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.We must not exhibit until all is ready.You must trust me.’This time the words were out of my mouth before I had even thought them, or so it seemed to me, ‘What has happened between us that I should suddenly trust you?’ and I took no notice of something on his face, something, some shock or pain.‘I simply require to be paid,’ I said.And then the shock was gone, and he contained himself, that way he had.His hat had been on the dining-room table, he picked it up and quickly bowed.‘The end of summer,’ he said.‘People will come back to Town at the end of the summer.’ And he was gone at once from Pall Mall, and Euphemia brought more coal.For that side of the house in Pall Mall was always cold, like Frith Street, no matter how hard the sun tried to shine through the grey clouds.I went to the cock-pit that night, to at least tell Tobias, but he was not there.At last whispers of real information about the Rembrandt painting found their way round London.Definitely an early one, the whispers said.It was said to be called Girl Reading, a painting that nobody had even heard of.Mr Hartley Pond pooh-poohed the whisper.‘We would have heard of it if it was anything Genuine,’ he said, ‘if it was anywhere in Europe.’The Art Dealer James Burke had seen it.‘I believe’, he said to Mr Hartley Pond when they met at Mr Christie’s auction rooms, ‘that it is Genuine.I believe it is to be auctioned by Mr Valiant in Poland-street well before the end of the year, but I may be wrong, it may only be a Rumour.’ And the rumour grew, was embellished, as it made its way around the drawing-rooms and dining-rooms of art lovers and art chancers and art collectors and art dealers and art auctioneers and the nobility of England and possibly Buckingham House.A Rembrandt.He was, at that moment, the most collectable Old Master in Europe.Mr Hartley Pond, who had recently been touring the continent, relayed all this information over halibut in parsley sauce at Pall Mall.‘We would have heard of such a Painting if it was anything Genuine,’ he re-iterated.‘If it was anywhere in Europe, I would know about it,’ and he spoke knowledgeably of early Rembrandt paintings.Signore Filipo di Vecellio re-told his story of the auction in Amsterdam and the Rembrandt painting he had lost to a Frenchman, and the wine flowed and Claudio glowered and Isabella preened palely at the attention of one of her father’s new guests.Lady Dorothea’s laugh tinkled and the voices raised, as they so often did as dinner wore on; Francesca di Vecellio missed very much the brisk presence of Miss Ffoulks.Mr Swallow at the end of the table proudly mentioned again his biography.‘At least he does not take note of your Conversations,’ shouted John Palmer, present for once, who was more inebriated even than usual, ‘as Mr Boswell used of Dr Johnson.Then what stories we would hear!’ And Francesca saw that her brother looked coldly at John Palmer and then he turned that same look upon Mr Swallow.‘Take care that you write my Biography while I live, young man, for I am the final Arbiter of the Truth of my Life, and I shall not have people scratching around my Coffin after I am dead.’ And there was something almost menacing in the way he spoke so that a frisson of something, some warning, drifted about the table and Grace Marshall stared at the candle-flame.TWENTY-EIGHTIt was late September when the notice of the auction suddenly appeared.Another collection of European paintings was to be presented by Mr Valiant in Poland-street, the centrepiece of which was the new discovery of a painting by the Netherlands artist, which was advertised separately.INCLUDING:SPECTACULAR OLD MASTERREMBRANDT van RijnGIRL READINGViewing this TUESDAY inst.AUCTION FOR ALL PAINTINGS11am Saturday 2 October SHARP.‘I wonder they do not auction such a painting at Mr Christie’s rooms here in Pall Mall,’ said Isabella, wishing to be part of the conversation around the dinner-table.‘Mr Valiant is long established,’ explained her father.He turned to the others as the mutton appeared and the wine flowed.‘But you cannot always be certain of Authenticity at his rooms - or Christie’s rooms for that matter, or any other.’‘In the end we must judge for ourselves,’ said Mr Hartley Pond (meaning of course that he himself would judge) ‘for what does James Burke know after all? He is only a Dealer.’But there was obvious excitement around the table as there always was when an important Auction was to take place.‘I and my dealer Mr Minnow will be present of course,’ said Filipo.‘And I absolutely insist you must come with me, my boy,’ he said to the sullen figure of Claudio, and nobody took notice of the inscrutable face of the Signorina Francesca, as she observed her brother across the dining-table.When the Catalogue of Items was perused it was seen that, once again, despite the new Patriotism, there was not a single British Painting being auctioned.The weather, those days before the auction, was appalling: wind and rain.But it made no difference.Big crowds viewed the collection of paintings, and the Rembrandt painting in particular, for as long as Mr Valiant would keep his doors in Poland-street open; he was too much of a businessman to close when there was such public interest, even though there was so much mud and rain and rubbish trampled into his rooms that he was almost in despair, hurrying and harrying his boy to sweep up after everybody, as the smell of dubious mud became more and more unbearable.Sir Joshua Reynolds came, and Signore Filipo di Vecellio, and the author Miss Fanny Burney with her father, and indeed the Dukes of Bedford and Bridgewater who were always looking to add to their collections.Day and night people came with magnifying glasses and opinions on the genuineness or otherwise of the unknown picture; ‘This is a Rembrandt picture,’ said the crowds of people to each other, most never having had the chance to see one before in their lives.They looked intently at the face of the girl.Gloved fingers had curiously rubbed at the old frame, Mr Valiant had to be quite severe; however one well-known, very rich, connoisseur was given permission to scratch very very slightly at the varnish, which he observed minutely upon his fingernail and then declared himself satisfied.The day before the auction a gold coach stopped briefly in the narrow street, blocked the traffic completely, and the Prince of Wales was seen to enter the auction-room also, his magnifying glass in hand.Mr Valiant, astonished, thrilled, and anxious that his rooms smelled of sewers, bowed very low
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