Neil Olson - The Icon

“I have no doubt you do.”

“A little doubt, certainly. Our success in recent years has led to some unfortunate slanders. Which, in turn, have led to these absurd legal issues.”

“I did read about an investigation.”

“How could you not, it having been so well publicized? A nuisance only, I assure you. They have discovered nothing improper, and will discover nothing improper.”

Which was not the same thing as saying that there was nothing to discover.

“Anyway,” she said, “you’re in good company.”

A nervous smile appeared. “Excuse me?”

“Christie’s, Sotheby’s.”

“Ah, well,” he mumbled, “unlike many, I have no quarrel with the auction houses, but that is hardly the company I keep.”

“And those investigations are equally foolish, don’t you think? I mean, price-fixing is as old as time. What they really ought to investigate in the sale of looted art.”

He was nodding furiously into the long pause that opened, obviously speechless at the idea of her raising the subject of stolen paintings. Yet he recovered swiftly.

“That, too, is as old as time, I fear. And if you head down that road too far you must drag in our friends at the museums, and that would be just too great an embarrassment for everyone. My God, MOMA would be renting empty wall space by the mile if they had to hand over every work of dubious provenance. Keith Haring would get a whole wing to himself.”

They both laughed wickedly at the thought. Then the dealer fixed Ana with his brown, liquid gaze, as a lover would.

“Truly, I’d welcome the opportunity to eliminate all doubt about what we could do for you.”

She maintained the eye contact.

“Your offer for my grandfather’s icon was most generous.”

“Alas, not generous enough, it appears.”

“No, it wasn’t that. I was attempting to do the right thing. Which, like most such attempts, went terribly wrong.”

He shook his head in sympathy. Two scarred veterans of the art wars, ready to become soul mates. She could sense him moving in for the kill.

“Maybe we should talk in my office.”

Ana looked about the room. There was only a pretty young intern, busily labeling boxes and answering the telephone.

“If you would be more comfortable.”

“I think we both would.”

The office was brighter than the other rooms, and furnished with plush beige chairs. Rosenthal closed the door and took a seat beside Ana, rather than behind the huge, empty desk.

“I was terribly sorry to hear about the theft,” he said at once.

“I hope you were paid.”

“Yes. But the point was to return the work to the Greek church, so it’s very upsetting.”

“Of course, of course. And now there is some question of whether that fellow, the Greek philanthropist, was even working with the church, I understand.”

How much did he know? About Matthew too? She had come here not to answer his questions but to get answers of her own.

“There was a representative of the church involved. I met him. Unfortunately he’s gone missing since the theft.”

“And the businessman, Dragoumis, he is missing too, yes?”

“Not missing. Ill, I believe. Anyway, I’m leaving all that to the police.”

He leaned back, crossing one leg over the other.

“Best thing to do. As you say, you were paid, so it’s not really your affair anymore.”

“Actually, it’s not quite that simple. I trust we can speak in absolute confidence.”

The sudden expression of sincerity that transformed his face nearly made her laugh, or applaud, but she contained the impulse. She thought for a moment that he would take her hand, but he settled for touching her knee.

“Your trust is well founded. Without extreme discretion, I would be out of business in a week.”

“I accepted a good deal less for the icon than what you offered. I did so because I felt I was doing a good thing, the right thing, and I didn’t want to put the squeeze on the church. Now…”

“You feel screwed.”

“Precisely.”

That sympathetic shake of the head again.

“May I say something? Never mind, I will. The matter was dreadfully mishandled. I don’t blame you. Why should you not follow your lawyer’s advice? And I’m sure he had your best interests at heart, but Mr. Wallace is not a young man anymore, and it’s a new game out there in the art world. It’s not a gentleman’s game, I’m sorry to say. It takes contacts, savvy, and a certain fierceness. You needed an experienced dealer involved in that sale.”

“That seems apparent now.”

“I don’t mean to scold. I would have offered my own services, but I was approached by a collector to act as buyer before I even knew the work was on the market.”

“Yes, about that.” Things were going so well that she decided to press her luck. “I’d like to know who that collector was. I don’t suppose you could tell me. It would put me in your debt.”

Rosenthal’s face went blank, but Ana could feel the impulse to be agreeable, to purchase her loyalty, struggling mightily with his natural inclination toward suspicion. A moment later he chuckled nervously.

“Ms. Kessler, you would make a lie of my claim to discretion. And I don’t see what good it would do you now, with the sale made.”

“Please call me Ana.”

“Gladly. And you must call me Emil.”

“Emil. There are several issues here. The sale of the icon was made under certain conditions, which appear to have been violated. If it can be recovered, I would have a very good claim to it.”

“I see.”

“In which case I would need a new buyer. I also have a number of other medieval pieces which might be of interest to your collector.”

“Ah, but those aren’t reasons to contact the man directly. In fact, for your own sake, I would discourage it. Such transactions really do require an experienced go-between. For my part, it would be foolish to provide information which might remove me from the deal.”

“There would be no question of that. We can make it a condition of your putting me in contact that you would handle any business between us.”

“Alas, my first obligation is to the buyer. He may feel that I have compromised myself by associating too closely with you.”

“Then you can represent my side of it. But you’ll need to cooperate with Wallace.”

“I do not think that Mr. Wallace would agree to such an arrangement.”

“He’ll do what I tell him to,” Ana said. “My lawyers serve me, Emil, not vice versa.”

Rosenthal smiled and clapped his hands together.

“Well said. I confess you do intrigue me. But look, I have to be honest, I don’t think the man was interested in anything but the icon. And you and I both know the chances of it being recovered.”

He was being far more careful than she had expected. Something more was required.

“OK. The reason I need direct access is a personal one. I have to ask this man some questions. I have reason to believe that he may have information about my grandfather. I can’t say more than that.” There, she’d thrown that little secret on the table, at last.

“Now I understand,” answered the dealer, gently. “It seems like the best thing would be for me to contact him and see if he is willing to speak to you. How does that sound?”

“Reasonable. Except that if he refuses, then I’m nowhere. Whereas if I could speak to him directly, I think I could persuade him to open up.”

“If anyone could make a man do more than he intended, I’m sure it’s you, Ana.”

She would need a shower when she got home. Meanwhile, she had come this far.

“You can’t know what all this means to me, Emil, and I won’t try to explain. So let me be more concrete. I’m going to have more work to sell to somebody, sometime. Maybe a lot of it. You’ve made an eloquent case for needing a dealer, and early European is your thing. I’m not going to make any promises…”