The Flanders Panel

Menchu’s perfume and the sound of her high heels preceded them into an office with walls of fine wood, a huge mahogany table, and ultramodern lamps and chairs, where Paco Montegrifo advanced to kiss the hand of each of them, smiling the trademark smile that displayed his perfect teeth, a flash of white against his bronzed skin. They sat in armchairs offering a splendid view of the valuable Vlaminck that dominated the room; Montegrifo sat beneath the painting itself, on the other side of the table, with the modest air of someone who deeply regretted being unable to provide them with a better view, a Rembrandt, perhaps. At least that could have been the implication behind the intense look he gave Julia, once he’d cast an indifferent eye over Menchu’s ostentatiously crossed legs. Or perhaps a Leonardo.

He lost no time in getting down to business once his secretary had served coffee in china cups from the East India Company, coffee that Menchu sweetened with saccharin. Julia took hers black, bitter and very hot and drank it in small sips. By the time she’d lit a cigarette -Montegrifo leaning impotently across the vast table with his gold lighter – he’d already outlined the situation. And Julia had to admit that he could certainly not be accused of beating about the bush.

At first sight, the situation seemed crystal-clear: Claymore’s regretted that they were unable to accept Menchu’s conditions as regards equal shares in the profits from the Van Huys. Menchu should know that the owner of the painting, Don – Montegrifo calmly consulted his notes – Manuel Belmonte, with the agreement of his niece and her husband, had decided to cancel the agreement made with Dona Menchu Roch and transfer all rights in the Van Huys to Claymore and Co. All of this, he added, was set out in a document, authenticated by a notary public. Montegrifo gave Menchu a look of deep regret, accompanied by a worldly sigh.

“Do you mean to say,” said a shocked Menchu, her cup rattling in its saucer, “that you’re threatening to take the painting away from me?”

Montegrifo looked at his gold cuff links as if it were they who had uttered some unfortunate remark and tugged fastidiously at his starched cuffs.

“I’m afraid we already have,” he said in the contrite tone of someone regretting having to pass on to a widow the bills left by her dead husband. “However, your original percentage of the profits on the auction price remains the same; minus expenses of course. Claymore’s does not wish to deprive you of anything, only to avoid the abusive conditions that you, my dear lady, tried to impose.” He slowly took out his silver cigarette case and placed it on the table. “Claymore’s simply sees no reason for an increase in your percentage. And that’s that.”

“No reason?” Menchu glanced towards Julia in despair, expecting indignant exclamations of solidarity. “The reason, Montegrifo, is that, thanks to research carried out by us, the painting will vastly increase in price. Isn’t that reason enough?”

Montegrifo looked at Julia, making it silently and courteously plain that he did not for a minute include her in this sordid bit of horse-trading. Turning back to Menchu, his eyes hardened.

“If the research that the two of you have carried out” – that “two of you” made it absolutely clear what he thought of Menchu’s talent for research – “increases the price of the Van Huys, it will automatically increase the percentage of the profits you agreed to with Claymore’s.” He allowed himself an affable smile before turning away from Menchu again and looking at Julia. “As for you, the new situation in no way affects your interests. Quite the contrary. Claymore’s,” he said, and the smile he gave her left no doubt as to exactly who in Claymore’s, “considers your handling of the affair to have been exemplary. So we’d like you to continue your restoration work on the picture. You need have no worries at all about the financial aspect.”

“And may one know,” Menchu said, and her lower lip, as well as the hand holding the coffee cup, was trembling now, “how it is that you’re so well informed about the painting? Because Julia may be a little naive, but I can’t imagine that she’d pour out her life story to you over a candlelit supper. Or did she?”

That was a low blow, and Julia opened her mouth to protest. Montegrifo, however, calmed her with a gesture.