here. My client would just as soon shake your hand as sign a contract. The difference to him is negligible in terms of his expectation of being delivered what you promise. And if you fail to deliver, then he expects you to compensate him — without bringing lawyers into it.”
“I’m not sure I completely understand.”
“And I’m not sure how much more I can say.”
Locke began to pluck at his beard. “I give you the information you want — and then what?”
“I sit down with Hughes and persuade him to make restitution.”
“But your client has no connection to these three paintings.”
“The Hughes brothers — either of them, both of them — don’t care about being sued by some Chinese businessman with cultural pretensions, particularly when their tracks were so cleverly covered. As you and Brian Torrence know, they or one of them officially sold the Fauvist paintings to a dealer in Hong Kong named Kwong, or to his business, Great Wall Antiques and Fine Art. Kwong is dead. The business is closed, the records destroyed.”
“And what about these three paintings?”
“The Hughes brothers may not be so willing to be sued by the owners of these three paintings, or by Harrington’s. It’s one thing to mock a man from Wuhan but it’s another to screw around with — well, with whom? Who bought the paintings? Tell me, and then I’ll tell you how much leverage I think we have and I’ll tell you how I’ll proceed.”
“You haven’t proved the paintings are forgeries,” he said.
“Fair enough,” she said, opening her Shanghai Tang computer bag.
She passed him one file. “That’s the Manet. There’s a photo of it, titled and double-dated. There’s an invoice made out to the Hughes Art Gallery with Manet on it. The painting was shipped by DHL; there’s a copy of the delivery slip made out to the Hughes Gallery address. Finally, there’s a copy of a cancelled cheque made out to Maurice O’Toole and signed by both Edwin and Glen Hughes. You’ll see on the memo line that the invoice number is referenced.”
He went through the documentation with great care. Then he looked up at her, shook his head, and went through it again.
“What O’Toole did was very clever,” he said, looking out the window. “There were three known versions, variations of The Execution of the Emperor Maximilian, all dated around the same time, before this fourth one came on the market. We heard rumblings about it but it never came to auction. A Manet enthusiast in Scotland purchased it from an unknown source, who now appears to have been the Hughes brothers.”
“He did due diligence?”
“Buying from the Hughes brothers would have been considered due diligence enough, although if he went to other authorities, they could have been fooled.”
“Who bought it?”
“The Earl of Moncrieff.”
“He sounds impressive.”
Locke looked down at her bag. “Can I see the other two files?”
She took the Manet file back and passed him the one for the Modigliani self-portrait. He took as much time going through that paperwork. Ava admired his thoroughness.
“Again, clever. There are many self-portraits, and this one seems plausible. It was sold into a private collection in London. The owner is Harold Holmes.”
“The media tycoon?”
“That’s him.”
“Now here’s your part in this,” Ava said, sliding the Lipchitz portrait file towards him.
“In 1916 Modigliani did a portrait of Jacques and Berthe Lipchitz. O’Toole painted Jacques alone. There’s no reason to think that Modigliani might not have done the same,” Locke said.
“But it was sold at auction, through your firm. Surely the provenance was examined inside and out.”
“According to our records, it was.”
“Who looked at it?”
“Not me, if that’s what you’re insinuating. I was too junior to look at something like this.”
“Then who?”
He looked uncomfortable. “I think, for now, that has to be remain internal to Harrington’s.”
“Then who was the buyer?”
“Jonathan Reiner.”
“I’ve heard of him too.”
“Not surprising. He’s one of the five wealthiest men in the U.K.”
Ava had written the names in her notebook as Locke reluctantly gave them to her. “Moncrieff — tell me about him.”
“Considers himself to be a true patron of the arts, and he has the money to indulge his interest. He lends many of his paintings to Scottish museums and galleries, and he sponsors young Scottish artists.”
“So all in all, the Hughes brothers have messed with some big boys.”
“Couldn’t have been much bigger, unless they were selling to the Queen and the National Gallery.”
She held out her hand for the Lipchitz file.
“Can I keep this for a day or two?” Locke asked.
“Afraid not.”
“I’ll make some copies, then.”
“Not yet,” Ava said.
“I thought we had an understanding.”
“Frederick, I trust you enough to have come here with these files, but until I resolve my differences with the Hughes brothers I prefer to keep these documents under my control. Things happen, you know. One of your assistants sees something, questions are asked or little comments are made, and then your boss is asking what’s going on and you don’t want to lie to him. And so on and so on. So for both our sakes, I’ll hang on to them for now.”
“You said we’d agree together how to proceed,” he insisted, his face reddening.
“And we will, once I’m finished with the Hughes brothers.”
“What if they refuse to co-operate with you? What if they won’t give you what you want?”
“Then I’ll be back here with my tail between my legs, files in hand, and we’ll chat. Either way, successful or not, the files are coming back here.”
“I’m not going to convince you otherwise, am I.”
“No.”
“So now what?”
“Do you have addresses for the three buyers?”
“Yes, they’re in here.”
“Can I have them, please?”
He hesitated.
“Frederick, I can find them easily enough. All I want you to do is save me some time.”
He took a slip of paper out of each of his files and passed them to her.
“Now I need to use a computer, a printer, and a photocopier.”
(24)
It took her close to two hours to prepare the packages for Edwin and Glen Hughes. Locke hung about nearby, acutely interested but too polite to pry. Ava bundled the files together and put a big rubber band around them before jamming them into her bag. It was past eight o’clock and she was hungry. She thought for a second about asking Locke to join her for dinner, then immediately threw the idea aside.
She called the Fletcher and enquired about a room. They were only too happy to welcome her back, she was
