Lewi's Legacy (17 page)

‘And what shall I get for the lady, Victor?’ Levka asked.

‘It’s the same for Leah. Here’s two hundred and don’t forget the receipt this time.’

He walked to the centre of the cavernous area where she was standing, and quickly told her that a baguette and beer lunch would be ready in half an hour. She looked at him and spoke quietly.

‘The ten items over there, I can tell you are worth next to nothing. A couple of forgeries badly done, a sculptured head in soapstone done by an amateur, and the bronze, well, it’s another rubbish copy of an Art Deco standard. In all, if I were you I would dump them.’

Victor smiled at her and gripped her hand. ‘Now Leah, you are a very clever woman, far cleverer than I by a long way.’ He pulled her close and looked into her eyes. ‘You are a terrible liar darling.’ She looked a bit downtrodden and hurt just for a moment.

‘Victor OK, you guessed right, but what I have to tell you cannot be told here. But before we go in for lunch I want to show you something.’

She picked up one of the pictures, and with her back to the men in the office, she pointed to a small number on the canvas back of it. ‘After lunch I will assess all of the rest of the items, it will be very thorough including how long it will take to shift them, and where the best auction houses are where we can get the best prices for them.’ Then we will talk about these other ten items at the apartment, where there are no prying eyes or ears.’ She smiled meekly, and he looked relieved.

Levka had done them proud for the two hundred Euros he had been given. He even had a pretty paper tablecloth for the desk and some plastic half litre glasses. Victor was so impressed with Levka, he slapped him on the back and even Leah proposed a toast to his ingenuity.

They arrived back at the apartment just after four in the afternoon. A relatively a short day, but Leah had worked flat out to get the task complete, and Victor was proud of her. They sat with a bottle of Lanson Black Label as she read out her findings, which he transferred onto his laptop creating a new file from the original and then adding her finding alongside each entry.

He wanted this report to be a masterpiece for Mikhail’s eyes, so Leah tidied the presentation up for him, making it more eye catching. At seven they had finished, just in time for Victor to ring the special mobile number, and he was pleased to hear Mikhail’s voice after the first ring. Then another stroke of fortune, he said that he wanted to see them both, on the same night at Victor’s local café at ten thirty, promising to buy dinner. Leah was ecstatic, she was now going to get her best ‘glad rags’ on to show off to Victor’s principal.

‘My darling Leah, slow down. Yes the person you are about to meet tonight is a very important man in this city of Paris, but there is a problem. I told you last night that my principal is a very secretive man, and when it comes to meeting us, make that fanatically so. He will arrive in disguise, and would not thank us if we arrived at the café all ‘poshed up’ so to say.’ I mean that we are to be in ‘Street clothes, do you get my drift Leah?’

Victor waited for the explosion, but it didn’t come from her. She pulled him off the couch. ‘Before we meet your mystery man we need to get clean, I suggest together, to save time, are you up for it? ’She asked, dragging him into the bathroom. He looked a little puzzled at first, but then he realised that getting clean could never have been more pleasurable, and he closed the bathroom door to muffle the sound.

Leah chose Victor’s clothes for that night. She wore tight jeans and a sloppy grey jumper: - very Left Bank. He wore his black cords and leather motorbike jacket over a black T shirt: - very right wing.

They were waiting at a far corner table in sight of the café entrance. The only person to arrive was wearing a white baseball cap with ‘I love NYC emblazoned on it. Leah ignored him as she hated baseball caps anyway, so she carried on watching the door. The ‘baseball cap’ walked straight up and, to Leah’s horror sat at their table.

‘Do you know who I am little chick?’‘ The man said in a deep voice.

‘I’m not your chick; so piss off. Can’t you see that we are waiting for someone?’ She shouted straight in his face.

Victor softly squeezed her arm, and she turned around still angry. He then smiled and nodded at Mikhail. Leah put her hand to her mouth. ‘Oh no, is it you?’ Mikhail nodded and gave her a grin. ‘I would have never in a million years have guessed.’ Leah gasped again.

Victor thought that was a great start to the evening and he stood up and shook the Russian’s hand. Leah looked totally shocked but leaned over to him and gave him a kiss as an apology.

‘Does she know who I am Victor?’ he asked.

‘Why don’t you ask her yourself?’ Victor waved his hand at Leah.

‘Are you a famous actor or something like that? If you are, sorry I still don’t recognise you.’ She said to him. Mikhail touched her hand and said that he was pleased with the outcome of their first meeting, and that his confidence in Victor had also taken a boost.

They had a wonderful meal of pure French cuisine and ate the best of everything, including two bottles of Bollinger. Mikhail paid in cash and gave Victor the receipt. The young man brought out the laptop from his bag and opened up the new file that they had created earlier. Mikhail pulled out a small device and copied the file over to it. ‘How long are you staying over in Paris, Miss Owen?’ he asked.

‘That depends on you sir.’ Leah reverted to a business mode.

‘Levka will bring you my answer in the morning, so I bid you both goodnight.’ They all stood around the table, the men shook hands and Mikhail gave her a soft kiss on the cheek.

As the café door closed Leah looked at Victor. ‘Totally amazing darling, I feel like Pussy Galore.’ Victor spluttered and laughed out loud. ‘I mean in the James Bond film you idiot!’ She screamed at him, and then they both laughed all the way back to the apartment. It had been a stressful day for both of them and even at that late stage, they were not sure if Leah had passed her test. As they lay in bed she had her head on his chest and began to tell Victor her story.

She began with her father, Louis Owen; he had had a very strange upbringing. Her grandmother died giving birth to him, and he was only a teenager when her grandfather left to live in Provence with his new wife. In his early twenties he discovered that he was half Jewish, and that his ancestor was an Alsatian Jew, who disappeared during the Second World War and was last seen in Paris in 1939.

Leah explained the attitude that the Nazi invaders of France had to all Jews. She detailed especially the huge ethnic cleansing, Europe-wide carried out in Hitler’s final solution. True to the Germanic way, everything that they plundered was numbered and recorded somewhere. There was a special bureau in Amsterdam that matched many of the numbers and by the time they were talking, thousands of Jewish owned works of art had been repatriated, however there was still a long way to go.

So many Jews had been murdered and there had been so few survivors. She told Victor that when her great, great grandfather lived in the Jewish quarter in Paris, he owned an antique shop, and of course was a target for the Nazis.

‘If you are saying that the numbers on those items belonged to your relative, why would he collect such rubbish as you call them Leah?’ Victor asked.

‘There was a story handed down though the family, that there could be something hidden in one of those paintings that could blow our socks off, but at this stage we must not breathe a word about it.’ She whispered in his ear. She felt his body stiffen and sensed the fear in his breathing.

The next morning they waited patiently on the pavement outside their apartment building for the appearance of the dependable Levka, their driver. Gazing out of the Renault’s window however was a new face.

‘Where is Levka?’ Victor asked.

‘He is not well today, I come instead’, he answered in broken English. ‘Get inside.’

‘Do you have a letter for me?’ Victor asked him.

‘This, you mean.’ The driver passed him the sealed envelope. The seal was stamped and had the mark ’M’ written on the stamped seal.

‘Please wait a moment; this letter needs to be read before we accompany you.’ Victor regained his authority and ripped open the seal and opened up the letter inside, as Leah looked over his shoulder trying to get a good view.

‘It looks like we are go, Miss Owen.’ Louis smiled as they got into the back seat of the Renault, and he showed her the letter for her to read herself.

‘What is this list of five numbers at the bottom? What do they mean Victor?’ she asked.

‘It means that we are to select five items, allocate each one of them one of these numbers, and get them to auction as soon as we can. Each number has to follow its item wherever it goes.’

Organisation was the key to success, they were both aware of that, and there was nothing more certain. They had to impress the principal with the first consignment, more than anything else. Victor left Leah to choose the first five, whilst he and Boris, the new driver went in search of good bubble wrap and strong labels. When they returned, Leah had chosen her first five; two impressive Chinese ceramics of the Ming period, one Etruscan bust and two heavy gold necklaces thought to come from Arsinoe, the wife of Ptolemy of Egypt around 275 BC. Leah had great hopes for them. She picked Milan for the consignment as she knew the senior partner there and trusted him to look after their interests.

They stuck three separate stickers on each item, then one on the interior wrapping and finally one to the DHL box that it was packaged in. She chose DHL as the preferred carrier as a year ago she had had an affair with the European director, who left her to return to his wife, so she felt that it was a favour that needed to be called in.

Their luck continued, as although the specialist auction was to be held in a week’s time, the auction house had not finalised the printing of the brochure, so they were able to get all five them included. Victor thought that Mikhail was impressed with Leah’s timescale for complete disposal in three months, and the notion that he could be a billion pounds richer in that timescale must have swayed his decision. Victor let Mikhail know the situation with Milan, and not wanting to hold anything up; he sent another fifty bank account numbers the next day.

They worked flat out to arrange five more auctions around the world, two in New York, one in Madrid and two in Tokyo, sorting the artefacts in tens, starting with those which would sell the best. The second consignment was sent to New York, as the auction was completed in Milan. Four of the items sold well above their initial estimate, but one of the Chinese vases failed to reach the reserve and Leah arranged the return of it for a later auction.

Philippe the Swiss banker had confirmed that the four numbered accounts had received funds and happily they, in total, exceeded the estimates by just over one million pounds, netting them a commission each five thousand. By the end of the second month just about all of the artefacts were either sold, or on their way to be auctioned. Leah had done such a professional job, that none of the successful sales had raised any publicity, which must have pleased Mikhail. In one case the Matisse had sold in New York to a mystery bidder for eighteen million dollars, which netted them twenty thousand each.

The job was complete, apart from the Chinese vase, a collection of rare gold coins and a large tapestry. These were the only other items left in the warehouse, except for the ‘Unknown Items’ which remained, sitting in the quarantine area.

Victor was dreading the next day, Sunday, as Mikhail was due to visit them and survey the remaining items.

16
Enquiries

A great read!

As he reached his little remote cottage Edmund had a good feeling about his last visit to Fay and Harold. They had got their son back, maybe not in the state they would have liked, but he was home none the less. It felt to Edmund that the young man had gone through a terrible ordeal, but where had he been? Harry had mentioned to him that Victor had been working in Paris, but wasn’t allowed to talk about it, not even to his parents.

There was nothing good, however, about the weather; wet and cold. A full belly and a warm log fire was all Zowie wanted, and when the call of nature came, she was out, and back in, in a flash, her wet glossy coat soon dry again on the warm hearth. Ancient forest cottages were built for the bad weather with thick thatched roof, even thicker walls and tiny mullioned windows that let in the smallest amount of cold, as well as light. His main window looking out into the forest was only two foot square, and with the design of it, the only thing he could see was if the wind was throwing the rain onto it.

He wound up his clockwork radio and listened to the local station for the day’s forecast hoping that they could venture out, and it was good news. He left the back door open for a while to freshen up the room, and Zowie dived outside. Edmund had a plan of action for the first pleasant morning; it was to solve the enigma that was Louis Owen. One thing he hated was an unsolved mystery.

Considering the plaque on the bench at Sally’s pond he must have lived there at some point in the seventies, and when Brian, his good friend, offered him the cottage he had said that it had been empty for a while and the sale was subject to probate. Was this person now dead? He asked himself. There was only one way to at least throw some light on it, if not solve the nagging question. It was to seek out Brian in Southbourne and hope that he could help.

After locking up, he fired up the Toyota pickup. Zowie jumped into the passenger seat barking all the way down his drive to rejoin civilisation. Forty five minutes later Edmund had found a parking space on the High Street right opposite the coffee shop that Brian frequented. He checked the Patek watch and noted eleven, perfect timing. Good old predictable Brian, there he was at the same window seat with the same cup of cappuccino. Edmund entered the café and Brian stood up to shake his hand ‘I like your new car Eddie, what happened to the real car?’ Brian asked laughing.

Edmund noticed that he had finished his coffee and knew that one was always enough for him, so he asked whether Brian could join him for lunch at the Café Riva on the cliff top. He told Edmund that he had plans to meet his wife that lunchtime, so he invited her too.

Brian dialled home and Avril answered. ‘Would you like to have lunch at Riva with Edmund today, he is right here in the café with me?’

‘That’s fine,’ she answered, I’m only in the middle of ‘War and Peace’, so tell him that would be great at one.’

‘War and Peace, eh,’ exclaimed Edmund. ‘Glad we don’t have to wait until she finishes before lunch, see you at one then Brian?’ He nodded in response as he rushed back to his office.

Edmund got back into the car and felt some relief that he had more than an hour to go down to the beach at Fisherman’s Walk before lunch and hopefully meet some of his dog walking friends on that beautiful bay. Down the zigzag path, he noticed a very tall person walking his way. It was, unmistakeably John and his border collie Molly. They walked along together whilst Molly and Zowie ran to catch the surf as it rolled in. It was fortuitous to meet John as he was knowledgeable about natural remedies, having used them himself. He told him the story of Victor and the way he was at home in Burley. John couldn’t help himself, but recommended a renowned herbalist who had a shop in the High Street in Southbourne. He told his friend that the shopkeeper was a ‘bit of a free spirit’, almost a hippie, that had not grown out of it, but not to be put off by that.

It was a great lunch with Brian and his wife. Being well read she was full of conversation and was fascinated to hear Edmund’s stories about the mystery pond, the surprise appearance of Zowie, and the strange re-appearance of Victor.

At the end of lunch, Edmund apologised that he had to ask Brian a favour. He wanted him to trace the previous owner of the cottage, as he needed to solve a puzzle that was bothering him. Brian, efficient as ever, was able to recall the solicitors who dealt with the transaction.

He explained that this firm owed him many favours from the past. He had gone the extra mile for them, as he often did in property. Sometimes the buyer or seller had a problem, which could hold up the negotiations, and Brian was the one who always had the expertise to get around it for them.

Brian was quite aware that Edmund could not easily be reached, so he invited him back to his office and he called in that favour from the lawyer concerned. In less than five minutes he handed him the name and phone number on a piece of paper. At that time, the phone rang on Brian’s desk, which gave Edmund the cue to leave. Her shook Brian’s hand whilst he was talking and hugged Avril, who gave him directions for the herbalist’s shop on the High Street, and left them.

The proprietor seemed very interested in Victor’s plight and soon came up with an evil smelling tincture which he said ‘would do the boy no harm’. Edmund left the shop with the usual ‘make love not war’ hippy saying ringing in his ears. Climbing back into the Toyota cab he sat with his faithful friend and looked at the message that Brian had scribbled onto the paper for him. The name ‘Esther Owen’ and a Southampton number was underneath it.

Sitting for a little longer, before driving off, he knew that a self-imposed isolation was very important to him at the time, but this would have to be sacrificed whilst there was unfinished business with Louis Owen and Harry’s son Victor.

Zowie looked up at her master from the passenger seat in the Toyota, as he stood in the cramped telephone box and dialled the number on Brian’s note.