by Verner Jones
“Thank you, Henrik you are too kind to me.” Henrik straightened his shoulders. He was suddenly another foot taller and he turned to the estate agent, whom he had watched with annoyance staring at his Celine, and patted him on the shoulder.
“And if you can have all the details finished by the end of the week.” Henrik turned to leave. “We would like to move in as soon as possible.” Henrik winked at the man. “Know what I mean?”
“Err, yes Mr. Van der Meen. I’ll have them prepared for you as soon as I can.” Henrik was at the door with Celine.
“Good. See you Friday then, and will you lock the balcony doors before you leave, I have left them open.” Henrik and Celine were out the door before the estate agent could reply.
“Yes Mr. Van der Meen,” he said to an empty space.
Henrik took Celine to his store in the magnificent surroundings of the Magna Plaza, the exclusive shopping centre in the heart of Amsterdam, that in former times used to be the head post office for the city. Its designers had retained all the original features of this beautiful, historical monument, making the Magna Plaza one of the most sort after retail locations in Amsterdam. Henrik spent the next hour with Celine choosing a ring that she felt comfortable wearing, and one that reflected, ‘the truth of their relationship’, as she had put it. When they walked out of the store together Henrik was ten thousand guilders lighter and feeling as if he had just been promoted. Celine had that affect on everyone she came in contact with. She was a dynamo charging everything she touched.
They left the store and walked through the Plaza looking in the shops with Celine admiring her new possession.
“You have made me very happy, Henrik.”
“I’m glad that’s the case and to celebrate we are going out tonight to Tosca’s, your favourite restaurant. I will call the manager later and book a table. Celine hesitated before answering, and for a split second her expression changed, reflecting the concern at Henrik’s decision. Then she was relaxed again as if nothing had happened.
“That will be superb Henrik and maybe afterwards we can take another sneak preview of our new apartment. I still have the keys in my pocket.”
“You are a clever girl. Give them to me and I will give them back to the office, in the morning. You run along now. I have some matters to attend to this afternoon. I will pick you up at eight-thirty. Wear something stunning.”
“I will. See you tonight darling.” They parted and Henrik watched her walk down the street and turn the corner out of his view. He thought he was a lucky man to have found someone who loved him like Celine did, Then he walked to a nearby taxi stand and hailed a cab for his meeting with the bank and hoped he could thrash out a deal with them that would save him and his company from going under. As Celine turned the corner she reached into her handbag and removed a cell phone and dialled a number. A male voice answered.
“Hello darling it’s Celine. We have to postpone our rendezvous tonight something important has come up.” The voice on the other end became agitated. “I know I promised, but I can’t make it. I love you too darling and I'll call you later. Bye.” Celine ended the call and slipped the mobile into her bag and thought about what colours she would choose to redecorate her new apartment.
11
The train from the Bruxelles-Midi pulled into the Amsterdam Central station exactly on time. The carriages lurched to an uneasy standstill and after a brief pause the doors began to open, disgorging its contents of weary travellers onto the waiting platform. Stipe stepped down cautiously, his eyes scanning in both directions along the platform for any signs of danger, even though he knew that no one was aware of his presence in the city. Satisfied all was safe, he stretched out an arm to Marta and helped her down from the doorway. Toni followed suit. Marta Pulled a rucksack onto her back and the three of them stood grouped together while the midday commuters bustled around them. Stipe looked around the station admiring the historic architecture, the tension of the last few days slowly beginning to dissipate into the warm July air. They had reached their final destination. Marta and Toni finished arranging their clothing and looked towards Stipe for direction. A big grin was all that greeted them.
“ Well! What do you think? We have made it to beautiful Amsterdam.” His arms were in the air in an exuberant outpouring of achievement, mixed with relief.
“I’ll feel a lot happier when we have completed what we have come here to do. Until then I don’t think I will be able to relax,” replied Toni.
“Me too. We still have a long way to go before we are in the clear then I will hopefully be able to share in the freedom you are enjoying. Come on, let’s go and find an hotel and plan our next move,” said Marta.
Stipe offered his hand to Marta and she clasped it tight. Stipe threw his free arm around Toni’s shoulder and hugged his friend.
“You are both right. We go and find an hotel and in the morning we can call our friend Mr. Van der Meen and see if we can do a little business with him.” There were smiles all round and the three of them headed for the station exit.
On the plaza outside the station on the Damrak they paused while Stipe found his bearings. Marta turned back to look at the station façade and marvelled at the craftsmanship of the redbrick and stone building. A yellow tram rattled by causing her to turn her attention away from the building. As the tram passed she saw through a clump of trees the familiar yellow M logo of a MacDonald’s takeaway and realized that she hadn’t eaten at all that day.
“Which way should we go?” asked Toni.
“There seems to be only one way. Straight forward. We’ll walk in that direction and see what we find,” said Stipe. Stipe took Marta’s hand and led the way forward along the Damrak. Marta watched as the curves of the yellow M became obscured behind the branches of the tree, she raised her eyebrows and fell in step alongside Stipe.
The pavements of the Damrak were broad with rows of globed streetlights lining either side of the walkway. Its skyline was uncluttered and the area had a promenade feel about it. As they walked Marta noticed a varied mix of ethnic groups, Chinese, Africans, Europeans all going about their business impartial of each other. It reminded her of how Sarajevo used to be. She heard the sound of music, a horn and a guitar, and a few moments later two buskers came into view peddling their talents on the sidewalk. It was a lively number and a group of people had gathered to enjoy the ensemble. Marta clasped Stipe’s hand tighter and subconsciously started to rock their arms gently in time with the music. In her mind she was humming along to the tune.
A few minutes of walking brought them in front of an impressive, carved-stone building with columns and parapets seemingly everywhere. A flag fluttered on top of the building and over the doorway a sign read, ‘Victoria Hotel Amsterdam’ with its initial letter shrouded in a circular red crest. Marta looked at a balcony with a wrought iron railing and thought that Juliet could have stood there while Romeo wooed her; romantic notions of the unobtainable.
Stipe said, “Let’s stay here.”
“We can’t Stipe. It will be too expensive,” said Marta, wishing that they could.
“Look we have got a sack full of money sitting uncomfortably on your shoulders, which is demanding that we spend a little of it to stay in this fine establishment. Don’t you think we deserve it after all we have been through?”
“I just want to find somewhere, freshen up, and sleep in a real bed,” said Toni.
“But look at our clothes. We look like a band of reject students. Are you sure they will let us in?” Marta looked down at the clothes Toni and Stipe were wearing that they had bought from a store in Rijeka before crossing the border into Slovenia. Stipe and Toni followed suit.
“Basic, but adequate. Let’s go and register,” replied Stipe.
Stipe booked a double room for Toni and himself and an adjoining single room for Marta. The hotel had a sort of jazzy elegance that reminded Stipe of the old black and white movies he used to watch as a child. They agreed to meet in one hour
after showering, then go and eat and plan what to do next.
After an hour Marta entered Stipe’s room. It was spacious and in keeping with the style of the building. It felt luxurious, a far cry from her Uncles house in Sarajevo. Toni was fast asleep, curled up on top of the bed still in the same clothes. Stipe joined her from the bathroom.
“I don’t think he will be going anywhere tonight. I’ll leave a note for him and we can bring him something back for later. He will be hungry if he wakes before morning. Let’s go and see what we can find.”
“Are you sure?” said Marta.
“Of course I am.” Stipe took some money from the case and hid the remainder in the back of the wardrobe. “ Marta went for the door and Stipe followed her. They left the hotel feeling conspicuous about their appearance. “I think we should find a shop where we can buy some decent clothes. We can’t go and see Mr. Van der Meen looking as if we have just come out of jail.” Marta agreed and they went in search of some clothing stores.
A few hours later they rested their feet at a pavement café, relinquishing their shopping bags onto the grey concrete slabs. Stipe had exchanged 500 marks and they had almost spent it all.
“Phew, shopping certainly makes you hungry,” said Stipe.
“That is an understatement. I’ve been dying to eat for hours.” They laughed and chatted excitedly about their shopping trip and the sights they had seen along the way. The waiter came and went and came and went. Eventually they found time to break away from their conversation to order the food. It was the first time since he had been with Marta that he had seen her relax and be totally at ease with him. Before there was always something restraining her feelings. That barrier had vaporized. Stipe put it down to being in such a vibrant city.
“I think we should have a small celebration a sort of baptism into our new life. Stipe picked up the wine list and selected the first bottle of wine that sounded easy enough to pronounce and called the waiter over and ordered it. Marta concealed the concern. She was a Muslim and had never drunk any alcohol before. She looked over at him ready to protest her case and saw the excitement in his eyes that the city, and she hoped being here with her, had induced, and couldn’t find the words to refuse his request. He was a light that had just been switched on and one glass of wine wouldn’t kill her. They ate a simple meal of Schnitzel, French fries and salad followed by three scoops of ice cream each, and Marta’s one glass of wine turned into two.
After the meal they walked slowly back to the hotel, stopping to admire the view over the canals. Stipe was working overtime in the talking department. Marta was feeling light headed from the two small glasses of wine. Everything he was telling Marta she found interesting, and she was content to let him recite to her interesting snippets of his past and his hopes for the future. She linked her arm through his as they walked and felt protected in the shadow of his torso. They reached the hotel, walked right past the reception and went directly to their rooms, Stipe still talking and Marta every bit engrossed in his conversation. Outside their rooms they realized they had forgotten to retrieve their door keys. After an outburst of laughter, Stipe insisted he go down and collect them while Marta waited for him. While he was gone Marta reflected on the evening. Her feelings towards Stipe had changed. Was it the wine influencing her? Maybe. She was attracted to him, not just his good looks, but the reassurance she felt whenever she was with him. But along with the attraction came the knife of incrimination, twisting at her innards, repelling any thought that a man would want her after her ordeal in her home.
Stipe returned and saw the sad expression on her face. He was concerned and said,
“Marta are you okay? Is anything bothering you?” Marta concealed her distress and smiled back.
“No I am fine. Thanks for a lovely evening. We had better get some sleep. Tomorrow is a big day.” She took the key from him and entered her room leaving Stipe standing in the hall watching the tail of her dress disappear, and his enjoyment of the evening tainted by the sudden chillness of Marta towards him. He entered his room confused. Maybe he had misread the signs between them and his impression that Marta liked him more than a friend, was unfounded. One thing was for sure. He knew that his feelings for Marta went further than the pact they had made, and on the first opportunity he would test the water more deeply.
Henrik Van der Meen sat at his sumptuous desk in the rear of his Magna Plaza jewelers toying with the tip of his cigar around an onyx ashtray. One week. That was all they had given him. One week to raise half of the debt he owed to the bank or else they were going to foreclose on his business. His Turkish coffee, a large one, arrived. The girl put it on his desk and said nothing. Seeing the frown on his face she quickly left with the minimum of disturbance. Henrik reached for the cup and swallowed a hefty mouthful; the fluid coated the roof of his mouth with its chalky texture. He sipped from a glass of water and pulled heavy on his cigar. How was he supposed to find an additional half a million in such a short time, he thought. And try as he might the answer would not make itself available to him. He would loose everything, his house, his business and most of all, his Celine. The telephone rang, diverting his attention away from his dilemma. Reluctantly he picked up the receiver of his private line.
“Hello. Henrick Van der Meen speaking. How can I help?” Stipe’s voice was hesitant as he spoke.
“Hello Mr. Van der Meen. My name is Stipe Messic. I am a friend of your son, Ton. We met while he was stationed in Bosnia. We had a sort of working relationship together and he gave me your telephone number to look you up if I ever came to Amsterdam.” Henrick was curious. The person on the other end of the line was young, not in his age bracket, and sounded foreign. What reason would he have to want to look him up? But the fact that he knew his son cheered him. It had been seven months since he had last seen him.
“So you are a friend of Ton’s. How is my son?”
“He is well and when we last spoke he was preparing to be relocated.” A picture flashed into Stipe’s thoughts of his last moments in his hometown. He shuddered and carried on talking. “He helped me when I was in a tough spot and before we parted he gave me your number and said that if I came to Amsterdam that you would be able to help me.” The last thing that Henrick wanted at this moment in time was someone who needed a handout. “That was very generous of my son to offer you my help. He has a habit of promising things that cannot be delivered. I’m afraid you have wasted your time calling me Mr. Mesic. There are plenty of help agencies around if you look for them. Goodbye Mr. Mesic.” Henrick started to replace the receiver.
“I have diamonds Mr. Van der Meen. A lot of them.” The word diamonds made Henrick quickly bring the receiver back to his ear. “What was that you said?”
“I have diamonds; a black bag full of them. I was hoping we could come to an agreement for the transition of them into your ownership.” The line went quiet. Stipe waited patiently for Henrick's response.
“Do you know where my shop is?”
“Yes. Ton gave me the address.”
“Be there within the hour and I will have a look at what you have to offer.”
“One hour then Mr. Van der Meen.” Stipe replaced the receiver. Stipe left the phone booth and rejoined Marta and Toni who were waiting on the pavement, anxious to hear what Stipe had arranged.
“Well that’s the first part of our plan completed. We have to meet in one hour at his shop.” There was general relief all round.
“Do you think that we should all go Stipe? It might be best if just you went and did the negotiating,” said Marta.
“We have come this far together. I would prefer it if we all saw it through to the end. Besides, I need you there for reassurance. He has all the experience in these matters. I have none. Together we can decide if he cuts a deal with us, if we are all happy with it. It’s better that way. Agreed?”
“Agreed,” came the unanimous reply.
“Right. Let’s find a tram that will take us to the Magna Plaza.” They
headed in the direction of a group of people who were queuing and found a number of a tram that passed the shopping centre. Fifteen minutes later they were entering the magnificent entrance of the Magna Plaza. Stipe said,
“Marta, give me the bag with the diamonds in.” Marta took the rucksack off of her shoulder and handed it to Stipe. “I just want to check they are in there.”
“Of course they are. Where else would they be?” Stipe put his hand inside the rucksack and felt the stones wriggle around inside the black velvet pouch. He fingered a hard object next to the bag then darted his head accusingly at Marta. “Why have you brought that with you?”
“I thought it was a good idea that’s all. I feel safer with it around.”
“Well we’re not going to use it okay?”
“What is it?” asked Toni.
“Nothing to worry about. Come on or we will be late for our meeting.” Stipe pushed the Zavasta pistol to the bottom of the bag and led the way to find Henrick’s store.
Henrik was sitting at his desk waiting for his visitors to arrive. His mind was tumbling all the possibilities around in a cylinder of hope that maybe a solution to his problem was about to present itself into his lap. Nobody walked in off of the street with a purse full of diamonds, not legally owned ones anyway, and expected to do business with them. Henrick sensed inexperience and a profitable transaction.
The intercom buzzed announcing the arrival of the trio and they were shown in to Henrick's office. He greeted them cordially and asked further about his son Ton, all the time scrutinizing and assessing his guests, making them feel at ease. After the pleasantries were dispensed Henrick turned to the reason they were in his office.
“So, Stipe, I can call you Stipe can I?”
“Yes of course. That’s my name.”
“You have something to show me I believe? Stipe’s mouth dried up like a holed bucket spilling the last of its contents. He cleared his throat before answering.
