Fanshawe nodded again.
‘Two thousand pounds. Any advance on . . . two thousand five hundred . . . and three thousand . . .’
Fanshawe bid against the fictional rival to clinch the purchase at £6,000. As a known gallery owner his credit was good, and he took the picture with him. Three days later, much faster than usual, Mr Trumpington Gore received a cheque for just over £5,000, the hammer price minus commission and VAT. He was delighted. At the end of the month Benny Evans came back to London, utterly relieved to be free of the bleak fastness of a freezing castle in Caithness in January. He never mentioned the grubby painting to Seb Mortlake and presumed from Mortlake’s silence that his chief had disagreed with him and that silence implied rebuke.
APRIL
Quite early in the month the sensation hit the art world. The window of the Fanshawe Gallery was dressed entirely in black velvet. Alone behind the glass, on a small easel, delicately but brightly lit by two spotlamps and guarded night and day by two big and muscled Group Four security guards, was a small painting. It had lost its chipped gilt frame.
The painting, tempera on poplar board, was much as the artist would have finished it. The colours glowed as fresh as when they were applied over 500 years before.
The Virgi
n Mary sat, gazing upwards, entranced, as the Archangel Gabriel brought her the Annunciation that she would soon bear in her womb the Son of God. Ten days earlier it had been authenticated without hesitation by Professor Guido Colenso, by far and away the world’s leading authority on the Siena School, and no-one would ever gainsay a judgement by Colenso.
The small notice below the painting simply said: SASSETTA 1400–1450. Stefano di Giovanni di Consolo, known as Sassetta, was one of the first of the giants of the early Italian Renaissance. He founded the Siena School, and influenced two generations of Sienese and Florentine Masters who came after him.
Though his surviving works are few in number and comprise mainly panels from much larger altarpieces, he is valued beyond diamonds. At a stroke the Fanshawe Gallery became a world player, attributed with discovering the first single-work Annunciation painted by the Master.
Ten days earlier Reggie Fanshawe had clinched a sale by private treaty for over £2,000,000. The divvy-up was done quietly in Zurich and the personal financial position of each man was transformed.
The art world was stunned by the discovery. So was Benny Evans. He went back through the catalogue of the 24 January sale but there was no trace. He asked what had happened and was told about the last-minute addition. The atmosphere inside the House of Darcy was poisonous and he intercepted a lot of accusing stares. Word gets around.
‘You should have brought it to me,’ hissed a humiliated Sebastian Mortlake. ‘What letter? There was no letter. Don’t give me that. I’ve seen your report and your valuation to the vice-chairman.’
‘Then you must have seen my reference to Professor Colenso.’
‘Colenso? Don’t mention Colenso to me. That shit Fanshawe hit upon the idea of Colenso. Look, laddie, you missed it. It was evidently there. Fanshawe spotted it, but you missed it.’
Upstairs an emergency board meeting was taking place. The acidulous Duke of Gateshead was in the chair but Peregrine Slade was in the dock. Eight other directors sat around the table pointedly studying their fingertips. No-one was in the slightest doubt that not only had the mighty House of Darcy lost about a quarter of a million in commission, but it had had in its hands a real Sassetta and had let it go to a sharper pair of eyes for £6,000.
‘I run this ship, and the responsibility is mine,’ said Peregrine Slade quietly.
‘I think we all know that, Perry. Before we reach any conclusions, would you be kind enough to tell us exactly how this happened?’
Slade took a deep breath. He knew he was speaking for his professional life. A scapegoat would be needed. He did not intend that it should be he. But he also knew that to be shrill or to whinge would have the worst possible effect.
‘I am sure you all know that we offer the public a free valuation service. Always have. A tradition of the House of Darcy. Some agree with this, others not. Whatever one’s view the truth still is that it is immensely time-consuming.
‘Occasionally a real treasure is indeed brought in by a member of the public, identified, authenticated and sold for a large sum, with of course a substantial fee for us. But the vast majority of the stuff brought in off the street is junk.
‘The sheer burden of work, and especially in the heavy pre-Christmas period, means that what appears to be the worst of the junk has to be seen by junior valuers, lacking the experience of thirty or more years in the business. That is what happened here.
‘The painting in question was handed in by a complete nonentity. He had no idea what it was or he would never have brought it in. It was in a simply appalling state, so dirty the painting beneath the grime was almost invisible. And it was seen by a very junior valuer. Here is his report.’
He distributed copies of the valuation at £6,000 to £8,000 that he had himself prepared, pecking away at the computer keys in the dead of night. The nine board members read it glumly.
‘As you will see Mr Benny Evans thought it might be Florentine, circa 1550, by an unknown artist and of modest value. Alas, he was wrong. It was Sienese, circa 1450 and by a Master. Under all that grime he just did not spot it. That said, his examination was clearly rather cursory, even slipshod. However, it is I who now offer my position here to the board.’
There were two who pointedly stared at the ceiling but six shook their heads.
‘Not accepted, Perry. As for the slipshod young man, perhaps we should leave him to you.’
Peregrine Slade summoned Benny Evans to his office that afternoon. He did not offer the young man a seat. His tone was contemptuous.
‘I don’t have to explain to you the nature or extent of the disaster that this affair has visited on the House of Darcy. The papers have had a field day. They have said it all.’
‘But I don’t understand,’ protested Benny Evans. ‘You must have got my report. I put it under your door. All that about my suspicion it might really be a Sassetta. About having it cleaned and restored. About consulting Professor Colenso. It was all there.’