Barbara Taylor Bradford - Playing the Game

‘Hi!’ Laurie exclaimed. ‘How did it go today?’

‘Really very well,’ Annette answered, and went on to explain, ‘I had several conversations with my New York office, and Penelope and Bryan were instantly geared up. Within minutes.’

‘I can well imagine. It’s your enthusiasm. It ignites everyone else’s.’

Annette laughed. ‘I hope so. Anyway, they’re one thousand per cent behind me and my plan to hold the auction in New York. They were bubbling over with ideas, quickly pulled up lists of their clients who would be potential buyers, were suggesting various dates, and even focusing on the design of the invitation.’

‘When do they want you to have the auction?’

‘September. After Labor Day weekend, obviously, and we finally did settle on a tentative date in the middle of the month. Tuesday the eighteenth of September. Or the next day, Wednesday, but not any later that week. I think I will settle on the Tuesday, since they seemed to think this was best. But they will have to check that out with Sotheby’s, to be certain that the date is still available.’

‘What thoughts did they have about the invitation?’ Laurie now asked, very curious, because she herself had been working on ideas for the invitation and a theme for the auction all day.

‘To be honest, they didn’t actually have anything special, or specific. I was a bit startled that they would even try to come up with something. They only just heard about the new art to be auctioned. Still, I didn’t want to discourage them.’

‘I have several thoughts,’ Laurie volunteered, ‘but only one idea works.’

‘And what’s that?’ Annette asked eagerly, knowing full well that her sister was immersed in Degas, and had a superior knowledge of Mary Cassatt’s work and her life in Paris. If anyone could come up with a theme for these two artists, it was Laurie. ‘So come on, tell me. You’re not saying anything.’

‘I went back to my research on Degas, just to refresh my memory, and I re-checked Cassatt again. As you know, they were great friends but not romantically involved. They fought. He was a difficult man, had a bad habit of slapping people down, mostly artists like himself. She stood up to him, stood her ground. She’d learned to do that with her difficult father – good practice, I suppose. Also, she was extremely independent. Anyway, to get to the point, you have two pieces of art by Degas, the great painting of the horses and carriage at the races, and the bronze dancer. But only one Cassatt. I wish you had another. Then we could build a theme on Degas and Cassatt – friends, rivals and admirers of each other’s work. Or master and pupil, since Cassatt learned so much from him.’

‘It had occurred to me that we could link them, but you’re correct, we do need another Cassatt. Incidentally where does that leave the Giacometti? He was a Modernist, and the sculpture we have was executed in the 1960s.’

‘I realize you wouldn’t want to keep that back for another auction at another time, but it might be the wisest thing to do.’

‘Oh,’ Annette said, and fell silent, thinking.

Laurie waited for a moment before asking, ‘Are you there, Annette? I’ve shocked you, haven’t I?’

‘Yes, you have, and in a way it’s not exactly my decision, is it? There’s Christopher Delaware to consider.’

‘That’s true,’ her sister agreed. ‘But he will take your advice. I mean, after all, that’s what you’re there for. To advise him.’ When Annette did not answer, Laurie decided to press on, and said in a quiet tone, ‘Listen, whatever you think, he does have a crush on you, and he’ll want to please you. God knows he doesn’t need money any more. He doesn’t have to sell the Giacometti now, not after the twenty million quid you got him with the sale of the Rembrandt.’

‘Yes, you’re right on all points.’

‘So you do know he has a crush on you?’

Annette sighed. ‘It’s not such a big crush, and I have been very cool with him, not risen to the bait, or even addressed it. I’ve ignored it, and actually I think the crush is beginning to subside, if that’s the right word to use. I know how to be indifferent, show a total lack of interest without hurting feelings.’ ‘I know that. But does Marius?’

‘Laurie, don’t be so silly!’ Annette was both startled and shocked by this comment, and added in a firm voice, ‘Marius was only teasing me the other day – surely you of all people know that? Perhaps Christopher had ogled me a little at the party, but he’s very young, and I’m absolutely sure he’s getting the message.’

‘If you say so,’ Laurie murmured, and continued swiftly, ‘Why don’t you pick another Impressionist painting from his collection? I did notice a Morisot. Perhaps Christopher would agree to sell that.’

‘But Berthe Morisot was influenced by Manet, and later Renoir, not Degas.’

‘I know, but don’t forget she and Mary Cassatt were friends, used to paint together. And here’s another point: they were the two most important women to be involved in the Impressionist movement in the 1800s.’

‘My God, you’re right! How could I have forgotten that?’ Annette’s mind began to race, as she went on, ‘That would do it, don’t you think? If we could link the three of them, rather than Degas and Cassatt only. I shall phone him tomorrow.’

‘I know he’ll agree.’ Laurie sounded confident. She was, because James Pollard had let something slip, inadvertently, on Saturday at Knowle Court. Christopher Delaware did not intend to keep any of the art that had been left to him by his uncle. For a very simple reason. He wasn’t interested in art. But he had to go slowly because of taxes. Taking a deep breath, Laurie confided this to Annette, as well as other comments Jim had made to her.

‘Very enlightening,’ Annette responded before they both hung up. Sleep was elusive. Annette would begin to doze off and then something would awaken her with a start. The ticking of the clock, the patter of rain against the window, the rustle of the bedroom curtains as a gust of wind blew in. She had always been a light sleeper and tonight she seemed unable to settle down. Turning on her side, she shut her eyes and endeavoured to visualize the Morisot painting at Knowle Court. It was one of the artist’s earlier works, and not her greatest. On the other hand, Morisot had acquired something of a following in recent years. The painting hanging in the gallery at Knowle Court was of a woman sitting at a mirror doing her hair. Annette had liked it when she first saw it, and now, given the idea Laurie had presented to her, perhaps it would work if shown with the Cassatt. It was worth a try, and so it was worth a call to Christopher, to ask him to put it in the auction. She would phone him tomorrow.

Throwing back the bedclothes, Annette got up, went to the kitchen and poured herself a glass of milk, then hurried down the corridor to her small office. Turning on the light, she sat down at her desk, began making notes to herself regarding the auction. Marius had teased her for years, calling her a workaholic, and she was, but she couldn’t help that. It was the way she was made. Her nature. She enjoyed work, was well-organized and adept at what she did, and she had a lot of stamina, could sit at a desk for hours.

After half an hour she put down her pen and sat back in her chair, thinking about her younger sister Laurie, who was now thirty-six.

Because of the horrific car crash, she had never been able to fulfil her desire to become an actress. Or perhaps she had lost the desire and the drive. But encouraged by Marius and herself, she had studied to be an art expert, focusing on certain Impressionist painters, mainly Degas and Cassatt. Laurie had worked for them for a number of years now, as a research assistant, and was brilliant at it. Once Marius had agreed that Annette could start her own business, Annette Remmington Fine Art, she had made Laurie the only other director of her company, and her sole heir, wanting to protect her sister’s future, give her security.