Denis had written me, with his usual brevity, a description of the precise piece he wanted. I did not have the paper with me, as I hadn’t anticipated meeting de Luca today, but I remembered it, having studied the short letter often enough.
A small Roman statue carved from alabaster. A seated Cupid, face propped on his hand, one wing broken.
I related this information to de Luca, and the man’s thick brows drew together.
“I believe I do have such a thing.” He turned in a slow circle as he scanned the many shelves and tables of haphazard items. “But I’ll have to have a hunt for it.” He strode to the top of the stairs and shouted down them. “Gian!”
Unrushed footsteps sounded, and presently the dark-haired manservant appeared, he betraying no surprise or resentment about the peremptory summons.
De Luca spoke to him in Italian, sweeping his hand to the jumble in the room. Gian nodded, as though understanding exactly which piece de Luca meant, and answered his master, his tone deferential, even fond.
Gian’s puzzled gaze then rested on me. He asked me a question, and I shook my head apologetically.
“Forgive me,” I told him. “My Italian is very bad.”
“He is wondering at your friend’s taste, Captain,” de Luca said jovially. “As am I. If it is the statue we are thinking of, then your friend does not understand what he is asking for.”
“No?” Denis had told me to agree to whatever price they asked, and I knew he did not want me to leave Rome before I acquired the statue. “Is it so very valuable?”
De Luca’s laugh rang out, and Gian smiled with him. “The opposite,” de Luca told me with delight. “It’s not from Ancient Rome at all. There never was such a piece made in antiquity. The Cupid is a forgery.”
Chapter5
Both Grenville and I blinked at him. De Luca continued to laugh at us, as though enjoying our dumbfounded expressions. Gian was less amused, but he also clearly believed us—and our buyer—simpletons.
I immediately thought that de Luca and Gian must be mistaken. Denis would not want an artwork that had been faked, unless he was interested in it for the artistry of the forger. He relished finding the most skilled of the criminal classes. But most likely, Gian and the conte did not know what they had.
“Did you realize the statue was a forgery when you acquired it?” I asked. “Or did someone tell you it was fake later?”
De Luca stopped laughing at last. “It belonged to my father. He told me it was not real. Chuckled when he said it. A family joke.”
Then the forger was likely dead and gone. Yet, Denis was never wrong about artwork. He had more skill in distinguishing the valuable from the dross than even Grenville. Perhaps Denis knew the piece was authentic and also knew de Luca believed it a forgery. Such conviction on de Luca’s part might bring down the price.
“Nonetheless.” I shot de Luca a faint smile. “My friend would like to have the statue. A whim, perhaps.”
“Perhaps.” De Luca scanned the room again as though trying to remember what was where. “Well, if we can turn it up, I’ll sell him the thing. As long as you tell him without hesitation that it’s false. I wouldn’t want him taking me to court for cheating him.”
“I will tell him.” Denis researched his purchases well, but de Luca’s conviction was true. I had to wonder.
“Take your journey to Napoli, and Gian and I will toss through my things until we find it,” de Luca said jovially. “Now, we should have some wine. Real wine, not the weak stuff served in an Englishman’s home. Surrounded by vineyards, and they bring out inferior vintages and ruin it with water and sugar.” He shook his head, aggrieved. “Gian, bring the cups.”
We spenta pleasant evening in that room, surrounded by astonishing things, while the friendly Gian kept our glasses topped with thick red wine. I asked Gian to serve some to Brewster, waiting downstairs, and Gian snorted. He said something to de Luca, who told us with merriment that Brewster had already refused the wine, regarding it with distaste, and asking if there was any ale.
De Luca was a born raconteur. Grenville would touch an object, and de Luca would bound out with a tale of where it had come from, or what its original purpose had been. Many things he had from Ancient Rome were bawdy—lamps in the shape of a phallus; a small hermaphrodite lying nude on a sofa; a brazier stand in the form of three fauns with arms lifted, their penises prominently erect. De Luca found the things delightful, pleased that the Ancients were fond of bodily pleasures.
“I’m too old for all that now,” de Luca said. “But in my youth, gentlemen, I was quite the one for the ladies.” He conveyed a faraway wistfulness.
“You have been fortunate,” Grenville said, his speech slightly slurred by the wine. “When Bonaparte charged through the peninsula, absconding with art right and left, it is a miracle all this escaped. Is that why you’ve hidden much of your collection up here in the attic?”
De Luca’s brows rose, and he was off in merriment again. “It’s here because it won’t fit into the rest of the house. Again, we must blame my grandfather and then my father, and then me for steadily adding to it. But Emperor Bonaparte, he’d heard of my collection, and he came calling.”
“Good heavens,” I said in surprise. “How did you fend him off?” Bonaparte, like Denis, had not liked the answerNo.
“I did not.” De Luca took a noisy sip of wine. “I promised him the entire lot. I did ask that my things reside here until he had conquered the rest of the Continent and was happily ensconced in his palace in Paris. Then he could send agents around to collect it all. I even signed a document stating so.”
“He agreed to that?” I asked in amazement.
De Luca’s eyes twinkled. “I think, Captain, that he was put off by the chore of sorting through it. His chosen lackeys could do that later.” De Luca spread his hands. “And then …”
