William Boyd - Stars and bars

“Oh, God. It was…everything went wrong. It’s difficult, um…”

“Don’t worry.” Cora laughed, but kindly. “But I was very impressed. Somehow it was the last thing I’d ever have expected you to do.”

“Same here,” he said thoughtfully. Then, “Look, I’d be terribly grateful if you didn’t mention anything to Bryant. I wouldn’t like her to get the, you know, wrong idea.”

“Or Bryant’s mother.”

“Yes.”

“Dr Dubrovnik wasn’t the most convincing art historian.”

“Well…” He made a wry face.

“Bit of a dark horse, Mr Dores, aren’t you. Lead a complicated sort of life.”

“Not usually,” he said candidly. “But since coming here everything has got rather out of control.”

They were outside Gage’s door. Cora looked quizzically at him for a moment.

“Go right on in. He’s expecting you.” She turned to her own door.

Henderson knocked and went into Gage’s room. It was empty and the double doors to the bedroom were closed.

“Henderson. Give me two minutes,” came Gage’s voice from behind them.

Henderson took the opportunity of scrutinizing Demeter and Baubo again. There was the Goddess in her tattered widow’s weeds laughing at the serving maid’s outrageous display. The grin was crude, badly rendered, but was wide enough to reveal the Goddess’s teeth. Baubo was laughing too. They were having a good time, that was clear enough.

“Come on in,” Gage called from his bedroom. Henderson walked through. Gage was shirtless and was patting his damp ruddy cheeks with a towel. His old chest and shoulders were covered in surprisingly dense grey hair.

“Having a shave,” he said, and put on a clean shirt. “How are you, Henderson?”

“Oh. Fine.”

“A successful consultation in Atlanta?”

“Yes and no.”

“Freeborn tells me you created quite a stir. Something about shouting and wading across the atrium lake?”

Henderson coloured. “Ah. Yes. I can—”

“Freeborn was insistent that anyone who behaved like that wasn’t a man to do business with.”

“There is an explanation. Of sorts.”

“I listen to Freeborn but I rarely take his advice.” He paused. “I guess you had your reasons.”

Henderson scratched his cheek. “Yes. I think I did.”

“Well OK. Things I did when I was your age…” He came over and put his arm round Henderson’s shoulders. “We got to sow our wild oats, don’t we? Otherwise what the hell’s the point? Know what I mean?”

“We all want to be happy and we’re all going to die.”

“You’re learning, Henderson. You’re learning.”

Henderson smiled. Gage patted his shoulder.

“I like you, Henderson. Like you a lot. You’re a bit quiet and withdrawn, but I’ve got to say I like you.”

Henderson didn’t know what to reply. He liked Gage too, he realized. He felt fond of the little old man. He wanted to tell him that, but something prevented him.

“Thanks very much,” he mumbled.

Gage smiled and shook his head sadly.

“Now. What about our business?”

“I’ve spoken to Mr Beeby and we’ve thought again about the Dutch paintings. We will raise the reserve to $50,000 each. I know that’s not as much as Sereno and Gint, but if we get anywhere near our estimates on the others, you’ll do much better.”

Gage spread his hands. “There you are. A little extra consideration can work wonders.”

“All the other conditions remain the same of course.”

“Well, I think we’ve got a deal.” Gage held out his hand. Henderson shook it. Gage’s grasp was cool and dry.

“I’m delighted,” Henderson said. He felt a thudding in his chest, a slackening. “Truly delighted.”

“I don’t think my son will be very pleased. Neither will Mr Sereno or Mr Gint. But they are my pictures after all.”

Henderson quickly ran through the next stages of the operation — packing, shipping, insuring.

“How soon can you sell them?”

“A month, perhaps slightly longer. We need to publicize, announce—”

“Good. Well, the sooner the better. I won’t disguise from you, Henderson, my need for the money. The Gage mansion, Beckman’s lab, Freeborn’s medical-wadding venture, and various so-called ‘sure things’ he’s gotten me involved with, Cora’s…Well, these last few months Cora hasn’t cost much — but she has to be looked after. It’s all drained away over the years.”

“I see,” Henderson said, sympathetically.

“Know how I made my first million? Parking lots. Right after World War One. I saw all these new cars on the roads and I thought guys will start driving them to work and are gonna need someplace to leave them. I had a little money saved up and I bought myself a vacant lot in down town Atlanta. Levelled it out, painted some lines on the ground. The first real parking lot in Atlanta.”

“You know, my parking lot was a kind of peculiar shape so I had to draw a plan of how to get the most number of cars into the place. Then I had my idea.” Gage paused, and adjusted his stance as he got caught up in his story.

“I took out a series of patents on parking lot design. Filed them at the patent office. You look at any old parking lot today. What do you see? The basic grid, the parallelogram, the chevron, the interlocking chevron. I had patents on them all in the early twenties. Everyone who had a parking lot had to pay me to use the design. I had three lawyers touring the Southern states serving writs. The money came flowing in. I bought more land for parking lots. Before I knew it I was the biggest parking lot operator south of the Mason-Dixon line. I made my first million, and then some more. But then in 1924 the Supreme Court declared my patents invalid and the bottom fell out of parking lot design for ever.”

“Good Lord,” Henderson said. “It seems such an obvious idea.”

“All the best ones are, son. Every time I see a parking lot today I could weep. And those multi-storey ones…What the hell. It didn’t bother me that much. I’d bought this place. I’d been to Europe and I had my art collection. In 1935 I got married.” He paused.

“I only had that one good idea which made me all my money. I thought I had good ideas later but it turned out I was only going to be allowed the one.” He laughed to himself. “Amazing how easy it goes, money. I’ve been poor and I’ve been rich, now I’m getting poor again and there’s no doubt it’s better being rich. Money can’t buy you happiness they say — and it’s true, I guess — but it can buy you one hell of a lot of other things.” He looked at Henderson. “You get me two or three million, Henderson, and I’ll see the century out happy.”

“I don’t think you need worry. The Sisleys alone will—”

“You a happy man, Henderson?”

Henderson was a little taken aback. “Well, I wasn’t. But then I thought I knew what would make me happy. But now I’m not so sure.” He rubbed his hands together and put them in his pocket. “I’m afraid that doesn’t make much sense.”

There was the sound of someone coming into the next room.

“Loomis,” came a voice. “It’s me.”

“Ah,” Gage said, looking at his watch. “A little early, but never mind.”

They both went through into the sitting room. Standing in the middle of the carpet was Monika Cardew, in a bright orange dress, tight around the hips, and white high-heeled shoes. Her hair was still in its complicated beehive.

“You remember Henderson, Monika.”

“Of course. How do you do?”

“Hello,” Henderson said, trying to look insouciant.

“We won’t be a second, Monika. Help yourself to a drink.”

He followed Henderson to the door and opened it. He smiled.