by Dayna Rubin
“We’re just finishing up here, Craig. Send them in and we’ll be with them shortly,” Geoffrey instructed.
“No problem.” The amplifier on the speaker crackled as Craig spoke.
Natanya remained silent as many looked to her to give them a clue as to which painting she created.
Philippe dropped his hand from around Natanya’s shoulders to give her a gentle push at her lower back, “Natanya will be collecting the cards now, and so if you don’t know, just write a number 1 or a number 2 and we’ll leave it at that.”
Natanya collected the cards and handed them back to Philippe, who divided them into two piles, one for each painting.
He set each stack in front of the paintings, and reaching for the first group, he read off the names of those who thought the first painting was the real painting, and then did the same for the second group.
A crackling followed by a loud peep resounded, then Craig’s voice alerted, “We’ve got a problem, because these guys say they have to get this painting to the museum in the armored truck they’ve got outside, and they only have an hour.”
Geoffrey replied, “We hear you, buddy, no problem, we’re almost done here.”
“Well, we’ve only received a few for the one on the left, so, what do you know, the one person who should know, got it right. Could you stand up please…?” Philippe leaned forward to read her badge, “Mrs. Gleason please tell us which of these is the original painting. Oh, and I don’t mean to rush you, but we do have the packing team ready to proceed.”
Mrs. Gleason, the company’s authentication expert, adjusted her nametag, which had dipped forward as it rested on her lapel. “I will point out which of the items do not belong in this picture, but before I do, I must say, Natanya, that although this has been a fun exercise, I don’t believe that we should continue with this sort of activity, as we don’t want our employees making replicas of our contracted items.”
“First of all, Vermeer would sign his paintings very seldom, so there shouldn’t be a signature, secondly, there are coins on the scale that shouldn’t be there, and thirdly, the ribbon is missing from the pearls…and um, well, the last thing I could detect is that the coloring seems to be brighter and not aged properly. I can definitely see these items with the naked eye, which is what I am paid to do. So, for those of you who were unable to pinpoint these miniscule differences, it’s not something you should become distraught over.” Upon finishing, Mrs. Gleason picked up her choice for the original painting and presented it to the room before turning to Geoffrey whereby she handed it over to him to give to the packers.
“I will be escorting this piece personally back to the National Gallery, then I am needed at our office in New York. Quick hugs, then I must go.” Mrs. Gleason moved toward a few of her colleagues in the room, as Geoffrey left the room with the painting.
“As for you,” Mrs. Gleason paused in front of Natanya, “You have an incredible amount of talent, and I for one am speechless. I don’t think you’ll remain on the team of restorers. I see bigger things for you in the future. We’ll have to talk soon, and by the way, that boyfriend of yours is quite a catch, I hope to see a ring on that finger one of these days.”
Natanya hugged Mrs. Gleason, “Thank you so much for participating. We did this all for you, thank you for the hope that I could someday become an Authentication Expert just like you.”
“I mean it, we’ll talk.” Mrs. Gleason squeezed Natanya’s shoulders, then stepped back, straightened her navy suit jacket and skirt, and waved good-bye to Philippe before she finally departed.
Chapter Six
Combined Precision
Natanya turned to Philippe now that they were alone in the lunchroom. Her colleagues had wandered out into their offices to retrieve their belongings before stopping for the day.
“How could you go through with it, I left the painting in the apartment because I absolutely did not want to bring it, and how did you get that frame?” Natanya gasped as she remembered, “That was the frame we saw at the flea market that day! It was gone when I turned back to look at it, but you…you had someone pick it up when you saw that I…” Natanya stopped talking, and narrowed her eyes as she continued to glare at Philippe.
“What did I miss?” Daryl Montespan, the manager sauntered into the lunchroom. “Well, apparently, you two are fighting, what’s new? In addition, this looks like the little piece of artwork everyone has been raving about…hmm. Well, it was a good try, but so obviously a fake. Darling, you really have a long way to go before you ever become an expert.”
Yawning, Daryl surveyed the mess left after the luncheon, “Natanya, make sure this,” he flipped his hand in the direction of the paper plates, napkins and remains of the food, “is cleaned up, then…you can go.” His voice lifted at the end of the sentence as if he were asking a question.
Philippe said to Natanya, “I think I’ll take your ‘little painting’ and go home. It was fun.” Philippe strode toward Daryl purposely and extended his hand. “I don’t know if you remember me. I’m Philippe, Natanya’s boyfriend…”
“Oh, yes, we’ve met. I recall distinctly. It was at the Christmas party and you were wearing that fitted Armani suit…just charming.” Daryl’s gaze roamed the entire length of Philippe’s body.
“Yes, I believe you are correct, but I need to get going, as I moved a few appointments around to make sure I was here for Nat, and I may miss my next appointment…”
“Right…right…and what do you do again?” Daryl asked.
“I’m a publicist with Drake and Baker, and, as I told you at the Christmas party, we could do wonders for you and Signature. The offer still stands.” Philippe withdrew a card from his wallet to give to him, and then picked up the picture, which Natanya had carefully wrapped and then placed into the bag.
“Yes, yes, we’ll have to give you another look.” Daryl said appreciatively as he glanced from the card back to Philippe. “I’ll walk you out.”
Philippe kissed Natanya and headed out the door, “See you at home later, and ahh, I don’t think I’ll be home for dinner…I’ve got that thing I’m doing tonight…remember?”
“Yes, I remember.” Natanya grimaced at both of their backs as the two walked out and into the hall.
“As if I could forget,” Natanya snatched up each of the used paper plates and tossed them into the garbage bag she had pulled from under the counter.
“How could he do it? I…”
“Do you want some help in here?” Amy, the front office receptionist popped her head into the lunchroom.
“Uh, well, if you want to…sure.” Natanya shrugged.
“What should I do with these easels? Should we put them in the lab?”
“Yeah, I’ll do it on my way out.”
“That was really amazing the way your boyfriend pulled off the covers, and whoosh, there they were, it was like they were identical. I wouldn’t have even known that you had, well, you know, that you tried to make one that looked like the original.”
“Yeah, it was fun wasn’t it?”
“It sure was. We should do that every time we have a masterpiece like that. I already think this is loads more fun than that stodgy old place I used to work for, and I just started! You’d think the queen herself was going to grace us with her presence the way everyone carried on.”
“Hey, Nat?” Daryl appeared in the doorway of the lunchroom.
“Yes?” Natanya dared not to comment on his use of her nickname, the same way that Philippe addressed her.
“You can go, I shouldn’t have asked you to clean up in here, and um…the new girl can do it.” Daryl inclined his head toward Amy. “You go ahead and go home. As I told Philippe, it’s these kinds of innovative ideas that propel a person forward, and Natanya, this was superb. I’m sorry I missed it.” Daryl almost sounded contrite.
“Yeah, okay, sure. I’ll uh, just get my things. Thanks Mr. Montespan.”
His comments hung in the air as Daryl had already left
the lunchroom.
“Maybe you can catch Philippe, Natanya. I think he told me he had a car because he didn’t want to bring your painting on the train,” Amy said.
“He did? He borrowed a car?”
“Yes, that’s what he told me,” Amy replied.
“I better go so I can catch him!”
Amy reached across the table and took the bag with the discarded napkins and plates from Natanya. “Go, just go, I can clean up here, really, I’m fine.”
“Thanks Amy!” Natanya forgot about collecting her Tupperware containers she was supposed to bring home on Fridays, forgot about clearing the top of her desk for the janitorial service and directed all of her attention to leaving the building as quickly as possible. She unlocked the bottom drawer of her desk and pulled her purse out, not bothering to slide it closed, then dashed out across the full length of the floor and out into the hall.
Natanya sprinted past a few lingerers in the hallway who congratulated her on her painting, then out the double door entry and past Geoffrey and Craig at the Security Station, who she waved at and thanked without hearing what they were saying to her, caught the elevator going down, and then found herself out on the street.
Pulling her phone out of her purse, she texted Philippe that she was out in front of the building. She looked up and down the street for him, not knowing what kind of car he had borrowed. She anxiously checked her phone to see if she had an incoming text from Philippe.
Please, please, please get my text, get my text… Natanya continued to look frantically up and down the streets for Philippe, but didn’t see any sign of him.
Suddenly, an SUV pulled up to the curb in front of her.
Philippe reached across the passenger seat to open the car door for her and yelled out over the noise of the traffic, “Hurry, get in, I’m double parked.”
Natanya climbed into the car. “Where or should I say, from whom did you borrow an SUV from?”
“Does it matter?” Philippe turned away from Natanya to look into oncoming traffic, and then eased the SUV back into the stream of cars, the bag containing the picture sliding to the back of the SUV as they moved forward.
Natanya viewed the Vermeer as it slid backward and groaned. “What are we going to do with the painting now? I said I would paint a copy, but this…this is wrong, we can’t sell the painting. It’s not too late; we could bring it to the museum and tell them there’s been a mistake.”
“You mean after you painted in the signature and coins and removed the ribbon with an over paint? Which I already removed, by the way.” Philippe smirked as he cast a sideways glance at Natanya.
“Yes, I mean that was…I don’t know what I mean. “How did you remove the watercolor paint? You have to be very careful not to damage the painting. Why didn’t you just wait and let me do it? You could have ruined it!” Natanya folded her arms in front of her, but quickly unfolded them, opting to brace herself by holding the center console and the handle on the side of the door instead as Philippe weaved in and out of traffic as if he were in a race.
“I learned from the best.”
Eyes wide with fear, face flushed with the full gravity of the situation, Natanya clutched the door and console as if it was her lifeline, while the painting slid back and forth with each lurch of the vehicle.
“Look Nat, I didn’t know you were going to be here…the buyer’s already lined up. I need to make the delivery as promised. That’s what I intend to do.”
“We don’t need the money Philippe. I have a good job, or I hope I still have a job.” Natanya paused and bit her lip as she contemplated the discovery of the forgery. “In addition, you do so well at Drake and Baker. Philippe, we don’t need the money. Please, let’s slow down, and take a moment to work this through.”
“I have worked it through, and I’m not doing this for the money. I didn’t tell you, because I wasn’t sure if it was going to happen, but I wanted to be ready just in case I could pull it off.”
“What are you talking about?” Natanya dared not take her eyes off the painting as it slid around the back of the SUV. The erratic driving of Philippe made her look to the front to see what they were about to run into, and a quick glance at Philippe showed her he was determined to make the transaction.
“I’m going to receive a box.”
“A box of what?” Natanya asked.
“A box of catalogued cards with photographs.”
“Of what and by whom and what are you talking about?” Natanya bumped her head on the window as she sat sideways, trying to avail herself of all the views.
Philippe sighed, “The lost pictures from the Holocaust of World War II.” Philippe swerved around a trailer of a big rig that was attempting to back up into an alley.
“The painting is being sold to an individual who is going to sell it back to the family. A family who had once had an entire collection of paintings by Vermeer in their possession during the war.”
“Which family?”
“Muehlmann.”
“The picture wasn’t theirs. If you look at the provenance, it clearly states the picture was in the position of the Wideners and is now on loan to the museum, I absolutely disagree with you on…”
“I don’t really care that they didn’t have this exact painting, they just want a Vermeer.”
“And we receive the catalogued records and photographs of the lost works of art from the Holocaust in return.”
“Yes.”
“So, I have a question for you.”
“I know what you’re going to ask me. You’re going to ask me why they don’t just use the catalogued information to track down the lost treasures themselves.”
“Yes, that’s right. Why don’t they?”
“The records are encoded and therefore, are undecipherable. The secret code, or key, disappeared with the last member of the family, who was entrusted with it, died. The family is destitute, are unable to secure work, let alone actively search for the code or the lost treasures. They want the money, pure and simple, and will sell the Vermeer for over $20 million dollars once they have it in their possession.” Philippe finished.
“How do you know the catalogue and photographs are real?”
“I don’t.”
“What if the copy or the painting I made is found to be a forgery while we’re out tracking down the lost artwork from the Holocaust?” Natanya’s voice came out in a whisper as she felt her throat constrict.
“Then it’s discovered, and that’s a risk we’ll have to take. My ancestors who worked tirelessly within the French Resistance deserve this, Nat. Your Great Aunt Rose Valland, a pivotal force within the French Resistance, worked hard for this. You are her descendant, a mix of French and Jewish heritage…Natanya, you can do this! All of the families that perished in the death camps deserve to have their belongings returned to their families. We can do this together.”
Philippe reached out and delicately picked up her hand from the console, brought it to his lips, and kissed it with a flourish.
“Did I tell you our life together would be anything less than an adventure?” Philippe continued to hold her hand as he waited for her answer.
“Yes.” Natanya whispered, staring at him intently.
After several seconds, Philippe let go of Natanya’s hand.
“How do you think we’re going to be able to decipher the records?” Natanya asked, frowning as she considered the feasibility of their success.
“It was something you told me when we first met. You said that the answer is in the pictures.” Philippe drove to the fork in the road. Then quickly turned the car down the embankment until it came to a stop under the bridge in the dried out creek bed. “That’s the same thing the last surviving member of the Muehlmann family said on his death bed.”
“Wait…so, you think I will know how to decipher the codes?” Natanya asked. “The markings you mean? The special marks on the paintings I was told were there by Aunt Rose. The efforts taken by the French Resist
ance in case all else failed, and the original paintings couldn’t be found? Taking pictures of the copied encoded paintings, then cataloguing them and then hiding the original paintings. So, what you are talking about is the second set of photographs in another album. The album that had been safely hidden from everyone, but then was later found and confiscated by the Nazis?”
Natanya shook her head in disbelief then continued. “Aunt Rose had told me in her notes that since they had lost the only way to find the originals; all the gains made by the Resistance were lost. She and other members of the Resistance had waited for years for some news…anything to surface, but nothing was ever heard about it again. Is that what you mean? The album? Yes…yes I can decode it!” Natanya proclaimed.
“But, you realize what you’re saying, don’t you?” Natanya asked in a hesitant tone.
“Yes, I think I do,” replied Philippe.
“The technique our Jewish ancestors used to track the copies of their paintings and treasured objects was discovered by Muehlmann, the art dealer for Goering and Hitler. But when…when did he discover it, and how many besides him knew? Did they continue the operation, and therefore work directly against Hitler to continue to hide the original paintings? All for the art itself… Maybe that’s why he disappeared somewhere into Bavaria and couldn’t be found…because he knew.”
Natanya then put her head in her hands as she thought about their actions in stealing the Vermeer.
“Wait…”
Philippe leaned back into the seat of the car while he held the door open, and waited for her next question.
“What if we don’t sell the painting to them? What if we just drive away and figure out some other way to obtain the album?”
“Then they will get someone else to do it and we’ll have lost the chance to recover the lost artwork forever.”
“And you don’t want the catalogued records so that you can sell everything after we find it? You…you want to give the paintings and other works of art back to the Jewish families?”
