6

The opening had gone as Nick had expected. A few keen collectors had arrived by four and secured the maps they were looking for. It was never a problem to sell his quality pieces to collectors; the secret of a successful exhibition was to sell as many maps as possible on the opening night.

Nick sipped a fresh orange juice. He never drank alcohol during an opening, leaving that for the clients.

He surveyed the scene from the mezzanine floor. The gallery was packed and humming with the same type of crowd as usual; not too many young people. Most people were dressed for the occasion, the men in blazers or suits and ties, and the women in evening wear. The hired wait staff, in their black and white outfits, were being kept busy serving champagne and wine.

Bronte’s sister Sarah, fresh off the plane from Melbourne for a young Australian’s obligatory year in Europe and looking more like a twin than a younger sibling, handed Nick another juice. Sarah had picked up some part-time secretarial work and was living, ‘until she got sorted out’, in Bronte’s front room.

On the far side of the mezzanine, a violin ensemble was making a fine job of Pachelbel’s Canon. Even so, as he descended the stairs, Nick could make out Bronte’s Aussie twang above the general noise. She was extolling the virtues of a selection of maps to a small group. ‘Scarce’, ‘fine impression’, ‘investment’ were some of the words Nick could discern. Bronte was working it hard. Nick smiled to himself. After nine years they made a pretty good team. She was a natural social networker while Nick preferred one-on-one interactions. In fact, he often felt apprehensive in crowds.

‘Signor Lawrance?’ An accented voice broke his train of thought. Nick was surprised to see that the voice, which was most definitely Spanish, belonged to a man of religion. Dressed in a black cassock, with a gold cross hung low around his neck, the man reminded Nick of the actor Robert De Niro.

‘Signor Lawrance,’ the clergyman said again, handing Nick a business card. ‘My card. It is my wish to purchase a number of your maps.’

‘Excellent, Mr …?’ Nick glanced at the card. ‘My apologies, Monsignor Montana. Which maps have taken your fancy?’

‘I will buy all these maps, sir,’ Montana said, waving a long, thin hand at the four maps by Bunting. ‘My payment will be by American Express.’

‘Excellent!’ Nick started to write out a receipt then stopped on hearing Bronte shout across the room.

‘Nick,’ she warned, ‘I’ve already sold Bunting’s World. I’m sorry, I forgot to put a red sticker on it. The other three are still available though.’

This was embarrassing for Nick but he tried not to show his annoyance. Turning to the clergyman, he advised, ‘I can sell you three of the maps, Monsignor.’

‘No, I will buy all four maps!’ Montano bristled.

‘I am really sorry, Monsignor Montano, but as you just heard, unfortunately the World Map is already sold.’ Nick made a half-hearted ‘what can you do?’ gesture with his shoulders.

‘But I desire all four maps!’ insisted the priest angrily, staring straight into Nick’s eyes.

‘It is not possible,’ Nick persisted in as conciliatory a tone as he could. This was the last thing he needed on an opening night.

The priest continued to stare hard at Nick for a few seconds and then turned to speak to another, darker-skinned man, not dressed in religious garb, who Nick had not previously noticed. They spoke softly in Spanish. When they’d finished, the other man turned to Nick.

‘His Excellency suggests that you refund the Bunting map purchaser’s money. He will pay you a substantial amount more for it in any event.’ Somewhat more softly, so others could not hear, the man went on. ‘I suggest it would be in your interests to comply with his Excellency’s suggestion, sir. He is a man who expects to get what he wants.’

Nick was not quite sure if he had just been threatened. ‘I don’t think I can do that,’ replied Nick. ‘I might be able to contact the purchaser in the next few days and see if they will let it go. However, there’s no real problem is there? I mean, I’m sure I can find another Bunting World Map for you in as good condition as this one. And, I can guarantee the same price.’

‘No!’ shouted the Monsignor. ‘I must have this one!’ A few heads turned towards them. ‘Is the purchaser here? In the gallery?’

Bronte, who had been following the conversation as best she could, broke in. ‘Nick, it was Doctor Baxter. He bought it over the phone earlier today. He said he won’t be in until next Tuesday to collect it.’

The dark man turned to the priest and once again they conversed quietly in Spanish. Eventually the Monsignor’s companion addressed Nick. ‘It is decided,’ he declared. ‘We will take the other three maps now. Please contact this Doctor Baxter and do what you must to get back ownership of the World Map as soon as possible.’

‘Signor Lawrance,’ – this time it was the Monsignor – ‘I will pay you triple for the map. This will be worth your effort I believe? We will return for our map on Tuesday.’

Nick, who didn’t want an even bigger scene to develop over this, quickly processed the credit card and placed the three maps in a Nicholas Lawrance Gallery carrier bag. Then with a quick bow and swish of his cassock, the Monsignor turned and hurried out of the gallery, his assistant following behind.

‘Jesus!’ said Bronte, a few minutes later. ‘I wouldn’t want to meet him on a dark night!’

‘I know what you mean, Bronts,’ agreed Nick. ‘He was trying the old stare-you-out trick. A bit of a control freak, if you ask me.’

There was movement on the gallery floor. ‘I’ll have to worry about it later though,’ said Nick. ‘I can see Mr and Mrs Palmer want me to persuade them to buy the Ortelius.’