The Modigliani and the Van Gogh,” he said.
“There’s no way he’ll go for it.”
“Who won’t go for it, Monsieur Ricard?”
“The man at the other end of the line. Never mind who he is.”
“Put the offer to him. I’ll wait to hear from you.”
The Swiss dealer waited until five thirty the following afternoon to ring Lovegrove with the response. “The owner still wants all four paintings, but I think he might do it for the Modigliani, the Van Gogh, and the Cézanne.”
“Why wouldn’t he? It’s the deal of a lifetime.”
“Is that a yes, Monsieur Lovegrove?”
He indicated, grudgingly, that it was. By ten o’clock the next morning they had an agreement in principle.
“That leaves the Monet, the Renoir, and the Toulouse-Lautrec,” said Ricard. “How does Madame Rolfe wish to spend the balance of her so-called gift card?”
“The Pollock.”
“Done.”
Lovegrove immediately rang Gabriel with the news. “We have a deal, Allon.”
“Yes, I know.”
“How?”
Gabriel rang off without answering. Lovegrove, after having a celebratory martini with Sarah Bancroft at Wiltons, walked over
to Regent Street and bought himself a new phone.
23
Venice–Geneva
Ricard required seventy-two hours to draw up the sales agreement, hardly unusual for a transaction involving nearly a billion dollars’ worth of art. He suggested they meet again at the Freeport the following Thursday at 4:00 p.m. to sign the documents and exchange the eight paintings. Lovegrove insisted the deal was contingent on a final authentication of the Picasso and the Pollock, as both artists were among the world’s most frequently forged. Ricard saw nothing unusual in the request.
“When would your connoisseur like to see the paintings?”
“Thursday afternoon would be fine. He won’t require more than a few minutes to make a determination.”
“One of those, is he?”
“You might say that.”
Lovegrove’s connoisseur, whom he did not identify, passed those three days in Venice. He went to the church of Santa Maria degli Angeli in Murano each morning, avoiding a certain bar on the Fondamente Nove, and busied himself with the lesser paintings adorning the nave. On Tuesday he took delivery of an art carrying case—one large enough to transport a painting measuring 94 by 66 centimeters—and on Wednesday he accompanied his son to his math lesson at the university. That evening he sat at the kitchen counter drinking Brunello while his wife prepared dinner.
The BBC’s Six O’Clock News issued from the Bluetooth speaker. Prime Minister Hillary Edwards, facing a rebellion within her Cabinet, had announced her resignation as leader of the Conservative Party. She would remain a caretaker prime minister until a new leader had been chosen. The Party’s powerful 1922 Committee, hoping to avoid a protracted succession fight, had put in place rules that would limit the field of candidates to just three.
“Who are we rooting for?” asked Chiara.
“Someone who can stabilize the country and get the economy back on its feet.”
