Jeffrey stepped farther back into the Cafe Royale’s entrance hall as the front doors admitted several well-dressed patrons and a blast of freezing wind. “Meeting Dr. Rokovski the day after my return from Zurich is a little too much coincidence for me.”
Located just half a block off Piccadilly Circus, the Cafe Royale had been a hub of the London social whirl for over a century. It was one of the few public haunts of Victorian England that had managed to remain financially afloat since World War II. The bars and restaurants displayed typically Victorian proportions—an almost endless series of overdone rooms set on seven floors.
“You know full well that I absolutely must speak with Pavel now,” Alexander replied. “I need his blessing on this gala business. I should have already requested it, if truth be known, but it was something I wished to do in person.”
“It’d be a lot nicer if we could have this meeting after the check is cleared and the Rubens deal over and done with.”
“Don’t be so nervous,” Alexander replied. “Rokovski is not in London on our account, of that I am sure. He is here for a conference and is meeting us because I invited him.”
“I still don’t like it. What if he’s upset because the sale took so long to go through?”
Alexander shook his head, his own calm unruffled. “The gentleman is a professional, and a professional will understand that in a sale requiring absolute discretion, patience is of the utmost importance.”
“You’re sure?”
“See for yourself.” Alexander pointed through the glass portals to the street, where a taxi was depositing the Dr. Pavel Rokovski, director of the Polish Ministry of Culture’s Cracow division and Alexander’s primary contact for his export of Polish antiques. “Does that look like the face of a worried man?”
“Alexander. Mr. Sinclair,” Dr. Rokovski effused, striding forward with an outstretched hand. “How wonderful to see you again.”
“Please call me Jeffrey.”
“Of course, thank you. I am so sorry to be late. I decided to take the tube because I was warned that traffic is terrible here in London, and I found the right line, but I am afraid that I took it in the wrong direction. The next thing I knew, I was in Hendon Central.”
“That’s quite all right,” replied Alexander. “It was nice to have a moment to catch our breaths at the end of the day.” He gestured them forward. “Come, gentlemen. Our table awaits.”
They were led to a table in the front bar, where paintings in elaborate gilt frames fought for space on richly brocaded walls. Rokovski settled into a French settee upholstered in red velvet, took in the ornate high ceiling, heavy drapes, and rich carpeting. “Some of our castle’s royal chambers are not as fine as this.”
“I quite enjoy the ambience,” Alexander agreed. “And its location makes the cafe an excellent rendezvous point.”
“I’m sorry that my schedule is so tight,” Rokovski said,
“but the conference planners do have us on a treadmill.”
“I quite understand,” Alexander replied.
“I would love to stay and explore London by night,” Rokovski continued, “but instead I must be back at the South Bank Center for a reception by seven. You know I am here to make contacts for a variety of traveling exhibits we hope to lure to Cracow in the coming months.”
“It is wonderful that you would take time for us at all,” Alexander said. “I am delighted that we could meet even briefly, as I have some very good news for you. We can now confirm that the Rubens has been sold. The price, even in this difficult market, was at the high end of our preliminary estimate.”
“Splendid, splendid,” Rokovski said, his eyes dancing from one to the other. “Would it be indelicate to ask the figure?”
Alexander nodded to his assistant. Jeffrey replied, “One point one five.”
Rokovski showed momentary confusion. “One point one five what?”
“Million,” Jeffrey said. “Dollars.”
“So much,” Rokovski breathed.
“The transfer will go through tomorrow, less our commissions and the payment for the initial information,” Alexander said. “In accordance with our arrangements.”
“This is wonderful. Just wonderful. It will mean so much for the preservation and expansion of our religious art collection.”
“This service has brought me great satisfaction,” Alexander assured him. “I am indeed grateful for the opportunity to be a part of this transaction.”
“When may I use these funds?”
“Immediately,” Alexander replied. “That is, as soon as the bank has finished with its paperwork.”
“Excellent.” Rokovski showed great relief. “You see, in anticipation of the sale’s being a success, I have already committed our museum to urgent repair and restoration work for which we do not have the money. I can’t thank either of you enough. I am only sorry that others cannot know of your extraordinary contribution.”
Alexander nodded his formal thanks. “Speaking of contributions, Pavel, it has occurred to me that your project to house the nation’s collection of religious art requires both more funding and wider public support. I have therefore taken it upon myself to lay the groundwork for a fund-raising gala to promote your efforts.”
Rokovski was baffled. “What means this, gala?”
“It is a quite well-known event in Western circles,” Alexander replied. “Various charities organize deluxe receptions or dinner parties, charge an outrageous amount per plate, and invite hundreds of people.”
“And these people will come?”
“Given the proper mixture of exclusivity and good cause,” Alexander replied, “not only will they come, but they will pay for the privilege. I expect to sell these tickets for two hundred pounds.”
Rokovski gaped. “Per person?”
“You’re quite right,” Alexander smiled. “Two hundred fifty would be much more appropriate for such a worthy cause.”
“You see, Dr. Rokovski,” Jeffrey explained, “not only do you raise money for your cause through selling tickets, but you also attract the attention of celebrities and the media.”
“Call me Pavel, please.”
“Thank you. This leads to further private donations and sometimes even bequests.”
“I see,” Rokovski nodded. “So this must be a very special party for all such special people.”
“I intend to hold it at the Ritz,” Alexander replied. “I have booked the grand ballroom, and I expect no fewer than six hundred would-be patrons of Polish art.”
“Incredible,” Rokovski breathed. “And what are you going to showcase?”
It was Alexander’s turn to show confusion. “What do you mean?”
“Is that not the correct word? Most conferences I have attended have some type of centerpiece to excite the participants’ imagination. An example you can show the people of what you are trying to do. Some photograph or brochures, perhaps even the real thing.”
“The real thing?” Alexander leaned forward. “Bring an example of Polish artwork over for the event? That would be extraordinary.”
“I have an idea,” Rokovski said. “There is a collection of exceptional religious artifacts within the Marian Church. We should find you something small yet beautiful, an article that would represent the wonder of Polish religion and heritage. Something easily transportable—perhaps a medieval chalice. I know the curate, Mr. Karlovich, quite well.”
“This is a splendid proposition,” Alexander said. “This would help our project immensely.”
“Of course, I will arrange all the necessary export documents,” Rokovski said, writing in a small pocket notebook. “I suggest we extend to you three pieces. First, the article from the Marian Church—but I do not have direct control over the church, you understand. Approval must be given by the curate.”
“I understand, and am indeed grateful.”
“As for pieces within the national collections, well, of course, those are within my jurisdiction.” He thought for a moment, nodded to himself. “Might I suggest a small oil painting of the Madonna and Child? And there is a splendid miniature altar in the Czartoryski Collection. An exceptional piece, I promise you.”
“The three together would comprise an extraordinary exhibit,” Alexander enthused. “Such treasures would go far to convince the guests to become true patrons of our cause.”
Rokovski glanced at his watch, rose to his feet. “Then I will call you from Cracow the day after tomorrow. We can ship the altar and the painting, there is no difficulty at that point. I must warn you, however, that Curate Karlovich would insist on a personal envoy to transport whatever article he loans you to London and back.”
“I had planned to travel to Poland on other business next week,” Alexander replied. “I will see to this matter and give Mr. Karlovich my personal assurances.”