by Janet Tanner
‘I see.’ Guillaume’s slightly rheumy eyes had gone very far away; what in fact he was seeing was the past. ‘And what do you intend to do about it?’
‘I’m going to the Caribbean myself. That’s where this German is living. I want to meet him and try to establish if he is in fact von Rheinhardt.’
‘And how will you go about that?’
‘I shall check all available records, of course. Files, photographs, any information I can lay hands on. But I dare say he’s made a pretty good job of establishing a new identity for himself, and there is another test – a simpler one. Inconclusive, of course, but it should be enough to tell me whether I’m on the right track or barking up a gum tree.’
‘Which is?’
‘According to what I’ve been told this German’s house is full of treasures – artefacts which give every appearance of being French in origin. Von Rheinhardt stole things from us, didn’t he?’
‘He certainly did. Things which had been in our family for generations. He took over the château for his HQ, you see, and managed to spirit away anything small enough to transport which took his fancy.’
‘Do you have descriptions of the missing items? Enough detail to identify them?’
‘Certainly. I made an inventory when the château was returned to us after the war.’
‘And photographs? Weren’t there photographs?’
‘Yes, there were. Photographs always seemed a sensible precaution in case the treasures were stolen. Not that I ever expected them to be looted by an occupying power, of course – more by common thieves.’
‘Would you let me have them? If I could be sure the stuff in this man’s house is ours then I think I could be fairly confident he is von Rheinhardt. And I think it is, Grandpapa. There’s silver, there’s porcelain, there’s a bronze statuette. And there is a triptych.’
‘A triptych!’ The old man stiffened so that his spine was ramrod straight against the back of the chair.
‘Yes. From my friend’s description I think it might depict scenes from the life of the Maid of Orleans.’
‘Mon dieu!’ It was little more than a whisper.
‘Wasn’t that what our triptych represented?’ Guy persisted.
‘Yes. Yes. There may be others, of course, but …’
‘But they must be few and far between. You see now why I think I may have found von Rheinhardt.’
‘Yes.’ The old man was silent. Guy sat watching him, sipping his brandy and waiting for what he had said to sink in. After a long while Guillaume nodded. ‘Yes. If he has a triptych like that then you could be right. It could indeed be von Rheinhardt – the bastard. After all these years. I can’t believe it.’
‘Then you’ll help me?’ Guy asked.
‘Oh Guy, Guy, I don’t know …’
‘But surely you’d like to see him brought to justice? You always said he deserved to pay for what he did. And you’d like to see our family heirlooms back here in the château where they belong?’
‘I’d like them back, of course I would. Nothing would give me more pleasure. To see them again, to hold them in my hands. But as for the rest of it … I don’t know. The price might be too great.’
‘I don’t understand. What price?’
Guillaume shook his head slowly.
‘If you bring von Rheinhardt back now there would be a trial. A very public trial. It would be world news. You know how the media seize on these things nowadays. It would be most unpleasant.’
‘For von Rheinhardt, certainly. Isn’t that what he deserves?’
‘It wouldn’t only be von Rheinhardt who would suffer. We would all be forced to face things we would rather forget.’
Guy felt the beginnings of impatience. First his mother, now his grandfather, willing to let the monstrous Nazi who had marred all their lives go free rather than be made to confront the past themselves. He couldn’t understand it. His mother, of course, had always refused to discuss it, but his grandfather had seemed fired up with hatred and a desire for vengeance. Now he, too, was counselling caution.
‘I realise it is not nice,’ Guy said slowly, ‘having to remember the sort of atrocities that were committed. I realise that like my mother you have probably spent a lifetime trying to put what happened behind you. But surely it would be worth it, to know that von Rheinhardt was being punished at last?’
‘I don’t know. If he came to trial it wouldn’t be just a case of facing him with what he did. He wouldn’t be likely to just hold up his hands and admit it – he knows if he did that he would be certain to go to prison for the rest of his life. No, he’d mount a defence with the best lawyers money can buy – from what you say he’s not short of a penny and there are plenty of up-and-coming young advocates who would give their eyeteeth for a chance to make their names, one way or another, in a trial that would have all the notoriety this one would have. God alone knows what they would say in his defence.’
‘There’s a risk of that, I realise. But you’d have nothing to fear – you did nothing wrong. My father and uncles died heroes, remember – because of von Rheinhardt, He would be the one on trial.’
The old man sighed.
‘Don’t be so naive, Guy. With something like this we would all be on trial. All kinds of unpleasant things would be dragged up and paraded for the world to see.’
Guy’s eyes narrowed.
‘What are you saying?’
‘I am saying it could be very messy, that’s all. I don’t want the family name dragged through the mud.’
Guy levered himself further on to the corner of the desk. A finger of disturbing doubt had begun prodding at him.
‘Why should it be, Grandpapa? Is there something I don’t know? Something detrimental to the family that you don’t want to come out?’
‘No, no, of course not. We have nothing to be ashamed of. We did nothing wrong. Your father, as you know, was honoured by the Croix de Guerre. And your mother … well, your mother was a remarkable woman, I have to admit, though we were not the best of friends, as you must realise.’ His eyes grew sharp suddenly. ‘What has she told you about me?’
‘Nothing,’ Guy replied truthfully. ‘She has never explained why the two of you didn’t get on, though obviously I would be a fool if I didn’t realise there was something.’
‘Does there have to be a reason? Some people don’t see eye to eye, that’s all. That’s how it was for your mother and me. We respect one another, I think.’
Guy did not reply. He was not at all sure of his mother’s feelings in the matter.
‘Does your mother know what you have in mind to do?’ Guillaume asked.
‘Yes, and she doesn’t approve. But then she never wants to discuss the war. She seems to find it very painful.’
‘I dare say.’ Guillaume was silent for a moment, staring into space. ‘What you have to remember, Guy, is that we are all human. We all have our weaknesses.’
‘So you, like my mother, would rather I ignored this information I have? And let von Rheinhardt, if indeed it is him, live out his life on his Caribbean island?’
‘No.’ There was a quietly decisive note in Guillaume’s voice now. ‘You gave me a shock, Guy, coming here, telling me you think you have found that cochon after all this time. And I do think you should consider carefully what you are doing – it is all too easy to pursue a path so vigorously that you lose sight of the pitfalls along the way. But I would like to have our treasures back where they belong, and I would like to see von Rheinhardt pay for the lives of my sons – and all the others, too.’
He rose from his chair, crossed to a tall rosewood bureau, gleaming dully in the light thrown by the table lamp which stood on it, and extracted a large box file.
‘I think you will find everything you need here – an inventory of the missing items, photographs, detailed descriptions, even the bills for the restoration work, back in the twenties, of some of the pictures that were stolen from their frames. You will also find my journals for the
war years. They are not in any great detail – I’ve never been one for keeping detailed diaries – but at least you will be able to verify dates, should you need to. Have a look through and take anything you think may be useful. In fact, perhaps you could take them to Henri’s office and make copies. I think I would prefer the originals to remain here at the château. You know how to use the photocopier, do you?’
‘I expect I can work it out. Thank you, Grandpapa.’
‘Well, as I say, it’s going to be an unpleasant business, and you know, Guy, I don’t like unpleasantness. I dare say I am something of a coward in that respect. But I would like to see the family treasures back where they belong before I depart this world. Yes, it would be worth it to know they can be passed on to your children and your children’s children.’
Guy smiled briefly.
‘I should think that gives me ample time, then, Grandpapa. You are not going to depart this world for a very long time yet.’
‘I hope not. But one never knows. Sometimes I feel very old, Guy. A man shouldn’t outlive his sons.’
Certainly in that moment he did look old, Guy thought, as if the weight of the years was suddenly pressing heavily upon his shoulders.
Should I be doing this? he wondered. Should Grandpapa be worried about it at this time of life? But his desire for revenge on von Rheinhardt, nurtured throughout his childhood by his grandfather himself, was too strong. He had hated the bastard then and he hated him now. It was only the frailty of age that was making Guillaume shrink from facing again the terrible times he had lived through. And if Guy could once more return the family treasures to him it would be worth it. When he held them in his hands once more he could die happy.
‘Will you do it now, Guy, or in the morning?’ Guillaume asked.
‘I don’t have much time, Grandpapa. I’ll make a start now.’
‘Very well.’ The old man rose and moved to the door. ‘Then I think I will rejoin the others, if you don’t mind. I’m very tired.’
‘Do you want me to come back down with you?’
‘No, no, I’m capable of managing the stairs on my own. You stay here and do what you have to.’
‘All right. Say good night to the others for me if they want to go to bed before I’m finished.’
‘I will.’
He left the room and Guy looked around, experiencing momentarily an eerie presentiment of the future. One day this study would be his. From here he would manage the affairs of the Château de Savigny just as his grandfather had done and his father before him. The sense of continuity was both awesome and satisfying. For a moment longer Guy allowed himself to consider it, then with a determined shrug of his shoulders he put it away and returned his attention to the task in hand.
‘What on earth is going on, Guy?’
‘The hour was late; Guy, immersed in the papers his grandfather had given him, had not heard the door open. He looked up now, startled, to see Lise standing in the doorway.
He sat back in the chair, rubbing his eyes with his fingers.
‘What are you doing here, Lise? I thought everyone would have gone to bed by now.’
‘I’m a night owl, didn’t you know? Anyway, you haven’t answered my question yet – and I asked first!’
She came into the study and shut the door behind her, a girl of medium height, almost painfully thin, and without a trace of make-up to lend colour to her rather sallow complexion. Tonight, in deference to the occasion, she was wearing a dress, a simple shift of cream wool, and, much to her discomfort, stockings and shoes with heels. Lise did not like dressing up; she was far more at ease in the jeans and oversized sweaters and cowboy boots she usually wore in winter.
Come on, Guy, you owe me an explanation,’ she persisted. ‘ I came down from Paris especially to see you and all you do is lock yourself away up here!’
‘I had something rather important to do. The whole purpose of my visit, actually.’
‘Something which has upset Grandpapa. He looked quite pale when he came down after talking to you. You shouldn’t worry him, Guy. He’s an old man.’ She drew a packet of cigarettes out of the pocket of her dress and fit one. The pungent smell of Gaulois filled the study. ‘Now, are you going to tell me about it or not?’
Guy swung himself back in the chair.
‘Yes, I’ll tell you. I was going to anyway. If I’m right you’ll have to know sometime and it might as well be now. Then you’ll be prepared.’
‘For what? You make this sound very mysterious.’
‘It’s not mysterious. Just a bit sensitive. I don’t want you blabbing it to all your left-wing friends.’
‘Don’t be horrible, Guy!’ Her mouth set in a thin line; she pulled on her cigarette. ‘I’m entitled to my friends just as you are to yours. How is Wendy, by the way?’
‘Wendy’s OK.’ He knew better than to elaborate; Lise was jealous of any relationship he had with women.
‘You haven’t married her yet.’
‘No.’
‘Why not? Is it because you don’t love her?’
‘None of your business.’
‘I am your cousin.’
‘But not my keeper. And I thought you wanted to talk about my reason for being here, not my intentions regarding Wendy.’
She smiled briedly. ‘ Touché. Go on then, tell me.’ She leaned over the desk to look at the papers spread out there and he caught a whiff of perfume – her mother’s guest soap, he guessed, certainly not scent. Lise never used it. ‘What is this?’ she asked.
‘Lists of the things that were looted from the château during the war. I’m sure Grandpapa has told you about them just as he told me.’
‘Of course. But why are they suddenly so important?’
‘Because I might be on the point of getting them back.’
She whistled softly.
‘How? I thought they’d gone forever.’
‘So did we all.’ He went on to tell her about the information he had received and she listened intently, finishing her Gaulois and lighting another from her stub.
‘So – you’re going to the Caribbean,’ she said when he had finished.
‘I hope so, yes. The trouble is neither Grandpapa nor my mother, are very keen on the idea. Mum is downright hostile – I expected that – but Grandpapa has reservations too, I think.’
‘Why?’ Her dark eyes were puzzled in her narrow face.
‘I don’t know. He seems to think it will stir up all kinds of unpleasantness. Frankly I’m a bit surprised by his attitude. He was always so full of hatred for von Rheinhardt. I’d have thought he’d have jumped at the chance for revenge.’
‘Oh, you know Grandpapa – what he’s like. He’s always hated anything to disturb the calm waters of his world and I think he’s got worse as he’s got older. People do that, don’t they? Age only makes them more extreme, more set in whatever ways they have.’
‘That’s true, I suppose. But as you say, he’s an old man. I don’t want to upset him.’
‘He didn’t ask you not to go on with this?’
‘No. He gave me access to this file.’
‘There you are then. He’s probably glad really for you to do what he can’t do himself. You must try to find out if it really is von Rheinhardt, Guy. The bastard deserves everything that’s coming to him.’ Her voice was fierce again, that same tone that debated politics far into the night with her left-wing friends and verbally tore the old order to shreds. Guy found himself smiling now at her fervour.
‘You think I’m doing the right thing, then?’
‘Absolutely. I only wish I could come with you. I couldn’t, I suppose …?’
‘No, Lise, I’m afraid you couldn’t.’
‘Well, keep me informed anyway. Jesus Christ, I’d like to get my hands on that German pig!’
‘I’m sure you would, but if it is him I shall turn him over to the proper authorities. We live in a civilised world now, thank goodness – and thanks to the Allies.’
> ‘And our own brave countrymen and women. Don’t forget what they did. Your father, your uncle …’
‘I know,’ he said. But he felt a prickle of discomfort all the same, remembering Guillaume’s warning. ‘Well, I’m going to bed now. I don’t think I can do any more tonight. My concentration has gone.’
‘My fault, I supose,’ she said ruefully.
‘Not really. I was getting muzzy anyway. There’s a limit to what I can absorb at one sitting.’
‘What are these photographs?’ She leaned over the desk again, pulling the box file towards her, partly from genuine interest and partly in an effort to prolong the late-night encounter. She wasn’t ready to go to bed yet and she didn’t want to miss the chance to be with Guy either. Tomorrow she had to go back to Paris and he would leave for England and then, it seemed, for the other side of the world, and she didn’t know how long it would be before she saw him again. His visits were too few and far between for her liking.
‘Just pictures of the treasures. Haven’t you seen them before?’
‘No, I don’t think so.’ She began leafing through them, leaning so close that the curtain of her hair brushed his face. Realising what she was doing he moved away slightly.
‘So this is the famous triptych,’ she said, pretending not to have noticed his withdrawal.
‘Yes. Scenes from the life of the Maid of Orleans. Pretty impressive, isn’t it?’
‘I suppose so – if you like that kind of thing.’ She went on poring over the photographs, examining one after the other. ‘ Silver candlesticks – they must be worth a pretty penny …’
‘It’s not the monetary value that counts, though, is it? It’s their sentimental and historical value.’
‘… a little clock – Louise XIV, isn’t it? – bronze statuette of Ceres … good grief, the place must have been quite bare when he’d finished taking what he wanted!’
‘Yes, I think Grandpapa bought a good deal to take the place of what was looted. Except for the triptych, of course. He’s never replaced that.’
