Duncan Kyle - The King's Commisar

1AO'In New York City. I remember,' Pilgrim forced the words past wincing lips.

'Beautiful painting, three feet by four. Juliet and her Nurse.' This one that's coming up,' Pilgrim asked. 'What's known about it?'

'Remarkably little.' Vivian Sudbury spoke with a patent affection for mystery, which he adored because it unfailingly forced prices higher.

The subject, for example?' Malory asked.

Sudbury smiled. They're being rather coy at the moment. Naughty of them, but then' he waved a bejewelled hand in a gesture of tolerance 'it does help to build up interest.'

'How would you like to cut the crap?' said Pilgrim, hating him. 'We want to know about Turner and about this painting. For that you're charging a stiff fee. Tell us.'

Sudbury smiled. 'I'm so sorry. As a rule I find I'm talking with people deeply interested in art as such -'

'Not money as such, like you and me?' Pilgrim said.

'Oh, very well. What I imagine you want to know is what the painting might be - perhaps because you're considering investing?'

'Perhaps,' said Malory.

Sudbury nodded. Rudeness to him did not pay: he never allowed it to. And he had just thought of a way

. . .

Then if it is a major Turner, - well, two, anyway, are known to be missing. They are The Temple of Jupiter Panellenius Restored, exhibited first in 1816 at the Royal Academy. Not seen since 1853. If it's still in good condition I'd guess it might fetch two or three million.'

'Dollars?'

'Pounds, I'm afraid. The other, Fishermen Coming Ashore at Sunset, was quite possibly Turner's first commissioned painting - done in 1797 when he was twenty-two -and the more interesting for that.'

'Value?'

'Perhaps a little less. Up to two million.'

'Any others?'

'A hundred or so sizeable pieces. Many of them are watercolours, but Turner really was quite amazingly prolific: did more than 500 oil paintings and nearly 20,000 pencil and watercolours. So there could be absolutely anything!’

'At any price?' Pilgrim asked grimly.

'Oh, any price at all.''

A week passed: time used by the fortunate auctioneers with considerable skill. The painting, it gradually emerged, presented a mystery to delight the hearts not only of the Vivian Sudburys of this world but of all Fleet Street. For it had conditions attached. In the course of that first week the revelations came one by one: the Turner was said to be a new one, and an oil. More - it was a sea-and-landscape with ships. It was, for the moment, housed in a specially-built packing-case twelve feet square of which TV news and all the papers carried photographs as it was driven on a large truck through central London. But it had not yet been seen, even by the auctioneers; and for them this might have constituted a grave moral dilemma in that they could scarcely offer for sale a Turner they had never seen, yet one condition of sale was that the packing case remain unopened until one week before the auction. The auctioneers, however, did have a documentary authentication dating from the 1840s. They therefore went ahead happily, and their catalogue described the painting as the 'Mysterious' Turner. Interest grew, and many questions were asked, not least by Mr Vivian Sudbury on behalf of Hillyard, Cleef. Where had the painting and its packing case been? But no answer was forthcoming, for this was the 'Mysterious' Turner. The questions Who is the owner? Who bought it last? Why was it not listed among Turner's much-catalogued works? also remained unanswered. The honour of talking the first photograph of the painting was one for which any photographer in London would have been anxious. Famous names, great photographic artists, offered their services at half or a quarter of their normal fees. At the auction house, however, it was decided that here was an opportunity to give youth a hand, and it so happened that one young member of the Royal Family was currently studying photography with a view to a career. She was miles from the throne, but she was nubile and therefore newsworthy. Pictures of the young princess and her picture of the painting made front pages and centre spreads all over the world.

For by now interest was spreading rapidly. Copy transparencies of the youthful princess's photograph were put aboard jet aircraft at Heathrow and Gatwick and examined a few hours later in air-conditioned galleries in Southern California and Saudi Arabia, in Texas and Johannesburg. And now the picture found a title, for the setting of the painting was Plymouth, and The Hoe was discernible. Naval Vessel and Plymouth Hoe, though not Turner's title, was felt to have a nice restraint about it.

Each of these events caused its little frisson in newspapers, television studios, and galleries. But one major surprise was saved for last. The princess's photographs had been cropped to show the picture and only the picture; nothing of the frame was visible. Malory and Pilgrim, placed in the unique position of being far more interested in the frame than the picture, found themselves suffering from a most distressing absence of information. They sought help from Vivian Sudbury who, having spent a lifetime greasing palms in the art world, none the less found himself helpless. The auctioneers kept their door firmly closed to everyone. The bank's name, usually a key to most places, proved valueless, for many large financial institutions were now interested.

And in London many were represented.

But of course it is not strictly necessary to be present in order to bid at an auction. There are always agents bidding on behalf of unnamed clients. But technology has introduced new factors into ancient practice: electronically, and by satellite, an auction can these days can be conducted on a worldwide basis.

And so on that Wednesday at five p.m., when the auctioneer's gavel called an audience of the very rich and the very famous to order, it was in a room bathed in hot light and surveyed by cameras. For in addition to the multi-millionaires present, others - several of them billionaires - were seated in front of TV

sets in places as diverse as Riyadh, Rio, Hong Kong, Dallas and Tokyo.

'And now,' said the auctioneer, 'a painting by J. M. W. Turner provisionally titled: Naval Vessel and Plymouth Hoe.' He turned his head to watch as a porter in a stuff coat removed the draped cloth which had until that moment concealed the painting. Now he gazed blandly over an audience sitting rigid with surprise.

For the frame in which the picture was displayed was fashioned in dulled stainless steel, with clearly reinforced corners.

The auctioneer spoke gently but persuasively. It was part of the conditions of sale that the painting be offered in its frame. There would be absolutely no difficulty in removing the frame later, nor would damage be done to the picture in such removal. He then spoke briefly of the Turner's provenance, citing both the original certificate of authentication and another accorded in the last few days by the custodian of the great Turner Bequest at the British Museum; and he added a few quiet but proud words concerning the self-evident quality of the painting. Then, becoming practical, he further explained that bids would be accepted in steps of fifty thousand pounds.

At that point the auctioneer coughed, just once, as a kind of punctuation. 'Now, ladies and gentlemen,'

he said, 'do I hear one million?'

In fact he heard nothing. The first bid was made by a small nod of a silver head. But it came at once . . . Whatever the state of disagreement which lay in the background, the instructions to Vivian Sudbury had all the clarity of a pool of dew. 'Buy it,' Malory had ordered him boldly. The boldness evident in Sudbury's demeanour was somewhat less in evidence in Malory's face as the bidding climbed. Pilgrim's face reflected only pain. But Sudbury was a happy man as the price floated upward: for Sudbury was on commission, which reinforced his determination to follow his client's instructions.