David shook his head. ‘No, how long?’

‘Too long.’ The dealer smiled, amused, and leaned back in his seat. ‘Go on, ask me the question. I know you want to – how much did I lose?’

‘OK, how much?’

‘Everything. Like I said, I used to frequent a private club in Hampstead, run by Iwo Basinski.’ He paused again. ‘I see that name resonates with you.’

‘He has quite a reputation,’ David replied. ‘Apparently he’s ruthless, but nothing illegal, nothing anyone can prove anyway. He gets other people to do his dirty work, or so the story goes. I heard he was of Polish descent and that his fortune came from haulage and shipping.’

‘Who knows? I found him to be perfectly charming. In fact, he bought a number of paintings from me over the years. He liked the art of the Middle Ages, which is unusual. It’s not a period that has that many followers at present. Basinski has plenty of money, which makes collecting easy.’

David was trying to piece together what he was hearing.

‘You said you lost everything. But at first it was just money—’

‘Just money, he says!’ the man laughed. ‘Yes, it was just money. But too much money. Money I couldn’t pay back. I thought I could. I always had done before.’

David pricked up his ears. ‘So you’d lost before?’

‘Small amounts, which gave me a false feeling of security. But when my luck changed it really changed.’

‘Then what happened?’

‘I think you know.’

‘No, not all of it,’ David replied. ‘Only what I’ve read, and that could be inaccurate. I want your side of the story. I don’t want half a tale.’

‘Why should I tell you?’ the man asked suddenly, swirling the water in the glass, the fragments of tobacco like threads of brown cotton.

David reached for the recorder as though he was preparing to leave – assuming the action would provoke a response – but he was mistaken. Instead, he found himself sitting down again, oddly embarrassed. ‘I just want to get the facts straight.’

‘There are no straight facts. All facts are susceptible to being bent. Do you know how you can tell if wormholes in the wooden frame of a canvas are genuine?’

‘No.’

‘If the holes are straight, it’s man made – with a drill. You see, real worms meander.’ The dealer continued, amused. ‘Forgers can be caught out, you know. But only by experts.’

David nodded, his tone steady. ‘Go on with the story.’

‘Alright, I’ll tell you everything that happened,’ he agreed, settling back into his chair. ‘One day, it was just before New Year’s, I lost a massive amount at the tables. I make no excuses: desperation makes maniacs out of the best of us. I was in trouble and thought “This will do it. One last game and my luck will change”. Of course it didn’t, and I was suddenly standing in my Savile Row suit sweating like a pig in a bathhouse.’

‘What happened then?’

‘Nothing, for a couple of days. Then Iwo Basinski came to my gallery. I was surprised, usually I visited him at his home, but then I realised this wasn’t about art, this was about business. The business of what I owed him.’ He breathed in, held the breath for several seconds, then let it go. ‘I offered to pay off what I owed him in instalments, but Basinksi had another proposition for me. A way by which I could clear my debt in one fell swoop.’

‘What did you say?’

‘What d’you think I said? I was euphoric! In the meantime my wife had left, taking our son, and I hoped that if I could clear the IOU I could get my family back. The gallery was under threat too. If Basinski had forced me to pay him immediately I’d have had to sell up.’ He glanced at his watch, then held it to his ear, explaining: ‘It was my father’s. The old wind-up kind.’ Apparently satisfied he could hear it still ticking, he continued. ‘Basinksi said I had to solve a puzzle.’

‘A puzzle?’

He nodded. ‘Yes, a puzzle. He said it should be simple for me. After all, I was an art dealer – I am an art dealer. If I was at all qualified I should be able to solve such a riddle easily.’ He looked away, as though searching for the exit. ‘It was a freezing cold day, I remember that much. Frost on the pavement in Cork Street, the gallery never really warming up, and every time someone walked in the cold followed them like a dead man. Basinksi was wearing a thick coat and took off his gloves and reached into his inside pocket.’

‘And?’

‘Brought out an envelope,’ the dealer replied. ‘Then he shook out its contents: five photographs.’

‘Of what?’

He shrugged. ‘At first I couldn’t tell, then Basinksi told me that each image was a detail from a painting by Hieronymus Bosch. He was so blasé about it: “For a man of your learning, this should be simple. Just tell me which image belongs to which painting”.’

David frowned. ‘Was it simple?’

‘Hardly. When I looked at the photographs the images were unrecognisable. Massively magnified details from Bosch paintings which were impossible to make out, let alone place in the relevant picture. And they were all in black and white, which made it even harder.’

‘Did you tell Basinski how difficult it was?’

‘Of course I did. He merely shrugged and said that if I wanted to clear my debt I’d work it out.’ Reaching into his pocket the dealer drew out an envelope, opened it, and placed a small sketch on the table between them.

It was in extreme close-up, indecipherable to David. Suddenly he saw how something which had seemed relatively simple could actually be fiendishly difficult.

‘This is the first image. Basinski gave me a week to identify all five details,’ the man continued. ‘If I did so, I was lead to believe that my debt would be cleared.’

‘Why?’

He shrugged. ‘I asked him the same. Basinski said he felt he should give me a chance. “Think of it as a game,” he said. “A game only an expert can play”.’

David frowned, leaning across the table. ‘Didn’t you think it was odd? Surely he would want his money back?’

‘Apparently the money was secondary. Iwo Basinski hates the politics of the art world. A dealer cheated him out of a painting a while back and he’s never forgotten it. I imagine it pleased him to have me wriggling like a hooked worm on the end of his line. A nice revenge.’

‘But it wasn’t you that cheated him.’

‘No, but if you feel the need to kick a dog, do you care which dog it is?’

David studied the man across the table, thinking of everything he had heard and read about him. The story was an extraordinary one, but they were far from the end.

‘Did you ask what would happen if you couldn’t pay back the debt?’

‘No,’ the dealer replied coldly, ‘I didn’t dare.’

THREE

They paused the interview for a while, eating sandwiches David had brought with him and drinking mugs of coffee. The dealer joked about the dry bread, saying it was like eating a Jiffy bag, and David admitted that he had bought the sandwiches from a motorway garage. Between them, on the table, lay the first image – now accompanied by four more. All of them were indecipherable to David.

*

Moving the detritus of the meal off the table, David flicked on the recorder again. Its busy red eye focused on them instantly.

‘So you had one week to work them all out?’

The man nodded. ‘I can’t tell you the panic. I had many books in my collection at home and in the gallery, and for one misguided moment I thought that I could find the answer on Google. First mistake. I didn’t know which painting the detail belonged to, so the only way to solve it was to look at every Bosch painting until I found it. Then repeat that four more times.’

‘How long did it take you?’

‘Two days to find the first one.’ the man replied, raising his eyebrows. ‘As I said, my family had left me, and I was at home, sweating over my books day and night. I was demented, had to solve the puzzle. I used a professional magnifying glass we had in the gallery, one that could really expand an image. And, using this, I began by trawling over the triptych of The Garden of Earthly Delights. It’s Bosch’s most famous work and I was sure Basinksi would start there.’