False Picture

by Veronica Heley

  ‘I feel like that, too. Mr Goldstone, I was hoping they were just copies.’

  He snorted. ‘Rubbish! Gold boxes. Miniatures. I’d need to have a sight of them to be sure, but under the circumstances I think I can say you have stumbled across the proceeds from two robberies.’

  ‘Yes.’ Her voice faded. Oh, for a sip of water. She moved over to the table and poured herself a glass, blessing Erik, who never forgot that she and Hamilton always liked a couple of bottles of drinking water in their room.

  He said, ‘Have you a phone with a camera? Could you send me photographs of what you’ve found?’

  ‘I’ll see what I can do and ring you back.’

  She returned to the girls’ room, unlocking the door and locking it again behind her. Sweet chimes rang across the city. A quarter to six. There was a tense atmosphere in the room. Charlotte had her back to the room, talking on her mobile phone. Maggie was packing her bag, looking furious.

  Bea said, ‘What’s going on?’

  Maggie shrugged. ‘I couldn’t stop her. I turn my back for five seconds and she’s on the phone, telling Liam everything!’

  Bea drew in her breath. ‘Before we do anything else, we’ve got to find out if these things are worthless copies or not. Lay those two boxes out on the windowsill where the light’s best, will you, Maggie?’

  Charlotte had heard. She relayed the information to Liam, listened and then turned in triumph to say, ‘Of course they’re only copies. How stupid of us not to realize.’ She was flushed, with tears in her eyes. ‘Oh, Liam, what a relief! You can’t imagine what I’ve been thinking, worrying … so what time will you be able to pick us up? Shall we wait to have supper till you get here?’

  Bea and Maggie exchanged eye-rolls.

  Bea took photographs of the two boxes Maggie had unwrapped, turned them over to expose the hallmarks, and took more pictures. She sent the photos to Mr Goldstone.

  He rang back straight away. His voice sounded strained. ‘Fabergé, yes. And the other … I can hardly believe what you’ve shown me. They are priceless, both of them. If the others are as good as those … I think I need a brandy!’

  So did Bea. ‘Can you get me a description of everything that was taken in that particular robbery?’

  Mr Goldstone grunted. ‘Of course. It won’t take me long. In the meantime, would you send me pictures of the rest? Only nineteen, you say? I wonder what happened to the twentieth.’

  ‘The thief kept it for himself? As insurance against not getting a good price? Or perhaps he sent it over earlier, to prove he really had the goods? I really don’t know. The other haul is perhaps even more important. I’ll ring off and send you pictures of two of the miniatures.’ She took photos of the miniatures, front and back, and sent them through to Mr Goldstone, who rang her back straight away.

  ‘Genuine,’ he said. ‘Many, many times my friend Leo showed me his collection. I’d recognize them anywhere. Will you send me pictures of everything you’ve found? Then, if they’re all genuine – and they look genuine to me – we have to decide what to do next. I’ve been trying to think … I have contacts with the police in various places, but not in Bruges.’

  Despite her stated belief in Liam’s innocence, Charlotte was hanging on to their every word, her face reflecting a swoop from hope to misery.

  ‘Mr Goldstone, let me phone you back about this,’ said Bea. ‘In the meantime, may I ask you not to contact the police? Not until we’ve considered how best to get out of this tangle?’

  ‘You don’t want the girls to suffer? I understand.’ A pause, while all three women awaited his verdict. Finally he said, ‘If you involve the Belgian police, they will impound the goods and we won’t see them again for years. Also the two girls will be arrested for smuggling. If you can get the goods back to Britain somehow or other, we might be able to hand them over to the authorities without involving your protégées.’

  ‘It’s not that simple. If we inform the police over here, we may be able to trap the people who were supposed to relieve us of the goods.’

  Mr Goldstone grunted, said, ‘Isn’t it even more important to find out who is masterminding the thefts here in London? He’s a killer, remember.’

  Bea glanced at Charlotte, whose lower lip had come out. Charlotte was not going to help. Bea said, ‘Charlotte’s friend Liam was doing a favour for someone else when he asked her to bring the goods over here for him, but we don’t know who. Liam may or may not have known what was in the packages. I don’t know what to do, either. There’s no obvious right or wrong solution, is there?’

  ‘Keep me informed,’ said Mr Goldstone, and switched off his phone. Bea switched hers off, too.

  Charlotte was in tears. ‘I’m not going to lead Liam into a trap.’ She pressed buttons on her mobile. ‘Liam, Liam. Answer the phone …’

  Maggie made as if to stop Charlotte, but Bea held her back. ‘He already knows we’ve discovered what’s in the boxes, so he’s not going to show up here, is he?’

  Charlotte got through. ‘At last! Listen, Liam, you’re not to come to Bruges, do you hear? The police will be waiting … oh, right. That’s good.’ She deflated, her colour returning to normal. Listening to him, she turned away from the others to face the window, though she probably wasn’t seeing anything of the beauty outside. ‘Yes, yes. I understand, of course I understand … no, of course you mustn’t risk the police arresting you … as you say, it was all a joke that’s gone wrong. If you could tell me who put you up to this, I’m sure that will help … you can’t. Why not? … oh, I’m sure he wouldn’t really do that. I mean … that’s sick! No, of course I believe you, but … when shall I see you again? … oh, but … no, of course, but … Liam, you do love me, don’t you?’

  After listening to his reply, she dropped the phone, tears spurting. Throwing herself back on to the bed, she went into full-scale hysterics, feet thrashing away, hands clenched, eyes tightly closed, bawling her head off.

  Maggie put her hands on her hips, appalled and astonished. Bea went into the bathroom, poured a glass of water, and threw it into Charlotte’s face. The girl hiccupped and gradually calmed down, her colour returning to normal.

  Bea said, ‘There’s no point alerting the police this end. He’s going straight back to London, isn’t he?’

  Charlotte hiccupped some more. ‘He says he won’t be able to see me again … oh …!’ Her voice rose again.

  Bea said, ‘If you want some more water thrown over you …?’

  Charlotte shook her head, trying to control herself. ‘He said not to ring him back, that he was going to throw away his mobile, that he was fooled into this by a friend, but he won’t say who it was because he’s frightened what the man might do. Liam says … he says this man is capable of killing! But I can’t believe that … not really. He’s just joking, isn’t he? Anyway, it’s quite clear that none of this is Liam’s fault.’

  Maggie didn’t accept that. ‘Tcha! He knew we weren’t carrying a coffee set and shortbread. He wrapped up the goods and gave them to us to carry, so how can he make out that he was fooled?’

  ‘Come to think of it,’ said Bea, ‘how has he got hold of Zander’s mobile phone?’

  Charlotte held her bush of hair back from over her eyes. ‘I don’t know, do I? Oh, maybe he did say … yes, he said that his phone was running out of power, so Zander lent him his. Zander was getting a company one for his new job in the Midlands.’

  Bea sat down to think about this. The explanation didn’t seem to hold water. Liam hadn’t known his phone was out of juice until that morning when Bea had been at the flat to clean and overhead him talk to Charlotte. Zander had already left by that time, hadn’t he? Although there was the question of Zander’s shaving kit. What was going on there?

  Charlotte wailed, ‘Everything’s gone wrong. I was so looking forward to coming here and having a romantic evening with Liam, going on the boats and riding by moonlight in a horse-drawn carriage.’

  Maggie was having none o
f it. ‘And being serenaded by a gigolo? Yes, I was looking forward to it, too.’

  ‘Zander wasn’t in love with you, though. He was just passing the time. Liam really loved me.’

  Both Maggie and Bea looked sceptical, but Charlotte was digging herself deep into the role of abandoned fiancée. She threw herself back on the bed, crying, ‘My own true love!’

  Bea was about to fetch another glass of water when the internal phone rang. Being nearest, she answered it. It was Erik. ‘Is that Mrs Abbot? That young man is still here, waiting for the girls. He says he wants to take them out in his car to Damme for a meal. Shall I send him away?’

  ‘Tell him I’ll be down in a moment.’ She cradled the phone, thinking that she didn’t like the sound of the girls being taken out to dine some miles out of Bruges, where streetlights might not penetrate the shadows between the ancient buildings. Yet if she voiced her doubts, Charlotte for one might easily take the opposite point of view and insist on going.

  ‘Girls, Herman’s downstairs with a car to take you out to supper at Damme – that’s a village some miles out of Bruges. Would it make you feel better to go?’

  ‘I couldn’t face it,’ wailed Charlotte, enjoying the role of lovelorn lass. ‘How could he possibly ask?’

  ‘Is the food good?’ asked Maggie. ‘I’m hungry.’

  Now it was Maggie who was feeling contrary enough to take the opposite viewpoint to Charlotte. Bea realized she’d have to handle the situation with care. ‘Damme has many excellent restaurants. Have you enough money to pay the bill, in case he defaults – as Liam has done?’

  ‘Herman wouldn’t default,’ said Maggie. ‘Why should he? He’s invited us out to make up for the boys’ running out on us. At least …’

  Bea seized on that moment of doubt. ‘He’s personable enough, and an evening out in Damme might be just fine, provided only that he isn’t doing it to get at the “presents”. I don’t suppose there would be much harm in your going, provided you don’t let him get you alone in a dark alley. Oh, and you’d better take enough money with you to cover the bill at the restaurant and a taxi back. Just in case.’

  Maggie sank on to a chair, thinking about this. ‘No, Mrs Abbot, you’re right. It’s not a good idea. Anyway,’ here she looked at her fellow traveller in mingled pity and dislike, ‘I don’t think Charlotte’s up to it.’

  ‘Of course I am.’ Charlotte sat upright, reaching for a tissue and blowing her nose. Her skin was blotchy and she looked a mess, but in her present mood she was as determined to oppose Maggie as Maggie was to oppose her. ‘Just give me ten minutes to get myself organized.’

  Bea held back a sigh. ‘How about I go down and tell him you’re still getting ready, but would prefer to dine somewhere within walking distance? If he insists the “presents” are handed over to him before he takes you out, then we’ll know he’s only inviting you out to get at the treasures. Is that all right by you?’

  Both girls nodded assent, though with some reluctance on Charlotte’s part. Bea considered that the girl would soon forget Liam if another suitor were to offer himself. That is, if Liam could ever have been considered a suitor, which Bea rather doubted.

  Maggie was trying to be businesslike. Anything practical, and she was worth her weight in gold. ‘While you’re gone, I’ll unwrap everything for you to photograph on your return.’

  Bea went down to the foyer where Herman was sitting, long legs stretched out to trap the unwary. He looked annoyed to see Bea and not the girls. Erik the Red was behind his desk and dealing with someone enquiring for a room, but held up a folded piece of paper to Bea as she approached. ‘A message for you, Mrs Abbot.’

  Herman got to his feet, looking over her shoulder. ‘Charlotte and Maggie?’

  ‘Too upset to come down yet.’ She thanked the hotel manager, unfolded the note, and read it.

  Herman asked, ‘Bad news?’

  Bea crumpled up the note. ‘Something from the London office. I’m afraid Charlotte’s in a bit of a state. Your friend Liam’s let her down, won’t be joining her this evening.’

  Did this mean anything to Herman? His stolid face failed to register surprise. Did he already know that Liam was opting out of the situation? She couldn’t be sure.

  ‘All the more reason for me to take her out, make her forget her friend. A good dinner, a bottle of wine, no?’

  ‘Perhaps, if we went somewhere local? I don’t think she’s up to anything else. We could all four of us go to some place in Vlaamingstraat nearby?’

  ‘All four?’ He looked towards the front door, frowning. Was there someone out there waiting for him to emerge with the parcels? The note in Bea’s hand was in Erik’s hand. A car registration number – Dutch, not Belgian – and the query ‘Do I call the police?’

  ‘Don’t you think it’s a good idea for us all to dine together?’ said Bea, mentally checking that she had her credit cards with her, and enough money for a taxi back. It wasn’t far to Vlaamingstraat, and they had to eat somewhere.

  Herman smiled widely, his voice softening, adjusting to the situation. ‘Why not, eh? A parcel of beautiful women for me to take out for the night. Is that right … parcel of women? I’m afraid my English is not very clever.’

  ‘It is a very good word,’ said Bea, thinking that this man could be charming when he chose, and how would Charlotte react to him in this mood?

  ‘Then I will cancel my reservation in Damme, and in half an hour we will all go out to make a great occasion, no? Oh, I nearly forgot. Liam asked me to pick up something from the girls to deliver to his partner here in Bruges. Two parcels? Something to grease the wheels of industry?’ He rubbed his thumb against his middle finger in a knowing gesture. ‘I can take them with me now to save the girls the trouble, and then we will all be as free as … as air, is that how you put it? As free as air?’

  So Herman was in on the scam. Perhaps she could get a little more information out of him? She made her eyes widen. ‘What sort of parcels might they be?’

  ‘A tin of shortbread, and a coffee set made by one of your great English potters. Wedgwood, perhaps? Worcester? A great treat for us here in Belgium.’

  ‘The girls didn’t mention any presents,’ lied Bea. ‘Are you sure you’ve got the message right?’

  He smiled, a gold tooth glinting. ‘I check, right?’ He went to the front door and disappeared down the steps to the street just as three tourists entered, noisily complaining about the difficulty of parking their car in Bruges. While Erik was reassuring them, telling them where they might park, Bea went after Herman to see what he was up to.

  Was he phoning someone … Liam? His boss? No, he was leaning forward to speak to a man in a large car which had been parked right in front of the hotel. It didn’t have a sign on the roof advertising that it was a taxi. No, it was a private car, and the number matched that on the note Erik had given her.

  An elderly couple decanted themselves from a genuine taxi and had to manoeuvre their way around the stranger’s car to reach the hotel.

  Bea tried to see who Herman was speaking to, in the car. Could it be Liam? No, Liam was on his way back to London, wasn’t he? Was this the man Liam was supposed to hand the goods over to? A fence? A Dutchman, not a Belgian?

  A gaggle of twenty-something girls arrived on foot, each with a rucksack, and pushed past Bea into the hotel. Erik was going to be tied up for some time.

  Herman gestured to Bea to join him in the street. She did so, clutching her arms because a light drizzle was beginning to mist over the landscape. She was thinking too many contradictory thoughts to be wary of him. He caught hold of her wrist. ‘Why you interfere in this, eh?’

  Bea revised her first estimate of him; his grasp on her wrist proved he was far from flabby. ‘Let go! You’re hurting me.’ She looked around for help. This was a quiet part of town, but there were usually tourists lingering on the bridge over the canal, and cyclists dashing hither and yon. For once, the place was deserted, but the hotel lobby was full
of people. She could scream for help if Herman couldn’t be shaken off by other means.

  Herman tugged her towards the car. The tinted window on the driver’s side was wound down, and she could see a middle-aged man with a heavy white face sitting in the passenger seat. The car stereo was playing a Mozart wind quintet. Was this the car in which Herman had intended to take the girls to Damme? Was the passenger his driver … or his boss?

  Herman shook her arm. ‘Answer me, old woman!’

  ‘What? How dare you! Let go, immediately!’

  He shook her arm again. ‘Silly old women who poke their noses in, have their noses cut off. You hear me? The girls have our presents, and we want them. Go and get them, now!’

  ‘I don’t know anything about any presents.’

  He tightened his grip even further on her arm, and she heard herself mew with pain. She was frightened, but she would not give in. She looked for help to the man in the car, but he was smiling, lighting a cigarette, approving Herman’s tactics. He was Herman’s man, then.

  She opened her mouth to scream, and Herman punched her in her midriff, causing her to jack-knife, out of breath. She might have been a two-year-old child, for all the effort he needed to control her.

  He said, ‘Shall I kick your legs down, and lift you into the car? I’m no amateur, understand?’ He twisted her wrist with the detached air of one conducting an experiment.

  Pain screeched up her arm.

  He said, ‘Is my English clear enough for you? Understand that if you do not hand over the presents at once, we will drive to a quiet place and see how much pain you can take. So, now you go and get the presents, yes?’

  Monday, late afternoon

  Rafael tried three times to get Liam on the phone before the idiot finally answered. Liam was on a train already, judging by the background noise.

  ‘Why didn’t you answer when I rang before? You know I’ve got this big “do” on tonight.’