by SL Beaumont
“That’s great,” he sounded relieved and quickly added. “I’m sure you must miss her, being down in the country. I mean you two have been inseparable every time you came to stay.”
Stephanie looked at him confused – how unlike her father to babble, he was normally such a succinct orator. “Do you have time for lunch, Dad?” she asked.
Max looked at his watch. “Just a quick coffee. I am due in court at noon.” To Emily he said, “I’ll be about 20 minutes.”
Max took Stephanie’s bag from her and they caught the lift back down to the coffee shop in the foyer. They ordered their drinks and sat opposite one another on a pair of leather armchairs, to drink them.
“Are you busy Dad?” she asked.
“Always busy, sweetheart - you know that,” Max replied.
“Yes, but are you working on anything interesting?” she asked clumsily. She couldn’t quite work out how to ask who his client has been, without raising suspicion that she had overheard their conversation.
He eyed her carefully for a moment. “Oh, just various cases.”
Stephanie sipped her coffee as Max changed the subject. She screwed her nose slightly. The coffee wasn’t up to Andy’s standard.
“Have you seen Sam? He’s been asking about you,” Max asked smiling.
“Yeah, just before and no Dad, I’m not going there again,” she replied.
Max raised his eyebrows, but said nothing. She was about to try a different line of questioning about his mysterious foreign client, when a man approached them and cleared his throat.
“Excuse me, Max,” he said.
Stephanie looked up and groaned inwardly. Vince Burgess worked for her father as a kind of private investigator. He was apparently very good at what he did, but he gave Stephanie the creeps. He was always popping up out of nowhere.
“Ah, Vince,” Max stood and shook his hand. Vince stood at attention, his close cropped hair emphasising his stocky build. “You remember my daughter, Stephanie.”
Vince glanced at Stephanie and nodded once. “I have that information you are after,” he said, returning his attention to Max.
“Great. Let’s head upstairs,” Max replied his demeanour suddenly serious. “Sorry, darling. I have to go,” he said to Stephanie, leaning down and kissing her cheek. “See you in a few days?”
“Ok, Dad. Vince,” she smiled goodbye to the two men.
Stephanie sat in the foyer for a little while longer finishing her drink and musing over what had just happened.
Why was she being discussed by one of her father’s clients? And what did he mean that her friendship with the younger son had been taken care of? Were they talking about a deal with the Knoxs – that would be a little strange, especially after the scene she had witnessed between her father and James’ grandfather and brother in the village a couple of weeks ago? What’s going on here?
Chapter 18
Still puzzling over the conversation she had overheard, Stephanie caught the District line to Embankment and joined the crowds of people spilling out of the station. She walked up the road past Charing Cross, dodged black cabs to cross The Strand and walked the block to Trafalgar Square passing St. Martin-in-the-Fields church. It was a lovely summer’s day and a large number of tourists were milling around in the square, enjoying the sunshine. The National Gallery, located in a magnificent Georgian building, was on the northern side of the square. Stephanie made her way up the front steps and through the imposing double doors.
She left her suitcase in the coat check room in the basement and climbed the wide marble staircase to the second floor, which housed the gallery’s early twentieth century collection. Her attention was taken by Monet’s Bathers at La Grenouillere, when she noticed a woman enter the room and speak briefly to the gallery assistant seated adjacent to the doorway, watching the visitors.
“Excuse me?” she called as she hurried towards them. Why do librarians and people who worked in art galleries all adhere to the same dowdy uniform of navy skirts, flat rubber soled shoes accessorised with glasses hanging around their necks? She wondered idly.
Stephanie noticed that they both wore photo id which introduced one as Dr Margot Pierce and the gallery assistant as Caroline Jones.
“Hi. I’m working on a project about lost artworks during World War II and I was hoping to find someone to talk to about the missing so called Degenerate Art works,” Stephanie asked politely, as she approached.
Caroline nodded. “Sure.”
Stephanie pulled a notebook out of her bag and continued. “Now I know from my research that any sort of art work that didn’t meet the Nazi’s criteria of what a good painting, for example, should be, was considered degenerate. And that all such art work was confiscated and some pieces were incorporated into a travelling exhibition designed to ridicule the work and influence the cultural views of the German people,” she said.
“That’s correct,” Caroline said pleasantly.
“What would have happened to the art after the exhibition?” Stephanie asked.
“Well, I believe anything of value was sold at auction outside of Germany before the war, and everything else was destroyed,” she answered.
Stephanie thought back to Sophie’s diary. Her meeting with Hoffman had mentioned that art was being destroyed. It also mentioned art being stolen from Jewish families.
“What about the more famous pieces that were forcibly taken from German and Jewish families?” said Stephanie.
“Same thing,” Caroline said
“So who would have bought them?”
“Other museums and galleries and wealthy collectors,” Caroline answered.
Stephanie’s mind was racing. This made sense. The Nazis had sold the pieces they had stolen to help fund their war. It seemed unlikely that Hoffman was selling degenerate or stolen art for the Nazis, but perhaps he was doing his own deals on the side? she thought.
“So, some galleries and individuals potentially still have stolen Nazi art in their collections?” Stephanie asked.
“Most definitely. If the provenance couldn’t be proven after the war, they remained where they were,” Caroline agreed.
Dr Pierce interrupted. “I don’t like what you are insinuating, young lady.”
“Oh no. I didn’t mean, the National Gallery,” Stephanie said, her eyes wide.
“Mmm,” said Dr Pierce, sounding unconvinced. She looked at her watch. “Was there anything else?” she asked frostily.
“No. Thank you for your time,” Stephanie said as her mobile chimed with a text. “Actually there was one thing – how do you prove, what did you call it, provenance?”
“Dealers and the larger galleries have research departments that have set procedures for reviewing documentary evidence such as bills of sale and photographs. There are a number of journals and publications that assist in proving the legal ownership of an art object,” Caroline replied.
“So with stolen art, there would be a break in that documentary chain,” Stephanie said.
Caroline nodded and Stephanie thanked them again for their time. She flicked her mobile open and saw the text was from Michael.
Michael: Hey, hacked the secure section of Knox’s website!
Stephanie: Michael! :-o
Michael: Interesting client list. From a supposed mafia boss to the Nat Gallery!
Stephanie: That’s where I am right now.
Michael: Some woman from there is mentioned a lot.
Stephanie: Who?
Michael: Dr Margot Pierce.
Stephanie: That’s who I am talking to!
Michael: Get the hell out of there – u don’t want anyone letting Knox know u r snooping, especially after yesterday! Call me. U owe me an explanation!!
Stephanie hurried towards the stairs, glancing over her shoulder. Dr Pierce was standing in the centre of the room staring at her. Stephanie took the stairs two at a time back to the lobby. Jeez, Michael obviously didn’t buy the prank theory.
Dr Pierce wa
tched her go and then hurried to a nearby office and closed the door. She picked up the phone and dialled a number.
“I have had a young Australian woman here this afternoon enquiring about missing Nazi art in galleries and private collections,” she spoke quietly into the telephone.
“No not any one specifically, but I thought it odd, given the current situation.”
She walked over to the window and looked down into Trafalgar Square.
“Yes, she has just left,” she said pausing to listen. “Yes, that’s right, dark hair, late teens. She is heading towards Charing Cross now.”
“Ok. Goodbye.” She pressed end on the handset and replaced the phone back on the desk and continued watching until Stephanie had walked out of sight.
Stephanie hurried back towards the underground station, wheeling her bag behind her. There was no way the woman would link her queries with Alex. Was there? She felt the back of her neck prickle as though someone was watching her. Nervously, she glanced over her shoulder. People were going about their business taking no notice of her. Stop being paranoid, she thought, annoyed for letting her imagination get the better of her. She joined a stream of people walking down the road from Charing Cross to Embankment, where she caught the District line, changing at Earls Court for Parsons Green.
Anna’s flat was on the south side of the Green. Stephanie walked past the White Horse Hotel where a few groups of people had gathered under the umbrellas to enjoy a lunch time drink. She crossed the road, walking up the front steps to a red door on the end of the row of terraced houses. She rang the buzzer for the top floor flat.
“Yes?” A voice crackled through the intercom.
“Hi, it’s me,” Stephanie said.
“Come on up.” The door clicked as Anna unlocked it remotely from upstairs. Stephanie pushed it open and pulled her bag into the entrance hall. She carried it up the stairs which were carpeted in a plush red with swirling patterns. The walls were wood panelled. The effect would have been dark and forbidding, had it not been for the large picture window on the landing at the top of the stairs, which looked back out over the Green. She continued up another flight to the top of the building where a smaller window overlooked the tree tops.
Anna was waiting at the door of her flat and threw her arms around Stephanie. Anna was gorgeous. Tall and slim with long auburn hair which curled as it hit her shoulders and spilled down her back. She had sparkling blue eyes, luminous skin and a very pretty smile. Stephanie returned her hug. Anna’s family lived in the same apartment complex in Chelsea as Stephanie’s father. Being the same age, Anna and Stephanie had quickly become firm friends from the age of four.
The flat was light and spacious. The walls were painted white and the floor boards had been polished and shone. The living room, kitchen and dining area were all one and the doors on the far side of the room led to two bedrooms and a bathroom.
It wasn’t the sort of flat that a jobbing actress should have been able to afford, however, Anna’s father had bought it for her, as he couldn’t bear the thought of his only daughter living in squalor.
“So are you going to tell me whom or what’s been keeping you so busy?” Anna asked filling the kettle.
“It’s a long story, but….” Over a pot of tea, Stephanie filled Anna in on meeting James, Sophie’s journal, the feud and the mysterious painting in the Knox library, the reappearance of Sam and finally the brick through her car window.
“Wow – you have been busy. I don’t know what to say. But I don’t like the thought that you are being threatened. Do you really think it could be James?” Anna asked frowning.
Stephanie hesitated. She had no real evidence to link James, but she was feeling increasingly suspicious, and slightly, afraid of him.
“Don’t know. I keep telling myself it’s probably just a prank. James has an ex-girlfriend who has taken a dislike to me. Although I am also wondering if the Knox’s –“, she broke off shaking her head. “I want a night off all that tonight.”
“Well that’s good, because I have a great night planned. We’ll grab a bite at that little Italian by the tube and then we are heading into the west end to see a band. Hey – I have to say I told you that you and Sam had unfinished business,” Anna teased.
Stephanie shook her head. “No way.”
“Actually Anna, there’s something else I haven’t told you,” she said hesitantly, unsure how to start.
“Yeah?”
“When I went to visit Dad today, he had a foreign military type guy with him and they were discussing the Knox’s and talking about me,” she said. Saying it out loud, she felt a strange twinge in her chest.
Anna looked surprised. “What did they say?”
“Just that Dad had made sure that I wasn’t hanging out with James anymore and they don’t want me at a ‘location’ when something happens. What do think is going on Anna?” she asked.
Anna shook her head, curls bouncing. “No idea – that is really strange. What have you stumbled into?”
Chapter 19
“James,” Alex shouted, annoyed.
James tried to slip out of the house through the kitchen. But the smell of freshly baked biscuits made him pause and he grabbed a handful that were cooling on a wire cake rack on one of the granite kitchen benches. That was his mistake.
“Hey,” Grace called across the kitchen. “Thief!” But there was a smile in her voice.
Unfortunately, her calling out had alerted Alex to James’ whereabouts and he came bursting into the room.
“There you are little brother. My office. Now.” He turned on his heel and strode back across the hall way towards his open study door.
James hesitated, sorely tempted to continue his escape out the side door.
“It’ll be easier to just get whatever he wants over and done with,” Grace advised sensing his indecision.
James sighed. “I suppose.” He grabbed another couple of biscuits, receiving a smack on the hand from Grace, and sauntered after Alex.
Alex’s office was dominated by a huge polished antique mahogany desk. On one wall was a row of bookshelves and opposite was a glass fronted cabinet containing collectible rare volumes. A large chesterfield sofa had a variety of antique chairs clustered around it.
James loitered in the doorway. “What?” he asked sullenly. “I was just on my way out.”
“Sit.” Alex raised his voice and pointed to a chair, his eyes steely.
James sighed, but did as instructed, dropping heavily into the nearest chair and rocking back so that he was sitting on two legs rather than four.
Alex rolled his eyes. “You do realise how much that chair will cost you if you break it?”
It was James turn to roll his eyes, but he eased the chair back onto its four legs.
“Now, I thought Grandfather and I had made it very clear that you were to stop that Cooper girl from snooping around,” he looked accusingly at James. “Why is she up in London now making enquiries at the National Gallery regarding works of art that we may or may not have in our possession?”
“What. Stephanie is?” James said, confused.
“Well a girl fitting her description was. Seems a little coincidental, don’t you think? You do know she was back here the other day with some flimsy reason to snoop around in the library,” Alex said.
“Was she now?” James said slowly, thinking back to the previous weekend when he’d passed her on the road outside the manor. “Did you see her?”
“No – Grace let her in,” Alex said.
James was thoughtful for a moment. “What’s so important about this anyway?”
Alex went very red in the face battling to control his temper. “What’s so important? I’ll tell you what’s important. I have been working on this deal for the last five years and secrecy is of the upmost importance. I. Will. Not. Have. It. Fall. Through,” he finished shouting. “Do you realise how much the upkeep on this house is? With our darling mother traipsing all over the world spending
our inheritance, someone has to raise enough money to keep this place going. Playing a few gigs down at the pub certainly isn’t going to do it.”
James stood and backed towards the door.
“Ok. Don’t get your hair in a knot. I’ll tell her again, but I can’t see what she would have to do with one of your deals,” he said.
“No you wouldn’t, but she must be stopped before she does some damage. Her drawing attention to us now could ruin everything! I need her kept out of this for another three or four days and then you can do what you like with her. If this gets screwed up, I will hold you personally responsible and you know what that means,” Alex said menacingly.
James held his hands up as if in defeat. He had suffered enough of Alex’s beatings over the years to fear getting on the wrong side of him. “Alright, leave her with me. I’ll find out what she’s up to and put a stop to it.”
Alex nodded and said, “Just make sure you do. Because if you don’t, I will find someone who will and it won’t be pretty.”
Chapter 20
Later that night when Stephanie and Anna arrived at the club in Covent Garden, there was a long line of people spilling out of the door and snaking their way along the footpath. Anna took her hand and pulled her to the front of the queue. The bouncer was about to send them to the back of the line, when he suddenly smiled.
“Hey Anna, in you go,” he said.
“Thanks Tommy,” she said as she leaned up on tiptoes and gave him a quick peck on the cheek.
He unhooked the velvet cord letting them through the door.
Stephanie looked at her amazed.
“We have auditioned together a number of times. He’s a great guy,” Anna said by way of explanation.
“Useful person to know,” Stephanie said.
The club was an in an old warehouse. It had high ceilings with exposed rafters and concrete pillars running in lines, like solders, down the centre. It was dimly lit. Along one wall was a long shiny metallic topped bar attended by several very handsome barman in crisp black shirts with the club’s logo on a breast pocket. So this is where one finds all the out of work actors and models, Stephanie thought.
