Over My Dead Body (Detective William Warwick #4)(49)

‘Sometimes prohibitive,’ said Beth. ‘There are very few companies in Britain who are considered reliable enough to handle works of such importance. I know of one curator who insists that the painting is never let out of his sight, so, like him, it has to fly first class and not be put in the hold. That doesn’t come cheap – and that’s before you start worrying about the insurance premiums. The reason you can never borrow a Leonardo or a Michelangelo from the Vatican is because Lloyd’s of London are unwilling to insure them, and the Pope has decreed no exceptions.’

‘Can’t the government help in those circumstances?’ asked Marjorie.

‘Sometimes they can be more of a hindrance,’ said Beth. ‘If the Foreign Office has reservations about the country you want to loan a picture to, they can refuse to grant you an export licence.’

‘Understandably,’ said Sir Julian. ‘I can just imagine the outcry if the National Archaeological Museum in Athens asked to borrow the Elgin Marbles – just for six weeks.’

‘And then there’s the Jewish problem,’ said William.

This silenced even Sir Julian.

‘There are several major works hanging in public galleries that were stolen from their Jewish owners by the Germans during the Second World War. Some of them were later “liberated” by the Russians, and can now be seen in the Hermitage in St Petersburg, as well as several other well-known museums tucked safely behind the Iron Curtain.’

‘Is there nothing the rightful owners can do about that?’ asked Marjorie.

‘Not a lot,’ said Beth, ‘while the authorities in those countries refuse even to acknowledge their claims. And they certainly wouldn’t loan a looted work to an exhibition in a country where a civil action could be brought against them.’

‘The Russians can’t be the only culprits,’ said Sir Julian. ‘Hermann G?ring assembled one of the finest private collections of old masters on earth, and I can’t believe they’ve all been returned to their rightful owners.’

‘Some of them have, but not too many. Most travelled east, not west, after the war. Don’t forget the Red Army made it to Berlin before the Allies. So if you want to see those pictures they picked up on the way, you’ll need a visa.’

‘What about England?’ asked Marjorie. ‘Are there any paintings of dubious heritage hanging in our leading galleries?’

‘Oh yes,’ said William. ‘Three of the Fitzmolean’s finest works were donated by a well-known criminal.’

‘On permanent loan by his generous widow,’ insisted Beth.

‘Who’s almost as bad as her late husband,’ said William, ‘and if he is still alive, you can be sure Booth Watson will find a way of turning permanent into temporary.’

‘Evidence?’ demanded Sir Julian, tugging the lapels of his jacket.

‘Christina Faulkner is represented by none other than Mr Booth Watson QC.’

‘Not exactly proof, but …’

‘Children, children,’ said Marjorie. ‘Desist.’

‘Then there’s my biggest problem,’ continued Beth, ‘which may prove insurmountable.’

‘The bottom line, no doubt,’ said Sir Julian.

‘Exactly. You need to have at least sixty or seventy major works on display to be reasonably confident of good reviews from the critics who in turn will entice the public to visit in sufficient numbers, which in our case is a footfall of around ten thousand a week. Otherwise the gallery could actually end up out of pocket, as my boss continually reminds me.’

‘Speaking of Tim Knox,’ said Sir Julian. ‘There’s a rumour doing the rounds that he’s going to be offered the post as Surveyor of the Queen’s Pictures.’

‘Let’s hope it’s only a rumour,’ said Beth, ‘because he’d be difficult to replace.’

‘Does the Royal Collection have any Hals?’ asked Marjorie, remaining on track.

‘Three,’ said Beth. ‘And HM is always very generous when it comes to requests from public galleries.’

‘I can’t wait to see the exhibition,’ said Marjorie.

‘You’ll both be invited to the opening night,’ promised Beth. ‘And now, despite Marjorie’s misgivings, I’d like to hear about Julian’s latest case.’

‘Do you have an hour to spare?’ said Sir Julian.

‘Get on with it,’ said his wife.

Sir Julian sat back, and paused for a moment before delivering the single word, ‘Fraud.’ He waited for as long as he felt he could get away with before adding, ‘I shall be appearing on behalf of the Crown to prosecute a particularly devious and cunning individual who’s been fronting a charity that rescues donkeys which have been ill-treated by their owners.’

‘There are people who fall for that scam?’ asked Beth.

‘In their hundreds, it would seem. He only had to take out a quarter-page advertisement in the Daily Telegraph with a photo of a starving donkey, and the donations came flooding in. We are a nation of knaves and animal lovers, it would seem.’

‘But if he saved the donkeys?’ said Beth.

‘There were no donkeys,’ said Sir Julian, ‘just hapless romantics only too willing to part with their money, which ended up in his back pocket. That’s the reason he’s able to afford the services of Mr Booth Watson, who will be making one of his rare appearances at the Old Bailey. Don’t be surprised if several donkeys, of the two-legged variety, appear in the witness box to give evidence.’