Neil Olson - The Icon

“You could insist upon it. People do things like that. We had one eccentric old lady who would only speak to our junior legal counsel, because he went to her dead husband’s alma mater.”

“That’s brilliant.”

“The director didn’t think so.”

“Shall I do that? Would it help your career?”

“You know,” he said carefully, “you should probably leave the negotiating to your lawyer.”

“My lawyer. He’s a tricky guy, my lawyer. He may rob both sides blind.”

“Shouldn’t you have a lawyer you trust?”

“Oh, I guess I trust him.” She averted her eyes to the table before taking a sip from the mug. “He’s been taking care of Kessler business for thirty years, knows all the secrets. I couldn’t get rid of him if I wanted to.”

“Do you have a price in mind?”

“He does. Sounds high to me, but if the piece is as rare as you say, maybe not. I wish I could ask you what was fair.”

“I wish I could tell you. Fair is what the market will bear.”

“But we’re not testing the market.”

“I can’t believe your lawyer wouldn’t put out feelers.”

“You think we should be fishing around?”

“It would be a natural thing to do.”

“Talk to those pimps at the auction houses?” She spoke sharply. “They’ll promise the sun, moon, and stars.”

“They might get them.”

“What are you telling me, Matthew? That I should go to some rich private collector?”

Her stare was intense, and he found himself struggling with his unease, compelled by an impolitic honesty.

“Actually, I think that would be a terrible idea. Not for you, necessarily.”

“Don’t waffle.”

“It’s just, the thought of that work being locked away from the world, stuck up on someone’s wall…”

“Like it is now,” she pressed.

He exhaled slowly. “Yes. Like it is now. It would be a sad choice. It should be where a lot of people can see it.”

“A museum.”

“A museum would be the most obvious call.”

“But will a museum give it the attention it deserves?”

Fotis’ question again, and Matthew had no better answer for it this time.

“You can attach conditions to the sale. It’s done all the time.”

Ana shook her head. “My lawyer says we don’t have leverage with just the one painting. If I were donating the whole collection I could make demands. Or if it were a Picasso or a Rembrandt, maybe. Tell me if I’m wrong here.”

“You’re probably right.” He shrugged. “It’s still worth discussing.”

“Does it annoy you that Byzantine doesn’t get treated with the same respect as the Old Masters, or the Impressionists, or all of that popular stuff?”

“You know, I never considered popularity when I got into the field. I just studied what interested me, fool that I was.”

“But it must piss you off. The people who made this icon, it was like life and death for them, right? They held these things up before their armies when they went into battle. They died to defend them. Did anyone ever die over a Renoir?”

She was leaning over the table, eyes wide, hand gesturing fiercely. He wanted to laugh at the ridiculousness of her argument, but it was impossible. She was so sincere, so fully present in her emotions that it was he who felt ridiculous, made small by his own restraint.

“That’s true, except that it was really about religion. They killed and died over what the icon represented, not over its beauty.”

Ana sat back, nodding slowly at his words, or in acceptance of some new thought.

“That is what it comes down to, isn’t it? You can’t take religion out of the equation.”

She went to the counter, retrieved the coffeepot, and topped off their mugs, though neither had drunk much. The suit was gone today, she wore faded blue jeans and a white shirt, and he found himself distracted by the long arc of her leg in the tight fabric as she returned the pot to the counter. She remained there a few moments, her back to him.

“So Matthew, since we won’t be negotiating directly, I want to ask your advice about something. I know you’ll be straight with me.”

“I’ll try.”

She came to the table and sat down again, watching his eyes as she spoke. “Somebody from the Greek church called Wallace, my lawyer. They want the icon.”

He had guessed it before she spoke. Fotis was here before him, forcing the issue.

“The Greek church in Greece?”

“I’m not certain. The guy who called was an American priest, but it was on behalf of the church over there. I’m not really sure of the distinction.”

“It’s murky even to them.”

“Apparently, they hinted pretty heavily that the work was stolen from Greece, years ago.”

She was staring at him so hard that he felt implicated in the crime. This was clearly what she had wanted to talk about all along.

“Were you surprised to hear that?”

She sipped, not breaking eye contact. “No.”

“Are they offering to pay?”

“They didn’t float numbers, but yes, they’ll pay.”

“Where was it left?”

“Nowhere. We’re supposed to get back to them.”

“And what advice do you need from me?”

Finally she wavered, looked away.

“I’m just curious what you thought of the idea. I mean, I’m not seriously considering it.”

“Why not?”

“You think I should?”

“Stop throwing all these questions back at me, and think about what you want.” He had barely raised his voice, but she seemed stung. “Listen, Ana, there is no ‘should’ about any of this. I’m simply curious why you wouldn’t consider the church a viable option.”

“It’s a new idea to me, that’s all. I understand about dealers, collectors, museums. Then it’s just about the art. This is bringing a whole new element into it. They want the icon for totally different reasons. I have no way of comparing the two things.”

His thoughts were pulled in all directions: Fotis’ plans, his own desires, what he should tell her, and when-he could not bring it all together.

“I guess one way to judge would be to think about who will get to see the work in each case, and what each group would get out of that experience. You need more information.”

“But does that even matter? Let’s say the icon was stolen. Doesn’t it belong to them? And couldn’t they make serious trouble for me or for the museum?”

He had been intentionally evading the issue, but there was no way around it. The mere whisper of “stolen Nazi loot” by the Greeks would cause the museum to drop its interest in a moment. There wouldn’t even have to be evidence.

“Are those the arguments the church rep made to your lawyer?”

“They were more subtle, I’m sure, but he understood. And he made sure that I did too.”

“What is he recommending?”

“He’s not one to be intimidated, Wallace. As far as I know, the museum is still the first option, but he wouldn’t have even mentioned the church if he didn’t expect me to consider it.”

“Well,” Matthew struggled for words. “This is interesting.”

“Is it? I find it rather nerve-racking, myself.”

“You must be more undecided than you first let on.”

“I go back and forth.” She ran a hand through her hair. “No choice seems like the right one. My lawyer gives me this maddening, contradictory advice in his completely neutral tone, and all you can do is ask questions.”

“At least he’s getting paid. My advice is free.”

“You want me to pay you?”

“I’m asking questions that I think are going to help you know your own mind. I’m not in a position to tell you what to do.”

“Right now, I’d like someone to tell me.”