A Family Affair (7 page)

Becoming aware of Appleby, Mr Braunkopf rang the little bell with vigour. He then advanced with arms raised in a gesture combining astonishment, welcome, and a hint of priestly benediction.

‘The goot Sir John!’ Mr Braunkopf said. ‘Vot happinesses – yes, no? You come in the van?’

‘I’ve simply walked–’

‘And my other goot freund patron Lady Abbleby parking her limousine, puttikler difficult this distrik now on account of all these nobles gentry and other carriage persons’ – Mr Braunkopf gestured confidently at his largely untenanted rooms – ‘eagersomely frequenting this prestigious manifestation the Da Vinci Gallery?’

‘My dear Braunkopf – I don’t, to begin with, keep a van in London, and–’

‘You come in the van, yes, and Lady Abbleby in the rearguard, no?’

‘Oh, I see. No, my wife is in the country. She’ll be sorry to have missed your show.’ Thus masking his evil intentions from the innocent Braunkopf, Appleby glanced round the exhibition. It ran, he saw, to Op as well as Pop. There were some three-dimensional contraptions so delicately exploiting the principle of parallax that they appeared to be in ceaseless movement merely because it is impossible to maintain the organs of human vision perfectly immobile in space. Others, of grosser motion, required to be plugged into the Da Vinci’s electricity supply; they were a kind of aesthetic sophistication, Appleby reflected, of those coin-operated automata which had rendered glamorous the railway platforms and seaside piers of his childhood; one or two were constructed, by a perverse ingenuity, out of cheap plastic materials which would have contrived to be sensuously repellent even in the mere unworked sheet or slab. Most of the pictures on the walls operated – rather more successfully – on similar lines. The spectator was looking at a wilderness of hypertrophied advertisements and strip-cartoons, and in doing so he was also looking at designs of great formal precision and purity. Appleby found these disguisings and collidings disconcerting. They also made him aware of his umbrella and bowler hat. And Mr Braunkopf – a perceptive man in certain limited professional relations – appeared to read the signs and act on them.

‘For you and me, Sir John, it is not so goot, no? Our vorlt is vorlt of puttikler prestigious Old Masters Mantegna Martini Masaccio Masolino Magnasco Michelangelo Michelozzo, yes?’ Having thus – and as it were by means of some interior consultation of a Dictionary of Art – achieved this roll-call of the great, Mr Braunkopf paused impressively. He seemed to have forgotten the surprisingly trendy character of his present attire. ‘But for the yunk, Sir John, there is differences. For the yunk all this ephemerious art’ – Mr Braunkopf’s gesture round his gallery was now indulgent and patronizing – ‘is inciting, yes? Say for the enthusiastical but incriminating children of my goot freunds Sir John and Lady Abbleby. I keep one two three four special pieces this inciting art for birthday presents the incriminating children my goot freunds. Not expensive. Quite some not so expensive as the yunk would guess.’ Mr Braunkopf lingered appealingly on this last consideration. It was a favourite with him when the purchase of a present appeared to be in prospect. ‘You buy, Sir John, leaving me choose special bargains account our long cordial dissociation?’

‘Well, no, Braunkopf. I’m afraid not. Nothing quite of that sort today. I’m looking for something rather different, as a matter of fact.’ Appleby contrived to glance round about him in a cautious and even furtive fashion. ‘I have an uncle, you see, who is a very old man, and uncommonly rich. Fond of pictures, as it happens, and I thought it might be nice to make him a little present.’ Appleby lowered his voice significantly. ‘But what he likes are – well, pictures of a certain character. You understand?’

It was evident that Mr Braunkopf understood. Nor did he betray any sign of finding at all out of the way the appearance in the Da Vinci Gallery on such an errand of a retired Commissioner of Police. Dignified and unperturbed deliberation was what his attitude now suggested. His establishment was known, after all, to be an almost preternaturally ethical concern. Its monolithic character in this regard was no doubt such that it could suffer a chip or two from time to time without much noticing.

‘A goot class of
erotica
, yes?’ he murmured. ‘Sir John, you please stamp this way. You stamp into my sanctum quick look three four superior
curiosa
-type vorks of art for authentink connoisseurs. Henry Fuseli, Sir John. Most respectful reputacious artist and religious person. Royal Academician, the same as John Constable, Thomas Gainsborough, J M W Turner.’

‘I don’t think my uncle would care to own any Fuselis. As you say, Fuseli was a clergyman before he turned artist. That would make my uncle a little uneasy, I feel. As a matter of fact, I have something else in mind. An old colleague has told me about the shameful manner in which you were deceived about a Giulio Romano. I gathered you suffered a heavy financial loss.’

‘That was nothings, Sir John.’ Mr Braunkopf produced a lavishly careless gesture which failed entirely to obscure the sudden wary expression on his face. ‘A large concernment like the Da Vinci, with close connectings Paris New York San Francisco Berlin Milan Valparaiso, is undefected by such small swindlings. Sir John, I have one puttikler genuine ancient Roman brothel scene–’

‘What has struck me, Braunkopf, is that you must still possess the copy of the Giulio that you were left with. A firm of your reputation couldn’t think of putting such a thing on the market. I suppose you have it simply stowed away somewhere on the premises?’

‘Of course, Sir John. Entiresomely of course.’ Mr Braunkopf – Appleby felt himself instructed to observe – was now almost agitated. ‘But, Sir John, I have two three voonderble stimulacious top-class pornographical–’

‘I’d like to see the copy of the Giulio now, please. As a matter of fact, Braunkopf, I might take it off your hands at a moderate price. If Nanna and Pippa are what they are cracked up to be, you know, my uncle would probably like them very much. And he wouldn’t care a damn about the thing being a copy. So a deal might be to our common advantage, wouldn’t you say?’

Braunkopf had palpably no inclination to say anything of the sort. He was looking at his good friend Sir John Appleby with something like animosity. Appleby naturally found this interesting. It had been quite on the spur of the moment that he had invented a salacious uncle for himself. Now he had a sudden suspicion that this freakish performance was going to pay off; that revelation, if only of a minor order, was just round the corner. And this persuasion increased with him at Braunkopf’s next move.

‘Misfortunately, Sir John, it is not possibles.’ The harassed proprietor of the Da Vinci spread out apologetic hands. ‘I just recollek this small trifling fraud been loaned to manifestation of fakes frauds forgeries copies National Museum of Patagonia.’

‘I think we’ll find it has come back.’ Appleby spoke gently but firmly. He knew where he stood with Hildebert Braunkopf. It was one of the many points of good citizenship in that estimable man that he had a wholesome respect for the police. ‘In your strong room, I suppose it will be?’

And Mr Braunkopf, having hesitated for a moment, emitted a fat and dispirited sigh. Then, with a beckoning motion, he waddled slowly across his gallery. It was almost with compunction that Appleby followed him.

Nanna and Pippa were undoubtedly nice girls. Unfortunately they were represented as occupied in a fashion that could not possibly conduce to edification. It was evident that Mr Braunkopf felt this keenly. However laudable was his good friend’s desire to give pleasure to an ageing uncle, it was painful to see one of Sir John’s scrupulous refinement actually brought into the presence of this lascivious spectacle. It was not even as if it were the authentic work of Giulio Romano, and therefore contemplatable in the saving consciousness that it was worth a lot of money. So anxious was Mr Braunkopf to obviate the flaw in taste and decorum which had produced this confrontation that he even – after a two-minute session with the canvas – suggested to Appleby immediate adjournment to another room in order to enjoy the modest pleasure of a glass of champagne.

It had taken Appleby less than these two minutes, however, to realize that he was now experiencing – as it were in reverse – what had befallen Braunkopf on the occasion of his agonizing discovery. Braunkopf had thought to see an original painting and become aware that he was seeing a copy. Appleby had thought to see a copy and was suddenly convinced that he was seeing an original.

‘I’ll give you two hundred guineas for it,’ he said.

‘But, goot Sir John, it is not the reasonables!’ It was patent that Mr Braunkopf’s agony was extreme.

‘Come, come, Braunkopf. Except as a curiosity, the thing has no value at all. One can have pretty well any picture in the National Gallery copied for fifty pounds. To refuse four times that amount for this is very odd indeed.’

‘It has what we call the association interest, Sir John. An unfortunate episode in the history of the Da Vinci. I should have the unhappiness in parting from it.’

‘You mean you have a sentimental regard for it? But of course you don’t.’ Appleby took three brisk steps forward, and suddenly reversed the painting on the easel upon which Braunkopf had reluctantly placed it. What was revealed was the back of a very ancient canvas indeed. ‘My dear Braunkopf, you really weren’t careful enough. You took it into your head that you had been cheated into accepting a copy. But it was the real thing, safely back again. And here it is.’

There was a moment’s silence, while the unfortunate Braunkopf digested these ironical observations. Then, if he did not positively rise to the occasion, he at least accommodated himself to it.

‘Sir John,’ he said with dignity, ‘I must make you the confidences.’

‘It was authentink criminous fraud,’ Braunkopf presently resumed. He had had the hardihood to withdraw from his sanctum for a couple of minutes, and return with two glasses and a half-bottle of champagne. Appleby, who was able to tell himself that he was in no sense a police officer on duty, accepted this refreshment without demur. The ritual production of wine and cigars upon important occasions was one of the proprieties of Braunkopf’s world, and there would be no advantage in turning it down. And Braunkopf, thus indulged, solemnly raised his glass. ‘Sir John,’ he said, ‘it is hip-hip hurrah three cheers, yes?’

‘Well, yes – although I believe that, as a toast, it is commonly contracted to “cheers”. Cheers, Braunkopf.’ Appleby let some moments decently pass before adding firmly: ‘You are asserting that the story you told at Scotland Yard was true?’

‘But of courses, Sir John!’ Always a man of delicate feeling, Braunkopf had plainly struggled not to let too much of surprise and reproach sound in this response. ‘Only I did not quite give credences that this low immoral picture was truly in the possession of anonymous nobility gentry like for instance my goot freunds Sir John and Lady Abbleby the Duke of Horton the Duke of Nesfield KG other my goot freunds patrons the artisocracy. It would be aspersious – yes? – to suppose any members the British artisocracy have dealings feelthy peectures.’

‘Your sentiments do you great honour. What you are saying is that you didn’t believe this story of a nobleman discovering a Giulio Romano by accident among a lot of lumber?’

‘That is so, my goot Sir John. One develops the instinctuals, no? I had the instinctual this Nanna and Pippa belong some low-born wealthy person collector feelthy peectures now weeding out some few paintings perhaps buy others feelthier.’

‘It sounds a more likely story, I agree. But I’m surprised it didn’t make you a bit more wary. For you were caught out in the end, weren’t you? Despite this being here now’ – and Appleby pointed to the authentic Nanna and Pippa on their easel – ‘you were landed with a copy?’

‘Yes, Sir John. Just how I told the police, all authentink and above plank.’

‘But you didn’t remain altogether above board with them for long? You cooled off in your real wish to assist them, I think? And it was because you had yourself thought up something better?’

‘That is correck, Sir John.’ Braunkopf seemed not at all perturbed by these somewhat hostile questions. ‘I put on my thinking hat. And soon I stopped believing anybody had made proposings to themselves to sell this puttikler shocking picture at all.’

‘Ah!’ Appleby was now really interested. ‘You conjectured that it had simply been abstracted from the possession of its owner – conceivably without that owner’s knowledge – and brought to you, along with a plausible story, for the purpose of that expertise by Professor Sansbury, as I think it was?’

‘Correck, Sir John.’

‘It would then have been copied – again on the plausible story presented to you – before being restored to its normal location. And the copy was brought back to you – with the result that you were caught off your guard, and persuaded to part with a great deal of money for it?’

‘Twelve thousand pount, Sir John!’ There was the liveliest pathos in Braunkopf’s voice as he recalled this sum; he seemed quite to have forgotten that it was a mere trifle in the regard of such a solid institution as the Da Vinci Gallery.

‘Well, something has happened since then.’ Appleby again glanced at the authentic Nanna and Pippa. ‘I think you had better tell me just what.’

‘I was determined on destitution.’

‘That does seem one way of looking at it. You’d been uncommonly careless, if you ask me.’

‘It would only be justice, no?’ Braunkopf showed himself as having been perplexed by Appleby’s last remark. ‘I had a right to destitution.’

‘Oh, I see. You certainly had a right to restitution, if the criminals and the cash they had made off with could be traced. But it isn’t the cash you’ve ended up with. It’s the picture. Go on.’ Appleby paused invitingly. But Mr Braunkopf, although not to be described as normally an unready man, was reluctant to proceed. He replenished Appleby’s glass. He walked over to the easel, contemplated Nanna and Pippa fixedly, and contorted his features into what was evidently designed as an expression of deep moral reprobation. ‘Did you trace it and steal it?’ Appleby asked.