Page 63 of An Inside Job

Seated in Van de Velde’s comfortable office, they engaged in the polite conversational foreplay that precedes any art world transaction. The current slump in the market, the bleak outlook for the global economy, the dreadful state of Europe’s politics. Van de Velde was looking forward to the upcoming Fine Art Fair in Maastricht. Julian, who had grown weary of the annual gathering, indicated that his partner would be attending on his behalf.

“American, is she?”

“Not so you’d know it.” Frowning, Julian shot a glance at his wristwatch. “Do you think we might have a look at your painting now, Peter. I’d love to be on the two o’clock flight back to London.”

Van de Velde slid a single-page document across the desk and laid a pen atop it.

“A nondisclosure agreement?” Julian shook his head. “I’ve never signed one and never will.”

“This situation is different.”

Julian thrust on his reading glasses and reviewed the document with exaggerated care. Then, after a final expression of righteous indignation, all of it counterfeit, he added his illegible signature where indicated. Van de Velde slipped the document into a desk drawer. Julian pocketed the pen.

“The painting,” he said with genuine impatience.

“As I told you, it was discovered here in Amsterdam.”

Julian took note of Van de Velde’s use of the passive voice. “You led me to believe thatyouwere the one who found it, Peter.”

“The truth is, the painting was brought to me by another individual.It was in terrible condition, but I agreed there was something special about it. You know the feeling, Julian. The funny feeling at the back of your neck.”

He knew it all too well. “How much did you pay for it?”

“Five thousand euros. The money was given to me by one of my investors, a connoisseur and collector with an extraordinary eye. He, too, is convinced the painting is a sleeper.”

“He’s your partner, this connoisseur and collector?”

“More or less.”

“In that case, what do you want from me?”

“Your opinion.”

“I’m a dealer, Peter. I only authenticate paintings that I’m interested in acquiring for myself or a client.”

“My partner and I would be more than happy to sell it to you. But I’m afraid it’s going to cost you.”

“What did you have in mind?”

“If I’m right about this painting, it will sell for several hundred million.”

“What did you find, Peter? A lost Vermeer?”

“Something better than a Vermeer.”

“There’s only one other Old Master painter who could fetch that kind of money.”

Van de Velde smiled. “Shall we have a look now?”

“I thought you would never ask.”

Van de Velde stood and reached for his overcoat. “Right this way.”

***

“The best laid plans of mice and men,” said Sarah.

“And crooked Dutch art dealers,” replied Gabriel.

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