The Flanders Panel

“Look, Senora Roch, when I took the liberty of putting some proposals of a professional nature your friend a few days ago, she chose the elegant option of simply saying that she would think about it. The details about the state of the painting, the hidden inscription and so on, were kindly supplied to us by the niece of the owner. A charming man, by the way, Don Manuel. And I must say that he was most reluctant to withdraw responsibility for the Van Huys from you. A loyal man, it would seem, for he also demanded, indeed he insisted, that no one but Julia should touch the painting until the restoration work was done. In all these negotiations my alliance, my tactical alliance, if you like, with Don Manuel’s niece has proved very useful. As for Senor Lapena, her husband, he raised no further objections once I’d mentioned the possibility of an advance.”

“Another Judas,” said Menchu, almost spitting the words out.

“I suppose,” he said, shrugging, “you could call him that. Although other names also spring to mind.”

“I’ve got a signed document too, you know,” protested Menchu.

T know. But it’s an unauthenticated agreement, whereas mine was made in the presence of a notary public, with the niece and her husband as witnesses and all kinds of guarantees that include a deposit as security on our part. If I may use an expression Alfonso Lapena used as he signed our agreement, it’s a whole new ball game, my dear lady.“

Menchu leaned forwards in a way that made Julia fear that the cup of coffee her friend had in her hand might just end up all over Montegrifo’s immaculate shirt front, but she merely placed it on the table. She was bursting with indignation, and, despite all the careful make-up, her anger added years to her face. When she moved, her skirt rode up still further, and Julia, embarrassed, regretted being there with all her heart.

“And what will Claymore’s do,” asked Menchu in a surly tone, “if I decide to take the painting to another auctioneer?”

Montegrifo was contemplating the smoke spiralling from his cigarette.

“Frankly,” he said, and he seemed to give the matter serious thought, “I’d advise you not to complicate matters. It would be illegal.”

“I could also sue the lot of you and tie you up in a court case that would drag on for months, putting a stop to your auctioning the painting. Have you considered that?”

“Of course I have. But you’d come off worst.” Montegrifo smiled politely. “As you can imagine, Claymore’s has very good lawyers at its disposal. You risk losing everything. And that would be a great pity.”

Menchu gave a tug at her skirt as she stood up.

“All I have to say to you” – and her voice cracked, overwhelmed by anger – “is that you’re the biggest son of a bitch I’ve ever set eyes on.”

Montegrifo and Julia also stood up, she upset, he in complete control of himself.

“I can’t tell you how much I regret this scene,” he said calmly to Julia. “I really do.”

“So do I.” Julia looked at Menchu, who was at that moment throwing her bag over her shoulder with the determined gesture of someone slinging on a rifle. “Couldn’t we all be just a bit more reasonable?”

Menchu glared at her.

“You can be reasonable, if you like, seeing you’re so taken with this swindler, but I’m getting out of this den of thieves.”

Her high heels click-clacked fast and furiously away. Julia remained where she was, not knowing whether or not to follow her.

“A woman of character,” Montegrifo said.

Julia turned towards him, still uncertain.

“She’s just invested too many hopes in the painting. Surely you can understand that.”

“Oh, I do understand.” He gave a conciliatory smile. “But I can’t allow her to blackmail me.”

“But you plotted behind her back, conspired with the niece and her husband. I call that playing dirty.”

Montegrifo’s smile grew broader. That’s life, he seemed to be saying. He looked at the door through which Menchu had departed.

“What do you think she’ll do now?”

Julia shook her head.

“Nothing. She knows she’s lost the battle.”

“Ambition, Julia, is a perfectly legitimate feeling,” Montegrifo said after a moment. “But where ambition’s concerned, the only sin is failure. Triumph automatically presupposes virtue.” He smiled again, this time into space. “Senora Roch tried to get involved in something that was too big for her… Let’s say” – he blew a smoke ring and let it float up to the ceiling – “that she just wasn’t big enough for her ambitions.” His brown eyes had grown hard, and Julia realised that behind his rigorous mask of politeness, Montegrifo was a dangerous adversary. “I trust she will cause us no further problems,” he continued, “because that would be a sin that would have to be punished. Do you understand? Now, if you don’t mind, let’s talk about our painting.”