“He’s offering an important price, Maylis. And I had to at least relay the offer to you. I didn’t want to turn him down without your consent.”
“You have my consent. Tell him Lorenzo’s work is not for sale.” She didn’t even want to hear the offer.
“They did their homework. And they’re offering the same price the last of Lorenzo’s paintings sold for at Christie’s. That’s a very handsome price, and this is just their opening offer.” Although the price was high, Gabriel guessed from the lawyer’s tone that they would go higher.
“It was seven years ago, and they would go for more now. If I were selling, but I’m not. Just tell them no. Do you know who it is?”
“No, I don’t. The prospective buyer does not wish us to know.”
“Well, it doesn’t matter. Tell him nothing is for sale.”
Gabriel hesitated for a moment. They had offered an enormous price, although she was right, and if she put a painting of Lorenzo’s in a current auction, it would bring even more. But the prospective buyer knew that too. It was a shrewd initial bid. “I think you should discuss this with Theo,” Gabriel said quietly. He thought her son should at least know, but he had wanted to call Maylis first, and if the painting in question was on display in the house, it belonged to her. But Theo would give her good advice, and Gabriel was tempted to encourage her to sell it, to establish a new value for Lorenzo’s work, which would inevitably be higher than what had been established before. He was prepared to negotiate for more if she agreed to sell, and told her which one the offer was for.
“That painting doesn’t belong to Theo. And he doesn’t want to sell anything either. We don’t need the money, and I’m not giving up any of Lorenzo’s paintings.” She had a modest lifestyle, and made a handsome living with the restaurant, aside from what Lorenzo left her.
“Just let Theo know. I’d be interested in hearing his opinion,” Gabriel said gently. He never pushed her, or forced her to do anything. He advised her.
“All right, I’ll tell him,” she said grudgingly, and went on to discuss other things of more importance to her, like their margin on great wines at the restaurant. She wanted to know if Gabriel thought they should raise their prices. He advised her on everything, and she relied on him to be there for her. She followed all his suggestions, except about selling her late husband’s work, at least from time to time, but before they hung up she promised again to call Theo. She finished what she was doing with the restaurant ledger, and then called her son.
As always, he took forever to answer, which meant he was painting. He sounded totally distracted when he picked up the phone and said, “Yes?” He could see that the call was from his mother, and he just hoped she wasn’t asking him to work at the restaurant again that night, and that Jean-Pierre was in good health and back at his post as maître d’. “I’m painting.”
“Obviously. When aren’t you? Gabriel told me to call you. I’m sorry to interrupt.”
“Is something wrong?”
“No, everything’s fine. He had a call from an attorney in London, representing an anonymous private collector, who wants to buy one of my paintings.”
“Did you tell him it’s not for sale?” Theo couldn’t see the point of the call, and he hated losing his train of thought while he worked. For him, painting was an intense business.
“Gabriel knows that. Apparently they’re offering our last Christie’s price, which is too low now anyway. But Gabriel thought you should know. And he said he could negotiate a higher price if we want to sell, which I don’t.”
Theo hesitated for a moment before he answered, and frowned.
“That was an inflated price at the time, driven up by a bidding war between two buyers. They paid a lot more than they should have.” Still, Maylis and Theo had been pleased with the result at the time. “And this anonymous buyer is willing to match that as an opening bid?” He sounded surprised.
“That’s what Gabriel said. I told him to turn it down, but he wanted me to discuss it with you first.” Theo could understand why. It was an enormous price for his father’s work, and would prove its market value, even more so if the buyer would go higher.
“Maybe we should think about it,” Theo said quietly. “And see how much Gabriel can get, and how badly this buyer wants it.”
“I’m not going to sell it,” she said with steel in her tone. “It’s one of the first paintings your father painted of me, when I was still just his model.” And suddenly, when she said it, as he thought about it, Theo realized which one. It was the painting Vladimir Stanislas had been fascinated by at the restaurant the night before.
“I think I know who the buyer might be. Stanislas was mesmerized by it last night.” And he remembered his irritation that it wasn’t for sale, and his comment that everything had a price. “If it’s him, you could probably negotiate with him and ask for more. I don’t think he’s familiar with the word no, and if he wants it badly enough, he’ll pay any price.”
“It’s not for sale,” Maylis repeated, digging her heels in. “I don’t care what he offers.”
“It might set a new benchmark for Papa’s prices, and set the bar even higher than it is now, after the last time.”
“What difference does it make if we don’t want to sell any?”
“You might want to one day, and it’s always good to take the temperature of the current art market. Gabriel always says that it’s good to sell one from time to time. And Papa painted better paintings of you than that one, like the ones of you once you were together.” His love for Maylis and for his son had shone through every painting after that. “This might be a good one to sell,” Theo said thoughtfully.
“The answer is no.” She was incredibly stubborn at times, especially about her late husband’s work.
“It’s up to you, Maman. But I think I’d negotiate with them and see what you get.” It was good advice, and Gabriel would have said the same.
“I told Gabriel to turn the offer down.” She confirmed that to him five minutes later, after she and Theo hung up. Gabriel was faintly disappointed that she wasn’t willing to listen to him or her son.
“I’ll tell them,” he said quietly. He knew better than to argue with her about Lorenzo’s work. And he called the attorney in London shortly after and declined.
He was looking over images of some of the new work Marie-Claude had taken in, marveling at her eye for contemporary work, when the attorney in London called again, and offered a considerably higher price. Gabriel managed not to sound shocked, although he was. Clearly, the anonymous buyer was willing to pay any price to acquire the work. He was offering fifty percent more than the price set at the Christie’s auction. It was an extremely handsome offer. Gabriel promised to relay it to the artist’s widow. But when he did, Maylis sounded stubborn. She wouldn’t even agree to call Theo this time.
“This is an extraordinarily high price.” He tried to reason with her. “I don’t think you should turn it down, Maylis. It establishes an astronomical level for Lorenzo’s work in the current art market.”
“I don’t care. It’s not for sale.”
Gabriel sighed audibly, and called back the attorney in London, feeling like a fool. He knew it was a fabulous price for the work, and he had to explain that Mrs. Luca had no interest in selling her husband’s work for now. He wanted to leave the door open for later, but he wasn’t sure she would sell any of it in her lifetime, and Theo wasn’t hungry for money either. He led a very simple life. They both did.
“My client has authorized me to make a final offer,” the attorney said in a clipped British voice, and doubled their initial offer, making it one of the most expensive paintings ever sold, if Maylis was willing to accept the price.
Gabriel was silent for a moment, stunned by the offer. “I will relay it to my client,” he said respectfully, and this time he called Theo directly instead, and told him the amount. When he heard it, Theo whistled.
“Jesus. It must be Stanislas. No
one else would pay that.”
“I don’t know what to say to your mother. I think she should sell it,” Gabriel said honestly, not sure how to convince her. She listened to him about most things, but not about selling Lorenzo’s work. She was deeply emotionally attached to all of it. And no one could accuse Gabriel of having a financial interest in it, since he had stopped charging her a commission on any potential sale with the last one. He no longer felt right about it, so his advice to her was pure and without self-interest.
“I think so too,” Theo agreed with him. “I didn’t like the guy when I saw him last night, if it’s Stanislas, and I think it is.” He’d had a visceral reaction to him. “But it’s a hell of a price. She can’t turn that down.”
“I think she will, no matter what we tell her.” Gabriel sounded discouraged.
“The only good news is that he painted it when she was just his model. I doubt she’ll agree to sell any of the later ones once she was his mistress, or once they were married. She really shouldn’t turn down this offer. I think it’s an important milestone for my father’s work. It’s double what we got for the last one at Christie’s. That’s a huge jump,” Theo said practically.
“I’d remind her of that,” Gabriel agreed. “See what you can do.”
Theo called her as soon as he and Gabriel hung up, and he told her what he had said to Gabriel, that it was a major price to pay for his father’s work, and put him out in the stratosphere in the art world, and she couldn’t deprive him of it. He said that he was sure his father would want the painting sold, and he hoped his saying that would sway her. Sometimes it made a difference to invoke Lorenzo’s name and his imagined wishes.
“I’ll think about it,” she said, sounding distressed. Parting with any of his paintings felt like giving up a child to her, and losing a piece of Lorenzo again.
Much to his amazement, she called Theo back an hour later. What he had said had resonated with her, and she wanted to do what Lorenzo himself would have wanted. “If you really think this is an important milestone for him, and what he’d want, I’ll do it.” She sounded near tears as she said it. Theo knew how hard this was for her, as did Gabriel, which was why he hadn’t pushed her, but only tried to encourage her gently. And Theo had said the magic words: “You owe this to Papa. It’s what he would have wanted. It’s a tribute to his work.”
“I think you’ve made absolutely the right decision, Maman. This really is what Papa would want.” And it was a crime to turn down a price like that. They had doubled Lorenzo’s prices with a single sale, even without a bidding war at auction. Theo congratulated her on her wise decision, and urged her to call Gabriel immediately before the buyer changed his mind, or she did. And Gabriel was as surprised and impressed as Theo. And after Theo hung up with his mother, he was reminded of Vladimir Stanislas’s comment the night before, that everything had a price. He hated for him to be right, but in this case he was. And he wondered if Vladimir believed that about people too, and suspected he did, which was even worse. But if he was the buyer, he had won this time, and so had they. It was a winning situation for all.
Gabriel conveyed their acceptance to the lawyer in London, who said the buyer would be pleased. He called Gabriel back ten minutes later and said that the money would be wired into the gallery’s bank account in Paris within the hour. The buyer wanted the painting delivered to a motor yacht called Princess Marina, and a tender would be waiting for them at the dock of the Hôtel du Cap-Eden-Roc in Cap d’Antibes at five o’clock that afternoon. It confirmed Theo’s initial suspicion that the purchaser was Vladimir. Now that the negotiations had been successfully concluded, he was willing to have his identity known. Gabriel called Theo the moment he hung up and told him who the collector was.
“I knew it,” Theo said. “He looked like he wanted to tear it off the wall and leave with it under his arm last night. I hate to let him have it, but at that price, how could we refuse?”
“I’m glad you didn’t, and what you said to your mother is true. This is a major milestone for your father’s work. It will set the floor, not the ceiling, for the next sale. This is a very, very important price, for the next time you or your mother decide to sell one of his paintings, and it doubles the value of his estate. That is no small thing.” Theo suddenly realized the impact of it. The value of his entire fortune, and his mother’s, had doubled with a single sale. He didn’t like the man who had bought it, and he had a bad feeling about him, but he had done them all a service. “He wants the painting delivered to his boat at five o’clock this afternoon. I’m sorry to bother you, but could you get it there? I think it would be too emotional for your mother to do it.” And it was a large piece in a heavy frame and too cumbersome for her to carry.
“Of course,” Theo said quickly, wondering if he would see Natasha, or only Vladimir. For that kind of money, undoubtedly he would want to receive the painting himself.
“They’ll have a tender waiting for you at the dock of the Eden Roc, at Hôtel du Cap. All you have to do is go onboard the yacht, and hand it to Stanislas. And you’re done. They said they’d have the money in the gallery account in an hour. I’ll wire it into your mother’s. But once we have the funds, you can deliver it.” Wire transfers usually took longer, but not for Vladimir.
“I’ll be at the dock at the hotel at five. I’ll help my mother unbolt it from the wall this afternoon.” All the paintings were heavily secured to prevent theft and to satisfy their insurance company, since the house was a public place because of the restaurant. The ones in his father’s studio were less secure, but no one went there except his mother, since she lived there, and they had installed an alarm there years before. They were never cavalier about his father’s work.
“I’ll confirm to you as soon as we get the funds in the account, but I don’t think there will be a problem. Stanislas must be made of money,” Gabriel said, still amazed at the price he had paid for Lorenzo’s work. But clearly when he wanted something, Vladimir was willing to go to any lengths to get it.
“It looks that way,” Theo said, sounding a little grim. Even the incredible sale didn’t make him like the man any better. Everything about him was distasteful to Theo. He was all about possessing what he wanted, people, industries, and things. Theo wondered how the beautiful young woman felt, being one of his possessions. He hated the thought of it, she had such gentle eyes in her lovely face, and he had liked talking to her. He would like to catch a glimpse of her on the boat when he delivered the painting, but doubted he would. And he would be treated like a delivery boy, and dismissed the moment the painting left his hands. He expected it. They had no way of knowing he was Lorenzo’s son, and he didn’t want them to. It was none of their business, and would have been out of character for Theo to introduce himself that way. He never did.
Theo was on the dock just below the Eden Roc at the Hôtel du Cap, promptly at five. The painting had been carefully wrapped in art paper, then in a soft fabric, and after that in bubble wrap and a heavy plastic wrapping to protect it on the trip to the boat. Theo was holding it as the tender approached. The sailors from Princess Marina saw him immediately, carefully took the painting from him, helped him jump aboard, covered the wrapped painting with a tarp, and then they took off at high speed across the water toward the yacht. He was asked to wait in a holding area, with the painting. Then the purser came to meet him with a security guard, and led him into an elevator. They treated him respectfully, but his mission was simple and clear: to hand over the painting to a designated person, whose identity he didn’t know. And at that price, it would only be Stanislas himself, who wanted the pleasure of receiving what he now owned and had paid a fortune for.
Theo stepped out on a deck high up in the boat and saw an enormous bar, and a woman seated on a couch in shorts and a T-shirt. Her long blond hair was piled on top of her head, informally, and Vladimir was nowhere to be seen, as Natasha stood up and walked toward him on bare feet.
“Thank you for bringing th
e painting.” She smiled easily at him, and recognized him from the restaurant the night before, even without his suit. He was wearing shorts and a T-shirt too, and had left his shoes downstairs in a basket when he came aboard the boat. “Vladimir said someone would deliver it. It was nice of you to come.” He noticed her Russian accent again, but her French was excellent. She had no idea what Vladimir had paid for it, and how normal it was that someone would carry it to the boat. She assumed Theo was the maître d’ at the restaurant, acting as messenger and delivery boy now. She took the painting from him officially, handed it to the security guard, and told him to lock it in Mr. Stanislas’s office, per Vladimir’s instructions. He had sent an email advising them of delivery instructions. She was polite to Theo, and turned to him with a warm smile. “I guess Vladimir was right when he said that everything has a price,” she said with a shy glance at Theo. “He usually is.”
“Not everything. But in this case, selling it was the right thing to do for all concerned,” Theo said seriously. Vladimir hadn’t bested them, or taken advantage of them, he had offered a fantastic price and a very good deal, and Theo was cognizant of it, whether he liked the man or not.
“He’s very pleased,” she said quietly. “And the painting is beautiful.” She remembered it perfectly from the night before, and had known which one Vladimir wanted.
“Where will you hang it?” Theo asked her, wondering if they would take it to Russia, London, or somewhere else. He liked knowing where his father’s paintings went, the rare times they were sold. The one purchased at Christie’s seven years before had gone to an important collector in Brazil.
“Probably on the boat,” she answered. “All our favorite art is here. The apartment in Moscow is very modern and stark. We have some Jackson Pollocks there, and Calders. And Old Masters in London. We don’t have much in the house in St. Jean Cap-Ferrat yet, and we seldom use it. We keep the art we love best on the boat, so we see it more often.” And it was more secure there under constant surveillance.
The Mistress Page 6