The old man progressed slowly through customs. By the time he reached the arrivals hall, he’d also reached the end of the book.
His chauffeur wheeled him out of the airport to his waiting car, which was parked in the disabled zone. He opened the back door for his master, who got out of his wheelchair, walked across to the car and climbed into the back seat. Lazarus would have been proud of him.
CHAPTER 16
‘WHERE ARE THE TWINS?’ ASKED Sir Julian, before Beth and William had even hung up their coats.
‘They’re spending the day with my parents,’ said Beth, as they walked through to the drawing room.
‘Lucky Arthur and Joanna,’ said Marjorie.
‘Strictly entre nous,’ said Sir Julian, ‘but when Artemisia last visited us she told me in confidence that I was her favourite grandfather.’
Beth smiled. ‘The little minx repeated those exact words to my father when I dropped them off in Ewell this morning.’
‘I shall have to rewrite my will in favour of Peter,’ said Sir Julian, with an exaggerated sigh.
‘Then my father will rewrite his in favour of Artemisia,’ said Beth.
‘As William never talks about his work,’ said Marjorie, handing Beth a cup of coffee, ‘and Julian talks of little else, I want to hear what your latest project is.’
‘The museum’s preparing a Frans Hals exhibition for next autumn.’
‘I’ve often wondered what goes on behind the scenes before a gallery can open a major exhibition like that.’
‘It’s a long and tortuous process,’ said Beth, ‘that involves patience, resolve, bribery and corruption.’
Sir Julian suddenly looked interested.
‘How many pictures will be on display?’
‘If I’m lucky, sixty or seventy, including, we hope, The Laughing Cavalier.’
‘Where’s that at the moment?’ asked Sir Julian.
‘It’s part of the Wallace Collection,’ said William, ‘so at least he wouldn’t have far to travel.’
‘One sometimes forgets,’ said Sir Julian, ‘that my son read Art History at an up-and-coming university and, had he not joined the police force, he might well have ended up as one of Beth’s assistants by now.’
‘That successful?’ mocked William.
‘Ignore the children, Beth,’ said Marjorie. ‘You were telling us about the preparations for an important exhibition.’
‘Bribery and corruption,’ Sir Julian reminded her.
‘Most of Hals’ works are in public galleries around the world. The best examples are to be found at the Rijks in Amsterdam, although the Met and the Hermitage have magnificent self-portraits, and there’s another fine example, The Merry Lute Player, at the Mansion House in the City of London. But if you want to borrow a major work from another gallery, they’ll expect a quid pro quo at some time in the future.’
‘For example?’ said Sir Julian, as he sipped his coffee,
‘The Phillips Collection in Washington DC is planning to mount a Rubens exhibition in two years’ time, and they’ve already asked us if we’d loan them Descent from the Cross for three months. They have three Hals, and I’m after two of them.’
‘Two Hals for a Rubens seems a fair exchange,’ said Sir Julian.
‘How many of Hals’ pictures are in private hands?’ asked Marjorie.
‘Only eleven that we’ve been able to trace. When an important work by a major artist like Hals comes up for sale, quite often it’s purchased by a national gallery, which guarantees it will never come on the market again.’
‘Which only puts up the value of those works still held in private hands,’ threw in William. ‘Even more so if they’re loaned out for a major exhibition.’
‘I’ve approached all eleven private owners,’ continued Beth, ‘and asked if they’d be willing to support the exhibition. Three have agreed, but under the most stringent conditions, four have turned me down, and the other four didn’t even bother to reply.’
‘Why wouldn’t they be willing to loan their pictures?’ asked Marjorie, ‘when, as William says, it would only add value to the works.’
‘The Mellons and Rothschilds of this world are well aware of that and are always supportive of major exhibitions. The rejections often come from owners who are concerned their artworks might be damaged in transit. That’s why I’m having so much trouble convincing Mr Morita to part with his magnificent Hals self-portrait that hangs in the Sony collection in Tokyo.’