For by now interest was spreading rapidly. Copy transparencies of the youthful princess's photograph were put aboard jet aircraft at Heathrow and Gatwick and examined a few hours later in air-conditioned galleries in Southern California and Saudi Arabia, in Texas and Johannesburg. And now the picture found a title, for the setting of the painting was Plymouth, and The Hoe was discernible. Naval Vessel and Plymouth Hoe, though not Turner's title, was felt to have a nice restraint about it.
Each of these events caused its little frisson in newspapers, television studios, and galleries. But one major surprise was saved for last. The princess's photographs had been cropped to show the picture and only the picture; nothing of the frame was visible. Malory and Pilgrim, placed in the unique position of being far more interested in the frame than the picture, found themselves suffering from a most distressing absence of information. They sought help from Vivian Sudbury who, having spent a lifetime greasing palms in the art world, none the less found himself helpless. The auctioneers kept their door firmly closed to everyone. The bank's name, usually a key to most places, proved valueless, for many large financial institutions were now interested.
And in London many were represented.
But of course it is not strictly necessary to be present in order to bid at an auction. There are always agents bidding on behalf of unnamed clients. But technology has introduced new factors into ancient practice: electronically, and by satellite, an auction can these days can be conducted on a worldwide basis.
And so on that Wednesday at five p.m., when the auctioneer's gavel called an audience of the very rich and the very famous to order, it was in a room bathed in hot light and surveyed by cameras. For in addition to the multi-millionaires present, others - several of them billionaires - were seated in front of TV
sets in places as diverse as Riyadh, Rio, Hong Kong, Dallas and Tokyo.
'And now,' said the auctioneer, 'a painting by J. M. W. Turner provisionally titled: Naval Vessel and Plymouth Hoe.' He turned his head to watch as a porter in a stuff coat removed the draped cloth which had until that moment concealed the painting. Now he gazed blandly over an audience sitting rigid with surprise.
For the frame in which the picture was displayed was fashioned in dulled stainless steel, with clearly reinforced corners.
The auctioneer spoke gently but persuasively. It was part of the conditions of sale that the painting be offered in its frame. There would be absolutely no difficulty in removing the frame later, nor would damage be done to the picture in such removal. He then spoke briefly of the Turner's provenance, citing both the original certificate of authentication and another accorded in the last few days by the custodian of the great Turner Bequest at the British Museum; and he added a few quiet but proud words concerning the self-evident quality of the painting. Then, becoming practical, he further explained that bids would be accepted in steps of fifty thousand pounds.
At that point the auctioneer coughed, just once, as a kind of punctuation. 'Now, ladies and gentlemen,'
he said, 'do I hear one million?'
In fact he heard nothing. The first bid was made by a small nod of a silver head. But it came at once . . . Whatever the state of disagreement which lay in the background, the instructions to Vivian Sudbury had all the clarity of a pool of dew. 'Buy it,' Malory had ordered him boldly. The boldness evident in Sudbury's demeanour was somewhat less in evidence in Malory's face as the bidding climbed. Pilgrim's face reflected only pain. But Sudbury was a happy man as the price floated upward: for Sudbury was on commission, which reinforced his determination to follow his client's instructions.
At£3,250,000 the painting was knocked down to Mr Sudbury. There was sadness among disappointed buyers round the world that the masterpiece would not now go to America, or South Africa, or Brazil. But there was great happiness among the cognoscenti in Britain that the Turner would not now go aboard. None of this happiness was apparent among the purchasers.
'We shall sell it again,' Malory murmured as he and Pilgrim walked out into St James's. 'Perhaps even make a profit. Care for a bracer? My club's up the road.'
'Thanks, but not now.' Pilgrim had hailed a taxi that was emerging from King Street into St James's. As it pulled up, he glanced at his watch. Timing's right, he thought. In his flat a few minutes later, phone in hand, he punched up the three-zero-five of Florida, then the Key Biscayne code and the number of Robizo's private office.
'Hello.'
'Pete?'
'Who is it?' The voice was flat, almost but not quite hostile.
'Pal, how goes it?'
Now the tone changed. They had been brought out of Hungary together as boys in 1956, had gone to school and business school together. Now Pyotr Nagy was private assistant to Pepe Rabizo.
'Why wasn't Pepe bidding tonight?' Pilgrim demanded.
'For the Turner? Because he bids himself - no middlemen - and he had business right here.'
'Would he want it?'
'Price?'
'It went for three and a quarter.'
'Dollars?'
'Pounds, Pete. This is England.'
'Hey, that's big, even for Pepe!'
'Pepe could buy fifty, don't snow me. You want it?'
'Can you get it?'
'I think so.'
'Hey, Pal, it's Pepe - for Chrissake don't putz around. Do him a favour and he's your friend. But foul up, oh boy!'
Pilgrim flushed. The painting now belonged to Hillyard, Cleef. He was Senior Partner. A quick sale, even a profit beckoned. He said, 'Plus ten per cent.'
'And you can deliver?' *
'Right.'
'Pepe'll be very happy. He wanted it. I'll telex his confirmation.'
Pilgrim hung up. He found he was sweating a little. Pepe Robizo was big, dangerous and enormously rich: a huge-scale building contractor with strong connections in Washington and even stronger ones in the Mafia, now trying hard to buy social acceptance through his art gallery. Pilgrim took a shower, and then, as he shaved, regarded his face in the mirror with satisfaction. Money-back-plus-ten for the price of a phone call!
Two signatures were always required upon any Hillyard, Cleef cheque for a sum of more than one hundred pounds. This was another Zaharoff legacy. Malory, not much relishing the task, took the half-signed cheque to Pilgrim's office next morning and placed it before him. I7SPilgrim glanced at it in silence and reached for his pen, then did a double take.
'I remember exactly, ,' he said, 'because it is graven upon my heart, the figure we had to pay for the goddam thing! And it was not three million, five hundred and seventy-five thousand pounds! We paid three and a quarter!' His voice had risen.
Malory sighed. 'I'm afraid there's something called a buyer's premium. Ten per cent on the price paid.'
'Oh yeah.' Pilgrim remembered it now. 'That goes to the auctioneer for doing nothing, right? Three hundred and twenty-five thousand! We're in the wrong business, Horace.'
Malory, hatted and coated, went on his way to St James's, accompanied by a security company van and several men armed with clubs and gas sprays, to collect the Turner. He returned less than an hour later and the security men bore the painting, no longer in its twelve-foot-square crate but in a light wooden one more appropriate to its size, up the stairs to the partners' room. The men then adjourned to stand unobstrusively outside 6 Athelsgate.
Malory, meanwhile, approached the crate with a cold chisel and a hammer. It proved not difficult to open. With Pilgrim's assistance the painting, in its steel frame, was lifted out. Together they examined the frame. In the back there was a small flap, closed and sealed. Malory broke the seal with anxious fingers, and lifted the flap to reveal a key. There was a keyhole in one corner. When the key was turned part of the frame came open and a small bundle of papers was revealed. It was all very simple. If rather expensive.