Iain Pears - The Raphael Affair

In such a conciliatory spirit, once back in the director’s office, the General tentatively began to raise the subject that had brought him to the party in the first place.

‘There are one or two aspects of all this I thought it would be best to discuss with you alone. It might take some of the sting out of this appalling evening.’

The director placed the tips of his fingers together, and peered at him enquiringly. He didn’t appear to believe anything could do that.

‘I don’t think your loss today was as grievous as it seems,’ Bottando continued.

The director grimaced and shook his head. ‘I assure you, the painting is beyond repair. Or perhaps you don’t find the loss of one of the greatest triumphs of Italian art grievous?’

A bit pompous, thought Bottando uncharitably. Still, he has had a bad day. ‘A triumph, certainly. But not of Italian art. I think it was a forgery.’

Tommaso snorted. ‘Oh, General, not this obsession of yours again. I’ve already told you it’s impossible. You know as well as I do the tests that picture went through. It passed them all with flying colours. And every scholar in the field pronounced it to be a Raphael.’

‘Experts can be wrong. Every scholar in the world in the 1930s said the Supper at Emmaus was by Vermeer. They only discovered it was painted by Van Meegeren when he confessed to avoid being hanged for collaboration with the Nazis.’

‘The fake Vermeers were detected easily when they were examined scientifically,’ Tommaso objected. ‘And techniques have improved immeasurably since the 1940s.’

‘So, no doubt, have the forgers’. But this is neither here nor there. The evidence we have is circumstantial, but worrying enough.’

‘And what, pray, is your evidence?’

Bottando reminded him about the letter found by Argyll in the country-house muniments room. The director interrupted. ‘But this is no less feeble now than before. You surely don’t expect the entire academic community to change its mind on the basis of that?’

‘Indeed not. As you say, on its own the letter amounts to very little. However, earlier today, my assistant found something a bit more convincing, hence my telephone call from Zurich to that infuriatingly obstructive secretary of yours.’

He briefly told the director about the hunt for Morneau, the safe deposit box and their discovery.

That clearly rattled Tommaso. He walked across to a shelf of leather-bound books, swung it open and took out a bottle. He poured some golden liquid into two glasses and handed one to Bottando. He swilled it around and rubbed his face with his free hand. All his pomposity had evaporated again.

‘If I understand you correctly, your argument hinges only on those date stamps in that passport? Someone else could have put those drawings in the safe deposit after the painting was splashed over every magazine and newspaper in the country?’

Bottando dipped his head in acknowledgement. ‘Yes. I told you it was circumstantial. But we now have two fragments pointing at the same thing.’

‘I really don’t believe this,’ the director said eventually. ‘And if it was true, why would anyone bother to destroy the painting? I mean,’ he said defiantly, ‘it’s obvious why this happened, isn’t it?’

Bottando gazed at him enquiringly.

‘This was an attack on me, clearly. Only today I said I was retiring, and that Ferraro would succeed. Destroying the picture was a retaliation, to make me look a fool. It only makes sense if the picture was genuine. I know I’m not popular here.’

He paused. Bottando wondered whether he was expected to demur and reassure the director on that score. But he decided even Tommaso wasn’t that vain, so he kept quiet.

‘Everybody has always resented what I’ve tried to do, tried to stop every improvement I’ve introduced. Ferraro is the only one here who’s given me any support at all. The only one who doesn’t live somewhere back in the 1920s.’

‘Hence the preference for him over Spello?’

‘Yes. I like Spello, and I don’t like Ferraro much. But the future of the museum is at stake, and I could see no room for personal preference.’ Again, just a shade of the old pomposity peeked through his suddenly energetic explanations.

‘Spello is a good deputy, but the director has to fight with the ministries, squeeze money out of donors. I decided that only Ferraro could do it. He’s not an easy man, I admit, but he’s the best possible choice I had. And there are a lot of people who’d be prepared to stop me and him. At any cost.’

It was a legitimate interpretation, Bottando conceded. ‘But,’ he objected, ‘I find it difficult to see how anyone who’d worked in a museum all their life could ever bring themselves to such an act of vandalism.’

‘Don’t you believe it,’ Tommaso snorted. ‘I said this was a madhouse and I meant it. But don’t you get the point of what I’m saying?’ he continued intensely, staring at the policeman and leaning forward on his chair in an effort to convince him. ‘If that picture was a fake, why destroy it? It would be much better to leave it and have the fraud discovered.’

Bottando smiled and shifted his conversational rudder a little to the right. ‘If that painting was a fake, everyone was fooled by it, not just you. If Italy hadn’t bought it, the Getty would have. Or someone else. The psychology of its appearance was just right, so no one thought to doubt it. All the evidence suggested there should be a picture under that Mantini. Byrnes produces it. It was like a fairy tale. Everyone wanted to believe it. Perhaps even the man who burnt it believed it was genuine.’

Tommaso smiled wanly. ‘But it was us who paid out the money. The fact that others would have done so, given the chance, is a relatively small compensation, compared to the damage to my reputation.’

There was little else Bottando wanted to discuss, so he got up and made his way to the door. He was tired as well. ‘Tell me,’ he said casually as he was leaving, ‘why did you decide to quit? I confess I was very surprised.’

‘So was everybody. I enjoyed seeing their faces when the announcement went out. Too much of the ambitious careerist, they thought. But I’ve had enough of this job and I don’t need the money. All administration and backbiting. It needs a younger man.’ Tommaso smiled curiously.

‘Hence Ferraro?’

‘Yes. He’s very able, despite his unfortunate manner, and knows how to spot an opportunity. He ran the place for a few weeks a year ago. He made some good moves then. It was that which got him the job.

‘As for me,’ he continued in a melancholy voice, ‘I plan to go off to my villa outside Pienza and live quietly with my library and my collection. Who knows? I may take up painting myself again. I haven’t done any for years. It’ll be a pleasant change — especially now. You must admit my timing is impeccable. Or someone else’s is.’

He opened the door and shook Bottando’s hand.

‘I know we’ve never been easy colleagues, General,’ he said. ‘But I’d like you to know that I appreciate your efforts to find the man who did this. All I ask is that you suppress this rumour of a fake. If you come up with real proof, that’s another matter. But I will not stand for my reputation being dragged through the mud because of a bizarre hunch.’

Bottando nodded. ‘That’s reasonable. And we have our own reasons for keeping quiet. Don’t worry. Good night, director.’

While Bottando was being grudgingly impressed by Tommaso’s reaction to the evening’s catastrophe, Flavia, on his orders, was wading her way through the drudge work that is inevitably associated with crime.

It was too late to do formal interviews of all eighty-seven people at the reception. She merely took their names and addresses, and asked them, politely but with authority, to remain within easy reach. She then passed the list on to immigration on the off-chance that someone would try to cross the border. It didn’t seem likely. The only ones she missed were the group of Americans, who had already left by a late flight from the airport. However, they seemed the least likely suspects.