Spoils of the Game (13 page)

Austin continued the academic discussion. “If each box had two hundred pounds of gold, at the current price of gold, the value of the four boxes today might be about thirteen or perhaps sixteen million dollars.”

“Yes, but if it was in antique Venetian coins, the value today would be much, much higher,” added Feret. “Due to the finances of the war, the story says, the ransom was in both gold coins and bars. I suspect that the Venetian was running low on cash and may have included some candlesticks or other items to meet the demand. Any way you look at it, it would be a lot of money today.”

“Did he ever paint anything else that would make him famous?” asked Austin.

“Oh, his work can be found in a number of museums and in some private collections. He was a good recorder of history and did some nice portrait work. But he was no Rembrandt.”

Austin sat looking at Feret, fascinated with the story and with a new perspective on the painter. To Austin, being an artist always seemed to be a casual endeavor undertaken by free sprits. Being tortured and perhaps having your body disassembled in the process made being an artist a tough job.

“Henri, with all of the people in art history, I am amazed that you just happened to know what you do about Maetan. Did I just get lucky?”

“Monsieur Clay, when I was a younger man like you, I learned of the story in an old book and thought that I could put together a treasure hunt. Some friends and I set out to find the treasure. We were all going to be rich and spend our lives chasing girls and drinking. Try as we might—and we did a lot of research—we found nothing. I am afraid that poor Mr. Maetan may have died for nothing. If there was a treasure, I suspect that in the last five hundred years it was found and the money has been spent many times over. Can you tell me something about the paintings that you recently saw?”

“There was a portrait of some guy, a painting of a church or a town or something, and a war scene, perhaps from your Italian war,” said Austin, who immediately regretted his comments.”

“Monsieur Clay, if I were younger, you might get me excited to go and look for the gold again, but at my age and with my prostate, I cannot venture too far from a bathroom,” said Henri with a laugh. He looked at his watch. “Monsieur Austin, I have a meeting with Monsieur Badeau. Sunday I will be visiting my old friend Reginald Phillips, an Englishman who has a lovely home here in Paris. Because of your interest in art, I am sure that he would be happy if you joined me. It will be a simple social visit, but he has one of the finest private collections in Europe, and you might find it very interesting and enjoyable.”

“That would be wonderful, Henri. Thank you
very much.”

“Monsieur Clay, I will write down the address and the time. I believe that it will be about ten in the morning, if that is good for you, and I have written my cell phone number as well. With respect to your project, I wish you well. I have tried often to persuade some of my friends in the Church to give up some of their holdings, with little success. If you are successful, you are a better man than me.”

Austin thanked Feret and then went looking for Madeline. She was on the phone in her office, and Austin sat in a chair in the corner, thinking about his discussion with Feret and the information about Maetan. It was an interesting piece of history. Everybody dies sooner or later, but to be tortured to death when your job is to be a painter depicting military battles was an interesting twist. What had happened to the money or the gold? He wanted to learn more about the story and perhaps to look at the picture in more detail.

Madeline got off of the phone and gave Austin a big smile. “Are you taking me to dinner?” she asked, already knowing the answer.

“I am not sure. What have you done today to deserve it?” he answered with a smile.

“Have some pity on me. I have to put up with my boss. Do it out of charity.”

“Hey, I got asked out on a date on Sunday by your friend Feret, and I am going to go.”

“Well, I know for a fact that Henri is not into men, and I also know that you are not into men. So what are you talking about?” said Madeline, who was now very curious.

“Your friend Henri invited me to visit a guy named Phillips with him this Sunday morning.”

“Reginald Phillips,” said Madeline, sounding surprised.

“You know this guy?”

“Only by reputation. He has been here on many occasions, and I think I may have met him, but I don’t know him very well. He is a big-time art collector. Can I come with you?”

“I don’t care, but you should ask your friend Henri, because he was the one doing the inviting.”

“Perhaps it would be best if I let you and Henri go by yourselves. I am glad that you two got along, and I might just be in the way. In this town, having contacts is very important, and this will give you a good chance to make a friend. Now, what were you saying about dinner?”

“Hey, if I do not take you to dinner, then I will probably eat some junk or something, so it is probably healthier to eat with you than to be on my own. It is still early, so I am going to work on my presentation, and I will come back and pick you up. What time?

“Seven?”

* * *

Madeline recommended a small restaurant on the Left Bank that they had been to before and suggested that they walk. The summer evening was warm, and the sun spread a soft light over the city. As they walked across the river on the Pont St. Michel, Austin asked Madeline a couple of questions.

“Don’t ask me why I am asking these questions. I am just trying to learn something.”

Madeline gave Austin a strange look, and then she said, “Okay.”

“Have you ever heard of the Seine Corporation?”

Madeline thought for a second and then said, “No.”

“Do you know anyone that owns an apartment in Nice?”

Madeline said, “No, but I would like to.”

“That is all of the questions tonight,” said Austin. He put his arms around Madeline’s shoulders from behind and kissed her on the neck. The smell of her perfume played games with his brain.

“Why did you ask those questions?”

“Oh, it is not important. I had a discussion with someone, and the name Seine Corporation came up. I just wanted to know if you knew the name.”

As they continued to walk, Austin held Madeline’s hand and commented on the perfume she was wearing. The classiness of this woman was yet another reason that Austin continued to fall deeper into her web. Try as he might, he was having a difficult time identifying anything that he didn’t like about her.

Dinner was very relaxed. Paris had many small restaurants that the tourists never knew about, and that was fine with the locals. The Bell de Paris was a place that had matured with time, and some might say that it could use a makeover. The age of this establishment could be measured by the names and dates carved into the tabletops by students from the Sorbonne. Austin surveyed the record before him to find Madeline’s name. At least at this table her name and phone number could not be found. The waiter approached the table, and it was clear that he and Madeline knew each other, as they conversed for several minutes. Austin’s French was improving, but he could not follow the conversation. Among all of the words, Madeline had ordered wine.

Between their first and second glass, Austin related the story of the death of poor Francois Maetan and said that he had learned that the artist had two names. Madeline was glad that she had introduced Feret to Austin. It was an interesting diversion, but unknown to Madeline it was the beginning of much more than a diversion.

“I heard this afternoon that your new friend Feret was shown the Maetan paintings by Badeau. I don’t know why, but I know that they were down with the paintings and that Feret took some photographs.”

Austin looked at Madeline, sorry that he had even brought up the subject to the old man.

“He had told me of an earlier interest, but I wish he were not so interested now. Can you arrange for me to see the Maetan painting again tomorrow?” Austin asked.

“Sure, I don’t think they have sent it to storage,” Madeline replied. “Why do you want to see it?”

“I now understand some of the history. The key question for me is whether this was the last painting he completed before his death. I would also love to know what happened to his brother. That may be a very tough assignment.”

“Please don’t tell me that you are going to look for the gold. What happened to your big project?”

“Not just yet,” Austin said with a smile “And you are right—I want to finish up the first phase of the project. In fact, if I can get in to see Vassar next Thursday, I will be ready to see if he will sign on. But I have been thinking about the Maetan painting, and I have been thinking about Feret’s comments, and I have also been thinking about your relationship with the Louvre.”

“My relationship?”

“Let me explain. I am a little bit of a gambler. I wish I could say that I always gamble on sure things, and sometimes I let my ego get ahead of my common sense, but I have a hunch.”

“What’s a hunch?” asked Madeline, who wanted to add this word to her collection.

“It is a guess or feeling based on incomplete information. I am wondering if the painting in question was the last one Maetan painted. I mean, was it the painting he was working on when they came to take him away? Then I started to think about what you said about how some of it did not look like the rest, and what you said about something about …”

“Varnish.”

“Yes, varnish. And was this painting finished in a hurry, or … was something covered up?”

“By whom?” asked Madeline.

“I have absolutely no idea. Maybe it was done by Maetan, or maybe it was done by his brother, if he was around. Or maybe he had someone else do it. Here is what I want to do, but we have to be very careful. This may be stupid, but I would like to answer the first question. Is there any connection between the time of the painting, the time of the missing gold, and the deal that fell apart with the twin boys? If the painting was done before the incident, then it may just be another painting. If it was done after the incident, then perhaps there is more to it.”

“More to it?”

“I don’t know what that means either. Something just does not seem right. It should be worth a second look.”

Austin excused himself and went to the men’s room. Upon returning, he saw a sad look in Madeline eyes. “Do you think I am crazy?” he asked.

“No, no. I was just thinking about something.”

“Madeline, what do you know about infrared?”

“What?”

“I read an article about some Italian guy that was using infrared in studying frescos or something in Florence.”

“I know what you mean,” said Madeline. “I have heard about the technology, but I don’t know much about it. He is not the only one that has done this. We have some people at the Louvre who know about this subject.”

“Well, that’s a problem.”

“Problem?”

Austin tried to guide Madeline through his thoughts. “Madeline, I am suggesting that there is something under the unvarnished section. I don’t know what it might be. Perhaps he had some political statement that would have made his problems worse, or maybe it was a shopping list. Wouldn’t you love to know what it is?”

“I’ll try to see if we can get the infrared people to look at it.”

“Nope, I don’t want the Louvre involved.”

“Austin, I am now really confused.”

“I want to fund this exercise, and I want to control who knows what. I want the painting scanned by someone that has no knowledge of why we are scanning it—someone that does not have a big mouth. I need your help in identifying resources and perhaps some contacts, but I don’t want you involved. Let’s just say that that crazy Austin is off on some fool’s errand. Remember, I am in the medical electronics business. Maybe I will fly someone over from the States, or maybe we can find a European consultant. Now, let’s talk about something really important. I am starving, and drinking all of this wine before dinner makes my head get all wobbly.” Austin handed Madeline a menu.

After ordering, there was a slight change in her demeanor. “What will you do if he does not agree to your proposal?”

“Who?” asked Austin.

“Vassar,” she replied.

“I will listen to what the man says and perhaps come back with a modified project intend to overcome his objections. As we say back home, there is more than one way to skin this cat. My VP of sales always tells his people that the selling does not begin until the customer says no. I will get what I want.”

“Do you want me?”

The question came out of the blue, and he was caught off guard. He hesitated to answer the question. The second bottle of wine was delivered, and he took the pause to pour wine into both of their glasses.

“Madeline, you were a very big surprise for me. The minute I saw you in the airport when I arrived, I was impressed. I did not come to France to find a girlfriend or a wife. I was married for twenty years, and life has changed a lot for me. I miss my wife, and I wish she were here, but I know that she is gone, at least gone from my world. She died, and I did not. I have been very cautious about you. First I have to be a little on guard about women. Where I come from, I could date two women a night, but only because people know who and what I am. At this stage in my life, there is not much I can do about that. What I want more than anything is honesty. I put honesty above beauty, a great figure, blonde hair, and a rich father. With you, I feel very much at home, and I believe that you have been as honest as anyone can be. We do come from different worlds. France is not the Unites States, but to me that does not matter. I want to answer your question. I want to give you a complete answer. I also want to be so sure that there is no going back. I think you are terrific. The issue is not you. The issue is me. I had very mixed emotions about the other night. I am a relatively smart guy, but you have got me very confused. Do I want you? I want to say yes, but I also don’t want to make a mistake, especially one that hurts you. I could have commuted back and forth from the United States to France on this project, and I feel a little guilty that I did not do that. Many people rely on me, and here I am on what my father would say was a boondoggle. One of the reasons I have not commuted is you.”