it tonight for the first time. He will examine it at length tomorrow, at which time I look forward keenly to his evaluation of-'
'Monsieur Vachey,' I said, 'by the end of tomorrow, it is my expectation that, as an emissary of the Seattle Art Museum, I will be able to provide you with our response to the generous proposal which you have made, but I can say with assurance that I will be unable to come to a conclusion regarding the authenticity of the painting; that is to say, whether or not it can be attributed without qualification to Rembrandt van Rijn. That, as you know, cannot be accomplished without the aid of analytical techniques that are prohibited under the conditions of your bequest.'
Sorry about that. I was speaking French, remember. And I was nervous.
My remarks caused a buzz, which I don't think was due solely to amazement at my command of their language. But Vachey himself accepted them affably. 'Of course, forgive me. Now then. As to the Leger-'
'The so-called Leger,' Froger said with a sneer, pretending to address Charpentier, but his booming voice sounded as if it were coming from the bottom of a well. If he wasn't enjoying himself, he was doing a good imitation of someone who was.
With no sign of rancor, Vachey joined in the mild laughter that followed this. He wasn't having a bad time either. His mood was buoyant and playful; he was practically purring.
'Monsieur Froger, will you do me the honor of coming up here with me?'
Here comes the 'frisson,' I thought.
'What?' Froger had been caught off guard. He eyed Vachey suspiciously and cleared his throat. 'I'll remain here, thank you.'
In his place, I'd have been worried too. Whatever Vachey was up to, and I thought I knew, it didn't seem probable that Froger was going to like it.
'As you wish. It is a source of regret, ladies and gentlemen, that relations between Monsieur Froger and myself have not always been cordial. For this I take responsibility. A certain act of mine some years ago'-his voice was grave, but he couldn't keep that sparkle out of his eyes-'was an inadvertent cause of distress to our fine Musee Barillot and its excellent director, Monsieur Edmond Froger. Now I wish to make amends. I do so in the spirit of atonement and the hope of future friendship.'
Froger looked as if he doubted it. I doubted it too.
'It is my pleasure to announce,' Vachey said, 'that the great painting you will see tonight, Violon et Cruche, by Fernand Leger, is hereby offered to the Musee Barillot of Dijon as an unrestricted gift. I hope they will honor me by accepting it.'
He beamed tranquilly at Froger.
Talk about horns and dilemmas. It hadn't been five minutes since Froger had made it amply and publicly clear that as far as he was concerned the painting was a fake and Vachey was a charlatan, so what could he do now but turn it down? But what if Vachey had sandbagged him, as had suddenly begun to look highly possible? What if it turned out to be genuine? Refusing it would lose Froger the Leger and make him look like a chowderhead besides. Accepting it would get him the painting, but he'd still look like a chowderhead, and a toad-eating one at that. Assuming Vachey's aim had been to put his old adversary in an impossible situation, which I didn't doubt for a minute, it was a masterful stroke.
Froger started stammering. 'It's not-I can't-that is to say, it's not my decision to make. My board of directors, which is to say-'
He sputtered to a stop and just sat there, getting redder and angrier, puffing up before our eyes. His features, dainty for his size in any case, seemed lost in the ample flesh of his head, like a too-small face painted on a balloon.
'As for your commendable concern for its authenticity, Edmond,' Vachey continued smoothly, 'we are fortunate in having with us one of France's preeminent experts in the oeuvre of this towering twentieth-century French master. Monsieur Charpentier, I'm sure we all look forward to your opinion of the Leger- pardon, the alleged Leger-with breathless anticipation.'
Charpentier, loading a second small cup of coffee with sugar, looked up puckishly. 'Oho. I see. Is this why I was invited? I must perform for my dinner?'
'You were invited because I couldn't imagine unveiling a major Leger without your presence, Jean-Luc, that's all. But it goes without saying that your opinion would be welcome.'
'That's most gratifying,' Charpentier said, 'but my opinions are my livelihood, such as it is; unfortunately, I can't afford to give them away.' After a second he added: 'Have I ever asked you for a free painting?'
Vachey laughed. 'No, and you wouldn't be likely to get it, either. All right, your professional opinion, then.'
Charpentier, who had lit a cigarette, took a drag on it and slowly let the smoke drift from the corners of his mouth, scowling thoughtfully at Vachey all the while. 'You are asking my professional opinion?'
'Of course. At your usual exorbitant fee.'
'Just a moment,' Froger said nervously. 'I don't know if I'm empowered to authorize funds to-'
'Which it will be my pleasure to pay,' Vachey said. 'Naturally.'
Froger fell silent, chewing his lip.
'I must say,' Charpentier said to Vachey, 'I'm surprised to be asked.'
'Ah, you above all, Jean-Luc. With you, at least no one is likely to assume you are biased in my favor.'
There was some history between them, because several people laughed. Charpentier himself, possibly mellowed by the thought of his unexpected fee, allowed himself a smile. 'That's true enough, anyway. Very well, then, why don't we have a look?'
'Indeed.' Vachey nodded his thanks. 'In fact, ladies and gentlemen, why don't we all have a look? My gallery is at your disposal until midnight. There is cognac, champagne, and coffee.' He smiled. 'And, if you like, a few pictures to pass the time.'
Most of the guests chose to walk the three blocks from the palace to Vachey's gallery. It was an odd sort of postprandial stroll: a straggling, elegant procession composed of groups of three and four threading slowly through the moon-washed Square des Ducs with its pensive, homely statue of Philip the Good, then turning left along the prettily medieval Rue de la Chouette, and right at the Rue de la Prefecture. We moved in a leisurely, relaxed fug of cigar smoke and winey breath, but the conversation was anything but relaxed. People were vigorously dissecting the events of the evening so far, speculating on what was yet to come, or otherwise discoursing learnedly.
A few yards ahead of me, for example, Calvin was launched on a confident exposition of the difficulties of authenticating art.
'Now take Rembrandt, for example, Nadia,' he was telling his admiring new lady friend and her not-quite- so-admiring parents. 'Do you have any idea how many brilliant students Rembrandt had? There was, let me see, Hoogstraten, Dou, er, Bol…'
And in my own group, while Charpentier and I walked along in silence, Lorenzo was trying to calm a huffing, chafing Froger by loftily telling him to put aside pride and accept the painting if Charpentier verified it-or even if he didn't, as long as Froger himself found it beautiful. Why should he care whether it was encumbered with such artificial, misleading labels as 'real' or 'false,' which changed nothing whatsoever, being as they were mere perceptual constructs, transitory and equivocal? All one had to do was look at things postexistentially, that was all.
For some reason, Froger did not appear to be soothed.
I wasn't feeling very soothed either. In just a few minutes I was finally going to be seeing the picture, and I was steeling myself for the worst; the worst being that it would turn out to be a colossal dud, nothing more than one of those 'Rembrandts' that pop up in the art market every few years with an almost tedious regularity. If they aren't gobbled up by some eager, naive collector, they are soon denounced, and then hurriedly withdrawn by the profusely apologetic dealers or auction houses that had them up for sale-only to surface again in a year or two, usually through other dealers, sometimes in other countries.
Surprised? You thought that, once a painting was proven to be a fake, that was that? That there must be some legal requirement that it be destroyed, or properly labeled, or something to protect unwary future buyers?
