The Pearl Thief

by Fiona McIntosh

  CONTENTS

  Cover

  About the Book

  About the Author

  Title Page

  Dedication

  Author’s Note

  Prologue

  1

  2

  3

  4

  5

  6

  7

  8

  9

  10

  11

  12

  13

  14

  15

  16

  17

  18

  19

  20

  21

  22

  23

  24

  25

  26

  27

  28

  29

  30

  31

  32

  33

  34

  Epilogue

  Book Club Notes

  Acknowledgements

  Copyright

  ABOUT THE BOOK

  THE INTERNATIONAL BESTSELLER

  She can never forget her past – or forgive…

  Severine Kassel is asked by the Louvre to aid the British Museum with curating its antique jewellery. No one could imagine that she is hiding a tragic past behind her chic, French image.

  It is only when some dramatic Byzantine pearls are loaned to the Museum that Severine’s poise is dashed and the tightly controlled life she’s built around herself is shattered. Her shocking revelation of their provenance sets off a frenzied pursuit of Nazi Ruda Mayek.

  One of Mossad’s most skilled agents comes out of retirement to join the search, while the only other person who could help – the solicitor handling the sale of the Pearls – is bound by client confidentiality. As Severine follows Mayek’s trail, will the secrets of her carefully guarded past come tumbling out…?

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  Fiona McIntosh is an internationally bestselling author of novels for adults and children.

  Originally from Brighton, Fiona McIntosh moved to Australia in her teens and went on to co-found an award-winning travel magazine with her husband, which they ran for fifteen years while raising their twin sons.

  She now roams the world researching and drawing inspiration for her novels, and runs a series of highly respected fiction masterclasses. She calls South Australia home.

  In memory of a beautiful and loyal reader, Julie Fry

  AUTHOR’S NOTE

  From as early as 1935 Hitler’s discriminatory laws and government policies had begun to regulate and radically change the lives of all Jews in Germany. These edicts covered a range of harsh new rules regarding everyday life as the purity of the blood became Hitler’s slogan. Amongst other humiliations, German Jews were no longer considered citizens but subjects. Restrictions tightened drastically over the ensuing years. When news of the feared Kristallnacht – Night of the Broken Glass – broke in the summer of 1938, and members of the Reich openly attacked and murdered Jews in Germany, Europe was collectively shocked. The violence was triggered by the killing of a German official in Paris by a Jewish teenager desperate to bring the plight of the Jews to the world’s notice. It was the eruption of the volcano that had been threatening to blow since Adolf Hitler became Chancellor to a simmering Germany that would not heal from the humiliation of the Great War. Thirty thousand men in Germany alone were arrested the morning after the slaying in Paris simply for sharing the same spiritual belief as the boy killer. As a result, Jewish children from Germany and greater Europe began being moved to safety within weeks of the looting, burning of synagogues, trashing of homes and killing that followed in retaliation for a teenager’s crime. Rescuers worked all hours to remove endangered children via what became known as the Kindertransports.

  Czech Jews knew their days as citizens were numbered and it was a British stockbroker, Nicholas Winton, who came to the rescue of as many of their children as he could get out of the region to the safety of homes in Britain. During 1939, as the provinces of Bohemia and Moravia fully succumbed to become a protectorate of Nazi Germany, he raised the funds, found the foster families and organised for nine Kindertransport trains to leave Prague. The first left on 14 March but only eight made it out successfully. The final one, carrying two hundred and fifty children, was stopped at the last minute due to the outbreak of World War II. Records show he rescued six hundred and sixty-nine children. They never saw their families again; their parents and elders mostly perished in the round-ups and Nazi death camps.

  PROLOGUE

  PRAGUE

  Petr Kassowicz would not be going to safety. Instead, together with his sisters and parents, he would be taking his chances when the troubles arrived. And they would arrive. Of this his father, Samuel, was convinced.

  Within months, winter not yet out, in a frozen March of 1939, Samuel and his countrymen had heard the intimidating sound of German boots marching on the cobbled streets of Prague. Their country was called a ‘protectorate’ of Hitler’s; essentially, all Czechs were now servile to the Germans.

  Samuel had campaigned throughout spring and summer for his wife to allow their twins to leave on the hastily arranged Kindertransports. He broached the topic once more as she arrived with a tray in the garden room of their small city dwelling. As he tried to find the right words he considered their situation. They’d already left the grand family home, preferring the relative security of being closer to the other Jewish community in the city. The children could walk to school, though attending would likely be banned shortly. An educated guess by Samuel, a student of history, privately whispered that they would have to leave this house too and move in with a few other families: quiet time would become a luxury; food would be scarce and regulated. He sighed at the grim picture of their future he had in mind. He had to try harder for the children.

  The toasted nut smell of the alchemy of shattered coffee beans with hot water had wafted into the sitting room and the fruity notes would dance in on the steam from the pot soon. His mouth salivated; the morning cup was his favourite and he wondered when that small pleasure would have to end as well. Samuel tried not to let his maudlin thoughts overwhelm him. Instead he watched his wife laying out the china for their coffee; his beloved, petite Olga with her normally ready smile no longer dressed in fine clothes, no longer sang, danced or listened to music – he could hardly blame her, though. There was no occasion for any celebration. He had loved her on sight when their parents had first been introduced to each other one Shabbat at a family friend’s. As a fifteen-year-old he’d looked across the table and seen the candlelight reflected, twinkling back at him from a fourteen-year-old’s eyes that he compared to the colour of roasted almonds. His father had caught his gaze and Samuel had lowered it for the blessing being recited but his heart was already dissolving with desire to know the shy girl whose mother was admonishing her with a similar frown.

  They’d been required to wait until he was eighteen; grown to his full height, past six foot like his father, and filled out to lose some of the scrawniness his mother had fed him against. But she’d not won that battle; his body shape was broad but helplessly hollow … like his grandfather’s. And, like his forebears, his face was narrow. His mother accused him of being gaunt but he surely ate enough for his other brothers too, and in time his appearance would become elongated by the beard he grew after their joyous marriage and the birth of their first child. Their new daughter they named Katerina; Samuel, being a lover of history, had particularly liked its links to Ancient Greece and its meaning of ‘pure’.

  He regarded Olga now with a fresh charge of affection; she really hadn’t changed so much since they first met, although the weight of sadness of Occupation had drooped her shoulders and the dimples
he adored rarely showed themselves now. Her hair was still lustrous and wrapped loosely up behind her head; it wasn’t yet shot through with a single strand of silver and while her skin was not as taut, she had lost none of the radiance he admired in her complexion. Her wide mouth and full lips that used to laugh a lot and that she had liked to paint red were now bare but they still kissed him tenderly. He had felt loved each day of their twenty years of knowing one another, seventeen of them as husband and wife.

  Now, when they should be enjoying the best of their years with their family complete, there was so much pain of regret. Still, he risked her precious affection with his next breath.

  ‘Olga, I want you to consider allowing Hana and Ettel to go to England on one of the rescue trains. They’ve got each other, my love. And they won’t separate twins, which means we can at least get two of our little ones to safety.’ He recalled the thousands of parents lined up outside the newly established office of British stockbroker Nicholas Winton, the architect of the rescue. So many were applying for their children to be taken to the haven of England. He would gladly queue too. ‘I can walk us to the Winton office this moment. We can register the girls for —’

  Olga interrupted him with a sob and the angry sound of china being clattered. She clutched her heart and her breathing became shallow, her words so staccato they made no sense. They were simply sounds of bitterness.

  He waited, not daring to push further, until she found her voice. ‘I will not give up a single one of my children!’

  ‘Do you think I want to send any of our children away from us? Olga, there is no future here for them – surely you can see that now? At least if we can send them out of Europe there is a chance for them to survive the inevitable war.’

  She came back at him so fast it was like the crack of a whip. ‘I’d rather we all died together than be separated!’

  It was a severe error in judgement, Samuel was sure, but he did his utmost to understand. Olga was a born mother. It was all she had ever wanted to be and she was the best sort of mother: firm but kind with a generosity that put him to shame. She loved each child differently, promoting their individualism; encouraging Lotte’s natural need to be the centre of attention: ‘She’ll be a performer, mark my words!’ Olga would say. And she would never criticise Katerina for her interest in fashion – a topic he despaired of especially, as secretly she was his favourite child: gifted in music, highly intelligent, and with a rare poise for one so young. ‘She’s our most beautiful child,’ her mother would boast to him, ‘a natural canvas for exquisite clothes. She’ll design her own one day, you’ll see.’

  ‘My darling … please.’ He risked a desperate final pitch. ‘If they’ve made us give up our bicycles, radios, furs, even our skis, you can see how they’re already beginning to imprison us through denying us basic necessities. Food will be next. They’re unlikely to allow us to remain together long. At the very least, allow baby Petr to go. Give him a chance. Soon there will be no way out, not for anyone. He can grow up safe and —’

  And that’s when Olga snarled at him; he’d never seen hate in his wife’s face previously. She had been the sweetest young woman that all his peers fell in love with, and he was the lucky suitor she had loved in return. Their marriage had been one of equanimity; he couldn’t recall a cross word. Instead, there was always a smile for her husband, her children, her neighbours. Affection was Olga’s character constant. And so to feel bitter rage from her was shock enough – but to see a mixture of despair and contempt being levelled at him, and in a voice he didn’t recognise, was more than he could bear.

  That had been the last time he’d mentioned their children being involved in the Kindertransport to her but Samuel was at the railway station for each train of hope – as he thought of them – to bear witness. And today, 2 August, felt auspicious. This Wednesday was the afternoon that the eighth Kindertransport would leave Prague.

  The rest of the Kassowicz children were staying with friends. These regular visits were a highlight in their lives and he knew Katerina at twelve could marshall her three sisters. It had traditionally given him and Olga quieter days and a chance for an evening out, but since the arrival of sickly Petr that avenue of pleasure was no longer theirs to walk down. He didn’t mind; time alone with Olga, when their son finally slept and no other children needed their attention, was enough.

  ‘Why don’t you come with me to the railway station?’

  ‘Why?’ She frowned, touching the cheek of Petr, who gurgled from his high chair.

  Samuel shrugged. ‘Young Pavel is on it. I thought we could be there together, show some strength for our closest friends. Anna will be —’

  ‘No, Samuel, forgive me,’ she said, suddenly wringing her hands as her gaze dropped with shame. ‘I can’t face all those farewells, all those tears. And Anna, a mother saying goodbye to her only child …? It’s unbearable,’ she explained.

  Samuel grasped an element of fear nagging beneath her excuse that perhaps she had not made the right decision when the opportunity had been there.

  He readied for his departure and called back in to the parlour where Olga was poring over a meagre list of groceries that needed to be fetched by the next day. She scribbled beneath the din of Petr’s sobs.

  ‘Give me the list,’ he offered. ‘I’ll be glad to pick up some of the items you require while I’m running my own errands.’

  ‘No need,’ Olga said, an apology carried on her smile. ‘Wear your overcoat, my love,’ she suggested, sounding the most wearied he could recall.

  ‘It’s a lovely day,’ he replied, glancing out of their window past the kitchen gardens he’d helped their gardener peg out and plant for Olga.

  ‘And still autumn’s early nip is riding on that wind and I don’t want you having another bout of bronchitis.’

  He smiled, fetched his coat and returned, buttoning it up as he kissed his wife and child goodbye. Petr was red-faced and upset, his eyes tightly closed as he took another long gasp, ready to hurl it back out to deafen the neighbours.

  ‘He’s poorly today.’

  Olga sighed. ‘He’s in pain, poor little mite. Perhaps some weak chamomile? We’ll go out into the garden and pick some; sometimes that helps the wind in his tiny belly.’

  ‘You’re sure about not coming today?’

  ‘I’m sure, Samuel. You go, hug them and kiss little Pavel from me. They’re braver than I.’ She was rocking a whingeing Petr as she gave her husband a wan smile. He knew she hadn’t slept and was likely half asleep on her feet still trying to comfort their son.

  ‘Olga, you look exhausted. Why don’t you wrap up Petr and I’ll take him in the pram; give you a chance to rest? A change of scenery will do him good.’

  She tried to shoosh him, get him on his way, but her efforts were half-hearted and he could tell she likely needed him to insist. ‘My love, you will be refreshed if you get a few hours of sleep. And all the children will be home soon.’

  She nodded, no doubt imagining the enthusiastic voices and activity as four children returned to their home and she had to help them get ready for a week of school.

  ‘Are you sure?’

  He gave her a look of mild exasperation but filled with affection and added a soft hug. ‘I shall walk him until the fresh air drugs him to sleep.’ They shared a soft smile. ‘The rhythm of the pram wheels on the cobbles alone will soothe him. I’ll be home within the hour; I won’t stay long at the station – it tends to be chaotic, anyway. I just want Anna and Rudolf to know they’re in our thoughts.’

  He was surprised when Olga acquiesced. ‘I’ll get him ready. Give me a couple of minutes.’

  And so Samuel Kassowicz, former well-known glass manufacturer, art collector and historian, found himself wheeling a pram out of his house headed for the railway station. First, however, he decided to take Petr past the Prague orloj. This astronomical clock was mounted on the town hall in the square and he never tired of observing its mechanism in action on the hour when
wooden figures would emerge – ‘The Walk of the Apostles’ – while a skeletal figure representing Death would strike the hour. Petr was already calming at being out in the cool air, seeing activity, colours and hearing new sounds, and Samuel hoped the clock would enchant his son as it had all his sisters.

  The pram wheels bumped over the damp cobbles as he angled their path towards the southern end of the large square that dated back to the twelfth century and to its early-fifteenth-century clock, which promoted various myths. One circulated that if the clock was not kept in good repair by the folk of Prague, a ghostly figure mounted on the orloj would nod at the residents and put them in peril. Legend said that the only way to counter the town’s endangerment was for a boy to be born on New Year’s night. Many legends swirled around the magnificent clock with its rich blue dial, from some believing the original clockmaker was blinded so he couldn’t make another, to him sabotaging his own work beyond repair. Samuel had enjoyed researching the clock down the centuries and its many periods of repair and additions, the most recent in the middle of the 1800s.

  He paused, taking his son from the pram to hold him so he could direct the boy’s attention to the clock when it would move any moment. ‘You see, Petr,’ he pointed, knowing the boy didn’t understand but was distracted entirely from his tears nonetheless. ‘The inner ring depicts the signs of the zodiac – you are Libra, if we follow that thinking. I am Pisces, your eldest sister the Aquarius and the twins are appropriately Gemini.’ He chuckled at this. ‘Lotte is like your mother, both Virgo. Now those golden numbers shown at the edge? They’re called Schwabacher numerals and they mark off Old Czech Time – these days, Petr, we count our hours from midnight but back centuries ago when this clock was made they marked the hours from sunset. It’s connected with the Roman Catholic holy bells that mark the hours of the day and commences from the Angelus bell, a half-hour prior to dusk. This form of counting the hours helped the workers – particularly those outside – to know how much daylight remained for their toil, and of course for each season this changed, noon sometimes being in a different hour.’