by Rose Edmunds
My conscience pricked me. In retrospect, I ought to have called her back to alert her, and now I reproached myself for the oversight. Moreover, if our enemies had somehow picked up the trail to Zurich, this not only explained the lack of additional contact from them, but also placed Mel in danger.
After breakfast, I tried the landline in Mel’s hotel.
‘Is that you?’ came Mel’s desperate voice at the other end.
‘It’s Amy.’
‘Oh.’ Her disappointment was palpable, and clearly she’d hoped it was Beresford calling—which meant he wasn’t there, which meant what?
‘How’s it going?’ I asked. ‘Did you guys get the painting?’
Hiccupping sobs followed a lengthy silence.
‘Mel—what the heck happened?’
It took her fully five minutes to compose herself enough to speak.
‘Mo didn’t come back from the bank. I’m sure something terrible has happened to him.’
‘Why didn’t you call me earlier?’
She hesitated, knowing Mel perhaps searching for a plausible explanation.
‘I kept hoping it was all a mistake, and I didn’t want to give up hope. And it would only have worried you…’
‘Jesus, Mel, that’s what friends are for. What about Hana?’
‘Oh she flew straight back to Prague, to contact the police, I think. I called her, and her English is so poor I didn’t understand much of what she was saying, but sounded like they found what they were looking for.’
‘Shall I ask Rudi to ring her?’
‘Oh could you? I’ve been so worried, and a man came to the room, asking where Mo had gone. He didn’t believe me when I told him I had no idea.’
Which supported my theory of the switch in focus to Switzerland.
‘Did he threaten you?’
‘No—I guess he hoped I’d lead him to Mo sooner or later. Oh, if only…’
She broke down crying again.
‘Did you speak to the bank?’
‘I tried—but Swiss banks are so secretive. Look, Amy—please, please can you come here and help me look for him?’
There were many reasons not to, but I didn’t waver for a second.
‘OK—I’ll be on the next flight.’
***
According to Rudi, who spoke to Hana, Beresford had removed the picture from the vault and taken it to a colleague in the University of Zurich for cleaning and investigation.
‘Christ, that man’s so naïve,’ I said to George afterwards. ‘It’s obvious what’s happened. They’ve followed him, stolen the picture, killed him and dumped his body somewhere.’
Further credence was lent to this theory when the Institute of Art History at the University of Zurich denied all knowledge of Beresford.
In the light of this information, George did his utmost to stop me leaving, but I brushed aside his apprehensions.
‘I can’t see why it would be dangerous. Why kill anyone else now they have what they wanted?’
‘But what about the man who came to Mel’s room?’
‘Well, he didn’t harm her, so why would he harm me?’
‘And what is Rudi’s opinion on your travel plans?’ George asked, approaching the matter more obliquely.
Rudi had been unenthusiastic to put it mildly, but no way would I provide George with any more ammunition in his quest to dissuade me.
‘It’s none of his business,’ I snapped back.
‘But it’s my business, because I’m your client.’
‘It isn’t the first time I’ve overridden a client, and anyway the assignment is over. Besides, Mel’s my friend and…’
In the nick of time, I stopped myself from mentioning how she’d once saved my life. As far as George was concerned, Mel was merely an old school chum.
‘…and I can’t leave her there on her own.’
‘At least let me come too.’
‘There’s no point.’
‘Why—because an old man like me is of no use?’
I sighed. I honestly hadn’t meant to insult him, but if someone’s determined to take offence there’s no stopping them.
‘No—because I can manage on my own.’
George finally saw the futility of arguing with me.
‘OK, but I’ll be there in a flash if you need me. Will you be checking out of the Alcron?’
‘I suppose so, because I’m done in Prague. You can sort things out with Stan, as far as possible.’
‘But if you’re done, why can’t you forget about the painting?’ he said, in a plaintive last-ditch attempt to deter me.
‘Like I said. I’m going for Mel.’
‘You can’t kid me. The real reason is your addiction to adventure.’
‘If you say so, George.’
Damn the man—he understood me better than I understood myself.
***
Although George had agreed to pay for my room, the extortionate minibar bill troubled me.
‘It’s sixteen thousand two hundred Czech crowns,’ said the receptionist without a trace of judgement in her voice. ‘Or would you rather pay in sterling?’
Illogically, the sum of £481.36 seemed much more reasonable than the astronomical Czech crown equivalent, although still a hefty bill for a non-alcoholic to run up in little more than a week, even though the world and his wife had been downing my champagne.
I recalled Beresford’s comedic performance on checkout and had no desire to make a similar spectacle of myself. So, without further ado, I tapped my PIN into the machine and airbrushed my excesses out of history.
26
As the aeroplane manoeuvred into the gate at Zurich Airport, I reflected once again on Beresford’s idiocy. It should have been obvious to an imbecile, let alone someone of Beresford’s purported brainpower, that the painting would have been safer left in the vault. What on earth had he been thinking?
Mel didn’t strike me as the histrionic type, so her collapse into hysterical sobbing as I greeted her in the hotel took me unawares. Just as well I’d secured a separate room, as such emotional extremes would wear me down to a shoestring in short order. How could someone apparently rational completely lose it over such a jerk? Why, she was so absorbed in her own misery that she didn’t even comment on my arm.
‘Now,’ I said, taking control of the situation. ‘Have you reported him missing to the police?’
‘No—of course not.’
‘Why?’
‘Well, it’s tricky, isn’t it? They might find out my real identity.’
If she truly feared that Beresford was in danger, wouldn’t she find it within her to overcome her worries and come forward? Maybe that was expecting too much.
‘Yes, but even so—if you love him…?’
‘Oh, let’s give it a little longer. I have more faith in you than the police anyway.’
‘OK, I’ll do my best.’
As I racked my brains about where to start, I had a horrible premonition that the answer might be even less palatable than the uncertainty.
‘I propose we contact his college,’ I said after some thought. ‘See if he’s been in touch with them.’
I figured the pompous twat would announce his stupendous achievement to his academic colleagues before anyone else.
‘Good idea,’ said Mel. ‘Can you ring them? I’ll never hold myself together.’
I called from my room, as Mel sobbing in the background would convey entirely the wrong impression. The Porter’s Lodge greeted my request to speak to someone about Professor Beresford with grave suspicion. These types tend to be fiercely protective of the “college chaps” and he likely imagined I was calling to complain. However, my claim to be a friend of Beresford’s concerned for his welfare finally broke the ice.
‘Missing?’ said the porter. ‘I don’t know about that. He walked across the quad not five minutes ago.’
‘He did?’
Had Beresford merely legged it back to Oxford with the portrait? It wouldn’t be in t
he least surprising if he prioritised it over Mel.
‘Then may I speak to him please?’
‘I shall see if he’s available.’
Eventually the professor answered his phone.
‘Maurice Beresford here.’ He spoke in a bluff northern accent, like a Lancashire grammar school boy made good, and far removed from the pretentious intonation that had set my teeth on edge in Prague.
‘You don’t sound like Beresford.’
‘What did you expect me to sound like?’ It was a reasonable question, but one which I was hard pressed to answer. How exactly do you tell someone they’re not posh enough to be a professor?
‘But you are Beresford?’
‘Yes. Now what’s all this about?’
He had a snappy tone to his voice, as if unused to having his identity queried. It seemed probable this man was indeed Professor Beresford, but in that case who the hell was the guy who’d driven me to the brink of homicide in Prague?
My head spun as the truth hit me. The man I called Beresford was not a naïve academic outrun by his enemies, but a con artist who’d duped Mel before calmly making off with the Picasso from under Hana’s nose.
I introduced myself as a private investigator on the trail of valuable artworks, and asked him whether he had recently returned from Prague and Zurich. Once Beresford understood that my enquiries involved art, he softened perceptibly.
‘I visited Prague several weeks ago, but I’ve been back quite a while. It’s term time, so I can’t swan off on a whim. And I’ve never visited Zurich.’
‘This may come as a bit of a shock, but I’ve just travelled from Prague to Zurich, and someone has been impersonating you in both cities.’
‘Are you sure?’
Beresford’s understandable alarm came across loud and clear.
‘Positive.’
‘You say you’re in Zurich—is he still there?’
‘No—he left.’ I took care not to alarm him by implying his alter ego might have come to a sticky end. ‘He was staying at the Radisson Blu Alcron in Prague until a couple of days ago, before travelling here.’
‘The Alcron? Ridiculous—I can’t afford to stay there.’
‘But he obviously can,’ I replied.
‘And what has he been doing in Prague?’
Driving me nuts, pissing on my intellect from a great height, shagging my friend, drinking girly cocktails and overeating. Tick all of the above that apply.
‘Ostensibly, lectures and book edits,’ I said instead.
‘But in fact?’
‘He was chasing after a painting.’
‘Can you say which?’
‘A self-portrait by Picasso—the other half of the pendant pair with Fernande Olivier.’
There was a shocked silence at the other end of the line.
‘Impossible. It was burned in 1942.’
‘Everyone thought so, yes, but many works of art believed destroyed were found in the apartment of Stanislav Novak, as I’m sure you’re aware.’
Up until this point, Beresford appeared to accept my account unconditionally, but now doubt crept in.
‘Is this a scam?’
‘What—you mean am I scamming you?’
‘Certainly. You’ll be asking me for my credit card details next.’
‘Why would I do that?’
‘I’m not falling for it. I happen to be familiar with the contents of Novak’s collection and the piece you mention was not part of it.’
He evidently thought by catching me out in an inaccuracy he’d exposed my deception.
‘You’re right—it’s not there, until yesterday it was in a Swiss bank deposit box.’
‘And you’re sure this isn’t a con trick?’
‘Well, I’d deny it even so, but no.’
‘If that’s true it would be wonderful news,’ he said, parking his anxiety about being conned and impersonated in the excitement of the moment. ‘It would be an amazing coup…’
I saw now how perfectly the fake Beresford had nailed the naked academic ambition in his virtuoso performance. The genuine professor was no less enthusiastic than the phony, and it would be a shame to dash his hopes.
‘But what would this imposter hope to gain? He has no academic reputation to uphold.’
‘Reputation doesn’t come into it. To put it bluntly, while pretending to be you, this man stole the picture from the bank vault yesterday.’
‘Ah—and who are you again?’
I relayed the story so far and how the con man had inveigled his way onto the trip to Zurich and swindled Hana.
‘Do you mean I’m about to be accused of a crime I didn’t commit?’
Unsurprisingly, this possibility seemed to unnerve him.
‘I doubt that,’ I said, in an effort to reassure him. ‘You must have an alibi.’
‘Ah yes.’ He sounded calmer now. ‘But I wonder how he got onto me?’
‘Your involvement in authenticating Novak’s collection was widely covered in the press,’ I suggested.
‘I see.’
I imagined in the future he’d be much more reticent in his contact with the media and so, for that matter, would George. For the faker showing up at the Alcron had been no coincidence.
‘Can I ask you something that’s been bugging me?’
‘Yes, of course.’
‘How did you know the Fernande Olivier painting was a copy and not the original?’ The fake had refused to answer this question, possibly because he didn’t know the answer. However, the genuine professor was much more helpful.
‘There’s one photograph in existence of the two original paintings together,’ he said. ‘The Fernande Olivier portrait has a bottle of wine, a wineglass and a bunch of grapes on the table beside her. The study, or copy as you refer to it, has a pile of books.’
‘Ah, I see—thank you.’
So much for the difference being far too technical for a layman to understand—what a piece of work the imposter had been!
‘I trust the owner has reported the theft to the police.’
I supposed we ought to bring Hana up to speed. This latest development would complicate her position, but that was her problem.
‘It’s all in hand,’ I assured him, with a scant regard for the truth.
‘I guess the piece has been whisked away and is lost forever,’ said Beresford with a sigh.
‘Oh—I don’t know. I expect it’ll pop up again before too long, depending on who stole it and why.’
Beresford now circled back to his anxiety at being impersonated. I guessed it would disturb him even more if I told him the con man sounded more credible than he did, so I glossed over this.
‘Was he travelling on a passport in my name?’
‘Don’t know. Why?’
‘We were burgled a short while ago, and nothing appeared to have been taken though I didn’t check the passport.’
I felt certain it would be gone, but equally I doubted the phony Beresford would still be travelling on it.
‘I suppose I ought to report the matter.’
This left Mel potentially vulnerable. She’d checked into the same Zurich hotel room as the faker and had presumably shown her passport at the desk. Anyone enquiring into the matter would have little difficulty in linking him to her. I now regretted giving Beresford my true name, but how was I to have predicted what a can of worms I’d be opening up? Anyway, it was done now so no point in worrying.
‘That’s up to you,’ I said.
‘And may I take your contact details in case?’
In case of what? I hesitated, but figured everything would look even fishier if I gave fake details. Reluctantly, I provided my phone number and address, hoping my frankness didn’t come back to bite me. After all, I’d committed no crime and neither, for once, had Mel.
***
In hindsight, we’d all taken so much at face value. And even though I’d googled Beresford on the first night, I’d been easily deceived by the gl
asses and the hairstyle. Only now, as I compared his profile picture on the college webpage to the selfie Mel sent me, did I spot they showed two different men.
My annoyance at being caught out was as nothing compared to Mel’s likely reaction. How would she respond to learning she, the ace con woman, had been played? I dreaded telling her.
I called George before breaking the bad news to Mel, hoping for a steer on how to handle the conversation. His mobile phone was the old-fashioned type with a keypad, held together by a rubber band, and he wasn’t always the quickest at answering. But I guess he was worried enough about me to be on red alert.
‘Well, well, I didn’t suspect for a moment he was a phony. Still, at least your misgivings have been vindicated.’
‘But I ignored them because Mel, with her “superior” intuition, assured me he was trustworthy.’
‘Should have thought you’d be pleased to get the better of her.’
I was, just the tiniest bit, but refused to confirm George’s suspicions. I mean, what kind of a piece of shit takes pleasure in her friend’s suffering?
Sadly, George had no suggestions for managing Mel. ‘She’ll be heartbroken,’ he said, ‘whichever way you play it. Stan won’t be pleased either. He’ll assume we robbed him, just when I’d gained his trust. Still, I’ll handle him. And as for you, I guess you’d be best off going home. You’ve done a great job with Stan, far better than I dared to hope, but it’s over now.’
I could almost hear him groan when I said, ‘Oh no—it’s not over—not by any stretch of the imagination.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘I’m going to find whoever’s pretending to be Beresford, and the painting.’
‘Is this wise?’
‘Maybe not, but that never stopped me yet.’
He didn’t even try to dissuade me.
‘And you?’ I asked.
‘I’ll stay here in Prague—spend at bit of time with Stan. You never know, he might even let me inside his apartment.’
‘I warn you, it’ll shock you if he does.’
It was questionable whether the bond between the two of them would survive the revelation of Stan’s living conditions. Yet again, they both seemed satisfied on a deep emotional level to have found each other, so anything was possible.
‘It’s OK,’ he said. ‘I don’t shock easily. Anyway, thanks again. Send me your invoice and I’ll pay by return.’
