Chapter TWO
At ten minutes to nine the next morning, Klaus pulled up in front of Tallowford Hall Art Gallery.
Three storeys of red brick soared above him. Needle-sharp towers pointed skyward. Tall, narrow windows stared outward from beneath frowning arches. The gallery occupied a rambling mansion built in the 1840s, gifted to the Gallery Trust by its last private owner, who was no doubt glad to be rid of it. Klaus knew from his own experience how costly it could be to keep old houses in good repair and bring them up to twentieth-century expectations of comfort.
Klaus headed for the front door. The building had looked cold and dour from the outside, and once he was inside, the chill of the centuries seemed to seep through the masonry and into his bones.
The Head Curator, Raymond Kenihan, greeted him with a flaccid handshake.
"What's your first impression of the painting?" Klaus was keen to get on with the business at hand.
"I'm afraid I can't offer you any comment myself, Major von dem Eberbach. You see, I'm not an authority on paintings of this type," Kenihan said. "I've invited someone who does have the right expertise to examine the painting and give us an opinion."
"This job is highly confidential," Klaus growled. "It's essential that as few people as possible are involved; surely you were told that?"
Kenihan blinked, surprised by the dangerous undertone in the Major's voice. "Mr Munro mentioned it was a sensitive matter, but he emphasised that he needed an accurate assessment and he gave me carte blanche to handle the task as I saw fit." His voice wavered into a nervous bleat. "So naturally, I've called in the best man for the job."
"So who is this expert you've called in?"
"A private consultant. Someone highly respected in the art world, one of the greatest living authorities on paintings of the period."
"Who does he work for?"
"Oh, no, Major – he doesn't work for anyone. He's a private collector. His expertise is acknowledged very widely." Kenihan checked his watch. "In fact, he is due to arrive here this morning to begin work, and he should be here by now. If you'll just follow me, Major, I can introduce you to him."
Kenihan led the way through a short hallway hung with heavily-framed pictures, and ushered Klaus into a spacious bay-windowed meeting room.
The private consultant was standing looking out of the window with his back to the door. As soon as Klaus saw the tall, slim figure dressed in an impeccably tailored pale lavender suit, blond hair curling halfway down his back, he didn't have to see the man's face to know who this was. His grunt of annoyance was drowned out by Kenihan's voice.
"My lord, here is the security services officer you're to work with. May I present Major Klaus von dem Eberbach? Major, I'd like you to meet the Earl of Gloria."
The Earl turned, genuine surprise lighting up his eyes. He smiled radiantly, and held out his hand. "Major von dem Eberbach, I'm delighted to meet you."
Klaus, formal and correct, shook his hand. "Lord Gloria. Thank you for agreeing to assist us."
"Oh, it's my pleasure," cooed the Earl. Kenihan would not have been able to see the lascivious gleam in the Earl's eyes, but Klaus could not miss it.
Once the three of them were seated, Klaus turned to the Earl. "Mr Kenihan assures me that you're an expert on paintings of this kind." The word 'expert' rolled across Klaus's tongue like a sour unripe fruit.
The Earl smiled, unperturbed by the Major's prickly tone. "I have a good working knowledge of Lanfranco's works, and that of his contemporaries."
"His Lordship has been called in as a consultant by a number of prominent art galleries and museums around the country," Kenihan enthused, keen for the Major to endorse the Gallery's choice. "His expertise is unquestioned."
Klaus grimaced. "Then, Lord Gloria, I'll be very pleased to have your assistance, and I am at your service."
The Earl leaned forward and purred, "Goo-oo-ood!" in a tone that suggested a very hungry cat in the presence of a dish of cream.
A quiet rap on the door announced the arrival of Kenihan's secretary. "Beg pardon, Mr Kenihan, but a courier has arrived; the package needs your personal signature."
Kenihan stood up. "I apologise, gentlemen, but I must see to this. I'll be as quick as I can." He bustled out, leaving Klaus and the Earl facing each other.
"Is this one of your schemes, Eroica?" Klaus snarled, as soon as the door closed. "Are you up to something illegal? Because if you are, so help me, I'll call Interpol myself."
"Really, Major!" The Earl chuckled. "Always so suspicious! As it happens, this is all above board. Kenihan called me in because of my knowledge of seventeenth-century art. I'm here as the Earl of Gloria, art collector. This has nothing to do with Eroica, I can assure you."
"It had better not!"
Loud footsteps sounded in the hallway, and Kenihan came back in. "I'm sorry, gentlemen. That was unavoidable. Perhaps we should go and look at the painting in question?"
Klaus and the Earl rose and followed as the Head Curator led the way to a room at the rear of the building. Kenihan unlocked the door, and they stepped into a well-lit, sparsely-furnished space. At the centre of the room, a large gilt-framed painting rested on an easel.
"This workroom will be set aside for your use, my lord. Nobody else will have access for the time being." Kenihan handed the Earl a key. "This is your space for the duration of the project. If you need anything at any time, my secretary can arrange it for you. If you wish to work late, get her to clear it with Security." He looked anxiously at his watch. "I'm afraid I need to go to my next meeting. Sponsor for an upcoming exhibition – can't keep him waiting. Major, please don't hesitate to get in touch if you need any further assistance, and feel free to liaise directly with His Lordship."
The Head Curator offered limp handshakes to both men, and hastened away.
The Earl sauntered across the workroom to stand in front of the painting.
Klaus huffed resignedly. He needed to have the painting assessed, and if the Earl had been brought in to do it, then he'd have to work with him. He went to stand beside him – keeping a healthy distance between them – to look at the painting.
Seen at close quarters, it was more imposing than Munro's photograph had suggested. Its sheer size – nearly two metres high and one and a half wide – lent it authority. The figures in the painting had a vitality that Klaus hadn't expected.
He frowned. Still the usual histrionic bullshit, though.
"Magnificent, isn't it, Major?" the Earl sighed. "Such drama."
Klaus sniffed in disdain. Trust Eroica to like this sort of rubbish. "All right," he said aloud; "we need to know whether the painting is genuine, and we need an opinion about what it's worth. As quickly as possible. If you make a start today, how long will it take?"
"How long is a piece of string, Major? I really can't say. I may have an answer for you in a day or so; it may take longer."
"I can't wait for it to take longer than a day or so. This piece of string needs to be kept short. What do you need to do?"
The Earl shrugged nonchalantly. "Examine the brush strokes, compare them with other works known to be by Lanfranco. Chemical analysis of the paint and varnish; a close look at the canvas and other materials."
So the Earl was going to deal in hard scientific evidence rather than foppish, airy-fairy opinions? Encouraged by that thought, Klaus ventured another question.
"So if it is what it's supposed to be, how much would it be worth?"
"It depends."
"Look, Eroica—" Klaus began, exasperated – but the Earl cut him off.
"I know you prefer to deal in solid realities, Major, but a lot of variables are at play. Who's buying; whether there's any competition; the last price paid for a painting by the artist; how long since the particular piece has been on the market. Any number of other things besides."
Klaus held up both hands. "All right, all right. I understand." He frowned at the painting for a few moments. "Do you have any first impressions?"
"Well, Major, it's typical of Lanfranco's style, and of the Baroque movement in general. See, here? The use of light and shadow – the symbolism of the light at the top of the painting, representing Heaven, and the Good; and the dark here at the bottom, representing Evil, and Hell."
The Earl's graceful hand moved across the painting, his fingers hovering millimetres above the surface. "See how he shows the Archangel – full of grace and power. The Archangel is every inch the iron-clad warrior. See the delicate detail on his armour – and on his wings. You can see every feather. And his feathers aren't pure white; here, they're iron grey to echo the tone the artist's used on the armour; and here, they're almost black, to symbolise the Archangel's solemn duty in driving one of his fellow angels from Heaven."
The Earl's hand shifted downward, to hover beside the figure of Lucifer, who lay naked, stripped of his wings and clothing, on the edge of a dark cloud, above the yawning void that showed the way to Hell. "And Lucifer – Lanfranco shows him as a paradigm of male perfection, with a beautiful face and body. He's even more handsome and graceful than the archangel. And see how his body is contorted with suffering? He hasn't been wounded; it's not physical pain – it's the pain of losing Heaven, and being driven out of God's presence."
Klaus stared at the painting, following the supple, fluid hand gestures. Eroica's apparent regard for the picture mystified him. The man's fascination with naked men could be easily explained, Klaus thought – after all, he was a faggot, wasn't he? – but paintings seemed to hold an allure for Eroica that went beyond mere carnal interest. His regard seemed almost spiritual.
"You can also see something of Lanfranco's contribution to artistic technique," the Earl continued, "in the foreshortening of Lucifer's body, with the feet toward the viewer and everything in perfect perspective."
"That's just indecent," Klaus snorted. "You can practically see what he had for breakfast."
The Earl pressed his lips together as if biting back a retort, then said, "All right, Major. I don't expect you to take all this in, but I thought it might be useful to you to understand some of the markers that appraisers and buyers look for in paintings of this period."
Klaus scowled. Eroica had a point. If there was information to be understood that might help to progress the operation, perhaps he should try to understand it – but art was a closed book to him.
"Look, Eroica," he huffed, "you're the expert. You know the value of these things. I don't. I have to rely on your advice. That's what Kenihan brought you in for. So, can you establish whether it's genuine or not in the next twenty-four hours?"
The Earl smiled indulgently at him. "I really shouldn't make any guarantees, Major; but I'll do my best."
"Good. Then I'll meet you here tomorrow morning at nine o'clock, and you can tell me about your initial findings, and let me know how close you are to a conclusive answer. The sooner I can pass on your conclusions to my colleagues, the sooner we can achieve a positive result."
And the sooner I can be rid of you, thought Klaus – although a small voice at the back of his mind insisted on reminding him that Eroica was not easy to be rid of.