by Alp Mortal
“It is a fake!” she said to herself. She heard Gordon’s feet on the stairs and quickly put everything back, throwing herself on the floor, wedging her arm under the sofa.
“Have you found it?” he asked as he entered the room.
“It’s here!” she gasped and at that precise moment withdrew her arm and held up the lipstick case for him to see.
“Well done! Mother has taken a cake out of the oven; come and get a piece whilst it’s hot.”
Hannah descended behind him and the full plan now filled her head and it put a beautiful smile on her face.
“You found it, my dear; what a pretty thing. I’m not surprised you wanted to find it,” said Margaret as she dispensed more tea and a piece of warm plum cake.
Hannah left before Hettie showed up and made her way to the house of her dance teacher to hatch the plan.
“If we put on the performance then I’m sure Mrs Braithwaite will lend us the painting for the evening …”
“It’s an idea ... and to stage the performance for charity will certainly tug at the heart strings. Let me call her and ask her.”
Hannah’s idea was to stage a dance performance for charity and it was her proposal to dress as the ballerina in the Degas and bring it to life. Now that Hannah knew for certain that the Degas was fake, she was pretty sure that Hettie would not want the picture to be viewed because there was always the risk that the overseas collector would find out and then her charade would be exposed. Hannah planned to pose as a collector and offer to purchase the Degas from her so that Hettie could be rid of the potential embarrassment and have the perfect excuse not to show the painting.
Hannah mused that Rathbone didn’t know that the picture was a fake and he’d be buying a copy for twenty-five thousand pounds plus the Fabergé compact. When he found out; if he ever did, then of course he couldn’t say anything because his reputation would be in tatters too.
Chapter Six – The stage is set
Mrs Braithwaite would be delighted to exhibit the painting for the evening as centre piece for the performance which Hannah would dance, so said Madam a few days later; and now Hannah needed to act very quickly. She planned to get William to do her hair and makeup; oriental style. She borrowed a very chic outfit from a dance colleague and practised her accent; English spoken by a young Japanese business woman. It was the hardest thing she’d ever done and frequently lapsed but she practised for hours. She telephoned Hettie a few days later to set up the appointment for the possible purchase, and sure enough Hettie would only be too pleased to meet with her. When Hettie asked how she knew that she had the Degas, Hannah replied that a business associate of Gareth’s had mentioned it.
The appointment was set for two days hence, on the Friday, at eleven in the morning at the house in Portman Square. Hannah got a business card mocked up with her name ‘R Lawe - Consultant International Tax Adviser’ printed on it with a fake telephone number and an address in Hong Kong.
Hannah studied herself in the mirror for hours and once William had done her makeup and put her hair under a wig which was called, apparently, a ‘power bob’, she didn’t recognise herself.
The riskiest part of the plan was getting Hettie to write out a receipt for the picture, without having got any money for the painting. But Hannah was going to suggest that if Hettie could wait until the Monday then the exchange rate of yen to sterling would be in her favour but a receipt was necessary in order to arrange insurance. She knew Hettie wanted shot of the picture so there was motivation on her side to conclude the deal and get the offending article out of her possession before she was required to hand it over for the gala.
Hannah made her way to Portman Square for the appointment and took a cab just in case Hettie was looking out for her; it looked more professional she thought. The first hurdle was whether Margaret would recognise her; she was sure Gordon wouldn’t. If she could fool Margaret then she felt much more confident.
She rang the bell and took a very deep breath, said a Japanese proverb in her head three times and shot the cuffs of her crisp white shirt from the sleeves of her Chanel jacket.
Chapter Seven – All the World’s a stage
Margaret answered and asked Hannah to come in, ushering her into the small salon, asking very politely if she would like tea. Hannah replied that if there was any jasmine tea she would very gratefully take a cup else water. Five minutes later, Hettie came in and the test of the disguise - which had passed Margaret’s inspection - was now under the full glare of the house lights.
So far so good as introductions were made and Hannah dropped the appropriate names into her opener to ensure that credentials were established pretty quickly. Then the invitation was extended to Hannah to view the picture and they adjourned to the small boudoir. Hannah knew Hettie wouldn’t move it because the light was dim and that would mask the forgery should a very close inspection be requested.
“Payment on Monday would be fine, Ms Lawe, if, as you say, the exchange rate will work in my favour, and I have no reason to doubt it, and I can see the need for the receipt to organise the insurance but there is the question of the performance tomorrow night at which the picture was to be exhibited. Do you still plan to loan the piece to the dance company?” were Hettie’s words as Hannah examined the picture and Hannah knew that Hettie didn’t want the piece to be exhibited for risk of disclosure.
“No, Mrs Braithwaite; we do not plan to exhibit the piece. Perhaps the dance company could use another; maybe the Toulouse Lautrec?” was Hannah’s question by return.
“If you purchase the piece then I will phone them straightaway and alert them to the change in the plan.”
“I certainly do wish to purchase the piece,” stated Hannah very confidently.
Hettie asked Gordon to wrap the picture and whilst he did so, Hettie took tea, jasmine, with Hannah in the small salon and it was the riskiest part of the plan as the room was bright. However, Hannah had worn a little pill box hat with a veil that just covered her eyes, and well-timed lapses into Japanese were designed to put Hettie in no two minds that Ms R Lawe was the genuine article, unlike the Degas that was delivered to them fifteen minutes later.
Profuse thanks were shared and Hannah left, hailing a cab instantly.
In the evening, she spoke to Madam who explained to her that the Degas was no longer available but they could have a Toulouse Lautrec instead and would Hannah mind doing a “can-can” inspired routine?
“Of course not, Madam; it’s for charity and no one will complain.”
And of course no one did and hardly anyone paid the picture any attention at all whilst Hannah was high kicking and displaying her ample charms.
On the Friday and Saturday evenings, the Degas hung in her room where her print usually did; that was packed along with everything else she intended to take because after the handover she was off to Paris to study with a dance instructor recommended by Madam.
Chapter Eight – Adieu
Hannah was already at the entrance to the Physic Garden before Rathbone arrived; the picture was secured in a smart portfolio by her side, the receipt was in an envelope in her hand.
“Hannah,” he beamed as he arrived, looking flushed with the anticipation.
She handed him the envelope which he opened, and he removed the receipt which he scanned rapidly.
“How did you do it?” he asked.
“It was just a matter of applying to Mrs Braithwaite’s charitable side,” Hannah replied, “but of course I played no part in this …”
“No, no; of course not. Who would believe it anyway?”
“The picture is here,” and she gestured to the portfolio but she was really asking for her payment.
“May I see it?” he almost begged.
She handed him the case and he unzipped it just enough to see the picture within.
“I can’t wait to see her,” he said.
“Perhaps leave it a day or two, Rathbone; I believe Hettie is in mourning!” and Hannah win
ked.
“Yes; a little decorum I agree will go a long way … here’s your money and the compact.”
He handed her a large jiffy bag which contained the thick wads of fifty pound notes, and the compact wrapped in tissue paper.
“Thank you …”
“You’re not going to count it?” he asked.
“Should I?”
“No; it’s all there.”
“I have to go, Rathbone; I have a class,” Hannah lied.
“Of course; and if you ever need anything in the future, please don’t hesitate to call on me.”
“I will; goodbye.”
“Goodbye, Hannah.”
She left and hailed a cab, asking the cabbie to drop her at Waterloo East.
She caught a train to Dover, thence took the ferry to Calais and the following day a train to Paris where she weaved her way to Montmartre and took up a room above a bakery on Rue Lepic, overlooking Le Moulin de la Galette.
Throughout the journey, she wondered just what Rathbone was going to say to Hettie and how Hettie would react. If Hettie went looking for the business card to prove to herself, if no one else, that she had been duped then she wouldn’t find it; Hannah had lifted that off of the desk whilst Hettie had admonished Gordon for bumping the doorframe with the picture as he returned with it wrapped. So Hettie couldn’t deny it without a lot of questions and neither could she admit to Rathbone that it was a fake for her reputation would be in tatters and neither could he if he ever found out; a man of his calibre buying a fake; no one would take him seriously again.
As far as Hannah was concerned, Hettie got off lightly because she hadn’t been swindled out of anything in reality and to get shot of the picture did her no end of favours for the most part; she could always deny selling the picture to Rathbone because she had a record of a genuine sale ten years earlier and assert that someone else had sold Rathbone the picture, forging the receipt.
Margaret and Gordon had seen the Japanese business woman leave with the picture but Hettie could always rely on their loyalty and who was to say which Degas the young woman had left with?
She did feel a little sorry for Rathbone; he had purchased a fake but he thought it was real and it was what he really wanted; wasn’t that enough? If he gloated to Hettie then she too would know he had a fake and that might give her a private moment of satisfaction; or maybe she’d finally extend her charity to him and marry the poor bastard because it was what they both really wanted. Their denial was their weakness, masquerading as their power over each other. The games adults play mused Hannah.
Hannah was more than happy because the Cartier lipstick case she had pinched from Hettie’s boudoir, seen on the evening of the performance, leaving the fake in its place, was worth at least five thousand pounds and together with the Fabergé compact and the bag stuffed with fifty pound notes, she had somewhere in the region of five hundred thousand French francs and that made her very happy indeed.
Crime Two - Masquerade
Chapter One – Making friends and influencing people
Hannah had been in Paris for nearly five months and for the most part she had studied like she had in London, also finding some work in a theatre cloakroom some evenings. She worked less due mainly to the fact that she had the money Rathbone had paid her, although she was very careful with it. She needed the time to study more and the job at the theatre covered her basic expenses. Occasional dance performances allowed her to treat herself and the tips kept her in cigarettes, a habit which she knew she would one day regret forming but for the meantime she enjoyed it and especially so after she had found the perfect Cartier cigarette holder and case.
She scoured the flea markets, and there’s nothing like Paris flea markets; ferreting out more Limoges cups and saucers until she had six then trading up. She was constantly increasing her capital and with shrewd investments, she earned a sizeable income for someone of her age with no real job. She still danced, still the greater of her two passions. The second was now Art, following her success in London. Gone was the sentimentality of the print of the pretty picture hanging above the bed; now it was hard-nosed research and all came within her sphere. Values and appreciation rates, auction results and detailed profiles on collectors were her pain beurre most days.
Had it not been for the sheer unadulterated pleasure of stealing the Degas from Hettie - which still made her heart beat faster - she probably would have called it a day. But she was hooked on the rush and a quarter of an eye was always open and seeking the next opportunity. Rathbone had been willing to pay almost anything to have the Degas and this time she wanted to play for bigger stakes and earn herself a bigger reward.
One thing bugged her. She had a passport in the name of Hannah Smith and if she wanted to pass herself off as someone else then an alternative identity was going to be necessary but that was something she didn’t know how to get; until she met Boehme.
She was working the cloakroom one evening and a man came in and dumped his overcoat on the counter. Hannah handed him a numbered token and he handed over ten francs and then walked smartly into the auditorium, barely making eye contact. She picked up the overcoat to hang it on the appropriate hanger but she inadvertently grabbed the bottom edge of the coat rather than the collar and as she pulled it off of the counter, the contents of the inside pocket tumbled out; two passports and a business card; Boehme Silvestre, Notaire.
She picked up the card and passports and automatically looked in both for it seemed strange that he should have two passports and stranger still that he should have two passports both with the same picture in them but bearing different names. The picture was not of him, so these were not his. Did that mean he could get such things made? She put the passports and the business card back in the pocket.
After the performance, the gentleman returned to the counter for his coat and handed Hannah the token. She fetched the coat and handed it to him, but held on to it for a second by way of grabbing his attention. He looked at her and she said in perfectly accented French, “Monsieur Silvestre; I am in need of your services ...”
He smiled, fished in his pocket for the card and handed it to her saying, “I am at your service, Mademoiselle.”
She knew that he knew exactly what she wanted and it wasn’t assistance with a will or a house purchase. Only by finding the business card would she have known his name and if she’d found the card then she must have found the passports.
He handed her fifty francs and departed.
She’d felt the same rush; had experienced the same buzz; her heart beat faster and she knew if she looked in the mirror she would see her eyes gleaming and an apocryphal smile playing around the corners of her mouth.
The following morning, she telephoned his office and made an appointment for the following day. When the receptionist had asked for her name she said, ‘Isabel Tissier’.
Chapter Two – Boehme Silvestre
The appointment with Boehme was at three o’clock, after lunch; so in the morning, Hannah danced and went to the bedsit of a student with whom she exchanged English lessons for French conversation. He played the flute and she sang for him occasionally if he needed a singer for a gig. Through these engagements, she got invited to spend the evening with some of the wealthiest Parisian families.
After lunch, she made her way to the offices of Boehme Silvestre which were on Rue des Archives in Le Marais above a letting’s agent. She ascended the stairs and announced herself to the receptionist who asked her to take a seat.
Five minutes later, Boehme appeared in the reception area and asked her to step into his office. Hannah was more nervous than excited; nervous because she might have got it wrong but in any case, she was now in his office and momentarily stuck for the right words.
“You are in need of my services, Mademoiselle; is that right?” he asked, not looking at her until he had finished speaking and then he peered directly into her face.
“That is correct, Monsieur.”
�
�I merely act as the go-between in these cases; all I need from you are the correct photographs and the details which will appear in the documents. A full set of official documents will cost ten thousand francs; two sets, eighteen thousand francs. I charge two thousand francs for my services … is there anything you want to know?”
This was all spoken very plainly and it reassured her.
“There is nothing I think I need to know. I will obtain the photographs and the details, and then hand them to you?”
“Yes; with full payment; delivery in ten days. When you come back with the information and the money, we will arrange the handover …”
“Thank you, Monsieur.”
“I ask no questions; it’s easier that way. I must say that no one quite so young or beautiful has asked for my services before. Perhaps I should caution you that the penalty for, how shall we say it, ‘being unmasked’, is very severe …”
“Thank you, Monsieur; I will be very careful.”
“Right; come back with the things I need and the fee …”
Hannah got up and went to leave.
“... I am attending the Opera tonight and I would rather not go alone; would you do me the honour of being my guest?” he added very earnestly.
Hannah blushed, having never been invited out in such a manner before, and she was dying to go to the Opera but it was hellishly expensive.
“I would be delighted to accept your invitation and accompany you this evening.”
“Excellent! Where shall I pick you up?”
“By the fountain in Place des Innocents.”
“But of course! At 7pm,” confirmed Boehme, chuckling to himself.
“7pm, Monsieur.”
And with that, Hannah left.
She had just over three hours and raced to the theatre so her pal could do her hair and makeup and she needed a dress. She raced back to the room to get her smart clutch bag into which she placed her compact, lipstick case, cigarette holder and a full case of cigarettes, some money - around two hundred francs - and an embroidered handkerchief. She changed into the dress and donned an antique lace shawl since the evening promised to be warm.
