Page Title

Pro Bono Publico

The timescale of the story is the period from the Labour party's landslide victory of 1945 until the collapse of the Callaghan government in 1979 and Mrs Thatcher's accession to power. The two leading characters represent the parliamentary and judicial strands of the political consensus that shaped the period, and their pursuit of power has disastrous consequences for their families and the country at large until the forces they have helped unleash destroy both men.

A sub-plot concerns the mysterious contagion that overtakes a number of trees in a locality central to the story, and parallels the country's social and economic decline as the two men advance their respective careers.

In narrative form, this factual account of a changing Britain sets the scene for a fictional tale of political chicanery, foreign intrigue and high finance that also contains elements of satire.

Extract:

Richard Parkes Bonnington was born at Arnold near Nottingham in 1802, and soon began to show a remarkable facility for drawing that was encouraged by his father who was an amateur painter. When he was fifteen the family moved to France, where his parents set up a lace making business in Calais prior to their departure for Paris one year later. In Paris, young Richard enrolled as a student at the École des Beaux Arts, where he excelled in watercolour before graduating to oil painting. In 1824, he exhibited at the Paris Salon and established his reputation by winning a gold medal. Tragically, the young man was already consumptive, and would die four years later at the age of twenty-six. During that time he travelled constantly, painting seascapes and urban scenes of the towns and cities of northern France in a series of pictures that greatly impressed his fellow artists, French and English alike. Towards the end of his life, he travelled to northern Italy where he produced some of his most celebrated work, including a number of pictures of Venice that marked him as one of the finest artists of his generation. Gericault and Turner acknowledged Bonington's influence on his contemporaries, and his work is now much sought after by collectors worldwide.

On discovering this, Gerald looked at the painting with different eyes and felt he was the owner of something that couldn't be judged in monetary terms alone. The picture had been bought for a few hundred pounds and now it was worth a fortune, but Gerald decided he wouldn't sell the picture at any price, and had the painting cleaned and reframed at a cost greater than his father had originally paid for it.

From that day, Gerald's enthusiasm grew as he began reading as much as he could on art, and became a regular visitor to the National and Tate galleries in London. When he began to buy pictures, he started to haunt the London auction houses and dealers looking for works he could afford. Sometimes he would curse the fact that if only he could sell the Bonington, he would be able to bid for certain items displayed in the sumptuously produced auctioneers catalogues, but however much he was tempted, he never wavered in his determination to keep the painting.

As time passed, he accumulated a great number of books on art, and his knowledge increased accordingly. It gradually became an obsession, and the urge to acquire certain pictures a craving that gave him no rest. He knew he could never afford to buy those at the top of the range, so he set his heart on obtaining those that he could.

One day, he accepted an invitation to play golf with Roger and Lord Braithwaite, whom Gerald had never met, but knew to be the chairman of the major food corporation Braithwaite Biscuits. After the game, the three men were talking in the clubhouse when the conversation turned to Gerald's obsession, and he discovered that Lord Braithwaite was also a connoisseur, who had a collection that included some pictures that Gerald would have given his eye teeth to own. When Gerald happened to mention that he had a Bonington, Lord Braithwaite asked if he could see it, and Gerald said he'd be delighted to show him his prize possession. A week later, he received the food magnate accompanied by his son Lance, who was a director of an auction house of international standing. He was an authority on European art and his contacts and experience had played no small part in his father's collection.

Lord Braithwaite said he'd asked his son to accompany him to get his opinion of the picture. Gerald showed them into his study, where the painting hung on the wall opposite his desk, and Lance asked the judge if he could examine it, before removing it carefully from its position and studying it closely. After turning it over to scrutinise the back, he re-hung the picture saying that it was a particularly fine example of the artist's work. The painting could have no finer imprimatur, and Lord Braithwaite promptly asked Gerald if he wanted to sell it, but the judge shook his head, saying that nothing would induce him to part with it. Unable to disguise his regret, Lord Braithwaite nodded and said, if he were the owner, he would say exactly the same.

One month later, Gerald was on his annual pilgrimage to Paris, where he would spend hours admiring paintings in the city's art galleries or delving through the collections of dealers in the Rue St-Honoré. Because of its artistic associations, he sometimes lunched in Montparnasse, and it was while he was passing a small antique shop in the Rue Vaugirade that he suddenly stood rooted to the spot, for there on display in the window was his Bonington.

He went inside and asked the owner if he could examine the picture, and on turning it over to see a label that read 'Scène vénitienne - peintre inconnu', he realised it was a copy painted by an unknown artist. He knew that during the 19th century it was the practice of certain artists to copy existing paintings in the studio, thereby avoiding the expense of travelling to picturesque locations where they might have to work in unsuitable weather conditions. Gerald studied the picture closely, and would have sworn that it was the original, were it not for the fact that it had a different frame and needed cleaning. He reserved the painting for eight hundred pounds until an export licence had been obtained, and arranged for it to be packed and sent to his home.

On receiving the painting, he had it cleaned and set in an identical frame to the original before placing both paintings side by side. After examining them for ten minutes with a magnifying glass, he concluded that they were indistinguishable to anything other than the most rigorous expert scrutiny, and telephoned Lord Braithwaite to say that he'd decided to sell his Bonington after all.

Certain that Lord Braithwaite would have the catalogue listing it, he told him that there was a Corot coming up for auction that he simply must bid for even though he was tortured at the prospect of parting with his Bonington. Then he said he would have to get the painting revalued, as it was obviously worth more than when he'd inherited it, and he would let Lord Braithwaite know the valuation in the next week or so.

Trying not to sound excited, the food magnate said he was prepared to pay whatever the market price, and thanked Gerald for his consideration. Due to high inflation and a greatly increased interest in the artist's work, the auctioneers said it could fetch up to £400,000, and Lance Braithwaite told his father that was about right for such an outstanding example of Bonington's work. Lord Braithwaite travelled to Hillbury in his Rolls Royce to collect the painting, but prior to his arrival, Gerald removed and transposed the labels on the reverse side of each picture. Then, wearing a pair of latex gloves, he carefully cleaned all surfaces of the copy to eliminate any trace of fingerprints, so there was nothing to show that he'd had any contact with it.

When Lord Braithwaite was ushered into the study, he saw the painting lying on Gerald's desk, and gave a little smile as he glanced at it before handing the judge a cheque for the agreed sum. Gerald wrote out a receipt and passed it to Lord Braithwaite with a look of rueful finality as they shook hands on the deal. He remarked how bare the wall looked without the painting, and his visitor nodded in agreement before adding that he wished Gerald luck in his bid for the Corot. Then, declining the offer of a celebratory drink, the noble biscuit maker carried the picture to his car, climbed into the capacious rear seat and was driven away; never knowing that the Bonington he so admired was hidden behind a bookcase in Gerald's study.