by Judy Nunn
‘It is most certainly a piece from the House of Grij,’ Wouter said. ‘A very valuable piece, I might add.’ Jessica and Kit forgot their mirth—this was the breakthrough they had sought. ‘There is someone you must meet,’ Wouter continued, picking up the handpiece of the telephone on the counter, ‘or rather I might suggest, someone who must meet you.’ He dialled, then said, ‘Please excuse me,’ with the utmost deference, before talking briefly in Dutch to whoever it was on the other end of the line.
He replaced the receiver, carefully returned the locket to its case, and handed it to Kit. ‘Please come with me,’ he said, ‘Mr Grij is most interested in meeting you.’ He stepped out from behind the counter and crossed to the front door. He was wearing spats, Jessica noticed.
Wouter turned the ‘open’ sign on the door to ‘closed’ and stood aside for them. ‘After you,’ he said, and they stepped outside.
‘This is the original home of the Grij family.’ The bell tinkled as Wouter closed and locked the door behind them. ‘It was built shortly after the canal was completed. Of course it has undergone many restorations over the centuries but little of its original design has changed. It remains a magnificent example of early Dutch architecture.’
The spiel was obviously well rehearsed and had been trotted out to many a tourist on numerous occasions, but it was delivered with pride nonetheless.
Jessica looked up at the tall, slender building, at its many narrow windows and its high, sloping roof intricately tiled in terracotta. It was indeed an impressive house, reminiscent of a bygone era. But then so was the whole street. The line of terraced houses, the paved road, the linden trees, the canal where barges drifted lazily by. It seemed that in this part of Amsterdam time had stood still for centuries.
Having locked the door, Wouter turned to them. His face remained a mask, but his voice was most agreeable; he obviously enjoyed delivering his lecture to tourists.
‘Mr Grij, whom you are about to meet, converted the adjoining building to a museum in the 1950s, some time after the war. It was not only a tribute to his ancestors and their artistry, but a personal statement of his feelings about war. Come with me, please.’
They followed him to the terrace house adjoining the jeweller’s. Above the door was a sign which said ‘Museum Grij’.
‘Mr Grij is very passionate about the futility and the destruction of war. So many great works of art have been lost through man’s foolishness and greed, he is determined to preserve whatever he can for the enjoyment of future generations.’
The front door of the museum led directly off the street into a foyer. Narrow steps to the left led upstairs to the first and second floors where the museum exhibits were displayed, and there were two doors at the rear of the foyer, one leading to the office, the other to the work-rooms out the back. In the corner was a reception desk strewn with brochures and leaflets, and the young woman tending it greeted them with a smile.
‘Goede morgen, Wouter,’ she said.
‘Goede morgen, Riemke.’
‘Good morning,’ she said to Kit and Jessica, ‘Mr Grij is expecting you.’
She walked to the rear door on the left and tapped gently. Only seconds later, she stood aside as the door was opened by a man who, although elderly, appeared in excellent health.
‘Hello, hello,’ he said expansively, his voice a robust baritone with a thick Dutch accent. ‘My English visitors, come in, come in.’
‘We’re Australian actually,’ Kit said as they stepped into the office, Wouter accompanying them and Riemke closing the door behind them.
‘All the better, all the better.’ He was very jovial and appeared to enjoy saying things twice. ‘I am Jaerk Grij.’
‘How do you do, Mr Grij, I’m Kit Galloway and this is Jessica Williams.’
‘Pleased to meet you,’ he shook Kit’s hand. ‘Pleased to meet you,’ he shook Jessica’s. ‘Please, please, sit down.’
As Jessica crossed to one of the chairs he’d indicated, she looked around at the office. It was devoid of daylight, and would have been a gloomy room, but it was so effectively lit by lamps set in wall brackets that the heavy timber beams, the shelves of books and the solid oak furniture looked warm and cosy. Again she had the feeling that time had stood still. It was a quiet and peaceful room, infused with the fragrance of wood.
Kit didn’t notice the room, he was studying Jaerk Grij as he sat. Grij was obviously in his seventies, but with the energy of a man twenty years younger. His thick head of hair was snow white, his eyes, set deep in the wrinkles of his face, were the palest of blue. He was neither tall nor short, neither slim nor fat. Age had added a paunch to his belly but the overall impression was that of a nuggety man, still physically strong, and still with a passion for life.
Jaerk sat behind his desk and looked at the young couple as they seated themselves opposite him. They were a most attractive couple, he thought. Australia. How interesting. He’d often thought he’d like to visit Australia. Not to live there of course, there was little art there that would interest him, except perhaps that of the country’s indigenous people. But he would have liked to have seen the texture of the landscape. Ayers Rock, he had always wanted to see Ayers Rock.
‘You have something of interest for me.’ He cut his own musings short, which was a pity, he always liked meeting new people, and he’d like to have chatted about Australia. But there were more important things to hand. ‘You have a work of Gerrit Grij, Wouter tells me.’
The young couple looked mystified, so he explained. ‘You have a piece with the engraver’s mark of two small g’s, yes?’
Kit nodded as he took the case from his pocket.
‘Gerrit Grij was one of the finest master craftsmen ever to have lived, in my opinion and in that of many others.’ Jaerk beamed proudly, his eyes instantly disappearing in the wrinkles of his face. ‘I am his direct descendant. It was Gerrit Grij himself who founded the House of Grij.’ The smile vanished as quickly as it had appeared and the pale blue eyes focussed keenly on the small case which Kit placed before him. ‘We have only four items of Gerrit’s in our possession,’ he said as he turned on the desk lamp. ‘His work is very difficult to find these days, and when we do discover a piece, the owner is most loath to part with it, which of course is understandable.’ He took his reading glasses from his top pocket, put them on and opened the case.
Jessica watched the old man’s hands as he lifted out the locket. Unlike Wouter’s, they were workman’s hands. Strong brown fingers with square cut nails. But their touch was delicate; it appeared Jaerk Grij’s hands were capable of great strength and sensitivity.
The old man exhaled gently, a soft sigh, barely audible, and his mouth remained open in wonderment as he held the piece up to the light. Kit and Jessica watched him, neither daring to breathe a word. Jaerk Grij appeared transported.
Gently, he caressed the mountain and the diamond sun with his thumb, exploring their texture, then he turned the locket over and reverently touched the two g’s with the tip of his forefinger.
‘Het hangertje,’ Jaerk finally whispered. Wouter had said the young couple had a piece with Gerrit’s mark, but he had not said what it was. Any work of Gerrit’s was a miraculous find, but het hangertje? The locket which he now held in his hands? This locket was Gerrit Grij’s lost masterpiece.
He glanced up at Wouter who stood, as if at attention, beside the desk. Wouter’s face remained as implacable as ever, but he gave a slight nod and Jaerk smiled in return. Wouter had deliberately neglected to mention the locket on the telephone, it was obvious he had wished to see Jaerk’s reaction.
With the most delicate of touch, Jaerk pressed the clasp and the locket opened to reveal the initials.
‘Lucretia van den Mylen,’ he said, and once again it was the softest of whispers.
‘You know of her?’ Jessica found herself whispering back.
Jaerk Grij appeared to come out of a dream.
‘Ah yes. I feel that I know Mevrouw van
den Mylen personally.’ He replaced the locket gently in its case, took off his reading glasses and returned them to his top pocket, then he leaned back in his chair.
‘I have devoted many years to the discovery of this piece,’ he said, ‘the van den Mylen locket which disappeared from the face of the earth. Never did I believe that it was lost at sea; I knew that somewhere it existed. But I had given up, I thought that the locket would not come to light in my lifetime.’ He looked down at his desk, the reflection of the diamond sun catching the wrinkles of his face in the lamp’s beam. ‘And now here it is.’ He stared at it for a moment longer, then shook his head, as if reprimanding himself for the indulgence of his reverie. It was time to get down to business.
‘Wouter tells me you wish to authenticate the piece,’ he said, snapping the case closed and picking it up.
Jessica nodded.
‘I can do that.’ He seemed instantly revitalised as he rose from his chair and strode to the door. Wouter tried to open it for him but Jaerk was there first. ‘Come with me,’ he said.
In the foyer, he instructed Riemke to field his calls and then led the way up the narrow stairs to the first floor.
The Grij display rooms were enchanting. The house itself was a museum piece, and the first floor was designed to offer an intimate view of family life in times long past. A sitting room with seventeenth-century furnishings and rugs, works of art from the period adorning the walls; a bedroom with a canopied four poster, a large jug and bowl on a wash stand, a dressing table displaying a woman’s vanity set of brushes and combs. Alongside the personal items of everyday existence stood life-sized dummies in costume, including two children, a little boy and girl surrounded by their toys, and throughout, the atmosphere was enhanced by indirect lighting from imitation gas-lamps on the walls.
‘It’s beautiful,’ Jessica said.
But Jaerk would allow them no more than a few minutes to wander the rooms. ‘What we seek is on the second floor,’ he said. ‘Follow me,’ and once again he trudged up the stairs, Wouter standing aside for Kit and Jessica to follow first.
The second floor proved to be a workroom. Light flooded through the tall narrow windows which looked out over the canal, and two heavy benches displayed the tools of the diamond cutter’s and craftsman’s trade.
The adjoining room was a showcase of the results. Magnificent pieces gleamed, perfectly lit, in display cases about the walls. Rings and pendants, necklaces, bracelets and brooches, all hand-crafted works of art. An ancient wooden desk stood in one corner and behind it was another large showcase housing books, dominant amongst which was a giant leather-bound ledger.
Jaerk put the locket on the desk, opened the display case and took out the ledger and a smaller volume which appeared to be a diary of some sort. He placed them both on the desk beside the locket.
‘These books are nearly 350 years old,’ he said, ‘and in them is a record of Gerrit Grij’s work.’
He put on his reading glasses and opened the smaller book. ‘His journal,’ he said. ‘Gerrit considered the van den Mylen locket his finest piece.’ Jaerk turned directly to the page; he knew the exact spot.
Kit and Jessica peered over his shoulder as he traced the handwriting, still clear and unfaded by age, with his forefinger.
‘I shall translate for you,’ he said.
‘“Vrouwe van den Mylen has entrusted the design of the locket to me,”’ he read the words slowly, but unfalteringly, ‘“her wishes being the depiction of the earth and the sun to symbolise the love she shares with her husband Boudewijn. I have suggested a mountain peak embraced by a diamond sun, to which she has agreed, the initials of her and her husband to be engraved in the locket’s interior.”’
Jaerk did not look at Kit and Jessica, but turned several pages of the journal to a further entry.
‘“Vrouwe van den Mylen appears satisfied with the locket,”’ he read, once again tracing the words with his finger, ‘“a fact which pleases me as I consider it my finest work. The creation of a piece intended as a symbol of love, I believe added to my inspiration. I admire Vrouwe van den Mylen. For a woman in her position to undertake such a perilous journey is a measure of her love. May the Batavia carry her safely, and may the locket see her united with her husband.”’
Jaerk closed the journal. ‘It is a very unusual entry for Gerrit,’ he said. ‘In writing of his work, it is the only time he made a personal comment about one of his clients.’
He peered at them over the top of his reading glasses. ‘There is no further mention made of Lucretia van den Mylen in his journal. It is obvious he never heard from her again. No doubt he believed she had perished as so many did following the wreck of the Batavia.’
Jaerk turned back to the desk and opened the large leather-bound ledger. ‘Here is the official verification you are seeking,’ he said, and once again he translated for them as they peered over his shoulder.
The hand was different to that of Gerrit, the writing small, neat and painstakingly correct. ‘“Quantity—one. Silver pendant with diamonds inset …”’ Jaerk read. The payment was entered and in the receipt column was the signature ‘Pieter Grij’.
‘Gerrit’s son,’ Jaerk explained. ‘He was clerk to his father during his apprenticeship and became a well-respected craftsman himself in later years.’
He closed the ledger. ‘I will photocopy these documents for you,’ he said.
Jaerk took off his glasses and peered at them. He withdrew a handkerchief from his pocket and, as he started to methodically clean the lenses, he said, in a tone which was meant to convey indifference but didn’t, ‘I don’t suppose you would contemplate selling the locket? I would offer you an excellent price.’
Kit turned to Jessica standing beside him. He reached for her hand and clasped it. She was surprised by the gesture.
‘I think the locket should stay here, don’t you, Jess?’
‘Yes,’ she replied, clasping his hand in return. ‘It belongs in the House of Grij. Besides,’ she added briskly, ‘I have all the material I need for authentication purposes.’ She tried to keep her voice business-like, but Jessica was moved. The locket had finally come home. She looked at Kit, their fingers entwined, and they shared the moment.
Jaerk’s astonishment and delight were plainly evident, he grinned broadly at Wouter and even Wouter could not conceal the glimmer of excitement in his eyes.
Twenty minutes later, when the material had been photocopied and the young couple were preparing to leave his office, Jaerk was further astounded. Kit refused to discuss any form of payment.
‘The locket is not mine to sell,’ Kit said. ‘I believe I’ve simply been its keeper for a short time.’ It was true, he thought. He would feel wrong if he profited from the locket, as if he was accepting payment for stolen goods. Besides, he didn’t need the money, he’d inherited the Galloway empire, he was hardly short of cash.
‘May I hold it?’ Jessica surprised herself as she asked the question, and she felt a little self-conscious when three sets of eyes turned to her. ‘Just a last look, that’s all.’
Jaerk was only too happy to oblige. It showed great taste on the girl’s part that she should wish to pay tribute to a masterpiece. Not many young people today showed such an appreciation for works of art, he thought as he took the locket from its case and handed it to Jessica.
It was so heavy for such a small thing, Jessica marvelled, and she remembered how surprised she’d been by its weight when Kit had first placed it in her hand two months ago. She angled it towards the lamp on Jaerk’s desk, the light from the diamonds dazzling her eyes. So powerful. So brilliant. And again she wondered. What would the black man have felt when he balanced the weight of this perfect object in the palm of his hand? What would he have felt when the rays of its miniature sun dazzled his eyes? Little wonder he had been compelled to record the image of such a wondrous thing in his paintings 350 years ago.
Kit watched Jessica as she studied the locket. He knew exactly w
hat she was thinking. He remembered her passion when she’d told him her story.
‘The locket came ashore with a shipwreck survivor, Kit,’ she’d said. ‘And he was accepted by the Aborigines—he became one of them. A member of the family.’ Kit recalled her excitement as she’d added, ‘Do you know, there were recorded sightings over a hundred years ago of pale-skinned Aborigines with ginger or fair hair and blue or green eyes?’
Aware Kit was looking at her now, Jessica turned to him. Their eyes met, and she too remembered. ‘Did you ever think, Jess,’ he’d said, ‘that when you were tracing the history of the locket, you might be tracing your own ancestors?’
‘Yes,’ she’d answered. She’d never admitted it to anyone before, but she’d admitted it then to Kit Galloway. ‘Yes,’ she’d said, ‘it had crossed my mind.’
She and Kit exchanged a smile as she returned the locket to Jaerk. What a small part they had played in the history of the locket, Jessica thought, and conversely, what a huge part it had played in their lives.
‘Thank you,’ Jaerk said, returning the locket to its case, gratified that two young people should pay such homage to the work of his ancestor.
‘The locket will be exhibited in pride of place,’ Jaerk announced as he and Wouter stepped outside to farewell Kit and Jessica, ‘I will have a special cabinet made for the lost masterpiece of Gerrit Grij.’
They shook hands all round, Jaerk pumping Kit’s hand vigorously, and as he and Wouter watched the young couple walk down the street, a thought occurred to Jaerk. Het hangertje, the symbol of love, had not only returned to its home, it had fulfilled its purpose.
‘Dit stel houdt erg veel van elkaar,’ he murmured to Wouter.
