by SL Beaumont
The Fiat was parked in the front of the house, where she had left it the night before. She drove into the village and along the main street, slowing as she approached the pub. Through her open window she could hear music coming from the café across the road. As it came into view, she scanned the car park. There it was. The red Porsche 911. That meant James was with Andy and his brother was out of town again. Two out of the way. She took the next right turn and headed out of the village and up the valley towards Knox Manor.
A few minutes later she pulled her car over to one side of the driveway under a large oak tree and took a deep breath as she got out and looked up at the imposing house.
She walked cautiously up to the front door and rang the bell.
Please don’t let it be the old man, please don’t let it be the old man, she recited under her breath.
Her assumption that someone like him wouldn’t stoop so low as to answer his own front door bell, was a good one. The housekeeper, Grace, opened the door.
“Hello?” she smiled when she saw Stephanie. “James isn’t here love.”
“Actually I didn’t come to see him. It’s just that I think I must have dropped an earring in the library the other night. You haven’t found it by chance? They were a gift from my grandmother and rather special to me,” Stephanie held up an earring to show Grace. Its mate rested securely in her pocket.
Grace opened the door wider. “Why don’t you come in for a look, dear,” she said kindly.
Stephanie cautiously stepped through the door, her heart racing. Today, the dark foyer seemed menacing and she suppressed a shudder as Grace led the way up the staircase to the library. She held the library door open for Stephanie.
“Now where were you sitting?” she asked.
Stephanie walked over to the desk, glancing up at the painting. Her hand itched to pull the printout of the missing work from her pocket and compare the two, but Grace was watching her from the door.
“Well, we were here and then sat over there,” she said reluctantly turning her back on the painting and looking around the armchairs that they sat in. She straightened up.
“No it’s not here either,” she said. Stephanie took a long look at the painting. She would love to have touched it to see if it was original. It certainly looked it. But one thing she was now certain about was that it was the same painting mentioned in the missing art list. Maybe it was a copy? Although James said that it had hung here since his grandfather had been given it just before the outbreak of World War II. And her research had shown that the original hadn’t been seen since 1938.
There was the sound of a door opening in the distance. A deep authoritative male voice called, “Grace.”
Stephanie jumped, alarmed. It was Charles, James’ grandfather.
“Coming,” Grace called. She hesitated.
“It’s ok – I’ll let myself out. I’m just going to crawl under the desk in case it fell under there,” Stephanie smiled at her. “Um, Grace, James and I have had a bit of a falling out – do you mind not telling him that I was here – I feel a bit stupid now that it looks like I’ve lost the earring somewhere else,” Stephanie said, trying to look embarrassed.
“Of course, dear. It’ll be our secret,” she said patting Stephanie’s arm. “Just close the library door behind you. The front door is straight down the stairs.”
“Thanks,” Stephanie said and smiled gratefully at her. Grace hurried out of the room and along the corridor away from the library.
As soon as she was out of sight, Stephanie pulled the chair from the desk over to the wall and stood on it, carefully lifting the painting down. It was heavy. She stepped off the chair and laid the painting gently on the desk.
Needs an expert, she thought shaking her head. She reached out and tentatively touched a corner of the canvas – it was definitely not a print, but the signature was not neat, it was half scrawled – difficult to make out. I need to rehang this before I get caught, she thought anxiously.
Heart racing, she cast a surreptitious look at the library door, as she carefully lifted the painting up, turning it so that she had it in the right position to rehang. Writing on the back of the canvas drew her attention. She balanced the edge of the painting on her knee and leaned in for a closer look, gasping as she noticed a distinctive mark on the back – a black swastika.
Chapter 14
Stephanie paused, hearing no footsteps in the hall way, she quickly stepped back up on the chair and carefully rehung the painting. She replaced the chair and rushed toward the door.
She looked back at the painting and as an afterthought pulled her mobile phone from her pocket and photographed it. Then she slipped out of the library and ran lightly down the stair case to the front door, her mind racing. According to the Monuments Men article she had just read, every piece of art requisitioned by the Nazis was stamped on the back with a black swastika. Holding her breath, she let herself quietly out of the house.
I did it; she congratulated herself, hardly believing her own audacity.
Stephanie ran to her car and quickly drove away, casting furtive glances in her rear vision mirror. She turned left at the end of the long drive, back onto the main road towards the village and breathed a sigh of relief. She came towards a sharp bend in the road and her mind drifted to Sophie. She pulled over to the side, leaving the car idling and took a couple of deep steadying breaths.
This must have been where she crashed – it’s the only big corner between here and the village – she looked down the straight road ahead of her with the village nestled at the end and felt a wave of inexplicable sadness. A large oak tree hung part way across the road. I wonder if that’s the one she hit? Stephanie pulled out again. There wouldn’t be any evidence here after 70 years.
She suddenly glimpsed a flash of red speeding towards her. James. That was close, she thought, her heart thudding loudly. He slowed as he recognised her car. She kept her eyes straight ahead and accelerated away, but could feel his angry glare as their cars passed each other on the bend.
Stephanie checked her watch as she pulled in at the café; 3:30pm, it was safe now that she knew James had gone home. The café was quiet, just a few customers.
She ordered a takeout coffee from Andy.
“Sure – whatcha been up to?” Andy said.
“This and that,” she said feeling the adrenaline rush start to ease. Although her hands were shaking, she tried to ensure her features looked relaxed. She didn’t want Andy picking up on anything. He was surprisingly perceptive for a guy, so she changed the subject. “Hey tell me, your family have lived around here for years, haven’t they?” When Andy nodded, she continued. “Well, I was wondering what you know about the feud between the Wakefields and the Knoxs?”
“What? The ancient grudge or the new mutiny?” Andy smirked.
Stephanie rested her chin in her hands, elbows on the counter. “Both?” she asked hopefully, her eyebrows raised.
“Ha,” Andy gave a short laugh. “I’m not getting involved in the current one, but from the little I know of the old one it goes back to before the war. The story in the village has always been about accusations of collaboration and then someone was killed. But I don’t know on which side,” he said.
“Mmm, it was my great aunt who died, but the Knoxes did have a large number of German visitors before and during the war from what I’ve read. You can understand people at the time feeling uncomfortable and jumping to conclusions,” said Stephanie.
“Oh Steph,” Andy shook his head. “If you made comments to James along those lines, then I can understand why he’s so mad. Despite what he says about his brother and mother, he’s fiercely loyal to his family.”
Stephanie let out a sigh. “Great,” she said despondently. “Actually, between me and my grandmother, we made worse allegations than that.” Stephanie grimaced at the memory of James’ reaction at her house that day.
“Yeah?” Andy said.
“Oh yeah, we threw in murder and the
ft for good measure,” she said. “Now saying it out loud again, it does sound ludicrous.” She put her head in her hands. “Andy, what have I done?”
Andy reached across the counter and patted her on the shoulder and said, “James never stays mad for long. He’ll come around. Hey, who was that guy on Friday night – your boyfriend?”
“Ex-boyfriend,” she mumbled from behind her hands.
“What, ex as in after Friday’s little altercation?” he asked.
Stephanie looked up. “Oh no - ex as in months ago,” she said.
“Looked like he was keen to become the current boyfriend again,” Andy observed, placing a coffee in front of her.
“Nah. He was just playing – I think he could tell that he was annoying James. Speaking of which, tell me about the history between James and Victoria,” she asked.
Andy shook his head and held his hands up in front of him. “Oh no, you are going to have to ask him about that,” he said.
“Maybe I will if he ever speaks to me again,” Stephanie said sadly. She picked up her cup and stood up from the bar stool. “Thanks for the coffee. I’ll see you tonight.”
Stephanie’s thoughts on the drive home were of Sophie. She had mentioned visits from a number of wealthy Europeans, any one of whom could have left the painting.
Once back in her room, she quickly downloaded the photo from her phone onto her laptop and brought up the picture from the missing artwork website. She put the two pictures side by side to compare them.
She studied them carefully – they were identical! Right down to the scrawled signature in the bottom left hand corner.
What if, rather than storing valuables for European friends, as Sophie’s diary entries had indicated, the Knox’s were storing items looted by the Nazis from the museums and art galleries of the occupied countries or stolen from their own people? What if everything hadn’t been returned after the war?
Any one of those items would be worth millions now. And who better than an antique dealer to quietly move it on? No wonder Alex had been so annoyed that they were in the library. The question was, though, what did James know? Had his innocent act surrounding the painting simply been a performance? Did he kiss her to just distract her?
Stephanie squeezed her eyes shut and rubbed her temples. There were too many questions for which she had no answers.
Stephanie was dreading that evening at the café, but James was nowhere to be seen and Andy had the sense not to mention him. Andy had organised a poetry recital, with amateur poets reading their compositions and Victoria and her friends sat in the corner laughing and commenting on each would be poet. Nasty cow, Stephanie thought. Maybe now that she has James back, she will leave me be.
About halfway through the evening James and Liam arrived and sat with the girls. Stephanie kept her eyes down and worked quietly.
She went out to the back room to get some more milk to refill the small refrigerator behind the counter at one point. As she came back in she heard her name mentioned and paused to listen.
“….not her usual bubbly self,” Andy said to someone.
“James is an idiot,” an unknown voice, possibly Dave, said. “He’s crazy to let some old feud get in the way. I mean, look at her, she’s gorgeous.”
Stephanie blushed, embarrassed. She wasn’t used to hearing herself talked about that way. I wonder what he would say if he saw the gawky and overweight kid I was a couple of years ago? She made a loud noise with the milk crate as she walked back into the café, which stopped the conversation. Sure enough, Dave was perched on a bar stool across the counter from Andy. He raised his eyebrows in greeting and gave her a friendly smile.
Towards the end of the night, James came up to the counter and was talking music with Andy as Stephanie cleared dirty coffee cups and plates from the tables. She came back into the kitchen and deposited a full tray on the bench and bent to open the dishwasher.
“Nice drive this afternoon?” James enquired.
“Yeah,” she answered lightly, straightening up and leaning against the bench and confidently looking him in the eyes. “I was doing a bit of sightseeing – dangerous bit of road, from what I hear,” she said deliberately baiting him.
“Stephanie,” he growled, a warning note in his voice.
“What?” she looked up at him, her blue eyes wide and innocent. She put her hands on her hips and crossed one leg over the other.
He sighed looking away. “Remember what I told you,” he said, clearing his throat.
“Yeah, yeah, whatever,” Stephanie replied, turning his own flippant remark from the night before back on him. Turning away, she began noisily loading the dishwasher.
“That smart mouth will get you into trouble one day,” James sneered.
“James,” Victoria called from across the room.
Stephanie glanced at Andy who was busy frothing milk and studiously ignoring them. She leaned across the counter towards James and whispered, “I think you are being summoned, jingle boy. Now run along.” She patted the back of his hand, as one would a child.
James flushed an angry red and narrowed his eyes at her. He opened his mouth to say something further, but Andy shook his head at him.
“Huh!” A muscle in James’ jaw clenched and his mouth contorted into a thin angry line as he thumped his fist on the counter and stomped back to Victoria’s table.
Chapter 15
Michael arranged to meet Stephanie at the café after her shift on Monday afternoon. The café’s menu now had a New Zealand flavour to it. Andy had sampled and enjoyed the flat white that Stephanie had made for him, after initially teasing her by pretending to choke on it. When Michael arrived, she was standing on a chair and adding it to the blackboard on the back wall, drawing a kiwi and the New Zealand flag beside it, just so there was no doubt as to its origin. They sat at a table by the window and he handed her a manila folder containing the results of the search he had run for her.
“Basically I cross referenced the twenty five names you gave me with each other and the list of artists, and here are the top five results for each name. Several had no matches. But a couple of them gave a lot more than five positive results. I’ve saved it all onto a USB drive for you.” He fished around in his pocket and produced a slim USB stick which he handed to her.
“What’s a positive result mean?” she asked.
“That’s where both the person’s name and the artist are fully mentioned, not just combinations of the words,” he explained. “What you have here are at least one hundred websites to visit and review, although some are just different pages within the same website – I’ve highlighted those in the same colour so that you can knock them off quicker. It’s all on the drive, but sometimes it’s easier to digest this much information and the cross links on paper. This guy Hoffman for example, he had lots of matches. Was he a collector?”
“No a museum curator, I think,” Stephanie said. “Reading all of this is gonna keep me out of trouble for a while.” She smiled at Michael. “Thank you so much for doing this. Remember it’s just between me and you. Ok?” she said.
“Sure thing, Steph. Are you ready to tell me what this is all about?” he asked.
“Hey you two look like you are plotting,” a voice interrupted them.
Stephanie instinctively slammed the folder shut and jumped to her feet. Jack stood in front of them grinning. He reached out a hand and steadied her as she overbalanced into him.
“Whoa, there Steph. Sorry, didn’t mean to startle you,” he said.
Stephanie blushed. She slipped the USB stick into her jeans pocket. “That’s ok,” she murmured.
Behind Jack she noticed James leaning against the door frame, watching the interchange with interest. How long he had been standing there and what he had overheard, she didn’t know. His eyes were hooded. She quickly looked away.
“Thanks Michael,” she said as she picked up her bag, shoving the manila folder into it and walking quickly towards the door. “Excuse me,” s
he said quietly to James who was blocking the door way.
“What are you up to Stephanie? You look guilty – like you are doing something you shouldn’t be.” He tilted his head to one side and studied her.
“Nothing,” she mumbled. “Gotta go.” She went to push past him.
He put his hand across the doorway, blocking it further, “What? No more smart-arse comments?”
“Yeah, sorry – all out of those right now. Now, excuse me!” she said.
He didn’t move, so she had to slide under his arm to get through the doorway. He held her gaze defiantly as she squeezed through. I could never be a spy, she thought, her heart thumping. He’s right, I feel guilty. She walked a few steps and glanced back over her shoulder. James stood there watching her, his face unreadable. She scowled at him and hurried away. She hoped that he and Jack weren’t going to be too tough on Michael and that he wouldn’t cave and tell them. It wouldn’t take James much to conclude that she was still looking into something related to his family. And she knew what his reaction to that would be.
She walked down the hill towards the village green where the local museum was situated. It was housed in a sympathetically restored building with whitewashed stone walls and a thatched roof. She had to duck her head as she went in through the low doorway. While she waited for the lady behind the reception desk to retrieve the information that she had requested, she took a wander around. According to the exhibits, Carlswick had been a haven for smugglers back in the days when the sea came right up to a harbour in the little town, before it steadily silted up over the last two to three hundred years. The stories of daring smugglers were numerous and included rumours that some of the larger homes nearby had tunnels from the old harbour linking up with their basements and cellars to aid the smugglers. Stephanie gave a shiver. How exciting, I’m going to have to read up on that.
“Here we are dear,” the lady called from the front desk, a large manila envelope in her hand.
“Thanks,” Stephanie said as she opened it. It contained a photocopy of the official report into the collaboration claims and note suggesting that she could try the library for any local memoirs or diaries from the war.
