‘Well, take tonight’s exhibition. That cost the foundation a quarter of a million for a start. Then there’s his expense account, which runs second only to Ed Koch’s.’
‘So how does he get away with it?’ asked Townsend, topping up her glass of wine. He hoped she hadn’t noticed he’d hardly touched his.
‘Because there’s no one to check on what he’s up to,’ said Angela. ‘The foundation is controlled by his mother, who holds the purse strings — until the AGM, at least.’
‘Mrs. Summers?’ prompted Townsend, determined to keep the flow going.
‘No less,’ said Angela.
‘Then why doesn’t she do something about it?’
‘How can she? The poor woman’s been bedridden for the past two years, and the one person who visits her — daily, I might add — is none other than her devoted only son.’
‘I’ve got a feeling that could change as soon as Armstrong takes over.’
‘Why do you say that? Do you know him?’
‘No,’ said Townsend quickly, trying to recover from his mistake. ‘But everything I’ve read about him would suggest that he doesn’t care much for hangers-on.’
‘I only hope that’s right,’ said Angela, pouring herself another glass of wine, ‘because that might give me a chance to show him what I could do for the foundation.’
‘Perhaps that’s why Summers never let Armstrong out of his sight this evening.’
‘He didn’t even introduce him to me,’ said Angela, ‘as I’m sure you noticed. Lloyd isn’t going to give up his lifestyle without a fight, that’s for sure.’ She stuck her fork into a slice of courgette. ‘And if he can get Armstrong to sign the lease on the new premises before the AGM, there will be no reason for him to do so. This wine really is exceptional,’ she said, putting down her empty glass. Townsend filled it again, and uncorked the second bottle.
‘Are you trying to get me drunk?’ she asked, laughing.
‘The thought hadn’t even crossed my mind,’ said Townsend. He rose from his place, removed two plates from the warming drawer and set them on the table. ‘Tell me,’ he said, ‘are you looking forward to moving?’
‘Moving?’ she said, as she put some Hollandaise sauce on the side of her plate.
‘To your new premises,’ said Townsend. ‘It sounds as if Lloyd has found the perfect location.’
‘Perfect?’ she repeated. ‘At $3 million it should be perfect. But perfect for whom?’ she said, picking up her knife and fork.
‘Still, as he explained,’ said Townsend, ‘you weren’t exactly left with a lot of choice.’
‘No, what you mean is that the board weren’t left with a lot of choice, because he told them there wasn’t an alternative.’
‘But the lease on the present building was coming to an end, wasn’t it?’ said Townsend.
‘What he didn’t tell you in his speech was that the owner would have been quite happy to renew the lease for another ten years with no rent increase,’ said Angela, picking up her wine glass. ‘I really shouldn’t have any more, but after that rubbish they serve at the gallery, this is a real treat.’
‘Then why didn’t he?’ asked Townsend.
‘Why didn’t he what?’
‘Renew the lease.’
‘Because he found another building that just happens to have a penthouse apartment thrown in,’ she said, putting down her wine glass and concentrating once again on her fish.
‘But he has every right to live on the premises,’ said Townsend. ‘He’s the director, after all.’
‘True, but that doesn’t give him the right to have a separate lease on the apartment, so that when he finally decides to retire they won’t be able to get rid of him without paying vast compensation. He’s got it all worked out.’ She was beginning to slur her words.
‘How do you know all this?’
‘We once shared a lover,’ she said rather sadly.
Townsend quickly refilled her glass. ‘So where is this building?’
‘Why are you so keen to know all about the new building?’ she said, sounding suspicious for the first time.
‘I’d like to look you up when I’m next in New York,’ he replied without missing a beat.
Angela put her knife and fork down on the plate, pushed her chair back and said, ‘You don’t have any brandy, do you? Just a small one, to warm me up before I face the blizzard on my way home.’
‘I’m sure I do,’ said Townsend. He walked over to the fridge, extracted four miniature brandies of different origins and poured them all into a large goblet.
‘Won’t you join me?’ she asked.
‘No, thank you. I haven’t quite finished my wine,’ he said, picking up his first glass, which was almost untouched. ‘And more important, I don’t have to face the blizzard. Tell me, how did you become deputy director?’
‘After five deputies had resigned in four years, I think I must have been the only person who applied.’
‘I’m surprised he bothers with a deputy.’
‘He has to.’ She took a sip of brandy. ‘It’s in the statutes.’
‘But you must be well qualified to have been offered the job,’ he said, quickly changing the subject.
‘I studied the history of art at Yale, and did my PhD on the Renaissance 1527–1590 at the Accademia in Venice.’
‘After Caravaggio, Luini and Michelangelo, that lot must be a bit of a come-down,’ said Townsend.
‘I wouldn’t mind even that, but I’ve been deputy director for nearly two years and haven’t been allowed to mount one show. If only he would give me the chance, I could put on an exhibition the foundation could be proud of, at about a tenth of the cost of this current show.’ She took another sip of brandy.
‘If you feel that strongly, I’m surprised you stick around,’ said Townsend.
‘I won’t for much longer,’ she said. ‘If I can’t convince Armstrong to change the gallery’s policy, I’m going to resign. But as Lloyd seems to be leading him around on a leash, I doubt if I’ll still be around when they open the next exhibition.’ She paused, and took a sip of brandy. ‘I haven’t even told my mother that,’ she admitted. ‘But then, sometimes it’s easier to talk to strangers.’ She took another sip. ‘You’re not in the art world, are you?’
‘No, as I said, I’m in transport and coalmines.’
‘So what do you actually do? Drive or dig?’ She stared across at him, drained her glass and tried again. ‘What I mean is...’
‘Yes?’ said Townsend.
‘To start with... what do you transport, and to where?’ She picked up her glass, paused for a moment, then slowly slid off her chair onto the carpet, mumbling something about fossil fuels in Renaissance Rome. Within a few seconds she was curled up on the floor, purring like a contented cat. Townsend picked her up gently and carried her through to the bedroom. He pulled back the top sheet, laid her down on the bed and covered her slight body with a blanket. He had to admire her for lasting so long; he doubted if she weighed more than eight stone.
He returned to the sitting room, closing the bedroom door quietly behind him, and set about looking for the statute book of the New York Star. Once he had found the thin red volume tucked in the bottom of his briefcase, he sat on the sofa and began to read slowly through the company statutes. He had reached page forty-seven before he nodded off.
Armstrong couldn’t think of a good excuse for turning Summers down when he suggested they should have dinner together after the exhibition. He was relieved that his lawyer hadn’t gone home. ‘You’ll join us, won’t you, Russell?’ he boomed at his attorney, making it sound more like a command than an invitation.
Armstrong had already expressed privately to Russell his thoughts on the exhibition, which he had just managed to conceal from Summers. He had been trying to avoid a meeting from the moment Summers announced he’d found the perfect site for the foundation to move into. But Russell had warned him that Summers was becoming impatient, and had even begun threatening, ‘Don’t forget, I still have an alternative.’