'. . . my dear fella, indeed, must be years. Good heavens, yes. All getting old, though, aren't we, eh?'
The art historian, almost eighty and bent with rheumatism, sat crouched in his chair watching warily.
'You'll have a whisky, won't you? Yes, good. No, you'd prefer cognac, would you?' He felt the eyes coldly upon him from their depths in the network of wrinkled skin. 'Yes, yes, I could cope with a little Bisquit myself, first today, ha, ha.' He wondered which of them had been a member longer, and by that time the cognac had been brought by the steward and the treacherous art expert had decided in his own favour and relaxed a little. Malory asked his question. 'M'wife really. Asked me to find out about a painter. Tell you the truth, I think she must be doing a crossword puzzle. Moment I saw you, I thought: he'll know in a jiffy. Name Mallard mean anything to you?'
Wrinkles slid about on the ancient and reptilian countenance opposite. There was a small smile. 'I have never heard of a painter so called.'
'Or a subject?'
'Plenty of people paint wildfowl. There's no single celebrated picture, I think. Mallard, you say?'
'Yes, Mallard. Well,' Malory poured the brandy down his throat, 'thanks, old lad. I'll tell my lady.' He had already doddered three or four steps away, when:
'Oh, Malory.'
He turned. 'Yes.'
'You're sure it's Mallard?'
'Well that's what it says. Why?'
'Not Mallord - with an "o"?'
He thought about it for a moment. Dikeston's directions had been handwritten. An 'a' for an 'o'? It was hardly impossible.
'Could be, I suppose. There's a Mallord, is there?'
'Well, yes. Not his surname, you know. I mean, you wouldn't find him so listed. It's one of his three Christian names.'
'Whose?'
Again the smile on the wrinkled features. 'Joseph Mallord William, those were his first names.'
'And his surname?'
'Turner. You've heard, have you?'
Malory turned a pale face to him. 'Heard what?'
'One's been found.'
'Oh, really. Where?'
'Happens all the time, you know. There are lots and lots of Turner drawings.'
'Any great value?' Malory asked, knowing already.
'Turner drawings? They vary. Depends how good and how big and what period. Even now you might get one for, oh, as little as eight or ten thousand.'
Malory relaxed.
'But this isn't one of those. Not from what I hear.'
'Oh,' said Malory politely. 'What is it you hear?'
The tortoise mouth widened in a grin, though whether of pleasure or malice it was hard to tell. 'I hear it's a big one, same size and period as The Fighting T éméraire.If it is, God alone knows what it will fetch!'
Vivian Sudbury, for all the expensive simplicity of his Huntsman suit, his Lobb shoes and his Turnbull & Asser haberdashery (Malory guessed there was a thousand pounds on Sudbury's back), still bore with him that peculiar oiliness unmistakable in dealers in fine things. His eye had about it that lambent humility which is ready at once to turn either to obsequiousness or contempt, according to the state of negotiation. He said, 'Turner,' in a voice like velvet.
'That's the feller,' Sir Horace told him. 'Tell me about him.'
Sudbury glanced round the room, pricing everything in a single swift survey. He lit a cigarette which, Malory's nostrils told him, was Egyptian. 'There are,' said the velvet voice, 'Turners and Turners.'
Malory nodded encouragingly. 'So I'm told.'
'The highest price ever paid at auction,' Sudbury continued, 'was for a Turner: six million four hundred thousand dollars, at Sotheby Parke Bernet.'
1AO'In New York City. I remember,' Pilgrim forced the words past wincing lips.
'Beautiful painting, three feet by four. Juliet and her Nurse.' This one that's coming up,' Pilgrim asked. 'What's known about it?'
'Remarkably little.' Vivian Sudbury spoke with a patent affection for mystery, which he adored because it unfailingly forced prices higher.
The subject, for example?' Malory asked.
Sudbury smiled. They're being rather coy at the moment. Naughty of them, but then' he waved a bejewelled hand in a gesture of tolerance 'it does help to build up interest.'
'How would you like to cut the crap?' said Pilgrim, hating him. 'We want to know about Turner and about this painting. For that you're charging a stiff fee. Tell us.'
Sudbury smiled. 'I'm so sorry. As a rule I find I'm talking with people deeply interested in art as such -'
'Not money as such, like you and me?' Pilgrim said.
'Oh, very well. What I imagine you want to know is what the painting might be - perhaps because you're considering investing?'
'Perhaps,' said Malory.
Sudbury nodded. Rudeness to him did not pay: he never allowed it to. And he had just thought of a way
. . .
Then if it is a major Turner, - well, two, anyway, are known to be missing. They are The Temple of Jupiter Panellenius Restored, exhibited first in 1816 at the Royal Academy. Not seen since 1853. If it's still in good condition I'd guess it might fetch two or three million.'
'Dollars?'
'Pounds, I'm afraid. The other, Fishermen Coming Ashore at Sunset, was quite possibly Turner's first commissioned painting - done in 1797 when he was twenty-two -and the more interesting for that.'
'Value?'
'Perhaps a little less. Up to two million.'
'Any others?'
'A hundred or so sizeable pieces. Many of them are watercolours, but Turner really was quite amazingly prolific: did more than 500 oil paintings and nearly 20,000 pencil and watercolours. So there could be absolutely anything!’
'At any price?' Pilgrim asked grimly.
'Oh, any price at all.''
A week passed: time used by the fortunate auctioneers with considerable skill. The painting, it gradually emerged, presented a mystery to delight the hearts not only of the Vivian Sudburys of this world but of all Fleet Street. For it had conditions attached. In the course of that first week the revelations came one by one: the Turner was said to be a new one, and an oil. More - it was a sea-and-landscape with ships. It was, for the moment, housed in a specially-built packing-case twelve feet square of which TV news and all the papers carried photographs as it was driven on a large truck through central London. But it had not yet been seen, even by the auctioneers; and for them this might have constituted a grave moral dilemma in that they could scarcely offer for sale a Turner they had never seen, yet one condition of sale was that the packing case remain unopened until one week before the auction. The auctioneers, however, did have a documentary authentication dating from the 1840s. They therefore went ahead happily, and their catalogue described the painting as the 'Mysterious' Turner. Interest grew, and many questions were asked, not least by Mr Vivian Sudbury on behalf of Hillyard, Cleef. Where had the painting and its packing case been? But no answer was forthcoming, for this was the 'Mysterious' Turner. The questions Who is the owner? Who bought it last? Why was it not listed among Turner's much-catalogued works? also remained unanswered. The honour of talking the first photograph of the painting was one for which any photographer in London would have been anxious. Famous names, great photographic artists, offered their services at half or a quarter of their normal fees. At the auction house, however, it was decided that here was an opportunity to give youth a hand, and it so happened that one young member of the Royal Family was currently studying photography with a view to a career. She was miles from the throne, but she was nubile and therefore newsworthy. Pictures of the young princess and her picture of the painting made front pages and centre spreads all over the world.