The New Collected Short Stories (71 page)

‘I would have liked to go with him.’

‘Behave yourself, Gregory,’ she teased.

‘When do you think he’ll find out?’

‘When he turns up at the stage door after the show and finds his name isn’t on the guest list, would be my guess.’

Neither of them spoke while Gregory went over the figures a second time, then finally closed his little book and placed it in an inside pocket.

‘I must congratulate you on your research this time,’ she said. ‘I must admit I’d never heard of Robert Adam, Delft or Chippendale before you briefed me.’

Gregory smiled. ‘Napoleon once said that time spent on reconnaissance is rarely wasted.’

‘So where does Napoleon stay when he’s in Paris?’

‘The Ritz Carlton,’ Gregory replied matter-of-factly.

‘That sounds expensive.’

‘We don’t have much choice,’ he replied. ‘Miss Gaynor has booked a suite at the Ritz because it’s convenient for the Pleyel concert hall. In any case, it gives the
right image for someone who’s planning to steal a Modigliani.’

‘This is your captain speaking,’ said a voice over the intercom. ‘We’ve been cleared for landing at Charles de Gaulle airport, and should be on the ground in around
twenty minutes. All of us at British Airways hope you’ve had a pleasant flight and that you enjoy your stay in Paris, whether it be for business or pleasure.’

A flight attendant leaned over and said, ‘Would you be kind enough to fasten your seat belt, madam? We’ll be beginning our descent very shortly.’

‘Yes, of course,’ she said smiling up at the flight attendant.

The attendant took a second look at the passenger and said, ‘Has anyone ever told you that you look just like Gloria Gaynor?’

T
HERE HAVE BEEN
Grebenars living in the small town of Hertzendorf, nestled in the Bavarian hills, for more than three hundred years.

The first Grebenar of any note was Hans Julius, born in 1641, the youngest son of a miller. Hans worked diligently as a pupil at the town’s only school, and became the first member of the
family to attend university. After four years of conscientious study, the young man left Heidelberg with a law degree. Despite this achievement, Hans did not hanker after the cosmopolitan life of
Munich or even the more gentle charm of Friedrichsville. Rather, he returned to the place of his birth, where he rented a set of rooms in the centre of the town and opened his own law practice.

As the years went by, Hans Julius was elected to the local council, later becoming a freeman of the town as well as an elder of the parish church. Towards the end of his days he was responsible
for establishing the town’s first municipal museum. If that had been all Herr Grebenar achieved, commendable though it was, he would have gone to his grave unworthy of even a short story.
However, there is more to be said about this man because God had given him a rare gift: a good eye.

Young Grebenar began to take an interest in paintings and sculptures while he was at university, and once he’d seen everything Heidelberg had to offer (several times), he took every
opportunity to travel to other cities in order to view their treasures.

During his bachelor years he put together a small but worthy collection, his limited means not allowing him to acquire anything of real significance. That changed the day he prosecuted Friedrich
Bloch, who appeared before the court on a charge of being drunk and disorderly.

Herr Grebenar wouldn’t have given the uncouth ruffian a second thought had Bloch not described himself on the court sheet as a painter. Curiosity got the better of the prosecutor, and
after Bloch had been fined ten marks, an amount he was ordered to pay within seven days or face a three-month jail sentence, Grebenar decided to follow him back to his home in the hope of finding
out if he painted walls or canvases.

Over the years, Grebenar had come to admire the works of Caravaggio, Rubens and Bruegel, and on one occasion he had even travelled to Amsterdam to view the works of Rembrandt at his studio, but
the moment he set eyes on his first Bloch,
Child Pushing a Wheelbarrow
, he realized that he was in the presence of a remarkable talent.

An hour later, the lawyer left Bloch’s studio with an empty purse but in possession of two self-portraits in oil, as well as
Child Pushing a Wheelbarrow
. He then went straight to
the guild house, where he withdrew a large enough sum of money to cause the clerk to raise an eyebrow.

After a light lunch he returned to court, where he discharged the artist’s fine, which caused several more raised eyebrows, because he had successfully prosecuted the miscreant only that
morning.

When the court rose later that afternoon, Grebenar, still wearing his long black gown and wing collar, took a carriage back to the artist’s home. Bloch was surprised to see the prosecutor
for a third time that day, and was even more surprised when he handed over the largest number of coins the artist had ever seen, in return for every painting, drawing and notebook that bore
Bloch’s signature.

Herr Grebenar did not come across Friedrich Bloch again until the artist was arrested a year later, on the far more serious charge of attempted murder.

Grebenar visited the artist in prison where he languished while awaiting trial. He informed an incredulous Bloch that he was willing to defend him against the charge of attempted murder, but
should he get him off, he would require a rather unusual recompense. Bloch, having gone through all his money, agreed to the lawyer’s terms without question.

On the morning of the trial Herr Grebenar was inspired; he had rarely experienced a better day in court. He argued that as at least twelve men had been involved in the drunken brawl, how could
the constable, who had arrived some time after the victim had been stabbed, possibly know which one of them had been responsible for the crime?

The jury agreed, and Bloch was acquitted on the charge of attempted murder, although he was found guilty of the lesser offence of drunken affray and sentenced to six months in prison.

When Bloch was released, Herr Grebenar was waiting for him in his carriage outside the prison gates. Grebenar outlined his terms during the journey to the artist’s home and Bloch listened
intently, nodding from time to time. He made only one request of his patron. Grebenar readily agreed to supply him with a large canvas, several new brushes and any pigments and powders he required.
He also paid Bloch a weekly stipend to ensure that he could live comfortably, but not excessively, while carrying out his commission.

It took Bloch almost a year to complete the work and Grebenar accepted it was the weekly stipend that had caused him to take his time. However, when the lawyer saw the oil painting
Christ’s Sermon on the Mount
he did not begrudge the artist one mark, as even an untutored eye would have been left in no doubt of its genius.

Grebenar was so moved by the work that he immediately offered the young maestro a further commission, even though he realized it might take him several years to execute. ‘I want you to
paint twelve full-length portraits of Our Lord’s disciples,’ he told the artist with a collector’s enthusiasm.

Bloch happily agreed, as the commission would ensure a regular supply of money for years to come.

He began his commission with a portrait of St Peter standing at the gates of Jerusalem holding crossed keys. The sadness in the eyes of the saint revealed how ashamed he was for betraying Our
Lord.

Grebenar visited the artist’s home from time to time, not to study any unfinished canvases, but to check that Bloch was in his studio, working. If he discovered the artist was not at his
easel, the weekly stipend was suspended until the lawyer was convinced Bloch had returned to work.

The portrait of St Peter was presented to Herr Grebenar a year later, and the prosecutor made no complaint about its cost, or the amount of time it had taken. He simply rejoiced in his good
fortune.

St Peter was followed by Matthew sitting at the seat of Custom, extracting Roman coins from the Jews; another year. John followed, a painting that some critics consider Bloch’s finest
work: indeed, three centuries later Sir Kenneth Clark has compared the brushwork to Luini’s. However, no scholar at the time was able to offer an opinion, as Bloch’s works were only
seen by one man, so the artist grew neither in fame nor reputation – a problem Matisse was to face two hundred years later.

This lack of recognition didn’t seem to worry Bloch so long as he continued to receive a weekly income, which allowed him to spend his evenings in the ale house surrounded by his friends.
In turn, Grebenar never complained about Bloch’s nocturnal activities, as long as the artist was sober enough to work the next day.

Ten months later, James followed his brother John, and Grebenar thanked God that he had been chosen to be the artist’s patron. Doubting Thomas staring in disbelief as he placed a finger in
Christ’s wound took the maestro only seven months. Grebenar was puzzled by the artist’s sudden industry, until he discovered that Bloch had fallen for a steatopygous barmaid from a
local tavern and had asked her to marry him.

James the son of Alphaeus appeared just weeks before their first child was born, and Andrew, the fisher of men, followed soon after their second.

After Bloch, his wife and their two children moved into a small house on the outskirts of Hertzendorf, Philip of Galilee and Simon the Zealot followed within months, as the rent collector needed
to be paid. What pleased Grebenar most was that the quality of each new canvas remained consistent, whatever travails or joys its creator was going through at the time.

There was then an interval of nearly two years when no work was forthcoming. Then, without warning, Thaddaeus and Bartholomew followed in quick succession. Some critics have suggested that each
new canvas coincided with the appearance of the latest mistress in Bloch’s life, although there is little or no historical evidence to back up their claims.

Herr Grebenar was well aware that Bloch had deserted his wife, returned to his old lodgings and was once again frequenting the ale houses at night. He feared that the next time he came across
his protégé it would be in court.

Grebenar only needed one more disciple to complete the twelve, but when no new canvas had appeared for over a year and Bloch was never to be found in his studio during the day, the lawyer
decided the time had come to withhold his weekly allowance. But it was not until every ale house in Hertzendorf had refused to serve him before his slate had been cleared that Bloch reluctantly
returned to work.

Five months later he produced a dark, forbidding image of Judas Iscariot, thirty pieces of silver scattered on the floor around his feet. Historians have suggested the portrait mirrored the
artist’s own mood at the time, as the face is thought to be in the image of his patron. Grebenar was amused by Bloch’s final effort, and bequeathed the twelve portraits of
Christ’s disciples to the town’s recently built museum, so that they could be enjoyed by the local citizens long after both the artist and his patron had departed this world.

It was over a game of chess with his friend Dr Müller that Grebenar learned his protégé had contracted syphilis and had only months to live – a year at the most.

‘Such a waste of a truly remarkable talent,’ said Dr Müller.

‘Not if I have anything to do with it,’ retorted Grebenar, as he removed the doctor’s queen from the board.

The following morning Herr Grebenar visited Bloch in his rooms and was horrified to discover the state the artist was in. He was lying flat on his back, fully clothed, stinking of ale, his arms
and legs covered in raw, pustulous scabs.

The lawyer perched on the end of the bed. ‘It’s Herr Grebenar,’ he said softly. ‘I’m distressed to find you in this sorry state, old friend,’ he added to a
man who was only thirty-four. ‘Is there anything I can do to help?’

Bloch turned to face the wall, like an animal who knows death approaches.

‘Dr Müller tells me you’re unable to pay his bills, and it’s no secret you’ve been running up debts all over town and no one will grant you any more
credit.’

Not even the usual cursory grunt followed this observation. Grebenar began to wonder if Bloch could hear him. The lawyer leaned over and whispered in his ear, ‘If you paint one last
picture for me, I’ll clear all your debts and make sure the doctor supplies you with any drugs you need.’

Bloch still didn’t move.

Grebenar saved his trump card until last, and when he’d played it, the artist turned over and smiled for the first time in weeks.

It took Bloch nearly a month to recover enough strength to pick up a paintbrush, but when he finally managed it, he was like a man possessed. No drink, no women, no debts. Just
hour after hour spent working on the canvas that he knew would be his final work.

He completed the painting on 17 March, 1679, a few days before he died, drunk, in a whore’s bed.

When Grebenar first set eyes on
The Last Supper
he recalled the final words he had spoken to the artist: ‘If you achieve what you are capable of, Friedrich, unlike me you will be
guaranteed immortality.’

Grebenar couldn’t take his eyes off the haunting image. The twelve disciples were seated around a table, with Christ at the centre breaking the communion bread. Although each one of the
Apostles sat in different poses and leaned at different angles, they were unmistakably the same twelve men whose portraits Bloch had painted during the past decade. Grebenar marvelled at how Bloch
had achieved such a feat since once they had left his studio, the artist had never set eyes on them again. Grebenar decided there was only one place worthy of such a masterpiece.

Herr Grebenar fulfilled the Maker’s contract of three score years and ten. As he approached death, he had only one interest left in life: to ensure that his protégé’s works would
remain on permanent display in the town museum, so that in time everyone would acknowledge Friedrich Bloch’s genius, and he himself would at least be guaranteed a footnote in history.