Chapter 10
Claire
A drink is thrust into my hand, and I give Anna Veth a thankful glance. Though I have never been much of a drinker, it has always helped me to relax in social situations where I find myself of inferior mind.
Anna grasps Jo’s elbow firmly and nods to me to flank her other side. We will be her armor at this party. I appreciate the inclusion of me in their little club.
Anna leads us to a trio of men chatting quietly in a corner.
“Gentlemen, may I introduce you to Jo van Gogh, wife of the late Theo van Gogh, and her companion, Claire. The two of them run the boardinghouse down the lane together.”
The man closest to us cocks his head to the side with interest. He is well-dressed in a bloodred velvet frock coat with matching trousers.
With his clean-shaven face, he looks to be about Theo’s age, or the age Theo would be now, and I wonder if they knew one another.
He reaches for both of our hands in turn and surprises me when he shakes them like a man’s.
“It is a pleasure to meet the wife of the man who so selflessly fought for the avant-garde,” he says to Jo.
“This is the artist Jan Verkade. I am sure you are familiar with his work,” Anna explains, taking an empty glass from one of the men and motioning for a passing waiter to refill it.
“I am.” Jo straightens up. “I know that Theo quite enjoyed it too. Did you know my husband?”
“Only by reputation, sadly. He is still spoken very highly of by Monsieur Gauguin. He calls your late husband a champion of the new Impressionists. I am so very sorry for your loss.”
“I appreciate your praise and your condolences. Theo did sell several of Paul’s paintings and I am sure he would have sold many more. If you see him, please give him my best.”
“Absolutely. Though he’s run off to those wild islands again and who knows when he will return. Paul did say that you moved here to Bussum and that you have an attic full of Vincent van Gogh paintings that he painted when they lived in Arles together. Is this true?”
“They are not in the attic. We have them on walls all over the house and many are in storage, to protect them from the elements. They are also with several galleries in Paris,” Jo lies.
Most of them are in the attic. Little Vincent often runs around them when the weather is poor and babbles to them like they are alive and might chat him back.
And there are no Parisian collectors aside from Tina Segatori.
But I understand Jo’s fib. She doesn’t want these men to think the paintings are merely accumulating dust. And she wants them to believe they are already in demand.
She’d told me her aims going into this party.
She is desperate to launch an exhibition of the paintings here in Holland, but she needs sponsorship and support.
She needs to convince the Dutch that the Parisians already find Vincent’s art worthy.
I must make it seem as though I came here from Paris because I have much more respect for the art market here, not because we could not find buyers there, Jo explained.
“I am preparing many of them for exhibition currently,” she continues now.
“And where will that be?” the gentleman next to Verkade says with interest.
“You must do it in Holland,” the third gentleman interjects. “In Amsterdam.”
“Perhaps. But I have also been in discussions with galleries in Paris.”
Anna interrupts. “Jo, have you met Jan Wijsmuller? He is the secretary for the Arti et Amicitiae in Amsterdam.”
“I have not. But what a pleasure,” she says.
“We can arrange for a showing just as grand as any in Paris,” Wijsmuller brags.
“But I am getting so many requests from France.” I am shocked by how well Jo is playing at the deception.
I remember what she told me, one of the lessons she learned very well from Theo: Demand makes an artist, demand and scarcity.
You must make him believe that someone else wants it more than he does, that someone else, in fact, already has it.
Jo explained it more simply for me. Art only has value if people think it is worth something. I am now in the business of changing minds, not hearts. That is my mission.
I can see the group of men getting agitated. They shimmy their shoulders to stand a little taller. Nothing is more fragile than a Dutchman’s ego when Paris is invoked.
“Nonsense. You must do it here first. This is Theo and Vincent’s birthplace, and we have many, many collectors and critics coming through our halls,” Wijsmuller insists. Others in the room have ceased their own conversations and are listening to our group.
“I would need to think about it,” Jo says, so nonchalantly, it is as if I am listening to a stranger.
Anna knows when to end things to create the maximum amount of intrigue.
“If you will excuse us, gentlemen, there are many others here who are eager to meet Mrs. Van Gogh. I will make sure that you have the proper information to contact her in the coming days.” With that, Anna ushers the two of us up the stairs to her own bedroom.
“I told you it was worth you being here. They’ll be arguing over how to wrestle a show for Vincent away from the French for the rest of the evening.”
“You were not wrong,” Jo says breathlessly, sinking onto Anna’s bed. “I am so clumsy in these situations. Theo always knew what to say.”
“Stop doubting yourself. You were excellent. Those men are now eager for an exhibition, especially since they have so much competition with Paris.” Anna smirks. “That was very clever, dear girl. You have absorbed much of your husband’s prowess in intriguing people.”
“I thought I heard his voice, Anna,” Jo whispers. I don’t want to chime in during their private moment, but I thought I heard it too.
“Maybe it sounded like him, but it was all you. Do you think you can manage a couple more conversations or was that enough practice for the evening?”
“I would love nothing more than to retire to my bed,” Jo says, looking at me beseechingly. “Perhaps we could head home?”
“I’ll sneak you out the back,” Anna says. “But, Jo, please remember something and, Claire, please remind her when she gets home before she falls asleep. You deserve every good thing that comes your way. And one piece of advice.”
“I will listen to anything you tell me.”
“Get started on organizing those letters and figure out how to tell Vincent’s remarkable story. You’ll need to sooner than you think.”