Portrait of a Spy

nightly at Green’s to uproarious laughter.
    “Sold, is it?” asked the rumpled figure, tugging at his earlobe.
    “Just last week,” said Oliver.
    “As a Palma?”
    “Workshop, love. Workshop.”
    “How much?”
    “My good man!”
    “If I were you, I’d find some way to wriggle out of it.”
    “Whatever for?”
    “Look at the draftsmanship. Look at the brushwork. You just let a Titian slip through your fingers. Shame on you, Oliver. Hang your head. Confess your sins.”
    Oliver did neither, but within minutes he was on the phone to an old chum at the British Museum who had forgotten more about Titian than most art historians would ever know. The chum hurried over to St. James’s in a deluge and stood before the canvas looking like the only survivor of a shipwreck.
    “Oliver! How could you?”
    “Is it that obvious?”
    “I’d stake my reputation on it.”
    “At least you have one. Mine will be in the loo if this gets out.”
    “You do have one option.”
    “What’s that?”
    “Call Mr. Abbas. Tell him the check bounced.”
    And don’t think the idea didn’t cross Oliver’s devious little mind. In fact, he spent the better part of the next forty-eight hours trying to find some legally and morally acceptable loophole that he might use to extricate himself from the deal. Finding none—at least not one that would allow him to sleep at night—he called Mr. Abbas to inform him that Onyx Innovative Capital was actually the proud owner of a newly discovered Titian. Oliver offered to take the painting to market, hoping to at least salvage a healthy commission out of the debacle, but Abbas called back the very next day to say OIC was going in a different direction. “Tried to let me down easy,” Oliver said wistfully. “Pleasure doing business with you, Mr. Dimbleby. Lunch next time you’re in Zurich, Mr. Dimbleby. And by the way, Mr. Dimbleby, the lads from Christie’s will be stopping by in an hour.”
    They appeared with the suddenness of professional kidnappers and carried the painting over to King Street, where it was examined by a parade of Titian experts from around the globe. Each rendered the same verdict, and, miraculously, not one violated the draconian confidentiality agreement that Christie’s had made them sign for their fee. Even the normally loquacious Oliver managed to keep quiet until after Christie’s unveiled its prize. But then Oliver had reason to hold his tongue. Oliver was the goat who let a Titian slip through his hooves.
    But even Oliver seemed to find a bit of pleasure in the frenzy that followed the announcement. And why ever not? It really had been a dreadful winter till that point, with the government austerity and the blizzards and the bombings. Oliver was only happy he was able to lighten the mood, even if it meant playing the fool for drinks at Green’s. Besides, he knew the role well. He had played it many times before, to great acclaim.
    On the night of the auction, he gave what would be his final performance to a standing-room-only crowd. At its conclusion, he made three curtain calls, then joined the throng heading over to Christie’s for the big show. Management had been kind enough to reserve a second-row seat for him, directly in front of the auctioneer’s rostrum. Seated to his left was his friend and competitor, Roddy Hutchinson, and to Roddy’s left was Julian Isherwood. The seat to Oliver’s right was unoccupied. A moment later, it was filled by none other than Nicholas Lovegrove, art adviser to the vastly rich. Lovegrove had just flown in from New York. Private, of course. Lovegrove didn’t do commercial anymore.
    “Why the long face, Ollie?”
    “Thoughts of what might have been.”
    “Sorry about the Titian.”
    “Win some, lose some. How’s biz, Nicky?”
    “Can’t complain.”
    “Didn’t realize you dabbled in Old Masters.”
    “Actually, they terrify me. Look at this place. It’s like being in a bloody church—all angels and saints and martyrdom and crucifixion.”
    “So what brings you to town?”
    “A client who wants to venture into new territory.”
    “Client have a name?”
    “Client wishes to remain anonymous— very anonymous.”
    “Know the feeling. Your client planning to venture into new territory by acquiring a Titian?”
    “You’ll know soon enough, Ollie.”
    “Hope your client has deep pockets.”
    “I only do deep pockets.”
    “Word on the street is that it’s going to go big.”
    “Pre-show