The Bernini Bust. Iain Pears

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СКАЧАТЬ it. My father’s lawyer and personal factotum, on permanent secondment from some law firm. The éminence grise of the family. Handsome little bastard, don’t you think? The sort that works out before going to the office. So many designer labels on him he resembles the advertising section of Vogue. Drop him in a sewage plant and shit would become fashionable. My father,’ he went on in a loud stage-whisper, breathing a whisky fragrance into Argyll’s face from close range, ‘is a bit of a sucker for up-and-coming professional types. That’s why I’m such a disappointment to him. He can’t resist someone like Barclay. Nor can my beloved stepmother.’

      ‘I beg your pardon?’ Argyll said, caught a little by surprise.

      ‘Little David is connected to my family most intimately,’ Jack said, speaking ever more loudly. ‘All services, legal and otherwise, rendered with equal skill.’

      He sniggered, and Argyll regarded the lawyer with increased interest. He expressed surprise that the man kept his job.

      ‘Discretion is a wonderful thing. The trouble is, it’s not that easy to keep up. Even the best-kept secret is apt to leak out eventually. Given a helping hand, anyway. That’s why I’m here, in fact,’ Jack went on elliptically. ‘I love firework displays, and are we going to have one tonight.’

      ‘Are we, indeed?’ Argyll said, thinking that perhaps this party might turn out to be more fun than he’d anticipated. ‘You don’t seem to rate your father’s judgement of character very highly.’

      ‘Me? The grateful son, not respect one of the richest men in the world? I have the highest opinion of his judgement. After all, he spotted me immediately as a drunken, ill-disciplined bum who’d never make a go of anything. And I can assure you, he was right. I have never disappointed him in the slightest.’

      There were distinct signs by this stage that Jack was teetering on the brink of self-indulgence. The last thing Argyll wanted was a detailed account of life with father, so he caught di Souza’s eye as the Spaniard wafted past. He barely had time for introductions when there came the sound of Samuel Thanet trying to get the attention of the assembled gathering. Silence gradually fell, and Thanet’s high-pitched, reedy voice eventually began to be heard. As everybody knew, he said, this party was in honour of Mr Moresby’s visit to the museum.

      A respectful silence greeted this news, with the museum staff pondering their sins as though Thanet had suddenly upped and announced the second coming. It was a rather soupy speech, to Argyll’s way of thinking, a bit over-reverential in the almost hushed way in which he referred to the Great Man. Had the said Great Man been there, this would have been almost understandable. But Moresby hadn’t even arrived yet. Being nice to people behind their backs was going too far.

      Apart from dropping heavy hints about what Moresby was going to say when he arrived, the speech did little except satisfy one small item of curiosity, which was the contents of the box which di Souza had brought over with him for Langton. In fact Argyll had been too busy pondering the implications of the proposed move back to London to wonder very much about this, but he listened with due care and attention as Thanet said he had a preliminary announcement to make about the museum’s latest acquisition.

      As he was sure everybody knew, he said, the Moresby’s growth strategy – detestable term for a museum, thought Argyll, but let it pass – was to target specific areas of western art, and become world leaders in them. Impressionism, neo-classical, and baroque were high on the agenda, and much progress had been made to date.

      Argyll shifted from foot to foot and leant over to di Souza.

      ‘So what are they doing buying twelve priceless works of Roman sculpture?’ he asked sarcastically. Di Souza gave him a nasty look.

      ‘And what are they doing buying a Titian?’ he countered.

      Then the Spaniard held up his hand for silence. Thanet was at last getting to the interesting bit. Particularly, he was saying, they had decided to give new emphasis to baroque sculpture, and he was proud to announce that, in accordance with the Moresby’s tradition of excellence – di Souza snorted – their latest acquisition in this field was a piece of unsurpassed importance. Although it was still in a packing case in Thanet’s office, he was happy to announce that the museum would shortly be putting on display a masterpiece by that superlative artist of the Roman Baroque, Gianlorenzo Bernini. The museum now had in its possession the master’s long-lost portrait bust of Pope Pius V.

      Both Argyll and Jack were standing next to di Souza, glass in hand, when this announcement was made, and were thus in a position to hear the sharp intake of breath and gargling sound which erupted from the Spaniard’s throat as he choked in mid-martini. They also witnessed the rapid change of expression – from surprise, to alarm and on to anger – which flitted across his face as he digested this announcement.

      ‘Don’t worry,’ said Jack, patting him on the back. ‘This place has that effect on everybody.’

      ‘What’s the matter?’ Argyll asked. ‘Jealous?’

      Di Souza downed his drink in a gulp. ‘Not exactly,’ he replied. ‘Just heart failure. Excuse me a moment.’

      And with that he shot off in the direction of Samuel Thanet. Argyll’s curiosity was piqued so, with as much subtlety as he could manage, he sidled over to see what was going on. Quite a lot, evidently, although most of the conversation seemed to be coming from di Souza. While clearly angry about something, he was at least in sufficient control to keep his voice down, otherwise the cheery atmosphere at the party might well have been severely damaged.

      Argyll didn’t catch it all, but the words ‘worrying’ and ‘alarming’ wafted in his general direction as he drew near. Di Souza seemed to be demanding to speak to Mr Moresby.

      There was a lot – especially of Thanet’s attempts to pacify – that Argyll didn’t pick up. Also in earshot, Jack Moresby was shaking his head with sheer enjoyment. ‘Christ, these people. How do you stand them?’ he asked. ‘Hell, I’ve had enough. I’m off home. It’s not far. D’you want to come around for a drink sometime?’

      He gave Argyll his address and wandered out into the pure air of a Santa Monica evening.

      Meanwhile Thanet was rocking back on his heels due to the unexpected assault, but not giving ground. Initially he seemed to be doing his best to reassure the indignant Spaniard then, as the battering continued, resorted to the reliable technique of stonewalling. He had nothing to do with the bust, Thanet insisted; and di Souza knew that perfectly well.

      Hector was unimpressed, but could do little. He retreated in good order, muttering furiously. Argyll was, naturally, curious about this display, but knew di Souza’s volubility well enough to realise that all would be revealed in good time. Hector was legendary for never being able to keep anything to himself.

      ‘What are you looking at?’ the Spaniard said rather sharply in Italian as he returned to the bar.

      ‘Nothing at all. I was just wondering what you’re so upset about.’

      ‘A great deal.’

      ‘Go on, then,’ Argyll prompted.

      Di Souza didn’t reply.

      ‘You’ve been smuggling again, haven’t you?’ he said in a confiding tone. It was relatively well known that di Souza supplemented his income by arranging for works of art to be spirited across the Italian border before the authorities could refuse export permission. They would СКАЧАТЬ