The police car is following Chris. But also, unseen by him or the police, so is a butcher’s van.
INT. POLICE CAR – NIGHT
LIGHTFOOT
I’m getting bored with this, Grisewood.
GRISEWOOD
Shall I take him, Sergeant?
He begins to speed up his driving, obviously making Lightfoot ill.
EXT. LONDON STREETS – NIGHT
Chris becomes aware of being followed and so speeds up.
The butcher’s van follows more discreetly.
The police car is close to cornering Chris when he is suddenly and unexpectedly bundled into the butcher’s van.
To Lightfoot and Grisewood he seems to have vanished into thin air.
EXT. LONDON STREETS, SMITHFIELD – NIGHT
We see the van threading its way through the busy meat market to a large warehouse and abattoir.
INT. ABATTOIR – NIGHT
Chris has been taken into the abattoir and then left, nobody taking much notice of him. He surreptitiously takes out his mobile, but nobody bothers about that either.
CHRIS
(on the mobile to Ollie)
I’m in an abattoir. Where people get hung upside down.
He watches as Steiner in evening dress is zipped into an overall by some heavies. He finally turns his attention to Chris.
CHRIS
Got to go.
STEINER
Do you know what this is, young man?
CHRIS
A slaughterhouse?
STEINER
This is my job.
He picks up a cleaver.
Feel that.
Chris tests the edge.
Suddenly a side of beef comes rattling down on an overhead trolley. Steiner splits it.
My job. Oil? No.
He splits another.
Gas? No.
And another.
Real Estate? No.
And another.
I am a butcher. Still I am a butcher. Did you win your game?
CHRIS
I don’t know if I won it. I didn’t lose it.
STEINER
That’s good. Congratulations.
With his bloody hand he shakes Chris’s.
So who do you play next? The boss? Do you like him? Of course not. Excrement. That is because he is a gentleman. Gentlemen are generally crooks. Like me. I am a crook. Since I was a a boy. With Effie. Poor dead Effie. What sort of a childhood did you have?
CHRIS
Parents divorced. Council flat. Local comprehensive. Nearly swam for Surrey. Fucking idyllic actually. Did you kill him?
STEINER
I am a millionaire.
CHRIS
So. Did you have him killed?
STEINER
We weren’t children, Effie and me. Two little old men. Soviet Russia was breaking but we had a cart. A cart! Think of it. A cart and a cellar. We collected anything. Sofas. False teeth. Tailors’ dummies … and the cellar was our warehouse. Aisles of junk. Avenues of it. One day he came in with a pineapple. I tell you, when you have found a pineapple, a Cézanne is nothing. Why do you think he collected pictures? Hope. Hope from when we were boys.
He finishes cleaving the carcasses and one of the heavies hands him a rag.
He wipes his hand and delicately picks a piece of flesh off his shirt. Another heavy hands him his dinner jacket.
STEINER
The other day, when I had looked at the Rembrandt, which I am going to buy this evening incidentally, I left Mr Marryatt-Smith’s office … Do you like Marryatt-Smith?
Chris shrugs. Maybe Steiner washes his hands.
STEINER
You said, that’s right. Excrement. It was raining and the doorman was getting me a taxi when he was called inside to some disturbance. He came out with an old man. He seemed an old man to me. But it was Effie. I had not seen him for thirty years. I took him for some lunch. I told him I was a rich man. He wasn’t impressed. He told me he was a rich man too and he showed me his album, the pictures of his paintings. Then he took me back home and showed me the real thing. I was embarrassed. I felt sad. The Rembrandts, the Vermeers … It was the sofas, the old inner tubes, the sugar tongs all over again. And this boy I grew up with, grew old with, a nobody. An eccentric. A joke with his neighbours. I offered to take all his pictures. All of them. For old times’ sake.
CHRIS
But he wouldn’t.
STEINER
On the contrary. He agreed. He agreed so long as I built a special wing of my museum to house his worthless collection. I laughed. He threw me out of the house. Thirty years I have not seen him and he throws me out of the house. An impossible man.
CHRIS
But it wasn’t all worthless, was it? There was a drawing there.
STEINER
By Michelangelo? Sure. I saw it.
CHRIS
I think it was priceless.
STEINER
Nothing is priceless.
CHRIS
Not to you. But to him. He wouldn’t sell so you went back the next night to steal it. You killed him.
Steiner smiles.
STEINER
I did? No. Besides, as you will rightly say, I am a butcher after all. I have people who can do that for me.
CHRIS
It was you.
STEINER
The police don’t think so. They are very polite, your police. But why not? In their limited experience millionaires are seldom murderers. Less often at any rate than young men who don’t have two pennies to rub together. But you are right. He did have something that was priceless. Something I wanted.
CHRIS
His daughter.
STEINER
We go home tomorrow. She wanted to see you.
They go through into a little office off the abattoir. Kristina is sitting there, also dressed up for the auction.
Look at her hand.
CHRIS
I don’t understand. He murdered your father.
KRISTINA
My father is dead. He died long ago, in Russia. Effie was not my father. Effie was my husband. I knew them both in St Petersburg.
She goes over to Steiner.
We loved each other, only Effie had a visa to get out.
STEINER
Forged, naturally.
KRISTINA
I was a child, but if I married him I could go too.
STEINER
Would you believe, England was the land of opportunity. Wrong. Wrong. Russia was the place. She chose the wrong man. She chose the wrong country.
CHRIS
So you had him killed.
STEINER
(wearily)
You are a very silly young man. Come, we will be late. Incidentally, where is this precious drawing?
CHRIS
Safe. Being looked at, by an expert.
KRISTINA
So you did take it.
CHRIS
I took it for you. And I didn’t kill him, your husband. He did. Your friend. Or maybe you both did.
They are going. Kristina is crying.
STEINER
I don’t think we can offer you a lift.
Chris watches them go. The abattoir door closes behind him. The heavies have disappeared. He walks back through Smithfield.
EXT. GARRARD’S, ENTRANCE – NIGHT
Television crews, electricians etc. coming in and out. A good deal of chaos and activity.
INT. GARRARD’S, LOCKER ROOM – NIGHT
A white-gloved hand takes down a brown overall.
INT. GARRARD’S, JELLEY’S ROOM – NIGHT
There is a single pool of light on Jelley’s desk. Jelley is studying the drawing. Looking at it under a magnifying glass. There is a slight sound in the room, which we hear but he doesn’t. Another.
JELLEY
Is that my takeaway? Pop it down somewhere.
He goes on working. Another small sound. Suddenly Jelley’s head is jerked ba
ck and he is strangled, but as he is dying we see the astonishment in his face.
Jelley’s head falls into a piece of pizza on his desk. A gloved hand reaches into the pool of light, lifts Jelley’s hand and removes the drawing from underneath. There is a slight pause, then the hand comes in again to remove the photograph of the drawing also.
INT. GERRARD’S, MARRYATT-SMITH’S ROOM – NIGHT
Marryatt-Smith is being interviewed, either by a journalist or on camera. Chloe in the background, plus a group of smart women. All are in evening dress.
MARRYATT-SMITH
Silly people have this idea that when art parts company with poverty virtue is lost and corruption sets in. It’s nonsense. Art has nothing to do with poverty, virtue either. Art is a denizen of the race track and the casino. Show me a connoisseur and I’ll show you a gambler, a womaniser, a crook. The soul doesn’t come into it. Beauty never improved the character and the virtuous have always disliked it … Why shouldn’t they? They don’t need it. They have virtue. And yes, we are slaves to fashion. But eliminate fashion and society dissolves.
INTERVIEWER
This feels healthy, but there’s some suggestion that you’re going through a difficult patch.
MARRYATT-SMITH
Rembrandt doesn’t look worried – no more than he usually does anyway.
Marryatt-Smith begins to make his progress to the podium attended by some of the partners and smart aides. Maybe Farquarson is in the audience.
Rembrandt obviously. So seldom anything of that quality comes on to the market. Now who is on the phones? Cressida is on the transatlantic line. Digby is doing Tokyo. I tell you the people who make the real money out of all this are British Telecom.
INT. GARRARD’S, FRONT OF HOUSE AND SALEROOM – NIGHT
We see Steiner and Kristina arriving. Steiner very attentive to her. They take their places in the crowded saleroom. Above the rostrum an illuminated board gives the exchange rates and is ready to record foreign and telephone bids. Behind the podium the partners gather. A growing sense of expectancy.
INT. GARRARD’S, EN ROUTE TO SALEROOM – NIGHT
Marryatt-Smith has begun his progress to the podium, collecting Mr Moberley on the way.
MARRYATT-SMITH
This is our Mr Moberley, our sales clerk. Moberley is something of an artist in his own line.
He is explaining all this to his attendant, sycophantic ladies.
Three pictures in this year’s academy. Ready, Moberley?
Moberley falls in with the train.
INT. GARRARD’S, SALEROOM – DAY
Lightfoot and Grisewood have taken their places.
LIGHTFOOT
And remember, Grisewood. No sudden movements. The Police Pension Fund won’t run to it.
GRISEWOOD
Why don’t we just arrest him now?
LIGHTFOOT
Because we are on television.
INT. GARRARD’S, SALEROOM, BACKSTAGE – NIGHT
Ollie is waiting anxiously for Chris as Marryatt-Smith stands ready to go out to the podium to begin the sale.
Moberley takes his position at the desk and Marryatt-Smith follows. The sale begins, Ollie carrying the pictures in and out. Ollie is noted by Lightfoot and Grisewood, but no Chris.
EXT. GARRARD’S – NIGHT
Chris arrives and steals into the building. The sound of the sale going on. He avoids being seen and starts to make his way towards Jelley’s room.
INT. GARRARD’S, SALEROOM – NIGHT
Marryatt-Smith leans down to Cresswell who is standing by the podium.
MARRYATT-SMITH
Nigel. I need my other glasses. They’re on my desk.
Cresswell leaves.
INT. GARRARD’S, CORRIDOR – NIGHT
Chris steals along it and is spotted by Cresswell.
CRESSWELL
Huggins. Why aren’t you on the floor?
CHRIS
I have to see Mr Jelley.
CRESSWELL
The sale has begun, Huggins. We’re short-handed. You’re wanted on the floor.
Chris hesitates.
CRESSWELL
Fuck Jelley, Huggins. Do as I say.
Chris pretends to go. Then turns back. But Cresswell is not deceived.
On the floor, Huggins.
INT. GARRARD’S, SALEROOM, BACKSTAGE – NIGHT
OLLIE
Where were you?
CHRIS
Have you seen Jelley?
OLLIE
No. Give us a hand.
CHRIS
I can’t. I’ve got to keep out of the way. They’re wanting to arrest me.
OLLIE
Shit.
Chris manages to shove one of the other porters forward.
CHRIS
Hurt my hand.
He keeps out of the way for as long as he can.
Meanwhile Marryatt-Smith arrives at the Rembrandt, which has not yet been brought out for the audience to see.
MARRYATT-SMITH
And now Lot 47. The Rembrandt self-portrait, ladies and gentlemen … (He looks round for it.) Rembrandt is rather bashful and seems reluctant to take the stage. The picture, please. Lot 47.
INT. GARRARD’S, SALEROOM BACKSTAGE – NIGHT
Cresswell storms through, finds Chris hanging back.
CRESSWELL
Huggins. What is the matter with you? Barnes. Get it out there, for Christ’s sake.
INT. GARRARD’S, SALEROOM – NIGHT
Ollie comes in backwards with Chris at the other end.
MARRYATT-SMITH
Here we are, backing into the limelight, Lot 47. Now, I will be taking bids from one million upwards.
Seeing Chris, Lightfoot nudges Grisewood.
LIGHTFOOT
Here’s our boy.
He stands up. One of the partners nearby taps him on the shoulder.
HORROCKS
Could you sit down. You’ll confuse the bidding.
Seething, Lightfoot sits, watching Chris as he stands by the painting. Chris searches the audience for Kristina. She cannot look at him. Steiner is expressionless, but now he is concentrating on the bidding. The picture is bid up to a record sum and is eventually knocked down to him.
MARRYATT-SMITH
All done, £55 million, the Steiner Museum.
As soon as the picture is sold there is a great deal of hullabaloo – applause, cameras clicking. Steiner is photographed. Marryatt-Smith is photographed. The Rembrandt is photographed. Meanwhile Lightfoot and Grisewood try to fight their way through to arrest Chris, who slips away backstage.
INT. GARRARD’S, JELLEY’S ROOM – NIGHT
Chris knocks quietly at the door and comes in. The light is still on.
CHRIS
Mr Jelley?
He sees him lying dead at his desk, cheek still stuck in the pizza. Desperately Chris scrabbles through the papers on the desk looking for the drawing. Then he backs away from the table, takes one last look round the room and goes out quietly. As he comes out of the door we see Lightfoot is behind it.
LIGHTFOOT
That’s far enough.
Over Chris’s shoulder, Lightfoot sees Jelley’s body.
Oh dear, oh dear, oh dear. (Shouting.) Grisewood!
EXT. GARRARD’S – NIGHT
Police cars converge as Chris is bundled out of Garrard’s and arrested.
INT. GARRARD’S, SALES CLERK’S OFFICE – DAY
Moberley is brushing down his best suit ready for his private view at the Royal Academy.
Ollie is sunk in gloom.
MOBERLEY
It’s ridiculous of course. Christopher. Never.
OLLIE
Couldn’t you speak up for him?
MOBERLEY
Well, I shall. In due course. But the police will soon realise their mistake, I’m sure.
OLLIE
The police aren’t like that any more. The world’s not like that.
MOBERLEY
Now I
think you know about as much about the world as I do, Oliver. I’m sure it will be all right. Now here’s your ticket for this afternoon. It will cheer you up.
INT. GERRARD’S, MARRYATT-SMITH’S ROOM – DAY
Marryatt-Smith, Steiner and Kristina.
MARRYATT-SMITH
Were it not for the unfortunate business with Jelley I thought the evening highly satisfactory. You got what you came for, we got some very nice prices, and the Japs scarcely picked up a thing. I don’t know where they hang them, quite frankly: aren’t their houses all made of paper?
STEINER
Where is my picture?
MARRYATT-SMITH
Oh, do you want to wrap it up and take it away with you? I’ll get the docket-book and then we can wander down to the stockroom.
STEINER
It will be a wedding present.
MARRYATT-SMITH
Oh? Not for the Museum.
STEINER
That too.
He smiles at Kristina, who shows her hand with another ring on it.
MARRYATT-SMITH
Who for? Oh? Really? Congratulations. Better than the proverbial fish-slice. I gather the drawing hasn’t turned up. I’d rather like to see it. Rubbish, I’m sure.
Steiner shakes his head.
STEINER
Effie up to his old tricks.
KRISTINA
Not tricks. He believed in it.
MARRYATT-SMITH
So did Huggins, alas. Jelley would have been the test. Such an able man, Jelley. Two murders and he’s scarcely eighteen. I was all set to play him at squash. A coffee.
Ollie brings in the coffee and takes it round in silence at first, then when he is on his way out he suddenly stops.
OLLIE
He didn’t do it, sir.
MARRYATT-SMITH
Never mind, Barnes. Just put it down and go.
OLLIE
He did it, sir. (Indicating Steiner.) He’s the one, sir.
MARRYATT-SMITH
Barnes! I do apologise.
He turns to his computer.
Oh God. I can’t do it, can I? One forgets Moberley is still in the dark ages. Barnes. Here’s something sensible you can do. Fetch me Mr Moberley’s docket-book.
OLLIE
Sir …
MARRYATT-SMITH
Now, Barnes.
INT. GARRARD’S, SALES CLERK’S OFFICE – DAY
Ollie looks on the shelf for Moberley’s docket-book but can’t find it. Eventually he opens the desk (a high old-fashioned clerk’s desk) and looks in there, The docket-book is not to be found but something else catches his eye.
He pulls out the photograph of the drawing that had last been on Jelley’s desk. He is still trying to work out the implications of this when Moberley comes in, now in his suit, ready for the Royal Academy.