The Dorich House Mystery (The Ralph Chalmers Mysteries Book 3) Read online

  “You’re right. Katie would be a great help and we get along well. It could be a bit tricky getting a visa for her for some of the countries we’ll need to visit now that she has a criminal record, though.”

  “Not a problem old pal. She has an Australian passport so no one will challenge that. Everyone loves them. They’re seen as apolitical freewheelers insofar as the rest of the world is concerned.”

  “So the deception starts here does it, Peter? I thought we were the ones meant to be holding the higher ground?”

  “Needs must and all that, old chap. I’m all for bending the rules a bit if it’s in a good cause. Once you get all that money in for the University all those poor unfortunate buggers who can’t afford the tuition can get free scholarships so that they can spend their parent’s money on booze and fags. It’s all swings and roundabouts, Ralph. You of all people should understand that.” Peter laughed. He loved pushing at the way Ralph took everything a bit too seriously at times. Driving slowly up the long graveled driveway leading to Peter’s house Ralph was struck by the thought of the pleasant life that his friend lived. A beautiful house with sweeping lawns leading down to the river Thames, tennis courts for visitors at weekends, and a loving family. He pictured summer days with the French doors open and Peter playing his piano while Marcia relaxed in a hammock as the summer breeze swayed the grasses by the river bank. As Peter got out of the car, Marcia came out to greet him. Perhaps I need to settle down thought Ralph, with more than a twinge of jealousy.

  Chapter 3

  It was a cold December day as Ralph rang the ornate bell of Katie’s mews house in Chelsea. The bright winter sun reflected off the white door and he had to shade his eyes as she welcomed him.

  “You made it in spite of the traffic. I thought you’d be late and we’d miss our appointment to meet your friend Grant.” Ralph was pleased to see that Katie was fully recovered from her spell in Holloway and back to her old outward going self. Grant Richardson had phoned Ralph earlier that week and invited him to attend the auction of one of his paintings at Christie’s in South Kensington. He had also mentioned that it would be an ideal opportunity to introduce Ralph to a few of the main collectors who would be there. Ralph thought it would be a good way for Katie to get re-acclimatized to the hurly burly of social life after her time in prison.

  “Well I cheated a bit and took the tube and then a taxi to the top of your mews. I thought it best to leave the car behind. It’s a lot easier to catch a taxi to South Kensington from here, and if we have a glass of wine with lunch I won’t have to worry about getting any more points on my licence.”

  Katie was ready to go within a few minutes and he helped her on with her coat before they stepped out onto the street. Ralph hailed a passing taxi and it made a U turn and pulled up to the curb beside them.

  “South Kensington, Christies Auctioneers," Ralph instructed the driver.

  As the cabbie edged his way through the crowded London streets they settled back into the seat and Ralph updated Katie on what had happened at the dinner, his plans to take her to St Petersburg, and how Grant had invited them to the auction.

  “It all sounds good Ralph, but your friend sounds a bit iffy.”

  “No, I think he’s okay. Who knows, we may even get invited to his country home over in Cambridge. I hear that he and his wife are in with the top set,” he said with a laugh.

  “The top set, eh? That’s the place we want to be. And if they do turn out to be a bit dodgy then we could become the new Bonnie and Clyde. I can see you in now, Ralph. Surbiton’s Clyde Barrow; just your style.” They both laughed while realizing that the picture was uncomfortably close in describing the way their lives had fused in the past.

  “Guess I had better put any notions of becoming a latter day Bonnie aside for the moment if I expect to become a respectable woman again. Assuming I was one in the first place. But seriously, I really am excited by the chance to travel, especially to St Petersburg. It’ll give me a chance to practice my Russian.”

  “Katie, you’re a woman of many mysteries. I didn’t know you spoke Russian,” Ralph said with surprise.

  “I’ve had a lot of spare time for the past three years,” Katie quipped. I got some of those audio language CD’s and whiled away all that leisure time grappling with the nuances of the Russian language; besides which my roommate Tatiana was from the Ukraine, so we took turns swapping language tips.”

  “Next you’ll be telling me you dabbled in rocket science as well,” Ralph joked.

  “No, but I did get a rudimentary grasp of Arabic,” she replied.

  “Only rudimentary?” Ralph asked.

  “Unfortunately when Tatiana got out on early release her replacement was from Essex,” Katie explained. “But some might say that was a little like picking up a fourth language. I think I mentioned that my mother’s mother was French, so all of the grandchildren were required to speak French whenever she came to visit.”

  So what is number four?” Ralph asked with a straight face.

  “Very funny,” Katie replied in her mock cut glass imitation of the Queen’s English.

  “Did you check with your case officer about traveling outside the UK?” Ralph asked?”

  “She said there was no problem so long as I let her know when I would be away. Now that I’ve added Russian and a smattering of Arabic to my repertoire the world’s our oyster, Ralph.”

  Ralph noticed that as they were sitting in traffic that the cabbie had been eavesdropping on their conversation. Katie’s position as Professor of Education at Kingston University was now a thing of the past, but if she hoped to forge a new professional career she would have to be more circumspect when speaking in front of strangers, but Katie had a low flashpoint and he realised that this was probably not an opportune time to mention it.

  “You said something on the phone about Dorich House Museum using someone to get an updated valuation of their paintings, Ralph. What sort of money are we talking about? I know some paintings fetch millions. I saw in the paper that five paintings were stolen from an art museum in Paris. I think a Picasso and a Matisse were among them. The whole lot was valued at around 150 million US dollars. That’s about 30 million dollars apiece. If Grant is revaluing his paintings, even though they might not be in the same class as Picasso they could be worth a few million.”

  “Well not quite. His are only copies. But they are old, probably 17th or 18th century, so they are worth a substantial amount compared to newer copies. If they were originals that would be a different matter. But they’re still worth quite a lot of money compared to new copies of the old masters that you can get online for around 200 pounds.” They both laughed at the contrast.

  “So it’s an understatement to say that the authentication is key. No doubt we will see how these things are handled at Christies,” said Katie. “And speak of the devil, here we are.” Ralph jumped out and paid the cabbie.

  Christie’s auction house was impressive and the inside rooms presented an atmosphere of elegant charm. Grant Richardson was waiting for them just inside.

  “Ralph. I’m so glad you could make it. And who is your charming companion?”

  “Katie, this is Grant Richardson, the agent for the owner of the pieces we are here to see. Grant, may I present my good friend and associate Katie Eggerton.”

  “So nice to meet you, Miss Eggerton. I hope you won’t be disappointed in my little dabbling in the world of fine art,” Grant said as he took Katie’s hand and gave a slight bow.

  Having completed the usual pleasantries they went in and took their seats at the back of the auction house. Grant had told them he was auctioning a painting for an anonymous client whom he had known for years. After a number of paintings had been sold for what struck Ralph as incredibly high prices, it was Grant’s turn. The auctioneer was tall and elegant looking in a pin stripped suit, and appeared the epitome of British upper class. He described Grant’s first painting in a cultured voice that echoed around the cloister
ed group of bidders.

  “Lot number 27. An oil on canvas painting entitled ‘Lady in Blue’. The original, painted by Thomas Gainsborough, is hanging in the Hermitage Museum in St Petersburg. The provenance indicates that it was painted in 1790 just after Thomas Gainsborough’s death. Joshua Reynolds is purported to have been at Gainsborough’s bedside when he died. It is believed to have come from the workshop of Joshua Reynolds. It was possibly painted by Reynolds with help from his apprentices as a gesture towards his old rival, and put down rumours that the fine touch that made Gainsborough so famous could not be repeated.”

  Ralph recognized he was in danger of becoming either the world’s worst or best cynic. He had haunting memories of those online paintings for 200 pounds. But the ambiance of the auction rooms and the sincerity with which the auctioneer presented his case had started to work its magic. The bidding started at 200,000 pounds and after an initial flourish and some interest from the internet it was down to two bidders. The bids edged up in 50,000 pound steps and finally sold at 750,000 pounds. Katie and Ralph seemed to be the only two people in the room who were astounded at the price paid. It had taken less than two minutes to close the deal.

  “Well that went as well as could be expected,” murmured Grant, glancing at his catalogue. Turning to Ralph he whispered, “I hoped that old John Weston would go a bit higher, but perhaps all that trouble in Egypt is making his clients a bit more cautious about how much they can afford to spend nowadays.”

  When there was a break in the proceedings Grant crossed the room to the two bidders who were now looking at the painting.

  “Hallo Boris. Bad luck, old boy. I see old John here managed to pip you at the post today. Pity the ruble has taken a tumble or I’m sure you could have snatched the prize from him, as you generally manage to do.” The three men laughed, partly to ease the tension that had built up during the bidding, and because to them it was a normal day’s business.

  “Come over here you two, I’d like you to meet Professor Ralph Chalmers and his charming associate Miss Katie Eggerton.” The threesome made their way to the bank of artwork displayed behind a heavily secured glass petition where Ralph and Katie stood speculating on the relative prices they might fetch.

  “Miss Eggerton, Ralph, may I introduce Boris Sarovsky and John Weston? These two are the main stalwarts of the art auction business and famous for their good taste. Boris, John, Professor Ralph Chalmers and Miss Katie Eggerton.” They exchanged polite handshakes and smiled in acknowledgement.

  For Ralph, Boris was everything that one would expect in a wealthy Russian art dealer. He looked a bit like a friendly Vladimir Putin, if that was not an oxymoron; well dressed and suave, but at the same time he looked as though he was not the sort of man you would want to cross swords with. In stark contrast, John Weston was a typical product of the British public school system; first Eton or Harrow and then a top class University by his guess. His tailor must make a fortune from this client alone, Ralph mused. But Grant broke his reverie.

  “Look, my client will be over the moon to hear that things went well today. So why don’t we celebrate our victories with a spot of lunch at the new Savoy Grill? My treat. That will give us a chance to have a bit of a chat.”

  “I’ve just spent my last farthing for the day,” Weston winked at Katie. “And as you will no doubt be collecting a nice commission from my little spending spree, I am only too happy to permit you the honor of picking up the tab.” They all laughed convivially as they made their way to the cloakroom to collect their belongings.

  “We Russians are all too happy to allow you capitalist Westerners the privilege of feeling superior,” Sarovsky agreed as he collected his hat and umbrella from the cloakroom.

  As they walked down the steps, Grant’s gleaming white Mercedes SUV arrived at the curb. Ralph realised that he must have arranged for the door porter to have it driven from the underground car park just when he emerged from the auction house. Leaping into the driver’s seat, Grant invited Katie to ride shotgun, ‘in case someone tried to rob those rich guys sitting in the back’. It was a happy group that arrived at the Savoy Grill on the Thames Embankment.

  The Savoy had been closed for three years for renovation. It had recently reopened with all its former art deco brilliance and style, a period that was close to Ralph’s heart. He had bought his apartment in Surbiton because he was enchanted with the period and these surroundings suited him perfectly. They walked through the Thames Foyer with its Winter garden gazebo under a stained glass cupola. With its natural light it made the perfect venue for late night dancing and for the more stately patrons, afternoon tea. They walked past the new Beaufort bar with its interior of jet black and gold. Ralph could see that Katie was thrilled by the opulence and style on display.

  “Isn’t the TV chef Gordon Ramsey the manager of the Savoy Grill now?” She asked Ralph in a whisper.

  “I think so. Let’s hope he’s in a good mood today. Hopefully Hell’s Kitchen is just a TV spoof. I hear he’s quite a nice bloke once you get to know him.”

  They were soon seated and Ralph couldn’t help smiling as he thought of the contrast to meals at the college refectory. No doubt Katie was thinking the same of her former less hallowed institution. As the men savored the three course prix fixe luncheon menu, Katie worked her way through the salt baked beetroot tart, steamed Scottish mussels with cider cream sauce followed by Apple tart with amaretto ice cream. Not that it appeared to affect her trim figure, Ralph noted appreciatively. Over coffee Grant moved the conversation to his collection, but Katie wanted to find out more about why the two collectors were prepared to pay nearly a million pounds for a painting that was only a copy. When she was finally able to ease the conversation away from Grant’s collection she asked the question directly. John Weston was the first to offer an explanation.

  “Obviously one would prefer to get one’s hands on an original painting signed by the Great Master himself rather than a copy. But in this case we have two things to guide us. Firstly the provenance. Today we had a paper trail taking us back to the time it was first purchased in 1790. There is no gap in the trail of sale and purchases up to the present date. The other thing is that Christie’s carry out a thorough check on works that pass through their hands. If they were in any doubt they would tell the seller. The seller can then use the latest modern technology to test the age of the painting and who might have painted it. We have Morellan analysis where it is checked for incorrect brush work and conventional X-ray diffraction to analyse the components that make up the paint an artist used. And there are some newer technologies that are being used to compare a painting with a previously authenticated original. That way the artist can be authenticated. Although forgery and fraud are things that bedevil the art world and we have to be on our guard, As you can see, it’s not such a high risk business after all.” He sat back sipping his brandy.

  Boris broke in.

  “Take that painting that John purchased this morning. As the auctioneer said, the original is hanging in the Hermitage. I myself have admired it over many years. In fact the collection that it is in is scheduled to go on tour and I think that it is coming over to England later this year.”

  “But why are they allowing it to leave the Museum?” Katie asked.

  “As part of a cultural exchange The Hermitage are shipping over Sir Robert Walpole’s collection that Catherine the Great of Russia purchased from him in 1812 for around 50,00 pounds which in today’s money would be about 50 million pounds. Cheap at the price you might say as there were over 200 paintings involved. I shudder to think what the insurance on all that lot will come to. Stalin took some of the collection during World War II and the Germans helped themselves to a few more. But most are still in the collection. At the time it was the biggest and most expensive collection in the world. Walpole was your first British Prime Minister and unlike today’s people he was very wealthy.” They all laughed at the comparison with the latest Prime Ministers who had passed thr
ough 10 Downing Street. Not exactly poor but certainly not in the class of Sir Robert Walpole. Well this summer you can see a large part of that collection because it will be on exhibition at Houghton Hall in Norfolk, Walpole’s birth place. It’s being hosted by the Marquess of Cholmondeley and well worth a visit, “he said smiling invitingly at Katie.

  Ralph could see that Katie was enjoying Boris’ attentions but he also sensed that they were somewhat ignoring their host. He decided perhaps it was time to nudge the conversation a bit in a different direction.

  “We shall be sure to put Houghton Hall in our diary,” Ralph assured Sarovsky. “But Grant, tell us a bit more about your collection.”

  “Yes, I do have several rather fine old copies, several of which are presently on loan to Dorich House Museum, the museum affiliated with Ralph’s University at Kingston. And speaking of authentication, I wanted to tell you two about some paintings of mine that are being revalued for insurance purposes by a chap called Ivan Rabinsky here in London. He used to be with Christie’s so you may have heard of him. The photos are a bit dark, but you can see that the paintings are excellent copies of the originals. We bought the paintings some years in a run-down antiques shop in a back street off Nevsky Prospekt in St. Petersburg. They are genuine 18th century copies, with due provenance of course. The originals are hanging in the Hermitage and form part of the Sir Robert Walpole collection that you were just telling Katie about, Boris. Quite a coincidence don’t you think, chaps?”

  Grant spread the three photos out on the white table cloth that had been unobtrusively swept clean of any offending bread crumbs by the attentive waiter.