Crossing the line - 23. Repercussions

I tried to be fair in my article on the Verona exhibition, doing justice to the imagination of the setting and even managed to bring in the idea of dialogue with the past with, of course, a mention of Scarpa’s interventions in the Museum. But I had to be candid about the pictures and managed to talk about the change in style from Moroni’s earlier works. Finally, I stopped tinkering, clicked send, and mentally ducked.

Thankfully, for my peace of mind, the article was being produced by an on-line publication, rather than a glossy magazine. This meant there wasn’t a long wait; but when the article did come out, I was somewhat surprised to get a phone call from Suki, who suggested meeting for coffee. Oh bugger. Well, best get it over with, so we met for coffee at a rather ritzy café in West London, her choice. Still, the coffee was good, and the clientele of ladies who lunch (or perhaps brunch in this case), rather soignée women who looked to be Middle Eastern with their glossy escorts, and elderly gentlemen, was vastly different from the lively, youthful mix in Brixton and Clapham.

When writing reviews and articles, you tend to be somewhat insulated from the consequences; it is not personal and usually critical comment comes out in waves, so our own half-pennyworth is mixed amongst other comment. Press trips were similar, you were all in a posse, safety in numbers.

The mistake with Verona was that seduced by the prospect of the stay in the Villa Torronia, I’d agreed to the trip knowing it was sponsored by people close to the artist. I’ve known colleagues in similar such situations, someone inveigles you into a review of an exhibition or an artist they support and believe in, and they are then disappointed that you do not share their view.

Suki looked glossy and perfect as ever, drinking just a black coffee and not eating anything. “You certainly did not pull your punches with the review.”

I laughed nervously, “If you think that was harsh, then you should read some of my other reviews. I tried to be fair, but I never pretend. And I felt that bringing the older images in gave a depth to the piece.”

She looked down at her hands, with their beautifully manicured nails. “I thought it very fair. We thought it fair. As you know, Paola and Tony are great supporters of Moroni’s work, and the exhibition was very much Paola’s baby, it was her contacts that made it happen. But for various reasons, she and Tony never saw the pictures till their preview of the exhibition.”

I did some mental calculations, trying to work out when that might have been. Suki smiled, “That was well after I’d inquired whether Francis knew anyone who might come and write about the exhibition. The invitation had already been conveyed, and then Paola and Tony saw the new pictures.”

“And received a shock?”

She nodded, “Oh, they bought one, but will never hang it. Moroni seems so proud of his new style. Oh, I don’t know how people can see something so differently.”

I smiled, “Welcome to my world. Did Francis Heyward buy one in the end, I thought he was looking?”

She shook her head, “He heard about the change of style from Tony and reading your review can only have confirmed things. I think he is angling to get one of Moroni’s early pictures.”

She leaned down and fiddled with her bag (the latest Anya Hindmarsh if I wasn’t mistaken). I’d thought it was a way of avoiding further conversation, but she produced an envelope.

“Paola and Tony enjoyed your visit, both of you, and Paola asked me to tell you that they would love to host you again, properly. Anyway, this is a thank-you for being so sympathetic.”

She presented me with the envelope, a beautiful one of cream hand-made paper. A thing of beauty in its own right. Inside it, there wasn’t anything so crass as a cheque, it was a gift voucher, dinner for two at Tonelli in London. Not just a fine Italian restaurant in London, but one of the finest.

Suki continued, “Pietro Tonelli is a friend of Tony’s. They were at school together. It seemed appropriate given Dan’s Italian heritage and his love of Italian food.” Suki looked at me almost coyly, “He was quite a hit, you know. He is so different to what you might expect.”

“A security guard, ex-copper.”

She nodded, “Yes. Nothing like the image. So proper, but looking like his Norse forbears, yet coming out with those lovely aphorisms from his Grandmother and chatting about Italian food as if it was the most natural thing in the world.”

I know she meant to be complimentary, but there was something a bit patronising about all that, and I had the naughty thought that Gran would probably eat Suki for breakfast. My comment, ‘Which it is’, probably came out rather more sharply than was wise. But I told Suki the story of visiting Gran and how she set Dan on doing the cooking and bullied him till it was right. “And his father wasn’t Norse, he was Irish.”

She smiled, “Ah, but the Vikings settled there too, in Dublin.”

We chatted about more general topics, including the lecture I was going to be doing, but I felt that there was something else she wanted to mention.

“I’ve been debating with myself about whether to say anything. But after Verona, I like you and I like Dan. So, I feel that it is only fair.” Well, I was seriously intrigued now, but simply nodded. “Be careful with Francis. He’s a dear friend, but I have no illusions. Francis gets what he wants, that’s why he is where he is. Oh, he might look the big philanthropist, and he does mean what he says. But there is an unscrupulous element too. He’s not as bad as his Father, but he manipulates people to get what he wants.”

“And Francis wants Dante.” She looked somewhat surprised. “We’d sort of worked that out. Dan is watching his step, trying not to go too far over the line.”

“Francis and Tim have a very open relationship; Tim calls it Friends with Benefits. I think he’d like more, but Francis likes his freedom.”

“Freedom to try it on with Dan, and others like him.”

“Precisely.”

“If that line were to be crossed then Dan would be out, we’ve discussed that. We’d let his flat and he’d live with me. We could manage.”

“But Francis is powerful.”

“I’ve had to hustle for jobs before and can do so again. Besides, the stuff Francis sees is only the tip of the iceberg.” In truth, we felt nowhere near as sanguine as this bit of bravado sounded, but I wasn’t going to let Suki in on that.

“Good. I’m pleased I said something. That you and Dan have discussed it sets my mind at rest.”

We parted then and I found I rather admired her. Suki wasn’t the most loveable of women, but she sure as hell wasn’t the ice queen, I’d first taken her for.

--oOo—oOo—

“So, what could Heyward do really?”

We were sitting in the Tramshed over a glass of wine. Dan and I, Amanda and her partner Bill, and Mae. There had been a private view for a show of pieces by students at a college where Mae and Bill worked. I’d come out of moral support, but there’d been plenty to stimulate and intrigue. Dan had managed to catch the last 30 minutes. He’d been working, so inevitably conversation had turned to Francis Heyward (though ironically, the event at The Manor had been a corporate one for Heyward’s investment firm and he wasn’t there). I’d mentioned my encounter with Suki and Mae quite rightly wondered what Heyward could do.

Dan had no illusions, “Set me up so that I get a bad reputation and can’t get a decent job.”

“Would he do that?”

Mae laughed, “Oh, folk like Heyward can make things happen.”

“He’s unscrupulous and manipulative. So, yes.”

“I’d still work, there are always people prepared to pay and not worry about paperwork.”

“Dodgy jobs. Cash in hand.”

Dan nodded, “Ironically, it might hurt Vaughan more. Heyward probably has leverage on the sort of firms that pay Vaughan good money for his commercial work. The Art mags and such would probably say fuck off, you can’t tell us who or what to print, but the money comes from the corporate shit.” Dan grinned and clasped my hand theatrically, “So we’d be poor but happy in our moral victory.”

“Either that or we’d go to live with Mother.”

Dan made a choking noise, “Your Mother!” He turned to Mae, “His Mother, Susan, is the sort of lady-like middle-class woman who can kill you with politeness or freeze with cool charm.”

Mae laughed, “The joys of politesse, rather you than me.”

I grinned “Or we could sell my place and move into Dan’s flat.”

“My tiny flat. In Lewisham.”

“If Heyward does a move, then you need to document it. Clearly.” Mae was firm.

“The problem is Francis Heyward isn’t at all bad looking. We’d both happily have a roll in the hay with him and”, I looked at Dan who shrugged, “we’d not be averse to threesomes.”

Both Amanda and Mae beamed when I said that. “Revealing the secrets of the bedroom!”

“I expect Bill thinks it too much information, don’t you love?” Amanda gave Bill’s hand a squeeze.

“Have you told Heyward this?”

“Whoa, I’m not going up to Dan’s boss and saying, ‘Fancy a threesome’. And besides, he’s in the States at the moment.”

“But look, you’re saying it’s Ok for him to ogle Dan’s naked bum?” I’d already told them the story of the party evening.

“If anything had happened then Heyward could fire me. Dereliction of duty.”

“But surely if he initiates it, and it’s assault?”

“I’m still in dereliction of duty, and given our history including stripping off with him at the garden party, will a judge really believe assault?”

“Be careful.”

“I still think ‘Fancy a threesome’ is best!

“Then there’s the other stuff, Heyward’s smoke and mirrors.”

Dan knew what I was talking about, but the others looked curiously, though there was a gleam in Amanda’s eyes.

“We keep hearing rumours that all is not well at Heyward Towers. He’s fallen out with his art advisors.”

Mae smiled, “Again.”

“Precisely. But he seems to be using me as a stop gap, and I did some discreet digging amongst my colleagues”, there was a general snort here, most of them knew that my colleagues were anything but discreet. “He’s financially over-extended, may be significant, may not, and there are rumours of disappearing drawings.”

Amanda butted in, “Of course! The disappearing Leonardo drawing that isn’t a Leonardo unless it is.”

“Precisely. Rumour suggests they are propping up a loan, and that’s not to mention the Pontormo and others we saw in Verona, ‘loaned’ to a financial institution.” I grinned as I put ‘loaned’ in air quotes.

“Collateral. And maybe bigger pictures too?” Mae looked intrigued.

“The Mitchells, I said there was something a bit odd about the setup for paying for them, but at least I got my money. So, where does this leave you two?”

“Not sure. If Heyward cuts back then we might be out of jobs, depending on what he cuts back.”

“There’ll be no sentiment, despite him fancying Dan.”

“You don’t reckon he’d set Dan up as his fancy boy?”

I grinned, “Oh he’s already got one of those. A historian who’s on a friends with benefits arrangement. Nice enough bloke and seemingly amenable.”

Bill had been paying close attention but hadn’t said much so far, “Any real information?”

“No, just rumour and speculation. That he’s financially stretched is no secret, but the big deal is by how much, and what the implications might be. And as far as my mates are concerned, the whole lot might be smoke and mirrors, anyway.”

“You mean, he might just disappear and hole up in some sort of luxurious tax haven, or place where you can’t be extradited.”

I shrugged, “Something like that.”

Dan glared at us, “Look, we can’t do anything about this. So, let’s just enjoy things and worry about Heyward when we need to. OK?”

“I’ll drink to that!”