Chapter Ten
Otto sat behind his desk, staring back at her, his fingers interlaced in a steeple. ‘It’s going to be very difficult going back to Margit with this news, Darcy,’ he said with an unhappy look.
‘I know, and I’m sorry. I’m really doing everything I can to try to unearth a lead. I just need one thread to pick up. Once I get a name or find a clear photograph of this woman, I’ll be able to run with it.’
‘But there’s nothing of interest at all so far?’
She shook her head. ‘Trier was on the road straight after the war. He went to Paris, then down into Italy. I’ve been keeping an open mind whether the woman could have been a prostitute. We know he used their services, and it would fit his focus at that time, which was depicting peasant life and the working classes. It could be that he painted one of them and used his paid-for slots, so to speak, as sittings?’ She was reaching, she knew.
Otto frowned, thinking about it for a moment. ‘I don’t think I buy that hypothesis. If he wanted to paint a whore, why present her as a lady?’ He made a gesture with his hand. ‘Forgive the crude language, but you take my point.’
‘I do. And I agree,’ she sighed. It was exactly the point she had made. ‘I’m just trying to keep an open mind and consider all possibilities.’
He looked out of the window, deep in thought. ‘Trier’s own personal interests always lay with the common man. He was a lifelong socialist. He didn’t move into society portraiture until Frederik Madsen became his patron in 1921 and painting the portraits of the great and the good became his bread and butter. But he never had any real love for it. He more or less stopped after their falling out in ’22.’
She bit her lip thoughtfully. ‘That’s what keeps niggling me...the portrait just doesn’t appear to be his typical society commission. There’s no interior backdrop, it’s not full length, she’s not formally attired...’
‘It could have been an early piece, before he found his feet with the style. It might even have been just a preliminary study. It might have been an exercise in finessing her hair or nose or attitude.’ He looked at her. ‘I assume you’ve gone through the list of his officially recognized works, to see if any of the women could be a match?’
Darcy stalled. It was such an obvious suggestion, and yet...
She looked down, feeling sheepish that she had jumped straight into researching Trier’s life before his actual work. ‘Not yet, no. I’ll get onto that straight away and cross-check his verified portraits to see if anything correlates.’ She sighed, sinking back in her chair. ‘I’m sorry, Otto...I should have done that first, as well as tightened the search frame from the outset...I’m an idiot.’
Otto watched her beat herself up. ‘Due diligence is never a bad thing, Darcy. And if the timings weren’t so tight, it wouldn’t ordinarily be an issue. But we’re a week down now with nothing to show for it, and Margit’s under a lot of pressure.’
‘I know. And I promise I’m going as fast as I can. I’m doing the full twelve hours every day in the archives – seven till seven. And I’m going to see if Viggo can tweak the arrangement we had this weekend so I can work longer then too.’
Otto frowned. ‘This weekend?’
‘Yes. He managed to secure a special arrangement for working out of office hours. It was unorthodox, but it worked pretty well.’
‘Unorthodox how?’
‘He arranged for some of the material – just a few boxes at a time – to be delivered to the house of one of the trustees, who lives along the same road as the gallery. It means there isn’t the same security concern of transporting stuff across the city, plus the trustee’s given a personal reassurance to the insurers about keeping eyes on the material at all times.’
‘Who is the trustee?’
She swallowed, not even wanting to say his name. She was doing her level best not to think of him at all. ‘Max Lorensen.’
‘Max. I see.’
‘You know him?’
‘Yes, of course.’
Of course. She remembered how Max had mingled at the museum drinks reception last week, speaking with the benefactors as if they were old friends. His job required him to be socially adept and well connected; not to mention the Madsen Foundation’s involvement with the retrospective meant he was bound to have crossed paths with Otto at some point.
‘And so that’s the ongoing arrangement, is it? Any work undertaken outside of office hours is conducted at his house? Evenings and weekends?’
‘As it stands,’ she nodded. ‘But I’m going to lobby Viggo as soon as I get back over there, after this. Clearly there are still time limitations working in someone else’s home – I can hardly work through the night! – whereas if I could have them at home, I could work as late as I needed.’
She had absolutely no intention of returning to Max’s house, no matter how tight the deadline. Natalia’s arrival might have been badly timed for him, but it had been a godsend for her, stopping her in the nick of time from losing herself and becoming just another one of his conquests. Freja had been right. He was bad news for her. She wasn’t cut out for a player like him.
‘Will that be possible?’ Otto asked sceptically. ‘Insurers are known for being fastidious.’
‘Yes, but if the principle has been established that the material can be released from the gallery – under strict conditions – then there’s surely room for negotiation on what those conditions can be. The precedent has been set, so...’ She held up her crossed fingers.
‘I see. Well, then, I hope something can be worked out along those lines; it would certainly be helpful for you. And if anyone can make it happen, it’s Rask. He’s very highly regarded.’
‘Yes, he’s been a tremendous help.’ She sipped her coffee, her fingers still red from cycling over here in the cold. ‘Has there been any development with the extrication?’
‘Only that it’s coming away slowly, slowly. I believe Lauge’s feeling more confident than he was this time last week.’
Darcy winced. ‘I’m glad it’s not my job to get it out.’
‘It’s painstaking work. Lauge has been pretty stressed.’
‘But nothing can be seen yet?’
‘No. They obviously have to preserve the integrity of Her Children first and foremost. It appears the portrait is pretty bonded to the backboard.’
‘Are they any closer to knowing how long the removal might take?’
‘They’re saying three weeks now.’
‘Oh? Well, that’s an improvement.’ It was still no help to her, though. She would be working blind for all that time.
‘Provided they don’t hit any stumbling blocks, of course.’
‘Of course.’ Darcy’s eyes traced the sharp-edged shadow of a tree branch on the floor and she sighed, knowing that another long day in the twilight of the archives awaited her. She was leaving home in the dark and getting home in the dark too at the moment. ‘Well, I’d better get on. I’ll obviously let you know the second I find anything with potential.’
‘Do that,’ Otto nodded, watching as she got up. ‘And good luck with Viggo. I hope he can help.’
‘Mm, me too,’ she said, rolling her eyes and feeling her stomach lurch at the alternative. ‘Me too.’
‘Good morning.’ Viggo’s smile was wide as she came down the stairs. ‘And how was your weekend?’
‘Very productive, thanks to you.’
He looked pleased. ‘Yes? You found something?’
‘No. Not yet. But at least I got through another level of boxes.’
‘Indeed.’
She shrugged off her coat and hung it on the hook beside his. ‘I’ve just come from my weekly meeting with Otto and let’s just say, I’m not in the good books. He’s pretty disappointed I’ve not found anything useful yet.’
‘But you are doing all you can.’
Darcy pulled a face. ‘I might have been too fastidious, starting at the beginning of your records rather than the time frame we had previously agreed on. Time’s not on my side. I’m going to have to work around the clock from here on.’
Viggo got up and retrieved the kettle, taking it over to the small sink and filling it up. ‘Well, at least now we have a solution that will help with that.’
‘Yes, about that...’ she said, stretching out the words so that he looked over at her.
‘Is something wrong?’
‘No, not at all. And I’m so grateful for what you managed to do with such little notice.’
‘But?’
‘But there must surely be a way to get permission for me to do the work at home?’ she pleaded.
‘It is out of my hands, Darcy,’ he shrugged.
‘But why should the material be any safer at Max Lorensen’s house than mine?’
‘Because it is up the road.’
‘Okay, apart from that. I mean, what if there was a fire? He has got a lot of wine that would...act as an accelerant!...And he’s much more likely to be burgled than me! He’s got a Max Liebermann on the wall, and some Picasso sketches and God knows what else in there!’
Viggo made a little sound and gave a little shrug as if to say ‘of course’. ‘That is why he has a good security system.’
‘Not that good,’ she scoffed. ‘When I had to leave on Saturday, he wasn’t there, in spite of what he said about promising to keep his eyes on the material at all times. And I didn’t even have to set an alarm code on my way out. The house was no more protected than my place.’
‘Hmm.’ Viggo frowned, looking perturbed by that information.
‘Please can’t you try to talk to the insurers again?’
‘Darcy, I cannot argue convenience over risk.’
‘But it’s not convenience. It’s productivity. If I want to work through the night, I can’t, obviously. If I went straight from here to Max’s house this evening, I couldn’t stay more than an hour or two. Think about it – working in his kitchen after nine would be just unacceptable, wouldn’t it? And every single day? I wouldn’t feel I could go there every day or every weekend! I mean, he was really kind to help out this weekend but the man’s got a life to live.’
‘He certainly has that,’ Viggo said with a wry chuckle as he spooned coffee into their mugs and sloshed in milk from a small jug shaped as a sitting cow. Darcy wondered whether he too had seen the pictures of Max in the society pages.
‘...It’s an ongoing intrusion of his privacy and we’d be taking a liberty with his generosity.’
‘I see,’ Viggo nodded, pouring the boiled water from the kettle and looking thoroughly bemused.
‘So you’ll try again with the insurers? Because I think the chances are good. By letting the material off the premises, they’ve established a precedent for...letting the material off the premises. The where it goes to is simply academic.’ She was aware she was talking faster than usual, her voice at a slightly higher pitch.
‘Precedent, eh? And I thought he was the lawyer.’ Viggo handed her the cup with a smile and a look that made her feel as if he could see right through her excuses. She had felt it with Otto, too. Max Lorensen had a reputation in this city. Did they suspect her reasons for trying to avoid him?
‘Please, Viggo.’
‘I’ll see what I can do, Darcy. Leave it with me.’
‘Do you need a box sent over tonight?’
Darcy stared at the message. She had read it on notifications so that it wouldn’t mark as read. She put her phone back down again and tried to pretend she hadn’t leapt at the sight of the number; she refused to enter Max’s name into the contacts. There was no need to. He was not a person in her life.
She went back to her file – August 1920: pencil sketches, studies and vignettes. Trier was in Puglia, exploring the deep Mediterranean landscape and light that was so different to northerly Denmark. She scrutinized every scribbled face or profile, checked the women’s dresses for a detail he might have carried through...
The phone buzzed again and although she tried to ignore it, she only lasted eight seconds before having to look.
‘I won’t be there.’
She bit her lip and texted back. Just to get rid of him.
‘No thanks. Not necessary.’
He hadn’t chased after her last night, no apology explaining things (because what was there to explain? No promises had been made or broken), and his lack of concern at the way things had played out only made her feel more relieved that they had been interrupted after all. Maybe it had been a relief for them both. A cold shock of water to bring them to their senses when they’d threatened to succumb.
Another message came.
She lasted three seconds.
‘Don’t cut off your nose to spite your face. I won’t be there. Viggo’s got a key.’
She gasped indignantly, angered by the message. How dare he think she would sabotage her work just to avoid seeing him!
It was true, but how dare he think it.
She didn’t reply and went back to the charcoal sketches, desperately trying to pretend he didn’t exist as she scanned over olive trees, the Dauni mountains, a pack donkey, trulli houses, a blacksmith at the anvil...
Still hunting a ghost.
And now dodging her own.