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- Herausgeber: Clink Street Publishing
- Kategorie: Abenteuer, Thriller, Horror
- Serie: The Ian Caxton Thriller Series
- Sprache: Englisch
- Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2024
The Result is the fifth volume in the Ian Caxton Thriller series. When Ian Caxton is offered a 'gift' of a painting worth £25 million he knows it comes with 'strings'... and he'll also be breaking the law. The Result could be a fortune... or a long term in prison. Viktor sees a chance to help repatriate hidden paintings stolen by the Nazis during the Second World War, but could his honest intentions bring him into conflict with Ian? Emma is close to unravelling the history of her 'Mademoiselle Chad' painting, worth an estimated £3 million. However, this value can only be realised if she can identify the owner prior to 1889. Another absorbing page-turning tale involving more risks and rewards, but could The Result be the moment when Ian's successes finally come to an end?
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The Result
Robert Cort
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This book is dedicated to the memory of my parents, Harry and May Cort.
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ALSO WRITTEN BY ROBERT CORT
THE IAN CAXTON THRILLER SERIES
Volume 1 – The Opportunity
Volume 2 – The Challenge
Volume 3 – The Decision
Volume 4 – The Gamble
www.robertcort.net
Contents
Chapter 1
“I have a problem, Ian, and I’m fairly sure you’ll be able to help,” said Charles. He had a very serious expression on his face. “If my grandfather’s art collection is valued correctly at about 80 million pounds and this becomes public knowledge, then Mr. Taxman is going to seriously slam me for inheritance tax. I want you to prove conclusively, Ian, that the value of all these paintings is only… what? Shall we say, about ten million!”
Ian raised his eyebrows and a tiny smile appeared on his face.
Charles continued, “I can then pay Mr. Taxman a much lower figure, obtain probate and get on with the task of selling this property, my grandfather’s house, ‘Dexter’s End’. In return, Ian, I have a proposition, which I’m hoping you’ll be seriously tempted by. Achieve all this for me and I will then give you, totally free, the ‘Madeleine B’ painting. Yes, the one hanging on the wall in the hallway. By your own considered valuation, a snip at maybe between 25–30 million pounds. So, Ian Caxton, what do you say? Do we have a deal?”
Well, well, well, thought Ian. Now there’s a challenge. He needed time to think this one through properly. “Interesting proposition, Charles. You know all this would be against the law. It’s completely illegal.”
2“I know, but with all your knowledge and experience of the art market, I’m sure you’ve come across similar situations.”
Ian smiled. The truth was, he hadn’t. “I’ll need some time, Charles. There’s a lot to consider.”
“Here, take this,” said Charles, holding out a green folder containing photocopies of the correct provenances of all his grandfather’s paintings. “Our only immediate problem is time. I need to obtain probate as quickly as possible. People like my solicitor, accountant and, I’m sure, Mr. Taxman, will be anxious to progress this matter very quickly.”
Ian accepted the file and placed it under his arm. “Give me 48 hours.”
“Fine,” replied Charles. “Ring me. We can then discuss your decision.”
The two men walked back into the hallway preparing to leave the house. Ian stopped to look again at the ‘Madeleine B’ painting. It still needed a good clean, but the sweaty palm of his left hand reminded him, this was a genuine Paul Gauguin. No doubt about that.
“Checking on your possible new acquisition?” asked Charles, with a teasing smile.
Ian smiled back and stepped out through the front doorway. “You really should put this picture, and all the other valuable paintings, in a bank vault.”
Charles reset the burglar alarm, closed the front door and inserted a key into the lock. “Once I get probate sorted, they’ll all be gone.”
“I’ll give you a lift to Virginia Water station,” said Ian, as he walked towards his car parked in the driveway.
“Thanks,” replied Charles. “If you drive out into the lane, I’ll set the gate’s lock and alarm system.”
Ian put the green folder in the car’s boot and opened the driver’s door. Five minutes later the two men were driving 3through the Wentworth Estate. At the road junction with the A30 Ian steered the vehicle right and headed north towards Virginia Water.
When Ian stopped the car outside the railway station Charles opened the passenger door, but, before stepping out, he turned towards Ian and said, “Thanks for the lift. Look after those documents. I’ll speak to you again in two days’ time.”
Ian nodded. “Bye for now.”
Charles got out, waved and shut the door. Ian waved back and drove away. On his journey back home to Esher, Ian had only one thought on his mind. What would Andrei have done with a proposal like this?
When Ian arrived home, the house was quiet and empty. He checked his watch and realised Emma would still be on her way back from collecting Robert from school. He walked into the home office, sat down behind his desk and placed the green folder in front of him. He opened the flap and removed several clear plastic files. Counting them, Ian established there were 19 individual files, each with its own white label attached to the cover. Each label stated both the title of the painting and the artist’s name. He flicked through each plastic folder until he came to the label saying, ‘Fête Gloanec’, Paul Gauguin (‘Madeleine B’). He then removed all the papers inside and started to read and make notes.
Once he’d finished, he returned the pages back into the plastic folder. Pondering on the situation, he leaned back in his chair and stared out of the window. Yes, he concluded, the provenance did appear to stack up. The painting is about the same size, 36.5 x 52.5 cm and everything about it says it is the real painting, not a fake or copy. Also, my instincts say it’s the real painting too. Mmm, so why do we have two paintings both aspiring to be the original? Is the existing 4authorised version of ‘Fête Gloanec’, currently displayed in the Musée des Beaux-Arts d’Orléans, just a copy? It doesn’t make much sense. Surely the French would have fully investigated their painting… or had they?
Ian decided he needed to see this French version for himself… and establish what the provenance, attached to that painting, actually said.
Viktor was sitting at his desk in the ‘Taylor Fine Arts Gallery’. He was signing the papers which agreed to the sale of the gallery’s premises lease. After checking the wording one final time, he scribbled his signature and handed the papers to Mary to deliver to Mr. Crawshaw.
Mary had discovered the new gallery premises only six days ago. It was located just along the road in Old Bond Street. Having spotted the ‘To Let’ sign in the window she’d immediately organised a viewing for her and Viktor for later that same day. They were both impressed and decided it would be perfect for their needs. It was ideally situated and had more floor space than their current gallery.
Whilst Mary delivered the legal papers to Mr. Crawshaw, Viktor had returned to his investigations into item 14 on Alexander’s original listing of the paintings he and Ian had viewed at ‘Dexter’s End’. He was still convinced that Ian knew something… something that he hadn’t noticed. It related to the ‘Madeleine B’ painting on the wall in the hallway. So far his research had identified the signature, ‘Madeleine B’, was an alias sometimes used by Paul Gauguin. Also, there appeared to be two pictures, titled ‘Fête Gloanec’. One at ‘Dexter’s End’ and a second on display in the French gallery, Musée des Beaux-Arts d’Orléans. So, what had Ian spotted? Why had the provenance for this ‘Dexter’s End’ painting been so vague? Why was there an exact copy of the painting being displayed in the French 5museum? Were there two original ‘Fête Gloanec’ paintings? Or was one a copy? A fake?
Viktor leaned back in his chair and tried to think of another approach. Nothing, at the moment, seemed to make much sense.
Viktor’s mind was suddenly distracted when his mobile phone started to ring. Answering the call, he was surprised to hear Ian’s voice.
“Hello, Ian. I’ve just been thinking about you.”
“Obviously expecting my call,” replied Ian. “Anyway, I thought I ought to bring you up to date with regards to the painting collection at ‘Dexter’s End’.”
Ian told Viktor about Charles’s decision not to accept Alexander’s offer for the painting collection. He then gave Viktor a selective version of his subsequent meeting with Charles. He explained that Charles had previously met Ian at Sotheby’s, several years ago, and wanted him to personally handle the sale of the collection.
“I see,” was Viktor’s immediate reaction. “So, what happens now?”
“I need to look into Charles’s paintings again. He’s given me a more accurate record of each of the paintings’ provenances. Some of the pictures are worth a lot more than we originally reported.”
“I think we both thought that would be the case, but the paperwork we were given was really quite vague.”
“I know,” replied Ian. “But Charles had his reasons.”
Chapter 2
On the final morning of May Ling’s vacation in Antigua, Oscar slipped quietly out of bed. It was just after 5.50am. He left May continuing to sleep peacefully. He’d struggled to sleep himself, knowing he’d soon be back alone in his bed.
He quietly slipped on his dressing gown and walked into the kitchen to prepare breakfast. He wanted to make sure everything was fully prepared before they went for their early morning swim in the Caribbean Sea.
May had become very fond of Oscar’s tropical fruits, nuts and cereals for breakfast. All very different to her usual quick Chinese dishes and coffee back home.
After preparing a huge bowl of mixed fresh fruits he placed it in the fridge and made himself a mug of coffee. Taking the drink through to his study he savoured and sipped the hot coffee whilst he waited for his computer to spring into life. After it had booted successfully, he checked his three favourite news websites but nothing really captured his attention. These websites were his main contact with what was happening in the outside world. He then switched his attention to his emails and found that Wesley, the owner of the ‘Shell Gallery’, wanted to have a meeting to discuss a particular problem. Wesley had briefly 7explained the situation but Oscar decided his reply could wait until May had left. He could then give the query his full attention.
Oscar sipped the last drops of his coffee and looked at his wristwatch. 6.45am. He looked out of the window and saw the first signs of sunrise. This was his usual time to swim in the Caribbean, before the sun became too hot.
He left the study and strolled back towards his bedroom. Quietly pushing open the door he noticed May was curled up and still fast asleep. He slowly walked to the side of his bed, sat down and listened to her rhythmic breathing. He leaned forward, pulled back the single cotton sheet and kissed her on the cheek. He then smiled and gently stroked her hair. Gradually, May began to stir. Opening her eyes and spotting Oscar, she sat up, smiled and kissed Oscar fully on his lips.
“Last morning, May,” whispered Oscar, standing up from the bed. “There’s a big sea out there waiting for us.” Oscar wandered over to his wardrobe and selected a pair of blue swimming shorts.
May sat up, stretched and yawned. “What time is it?”
“Time for our swim,” replied Oscar. He checked his watch. “Nearly seven o’clock. We’ve got three hours before I need to take you to the airport.”
May got out of bed and Oscar watched her slim, naked body walk into the ensuite bathroom.
It was about an hour later when they both sat down at the kitchen table and began to eat their breakfast.
May had once again enjoyed her relaxing swim in the lovely warm sea. “I’m going to miss the Caribbean, Oscar. Our early morning swim is so refreshing and it gives me such a great appetite for breakfast.”
“Is that all you’ll miss?” teased Oscar. He tried to hold back a smile.
8May smiled and placed her hand on the side of Oscar’s face. “I’ll miss you, too.”
“I’ll miss you too… a lot,” said Oscar, looking deep into May’s dark blue eyes. “It’s been fabulous, you staying here.”
“I’ve had a wonderful time. You are so lucky to be living on such a lovely island. It’s all made me think.”
“Think about what?” queried Oscar.
“The future. Our future. Beijing… and Hong Kong. I don’t really want to go back. All I have there is work… and with the Chinese government, well, that’s becoming more difficult and uncertain, by the day.”
“You don’t have to go back, May. It would be wonderful if you stayed here with me.”
“I know. But even if I decided to move out here… permanently, or elsewhere, I’d still have a lot of sorting out to do first. I can’t just drop everything… all the things I’ve worked so hard to achieve. A lot of people rely on me for their livelihood. I won’t just walk out and let them down.”
“No, of course. But, do you think we have a future… us together, I mean?”
“Yes, of course. It was wonderful meeting up with you again in Hong Kong. When you invited me to come and stay with you in Antigua, it was the highlight of my year. I counted the days until I left Hong Kong. We’ve got to keep in touch this time and see how we can move forward… together.”
Oscar smiled. He could feel his emotions rising and wiped his right eye. “Of course we will. I don’t mind returning to Hong Kong for a short holiday, but I’m not going back there to live again.”
“I know,” replied May. She stared down at the last three pieces of fruit in her bowl. “We need to talk about the future, Oscar. I know we’re both going to be sad living apart.”
The drive to the airport was a quiet journey. They were 9both deep in thought. Everything that needed to be said had been discussed over the last few hours. May’s eyes were focused on the passing countryside and the traffic, but her mind was thinking about the last few weeks with Oscar. It had been far more than just a wonderful holiday, it had been a time for her to relax and reflect on her life and ambitions. Her relationship with Oscar had blossomed and she was certain he was going to be an essential part of her future. She felt sad to be leaving, but tried to convince herself it would only be for a short period. But would it? When she arrived back in Hong Kong would she simply slot back into her old lifestyle and realise that the great time with Oscar was just that, a great time, a holiday romance, or was it something more special? Time would tell… one way or another.
Emma sat quietly in the home office. Ian was away at a business meeting and Robert was at school. She had reserved today to try and find the last missing link between the artist Georges Seurat and Pickles and Co. She opened up her computer and typed the list of all the information she’d recently established:
Mademoiselle Chad’ had been painted in 1889It had been purchased at an auction on the 14th November, 1902, by Barrett’s the Jewellers for three shillings.Pickles and Co. owned the painting prior to the auction. They’d ceased trading earlier in 1902.Pickles and Co. had previously been based at 12 Cornmarket Street, Oxford.Prior to 1902, 12 Cornmarket Street was occupied by Pickles and Co. both as an art shop and as an agency from the offices upstairs.The agency specialised in purchasing and importing10paintings by some of the post-impressionist artists living in France.Georges Seurat died in 1891.Pondering on these facts, she gradually realised there were more questions still to be answered. Typing again she listed the following:
Was the painting purchased directly from the artist, or through a French agency link?Were there any other links or connections?What had happened to the painting during those first 13 years of its life?Was there a direct link between Pickles and Co. and Georges Seurat?Emma rechecked all her notes from earlier findings plus the information she’d obtained during her conversations with Jean at Barrett’s the Jewellers. She was happy that the provenance dating all the way back to the 14th November 1902 would stand up to official scrutiny, but she also knew that without the missing information for its first 13 years, between 1889–1902, the painting would certainly be devalued. Ian had told her that without proven provenance for this critical period, the picture’s value could well be reduced by many, many, thousands of pounds.
She sat back in her chair and pondered again on the challenge. How could she find out more about Pickles and Co.’s business dealings during those crucial 13 years?
Suddenly, Emma had an inspired thought. What had happened to all Pickles and Co.’s paintings and assets when they’d ceased trading? Presumably they were sold off by the official receiver. Did official receivers exist back in 1902? She made a note to find out. Who would they have been sold 11to? Would it be via an auction? Maybe. Could the buyer or buyers have obtained all Pickles and Co.’s records as well? After all, those records would contain valuable information, including the provenances for all Pickles and Co.’s paintings. Maybe, just maybe, those records would include the painting, ‘Mademoiselle Chad’!
Emma stood up from her desk and walked over to Ian’s collection of art books, on a large bookcase immediately behind his desk. She was not sure what she was looking for, or going to find, but hoped something useful might just turn up. After a few minutes she removed a book listing all the art galleries in the United Kingdom. The publication date was 1996. Obviously out of date, she thought, but maybe it would still give her a clue to all the old established UK galleries.
She then spotted and removed another large book. It was a comprehensive history of the Ashmolean Museum in Oxford. Pickles and Co. had been based in Oxford. Was there a connection? She carried both publications back to her desk and opened the galleries book, looking in the index for galleries located in and around the Oxford area. She then excluded all the galleries that didn’t exist prior to 1910. The result was three galleries; she wrote down their names and telephone numbers.
Next, she opened the thick book titled ‘The Ashmolean Museum’ and found the section on the Pre-Raphaelite art collection. She established that the museum had built up a large collection of these paintings, but, more intriguingly, she also read that a group of young painters, sculptors and writers had, in 1848, formed an alliance known as the ‘The Pre-Raphaelite Brotherhood’. Although she was disappointed to read that Georges Seurat was not part of this group, she wondered if there was still any possible link with Pickles and Co.
12At least now, she thought, I’ll have some more up-to-date information to present to Ian.
Later that evening, Ian and Emma were sitting on the settee in the lounge. Emma was summarising her new findings. Ian remained silent and was impressed with Emma’s research.
Once she’d finished, Ian said, “That’s all very interesting, what do you plan to do next?”
“Unless you have any other suggestions, I thought I’d make some telephone calls, ring the three galleries I’ve listed and maybe the Ashmolean Museum too. I’m hoping somewhere in this group I’ll find my answer.”
Ian had one additional idea, but decided to let Emma try her own options first. “Okay. Good luck. I think you’re almost there.”
Emma smiled. She was determined to crack this tortuous final leg of her investigations.
Chapter 3
Ian telephoned Viktor. “Vic, it’s Ian. Fancy an adventure?”
“Hi, Ian. Of course. What are you suggesting?” Viktor was excited and curious.
“A short trip to France, to the Musée des Beaux-Arts d’Orléans.”
“I knew it!” exclaimed Viktor. “You want to see their version of the ‘Fête Gloanec’.”
“Well done, Vic. I’m impressed. You’ve obviously been doing your homework,” replied Ian, smiling to himself.
“It’s that painting at ‘Dexter’s End’, by ‘Madeleine B’. That’s Paul Gauguin’s work. But which is the real painting? You think Charles’s version is the real one, don’t you?”
“That’s what I want to find out. I want to understand why the French consider their painting the original because… I’m not convinced it is! I’ve got two seats booked on a private flight from Gatwick tomorrow morning. Do you want to join me?”
“Try and stop me. What time’s the flight?”
Fifteen hours later, Ian and Viktor were on board a small Cessna private charter plane over the English Channel. They were the only two passengers.
Viktor looked at Ian and said, “I’m still not sure why you need to personally see the French museum’s painting?”
14Ian smiled. “I told Charles I thought his painting was the original, but I won’t be totally sure until I’ve seen the museum’s version, ‘in the flesh’, so to speak. I discussed the matter with Charles yesterday and told him my plan. There’s serious inheritance tax implications for him, so we need to be sure which painting is the original.”
“Yes, I see. But why did you want me to join you?”
Ian smiled and turned to look directly at Viktor. “For your expert opinion of course.”
The French taxi arrived outside the front entrance to the Musée des Beaux-Arts d’Orléans. It was 1.45pm. Twenty minutes later they stood side by side, facing the painting titled ‘Fête Gloanec’ by Paul Gauguin. Written in French, the note at the side of the picture explained why it had been signed as ‘Madeleine B’.
“It’s much cleaner than the painting we saw at ‘Dexter’s End’,” whispered Viktor, still inspecting every detail. “Otherwise, I don’t see any difference.”
As Ian inspected the painting a small grin appeared on his face. He had no itchy scalp, no sweaty palms this time. In hushed tones he whispered back to Viktor. “Vic, what you see in front of you is a good copy. It’s not the original.”
“Come on, Ian, you think it’s a fake?” queried Viktor. “You can’t decide just like that.”
“This is not the real ‘Fête Gloanec’. I just know. Unless… there are two!”
“Wow! If you’re correct, well… this means there’ll be massive implications.”
Ian leaned forwards and tried to inspect the brushstrokes closer. “When you look at this painting, do you feel anything?”
“Feel? You mean, can I tell it’s not the original? Well, no. Occasionally, I can see something in a painting that I think 15isn’t quite right, but… well, in this case it looks fine. I’d need to put both copies next to each other and obviously get the experts to complete the usual scientific investigations. Then there are the provenances.”
Ian nodded. “I don’t get the same feeling with this picture that I did with the version at ‘Dexter’s End’… and my instincts are rarely wrong.”
Viktor smiled and shook his head. He was definitely feeling bewildered and knew Ian had a sort of sixth sense when it came to paintings. Personally, he was feeling completely out of his depth. “Okay. What do we do now?”
Ian looked at his wristwatch. “What we do now is find a taxi. Our flight back to London leaves in two hours.”
When Ian arrived home later that evening, he explained to Emma the details of his earlier conversations with Charles, and his findings from the visit to the Musée des Beaux-Arts d’Orléans.
“You’re not going to go along with Charles’s fraudulent proposals to avoid inheritance tax, are you?” asked Emma. She was alarmed that Ian was even mentioning this possible course of action.
“No. Of course not. Charles’s suggestion is far too risky. Besides, it’s not going to work either. You and I have previously agreed we don’t need to be involved in illegal activity… or be unnecessarily greedy. No. I’m thinking of a much simpler and far better solution to Charles’s problem.”
Ian then outlined to Emma what he was planning.
After about 20 minutes Emma said, “Okay. It’s quite a good idea. Borderline legal, but worth a try. When are you going to speak to Charles?”
“It’s too late to ring him now,” replied Ian. “But tomorrow I’ll send him an email.”
16First thing the next morning Ian emailed Charles. He suggested they should meet as he’d got some information… and a new idea.
Five minutes later Charles replied and said he was at work, but would telephone him later that evening.
It was just after 9pm when Ian’s mobile phone rang. The call was from Charles Owen.
“Hi, Ian. Your email sounded intriguing.”
“Hello, Charles. Can we meet up? I’ve thought of another idea which… I think you’ll be pleased with.”
“Can’t you tell me over the phone?” queried Charles. He was extremely busy at work.
“No, I don’t think that would be very wise,” replied Ian, in a serious tone.
Two days later, the two men met in Trafalgar Square. It was during Charles’s lunch break. After a brief exchange of pleasantries, they sat on a bench far away from other people.
Ian started to speak, “I’ve thought of another route to help with your inheritance tax situation. As you know, I visited the Musée des Beaux-Arts d’Orléans the other day and stood within three feet of their version of the ‘Fête Gloanec’. It’s a fake, a copy, call it what you will, but your painting is the original.”
“Well, that’s good news, but I don’t see how that helps me with my tax problem,” replied Charles, a little confused.
“Their version is deemed to be the original, right? It has been accepted in the art market as the original, therefore yours must be a fake, a copy.”
“But it isn’t, you just said so.”
Ian smiled. “Bear with me. I’d be prepared to arrange for someone to give you a low valuation on the picture that currently resides in your grandfather’s hallway. The report would say it’s a copy of the painting that currently hangs in 17the French museum. That valuation could then be presented for inheritance tax purposes. Once that’s all gone through, and all the dust has finally settled, well, that’s when we can get your painting professionally examined. Hopefully, the experts will conclude your version is the original and the museum’s version is the copy.”
Charles looked at Ian and then gradually smiled. “That sounds nice and sneaky, but, will it work?”
“I don’t see why not… and in the meantime it’s going to save you on inheritance tax: legally, well, sort of. We can look at some of your grandfather’s other paintings at the same time.”
“You think this scam will work with some of the other paintings?”
Ian stared at Charles with a scowl. “Charles, this isn’t a scam. It’s all above board and certainly more legal than the route you were thinking about. I still need to look in more detail at your grandfather’s other paintings… and their provenances. We need to see how we can justify new and legal valuations for the taxman.”
“Okay. Well done, Ian. Let’s give it a go.”
“One last thing, Charles.” Ian was trying to convey his seriousness. “Your generous offer of your grandfather’s ‘Fête Gloanec’. I’m sorry, but I can’t accept it as my reward. Once we’ve finalised the collection and the inheritance tax authorities have agreed to the paperwork, then you can decide what my contribution has been worth.”
“Okay, Ian. Trusting aren’t you?”
“In your business world I gather there’s a saying, ‘my word is my bond’.”
Charles laughed and then leaned towards Ian. “You read too much fiction.”
Chapter 4
Emma had made telephone calls to two of the well-established art galleries in the Oxford area. Unfortunately, neither seemed to have any knowledge of, or connection, with, Pickles and Co. They were also reluctant to search through all their old records to see if they’d previously had any dealings with them back in the late 1800s. Although now feeling slightly deflated, Emma decided to ring the third gallery before taking a break for lunch. She pressed the telephone numbers and waited for the call to be answered. She could hear the gallery phone ringing but nobody was answering. She was just about to hang up when suddenly she heard a male voice announce, “Barker’s Gallery.”
“Hello,” announced Emma. “My name is Emma Caxton and I’m trying to find out if your company had any dealings with a particular Oxford art gallery and an agency in the late 19th century.”
“The 19th century you say. You’ll need to speak to our Mr. Clive Jackson; he’s our archivist. He works part time and today is one of his days off.”
“Which days does Mr. Jackson work?”
“Tuesdays and Thursdays, ten till three.”
“Thank you,” responded Emma. “I’ll telephone again 19tomorrow. Would it be possible to let him know I called please? My name is Emma Caxton.”
“Okay, missus, I’ve made a note.”
“Goodbye and thank you,” replied Emma. Oh well, she thought, I’ll just have to wait another day.
Emma sat back in her chair and wondered whether to contact the Ashmolean Museum now or leave it until later. However, something in her mind prompted her to google Clive Jackson at the Barker’s Gallery, Oxford. She just wondered if there would be any additional information online.
Emma entered the details into her computer and, to her surprise, there was a positive response. She slowly read the results and immediately realised that Mr. Jackson was quite an expert on 18th and 19th century art. He’d got a number of titled letters after his name. She also established that he’d previously been employed at Christie’s and the Ashmolean Museum, before retiring in 2015. Well, well, well, she thought, this is a turn up. I wonder if Ian has come across him?
Five minutes later Ian returned to their house and Emma called out to him. Ian walked through the hallway and joined her in the office.
“Ian, have you heard of a man named Clive Jackson? He’s working part time at Barker’s Gallery in Oxford. He used to work at Christie’s and the Ashmolean Museum.”
Ian smiled. “So, you’ve found Clive have you?”
“Oh, so you do know him.”
“Know of him, but not personally met him. He’s well thought of in the art world. How did you come across him?”
“After he retired from the Ashmolean Museum, he joined Barker’s Gallery in Oxford. As I said, he now works part time as their archivist. I’ve made an appointment to ring him tomorrow,” replied Emma, feeling quite pleased with herself.
20“Excellent. Coincidentally, I was going to suggest you try and track him down if all your other avenues failed, but obviously you didn’t need my help after all.”
Emma smiled. “No, I didn’t, did I?”
The next morning, just after ten o’clock, Emma telephoned Barker’s Gallery and asked to be put through to Mr. Jackson.
“Hello, Jackson speaking.”
“Good morning, Mr. Jackson. My name is Mrs. Emma Caxton.”
“Did you telephone me yesterday?”
“Yes, that was me. I’m hoping you may be able to help me.” Emma crossed her fingers in hope. “I’m trying to trace any companies that may have had any knowledge or previous dealings with a firm called Pickles and Co. They had an art gallery and agency based in Cornmarket Street, back in the 19th century.”
“That’s not a name I recall. Tell me what, in particular, you’re looking for and I’ll see if I can help?”
Emma gave Clive Jackson a summary of her research into the ‘Mademoiselle Chad’ painting to date.
“I see,” responded Mr. Jackson. “So, you think you might have unearthed an original Seurat painting?”
“I hope so, especially after all the hard work I’ve put in.”
“Mmm. It’s a possibility, although there are a lot of fakes about. Have you taken your painting to an expert?”
“My husband used to work for Sotheby’s. Ian Caxton.”
“Oh, yes. I recognise the name now. I think I might have met him at some time. You say he doesn’t work for Sotheby’s anymore?”
Emma explained briefly what she and Ian were now doing.
“Well good luck to you both. Tricky occupation choice. I’ll see what I can find from our records, Emma. Let me 21have your telephone number. It might be about a week, but I’ll ring you.”
Emma said thank you and gave him the numbers for both the landline and her mobile.
When Emma ended the call, she was feeling much more positive.
It was exactly seven days later that Emma’s mobile phone rang.
“Emma? This is Clive Jackson.”
“Oh hello, Mr. Jackson,” replied Emma. She was in the kitchen and carried her phone through the hallway into the office.
“Well, I have a little bit of good news for you. Amongst our archives I found out that Pickles and Co. ceased trading and went into voluntary liquidation in early 1902. All their assets were subsequently sold at auction. We have a catalogue list of all the assets that were auctioned and a list of all the paintings Barker’s Gallery purchased. Your painting was listed as Lot 72, but it wasn’t one of the paintings we bought. Pickles and Co. would appear to have been well organised because all the paintings we bought from the auction came with satisfactory provenances. Before they ceased trading, it would also appear that we did actually do a little bit of business with them. Mainly buying a few of their imported French paintings.”
“I see,” said Emma, a little deflated. “But no extra information about my picture.”
“No, sorry,” responded Mr. Jackson. He could hear the disappointment in Emma’s voice. “As I say, the paintings we bought all came with good provenances so, in theory, your people in Witney should have received the same. You should go back to them. They may still have the original paperwork.”
22“Thank you for your time and effort, Mr. Jackson.”
“Let me know how it goes, Emma. I’m intrigued to know how it all works out.”
“I will. Goodbye and thank you again.”
Emma placed her mobile phone down on the desk and stared out of the window. It was now January and Ian was brushing the last of the snow from the driveway. She briefly shivered at the cold bleak view. All in all, she thought, it was definitely not a good day.
Chapter 5
“Ian? Is that you?” When he picked up the telephone, Ian discovered it was his father on the line.
“Hello, Dad, is everything okay?” replied Ian. Ian’s father rarely telephoned and, when he did, Ian tended to assume there was an issue or a problem.
“Yes, fine. Your mother and I have just moved out of ‘The Willows’. The sale goes through tomorrow and we’re moving into ‘Bluebell Cottage’ on Friday. I thought you ought to know.”
“Thanks, Dad. Are you and Mum still okay about it?”
“Your mother had a few emotional moments whilst sorting out some of our possessions. You know, what to keep, what to send to charity shops and what to throw out, but she seems fine now. We’re both excited about our new future.”
“I’m really pleased for you both, Dad. So’s Emma. We both like ‘Bluebell Cottage’. It’s a good choice, a nice size for you both and a lovely location. Where are you staying tonight?”
“We’ve just got overnight bags and are staying in, what will become, our new local pub. We’ve booked in for two nights. They do bed and breakfast. Nice people.”
“Well, that’s one way to quickly meet some of your new neighbours.”
24“Come and see us when we’re all settled in. Your mother wants to see Robert.”
“We will, Dad. Give my love to Mum.” Ian switched off the call.
“Who was that on the phone?” Emma reappeared from the garden.
“It was my father. They’ve moved out of ‘The Willows’.”
“I think they’ll enjoy ‘Bluebell Cottage’. Much less work and worry. I think it was your support and positivity that finally convinced them.”
“Maybe, but you were very positive when we viewed the cottage with them too. They want us all to visit as soon as they’ve settled in.”
“That’s nice. We’ll do that. By the way, Mr. Jackson at Barker’s Gallery telephoned earlier and suggested I should try Barrett’s again about the provenance. However, I was wondering, wouldn’t the provenance have been passed on when they sold the painting? When I spoke to Jean last time, she said she’d given me all the information they had. Besides, contacting her again is a little tricky as I originally told her I was tracing family history, not investigating the provenance of a particular painting.”
Ian nodded his head. “Jackson’s probably right.”
“Anyway,” continued Emma, “I’ve now telephoned the Records Department at the Ashmolean Museum. I spoke to Mr. Giles, a nice young man, and he promised to investigate any historical connection the museum might have had with Pickles and Co. I’m hoping he’ll ring me back later today.”
“Fingers crossed then,” replied Ian. “It’s a pity, I really thought Clive Jackson would have come up trumps for you. Still, there’s often snags when anybody investigates provenances. Let’s hope you have better luck with the Ashmolean.”
It was just after 3.30pm when Emma received the 25telephone call on her mobile. She was driving along a country lane on her way to collect Robert from school. She slowly pulled into the side of the road next to a footpath sign and stopped. “Hello. Emma Caxton,” she answered.
“Emma. John Giles at the Ashmolean Museum. I’ve checked our records and have some good news for you.”
Emma closed her eyes and crossed her fingers. She just hoped…
“I’ve found the original auction catalogue you mentioned,” continued John. “It appears we bought five paintings at the same auction. We’ve also got a list of all the paintings sold and separate copy files relating to their provenances.”
“Really!” exclaimed Emma. Her heart was beating quickly now. “Tell me, John, can you look at the provenance listing please and tell me if it includes a painting titled ‘Mademoiselle Chad’ by the artist Georges Seurat.”
“Just a minute, I’ll have a look.”
Emma squeezed the steering wheel in anticipation and excitement. She could hear a rustling of papers at the other end of the line. Come on, come on, please, please, she pleaded quietly to herself.
“Yes. Here we are. Now then. Er, yes… it would appear that Pickles and Co. purchased the painting via an agency in Paris, the Société des Artistes Indépendants, on the 23rd August 1890.”
“Oh wow!” exclaimed Emma. “That’s brilliant.”
“I don’t know if you are aware but, the Société des Artistes Indépendants was actually a group of painters in Paris. Georges Seurat was one of its founder members in 1884… or thereabouts. So really, your painting could be said to have been bought directly from the artist.”
“That’s fabulous news, John. Oh wow! You’ve been so helpful. Is there any chance I could have a photocopy of that information, please.”
26“Don’t see why not. It’s not classified information.”
“I can come into Oxford and collect it,” said Emma. She felt so excited and would have travelled all the way to France to get this result.
“Okay. When are you coming to Oxford?”
Emma removed her diary from her handbag and quickly flicked through the pages. “What about tomorrow afternoon… about four o’clock?”
“Yes, that’s fine. I shall be here and I’ll have the photocopy waiting for you.”
“John, I don’t know how to thank you. You’ve been so helpful. I look forward to meeting you tomorrow. Goodbye.”
“Goodbye, Emma. I’m pleased I was able to help.”
When Emma switched off her phone, she shouted out loud “Yes!” But what she hadn’t noticed was that two women ramblers were crossing the road from the footpath directly behind her car. Once she did notice them, however, she suddenly felt embarrassed. The ramblers had heard her shout and both looked into her car before they carried on walking. Now they were both laughing and kept glancing back in Emma’s direction.
“‘Right,” Emma said to herself, still feeling a little embarrassed, “I’m going to be late collecting Robert. I’d better get a move on.”
After Emma arrived home with Robert, she quickly went into the office to speak to Ian. Excited and anxious to tell him, she summarised her telephone conversation with John Giles at the Ashmolean Museum.
“Well done you. That’s brilliant,” said Ian, and gave his wife a kiss and a hug.
“I want to take a gift for John, to say thank you. Any ideas?”
“Strictly speaking he’s only been doing his job, but I can understand why you’d want to show your appreciation. 27Without knowing him, it’s difficult to know what to suggest; what about a nice bottle of whisky or some wine? Hopefully he won’t be a teetotaller.”
“I think wine would be a better choice. A selection of red and white.”
“That should be acceptable. I’m really pleased for you, Emma. You’ve done this research all on your own.”
“It’s been hard work, but I did have some help from you. Mind, it’s both rewarding and very satisfying to get to the end. Do you think this provenance will be accepted?”
“The only way to find out for sure is to get the painting authenticated by an expert. Someone whose opinion is really valued.”
“Do you know anyone?” Emma’s excitement was slowly being displaced by concern and a little doubt.
“No. But I do know someone who may have a suggestion. I’ll contact her tomorrow morning.”
Emma looked at Ian with a questioning look on her face. She wondered who exactly ‘her’ was.
Chapter 6
It was 12.30pm when Ian met Charles in the ‘Hind’s Head’ public house, close to Leadenhall Market. It was Charles’s suggestion and he’d ordered two pints of beer.
“I often use this pub for business meetings,” said Charles, passing Ian his drink. “The seating’s well spread out and it’s not easy to be overheard. It’s a popular after-work watering hole for city workers.”
“This pub is fine,” replied Ian. “Besides, it’s far too wet and cold to meet outside in Trafalgar Square again.”
They collected their drinks and sat at an empty table well away from the other customers. Ian opened his briefcase and removed a file of papers. He passed them over for Charles’s inspection. “Here are the revised valuations I promised. They’re based on the original provenances you produced on my first visit to ‘Dexter’s End’. The valuer I used has agreed to our fee and I think he’s done a good job.”
After putting his glass of beer down onto the table, Charles glanced at the papers. “You’re sure the taxman will accept these?”
“I don’t see why not,” replied Ian, picking up his own glass of beer. “There are only three paintings that have had their valuations reduced. It should be all fine.”
“I still don’t understand why you wanted a third party 29to provide these valuations. You and Vic completed them yourselves earlier. Why couldn’t we just use those?” asked Charles.
Ian leaned forward and lowered his voice. “In a few months’ time, you and I will be trying to prove that your version of the ‘Fête Gloanec’ is the original picture. It would look very odd, and potentially criminal, if my name was against the valuation for inheritance tax purposes as well.”
“Good point,” said Charles, with an understanding nod of his head. “I’ll get these over to my accountant first thing in the morning. Everything else is now ready for submitting to the taxman.”
“Good luck.” Ian raised his glass and drank some of his beer.
Charles smiled. “If all works out as you think it will, I intend to resign from work and move abroad. I’m almost burnt out as it is.”
“Money trading that bad?”
Charles stood up. “Let me get you another drink first and then I’ll explain.”
“No, no. I’m fine. Thanks anyway,” replied Ian, holding on to his glass which was still half full.
Charles sat back down. “Yes, I work for a large investment bank, AKGI, just two minutes’ walk from here. Joined straight from university. Initially I worked as an analyst. I enjoyed the work and the challenge. It’s not so manic as a trader. Analysts like to think they’re more intellectual than emotional.” He gave a small smile and then carried on, “However, the hours are very long and working until 2am isn’t unusual. You can forget your social life and your weekends. The salary and bonuses are a powerful pull. We really felt important, which is great when you’re in your early 20s. Even so, I gradually realised it was becoming far too all-consuming, but I didn’t really mind as they were paying 30me well. My main role was helping companies raise capital. This was done by either issuing stock, borrowing money, or assisting with mergers and acquisitions. We looked for investment opportunities for our wealthy clients as well. Some are really nice people, but mostly… well they’re, let’s just say, obnoxious.”
Ian listened intently. This was all a new world to him. He sipped the last of his beer and wished he’d taken up Charles’s offer of another pint, but then he remembered he still had to pick Robert up from school later that afternoon.
“As I say,” continued Charles, “we work ridiculous hours. Mind, I’m one of the lucky ones. I’ve never been a person that needs more than about five hours’ sleep at night. Some of my colleagues could often be found sleeping at their desks.”
“I’ve never understood why bankers have to work such long hours. It must eventually become an inefficient way of doing things.”
