Territory (61 page)

1975

The bell on the shop door of the Huize Grij tinkled. Behind the counter, Wouter Eikelboom turned to greet the young couple who stepped in from the paved street.

‘Goede morgen,'
he said.

‘Hello,' the young man replied. Then he smiled apologetically, ‘I'm sorry, but do you speak English?'

‘Of course,' Wouter nodded. He spoke seven languages, most of them fluently, and his English was impeccable.

The young man shared a relieved grin with his companion.

‘Welcome to the House of Grij,' Wouter said. His customary formal greeting was reserved and delivered with an unintended edge of superiority.

Kit felt gangly and out of place as he and Jessica crossed to the dapper, balding man in the pinstripe suit and vest who stood behind the counter. The room was tiny, the ceiling low. I'm too big for this room, he thought.

‘How do you do,' Jessica said. ‘I'm Jessica Williams.'
She smiled warmly at the man, hoping to break through his reserve, ‘and this is Kit Galloway.'

Wouter's eyes glanced at the girl's left hand, no wedding ring. ‘How do you do, Miss Williams'—he always liked to address people correctly—‘Mr Galloway,' he nodded. ‘I am Wouter Eikelboom, how may I help you?'

The man seemed incapable of smiling, Jessica thought. His face was a mask of inscrutability. ‘We have an antique piece and we need to authenticate its origins,' she said, getting down to business. ‘We believe it may have been designed by the House of Grij.'

‘I am most willing to be of service if I am able.'

Kit took the case from his pocket, opened it and put it on the counter. From its silk-lined interior, Wouter lifted out the locket. His hands were small and lily-white, Jessica noticed, his fingers delicate, his nails perfectly manicured.

‘An exquisite piece,' he said. He looked up at them and, to their astonishment, his face suddenly contorted. He raised his eyebrows in an exaggerated expression of surprise, set a jeweller's magnifying eyepiece into the socket of his eye then frowned ferociously, wedging the eyepiece firmly in position. Then, facial gymnastics over, he bent to examine the locket.

Jessica and Kit exchanged a glance, their eyes dancing with amusement; they both wanted to burst out laughing. Kit gave a bit of a snort, which he turned into a cough as Jessica nudged him.

‘Seventeenth-century,' Wouter said.

‘That's what we thought,' Jessica quickly answered, not trusting in Kit's ability to reply—she had a feeling he was about to get a fit of the giggles. He'd returned her nudge with a nod at the dome of the little man's head where long, thin strands of grey hair were painstakingly pasted across his bald pate from one ear to the other.

Wouter turned the locket over. ‘Ah,' he said as he studied the two tiny g's of the engraver's mark, ‘what a
find, most exciting,' although his voice betrayed not an element of excitement. He didn't open the locket. He laid it back on the counter and looked up at them, his face an angry scowl. Then he raised his eyebrows in a reversal of his previous facial contortion, took the eyepiece from his socket, and his face shrank back to its impassive mask. Jessica kicked Kit's foot.

‘It is most certainly a piece from the House of Grij,' Wouter said. ‘A very valuable piece, I might add.' Jessica and Kit forgot their mirth—this was the breakthrough they had sought. ‘There is someone you must meet,' Wouter continued, picking up the handpiece of the telephone on the counter, ‘or rather I might suggest, someone who must meet you.' He dialled, then said, ‘Please excuse me,' with the utmost deference, before talking briefly in Dutch to whoever it was on the other end of the line.

He replaced the receiver, carefully returned the locket to its case, and handed it to Kit. ‘Please come with me,' he said, ‘Mr Grij is most interested in meeting you.' He stepped out from behind the counter and crossed to the front door. He was wearing spats, Jessica noticed.

Wouter turned the ‘open' sign on the door to ‘closed' and stood aside for them. ‘After you,' he said, and they stepped outside.

‘This is the original home of the Grij family.' The bell tinkled as Wouter closed and locked the door behind them. ‘It was built shortly after the canal was completed. Of course it has undergone many restorations over the centuries but little of its original design has changed. It remains a magnificent example of early Dutch architecture.'

The spiel was obviously well rehearsed and had been trotted out to many a tourist on numerous occasions, but it was delivered with pride nonetheless.

Jessica looked up at the tall, slender building, at its many narrow windows and its high, sloping roof intricately tiled in terracotta. It was indeed an impressive
house, reminiscent of a bygone era. But then so was the whole street. The line of terraced houses, the paved road, the linden trees, the canal where barges drifted lazily by. It seemed that in this part of Amsterdam time had stood still for centuries.

Having locked the door, Wouter turned to them. His face remained a mask, but his voice was most agreeable; he obviously enjoyed delivering his lecture to tourists.

‘Mr Grij, whom you are about to meet, converted the adjoining building to a museum in the 1950s, some time after the war. It was not only a tribute to his ancestors and their artistry, but a personal statement of his feelings about war. Come with me, please.'

They followed him to the terrace house adjoining the jeweller's. Above the door was a sign which said ‘Museum Grij'.

‘Mr Grij is very passionate about the futility and the destruction of war. So many great works of art have been lost through man's foolishness and greed, he is determined to preserve whatever he can for the enjoyment of future generations.'

The front door of the museum led directly off the street into a foyer. Narrow steps to the left led upstairs to the first and second floors where the museum exhibits were displayed, and there were two doors at the rear of the foyer, one leading to the office, the other to the work-rooms out the back. In the corner was a reception desk strewn with brochures and leaflets, and the young woman tending it greeted them with a smile.

‘Goede morgen, Wouter,'
she said.

‘Goede morgen, Riemke.'

‘Good morning,' she said to Kit and Jessica, ‘Mr Grij is expecting you.'

She walked to the rear door on the left and tapped gently. Only seconds later, she stood aside as the door was opened by a man who, although elderly, appeared in excellent health.

‘Hello, hello,' he said expansively, his voice a robust baritone with a thick Dutch accent. ‘My English visitors, come in, come in.'

‘We're Australian actually,' Kit said as they stepped into the office, Wouter accompanying them and Riemke closing the door behind them.

‘All the better, all the better.' He was very jovial and appeared to enjoy saying things twice. ‘I am Jaerk Grij.'

‘How do you do, Mr Grij, I'm Kit Galloway and this is Jessica Williams.'

‘Pleased to meet you,' he shook Kit's hand. ‘Pleased to meet you,' he shook Jessica's. ‘Please, please, sit down.'

As Jessica crossed to one of the chairs he'd indicated, she looked around at the office. It was devoid of daylight, and would have been a gloomy room, but it was so effectively lit by lamps set in wall brackets that the heavy timber beams, the shelves of books and the solid oak furniture looked warm and cosy. Again she had the feeling that time had stood still. It was a quiet and peaceful room, infused with the fragrance of wood.

Kit didn't notice the room, he was studying Jaerk Grij as he sat. Grij was obviously in his seventies, but with the energy of a man twenty years younger. His thick head of hair was snow white, his eyes, set deep in the wrinkles of his face, were the palest of blue. He was neither tall nor short, neither slim nor fat. Age had added a paunch to his belly but the overall impression was that of a nuggety man, still physically strong, and still with a passion for life.

Jaerk sat behind his desk and looked at the young couple as they seated themselves opposite him. They were a most attractive couple, he thought. Australia. How interesting. He'd often thought he'd like to visit Australia. Not to live there of course, there was little art there that would interest him, except perhaps that of the country's indigenous people. But he would have liked to have seen the texture of the landscape. Ayers Rock, he had always
wanted to see Ayers Rock.

‘You have something of interest for me.' He cut his own musings short, which was a pity, he always liked meeting new people, and he'd like to have chatted about Australia. But there were more important things to hand. ‘You have a work of Gerrit Grij, Wouter tells me.'

The young couple looked mystified, so he explained. ‘You have a piece with the engraver's mark of two small g's, yes?'

Kit nodded as he took the case from his pocket.

‘Gerrit Grij was one of the finest master craftsmen ever to have lived, in my opinion and in that of many others.' Jaerk beamed proudly, his eyes instantly disappearing in the wrinkles of his face. ‘I am his direct descendant. It was Gerrit Grij himself who founded the House of Grij.' The smile vanished as quickly as it had appeared and the pale blue eyes focussed keenly on the small case which Kit placed before him. ‘We have only four items of Gerrit's in our possession,' he said as he turned on the desk lamp. ‘His work is very difficult to find these days, and when we do discover a piece, the owner is most loath to part with it, which of course is understandable.' He took his reading glasses from his top pocket, put them on and opened the case.

Jessica watched the old man's hands as he lifted out the locket. Unlike Wouter's, they were workman's hands. Strong brown fingers with square cut nails. But their touch was delicate; it appeared Jaerk Grij's hands were capable of great strength and sensitivity.

The old man exhaled gently, a soft sigh, barely audible, and his mouth remained open in wonderment as he held the piece up to the light. Kit and Jessica watched him, neither daring to breathe a word. Jaerk Grij appeared transported.

Gently, he caressed the mountain and the diamond sun with his thumb, exploring their texture, then he turned the
locket over and reverently touched the two g's with the tip of his forefinger.

‘Het hangertje,'
Jaerk finally whispered. Wouter had said the young couple had a piece with Gerrit's mark, but he had not said what it was. Any work of Gerrit's was a miraculous find, but
het hangertje?
The locket which he now held in his hands? This locket was Gerrit Grij's lost masterpiece.

He glanced up at Wouter who stood, as if at attention, beside the desk. Wouter's face remained as implacable as ever, but he gave a slight nod and Jaerk smiled in return. Wouter had deliberately neglected to mention the locket on the telephone, it was obvious he had wished to see Jaerk's reaction.

With the most delicate of touch, Jaerk pressed the clasp and the locket opened to reveal the initials.

‘Lucretia van den Mylen,' he said, and once again it was the softest of whispers.

‘You know of her?' Jessica found herself whispering back.

Jaerk Grij appeared to come out of a dream.

‘Ah yes. I feel that I know Mevrouw van den Mylen personally.' He replaced the locket gently in its case, took off his reading glasses and returned them to his top pocket, then he leaned back in his chair.

‘I have devoted many years to the discovery of this piece,' he said, ‘the van den Mylen locket which disappeared from the face of the earth. Never did I believe that it was lost at sea; I knew that somewhere it existed. But I had given up, I thought that the locket would not come to light in my lifetime.' He looked down at his desk, the reflection of the diamond sun catching the wrinkles of his face in the lamp's beam. ‘And now here it is.' He stared at it for a moment longer, then shook his head, as if reprimanding himself for the indulgence of his reverie. It was time to get down to business.

‘Wouter tells me you wish to authenticate the piece,' he said, snapping the case closed and picking it up.

Jessica nodded.

‘I can do that.' He seemed instantly revitalised as he rose from his chair and strode to the door. Wouter tried to open it for him but Jaerk was there first. ‘Come with me,' he said.

In the foyer, he instructed Riemke to field his calls and then led the way up the narrow stairs to the first floor.

The Grij display rooms were enchanting. The house itself was a museum piece, and the first floor was designed to offer an intimate view of family life in times long past. A sitting room with seventeenth-century furnishings and rugs, works of art from the period adorning the walls; a bedroom with a canopied four poster, a large jug and bowl on a wash stand, a dressing table displaying a woman's vanity set of brushes and combs. Alongside the personal items of everyday existence stood life-sized dummies in costume, including two children, a little boy and girl surrounded by their toys, and throughout, the atmosphere was enhanced by indirect lighting from imitation gas-lamps on the walls.

‘It's beautiful,' Jessica said.