tooth. ‘I have no choice. I want to exhibit him. I’m desperately anxious to do it. I assume you’ll make a report on me to Felicia. I want it to be favourable. Would you like some coffee or something?’
‘No thanks.’ I was finding his plausibility and frankness enough to cope with, without his hospitality. ‘You think Todd had a future as an artist?’
‘Limitless-properly exhibited, properly handled and marketed.’
‘Have you seen a lot of his work?’
‘No, have you?’ The first note of an emotion not totally under control was struck then. His tone was sharp. He touched his smooth chin with his left hand, also heavy with rings.
I smiled non-committally. ‘What would a sizable collection of his work be worth?’
His eyes seemed to glitter like the diamond tooth, but that might have been just my imagination. ‘As I say, it would depend on who was handling it.’
‘Say you were handling it.’
‘Millions, over a period of time.’
‘Your competitors feel the same?’
‘I have no competitors in this matter. Felicia should talk to me, no one else. I hope you can make that clear to her.’
He moved slightly in his chair as he spoke. The purr was back in his voice and I thought I was beginning to read him. If I made the right noise I was sure he would offer me an inducement. It would have been a terribly wrong move for me. I took out my notebook and got the names of the other art dealers who had taken part in the heated conversation. He told me that Todd had left the party, which had been held in what he called an entertainment area further down the passage, at about 2 a.m. He had seemed very upset.
‘Over the argument?’ I asked.
The window behind Willowsmith was full of a view of the trees growing in some Paddington backyard. A stiff breeze had got up, and the trees were swaying. I wanted to be out in the wind; something about Willowsmith made me crave fresh air. He cleared his throat. ‘Possibly that, possibly something else. I’d have to say that he seemed upset when he arrived.’
‘Did you tell all this to the police?’
‘Of course not.’
‘Why?’
‘They didn’t ask. I gave them some names and times. As I say, I’ve been frank with you, because…’
‘You’re desperate to get your hands on Barnes Todd’s paintings.’
‘I wouldn’t put it quite like that.’
‘Did you hear about the break-in at Barnes’ house?’
‘No. The paintings?’
‘Nothing lost.’ His surprise and relief seemed genuine, but then, maybe Mr Willowsmith had done some acting. I thanked him for his time and left the room. I waited outside with my ear to the door but he didn’t pound the desk or grab the telephone. Maybe he counted his rings or felt his diamond with his tongue. Nasty sights, both. I walked out past Judith, who was looking at her catalogue again.
‘Sorry I barged in like that,’ I said. ‘I was putting on my tough act.’
She smiled warily. ‘That’s okay. I bet it didn’t worry him.’
‘You’re right. Tell me, did you know Barnes Todd?’
‘Mm, lovely man. I like his wife, too.’
‘Were you at the party?’
‘Yes. I was serving drinks and things.’
‘Willowsmith tells me there was an argument. Did you see it?’
‘Couldn’t miss it. It was terrible. They were circling Mr Todd like sharks.’
I thanked her and left the gallery. So much for the softies of the art world. So much for starting at the easy end.
8
One of the many things you can do in Paddington is eat well. Lately I’d tended to eat when I was hungry, which wasn’t necessarily at any particular hour or even three times a day. I bought a perfect apple and walked along Oxford Street eating it, looking at the fast-moving young and the slow-moving old and feeling somewhere in the middle. The shops seemed to be full of things that were more than a hundred years old or that had only been invented a week ago. I was on a promise to myself not to drink before six at least three times a week. Yesterday I’d buckled under at 10 a.m., today I was made of sterner stuff. I bought a takeaway coffee and put it in the slot under the orange phone where the directory was supposed to go.
Michael Hickie answered his own phone.
‘You haven’t had to let Jenny go, have you?’ I said.
‘Who’s that?’
‘Hardy. I was joking.’
I could hear the relief in his voice over the traffic noise. ‘No, no. Her lunch break. Look, I want to thank you for talking to Felicia. She called me this morning and she was very reasonable about everything. She’s given me the go-ahead to conclude a few pressing shipping and storage contracts, and we’re going to have a meeting about the business as a whole. She’s okaying your fee, by the way.’
‘Good. You sound a bit strained.’
‘One of these contracts of Barnes’ is a bitch. I thought you might be someone from the opposition having a go at me.’
‘That rugged?’
‘Packing and storing and development? You bet they’re rugged. And Barnes was a pretty vigorous operator.’
‘That’s what I’m ringing about. Is there anyone out at the Botany address who could tell me something about the business? I mean about competitors, dirty tricks, hands-on stuff?’
Peter Corris
CH12 — O'Fear
‘There is. I was talking to him an hour ago after I spoke to Felicia. Bob Mulholland. He’s your man, but he’ll be busy now things are moving again.’
‘Could you give him a ring and tell him I’m coming over? I want to get cracking.’
Hickie said he would. I rang off and drank the cool coffee. Paddington had a self-conscious, self-indulgent look. It was mark-up land, commission country, franchiseville. I went to the Autobank, drew out a few judicious dollars for petrol and possible palm-greasing, got in the car and headed for Botany.
Barnes Enterprises was located off Botany Road, away from the water, a kilometre or so from the Caltex terminal. From a rise I could see the refinery structures in the distance-tall, spidery towers like something out of The War of the Worlds. Factories and houses jostled together in the streets. Some of the houses were solid and well maintained, but many looked apologetic about their existence. Their peeling paint and rusty metal said they were sorry to be there. I parked among trucks and utes and vans. Sydney these days seems to be filling up with leisure vehicles; VWs with their roofs cut off, four-wheel drives and convertibles, but here were only working wheels. A plane roared off the runway to the west, and the car shook as it passed over, gaining height. It left a dirty smudge in the clear blue sky and the noise stayed in my ears long after the plane became a speck.
I got out and almost had to fight for breath. I had a. 45 automatic under the dashboard, a camera and miniature tape recorder among my professional equipment-what I really needed was a respirator. The dust in the air was clinging to the oily sludge and the slight breeze was stirring it all around like a chemical soup. And it was hot. Sweat broke out on my face; I wiped it off with my hand, which then felt greasy. I left my jacket in the car and walked between two prime movers and across a rutted piece of road to a wide double gate, standing open, in a high cyclone fence. It took massive posts and hinges to hold the gates, one of which had a metal plate attached to it, on which BARNES ENTERPRISES was written in fading red paint. Rust had pitted the metal and flaked off the
