Assignment in Amsterdam

by Carrie Bedford

Eline let go of her suitcase and, to my surprise, held out her hands to grasp mine. A huge diamond ring glittered on her finger. I stared at it, dazzled by its size and brilliance. I’d never seen anything like it.

  “I’m trusting you and your team to make sure this sale goes through,” she said.

  I looked up to see her eyes glistening with unshed tears. “Of course,” I assured her. “We’re all giving it our very best, I promise.”

  Eline let go of my hands and swiped a finger under her eyes. “I’m sorry. I’ve been so emotional since deciding to sell. I feel I’m letting Tomas down, abandoning this place. He always said we’d be here forever. But now I’m alone, and the apartment is just too big.”

  “I’m sure he would want what’s best for you,” I said tentatively. I had no idea what Tomas would want. But Eline seemed to accept the reassurance.

  “Yes, yes, I’m sure he would,” she said. She grabbed the suitcase handle and straightened her shoulders. “Thank you.”

  “Eline, before you go, can I ask you another question? Apparently, there are lots of rumors about odd things happening in the house over the years. And I thought Tessa seemed a little nervous about the house too. Have you heard of anything like that? It won’t make a difference to the sale, I promise. I’d just like to know.” I waited, hoping she might tell me something that would explain the presence of the auras.

  But her expression was blank. “Rumors? No, I’ve never heard them. And, as far as I know, Tessa loves it here.”

  I opened my mouth to ask another question but decided against it. She was radiating stress. I could feel tension around her like heat coming from a fire. She had enough on her mind already.

  “Never mind,” I said. “I’m sure there’s nothing to it.”

  4

  I watched Eline close the front door behind her before going back up to find Sam pacing the living room.

  “Let’s grab some lunch while we talk about the project,” he suggested. “And we can get you checked in and dump your suitcase at the hotel.”

  Happy to get out, I grabbed my jacket and bag while Sam picked up my case. We took a taxi to the hotel, a charming period building in the Museum district.

  “I chose this because it’s so close to the Van Gogh and the Rijksmuseum,” Sam said while we waited to check in. “If things go according to plan, we’ll have some free time, and I know you love art and all that stuff. And you’re only a couple of blocks from the Vondelpark, so you can go running there in the evenings. It’s beautiful and very safe.”

  “Thank you.” I squeezed his arm, grateful for his thoughtfulness.

  My room was on the fourth floor, stylish and contemporary with a view of a canal. I unpacked quickly and took the lift down to join Sam in the lounge. I didn’t want to leave him alone for long. He’d loosened his tie, undone the top button of his crisp blue shirt and was talking on his mobile. He rolled his eyes when he saw me and pointed to his phone.

  The conversation sounded intense, although I tried not to listen in as I sat down opposite him, sinking into the soft cushions of a dark grey sofa.

  “Yep, understood, Terry. No problem.” Sam rang off and sighed. “Terry is TBA’s legal counsel. He’s fretting.”

  “Why is he concerned? Is there a problem?”

  “Well, things are just moving more slowly than we hoped. Terry’s a worrier. It’ll be fine.”

  I had my doubts. Nothing could be fine with all these auras manifesting themselves. I needed to warn Sam, let him know that something strange and scary was going on. But just the thought of telling him made my head ache.

  “Lunch?” I said.

  “Righty-o.” He got up and put on his jacket. “I know a place about fifteen minutes away, a nice walk.”

  On the street, we turned right, heading north through crowds of tourists milling around outside the Rijksmuseum. Trams clattered past us. The sun was a hazy white disc in a pewter-colored sky, barely casting shadows and offering no warmth.

  “This is the Prinsengracht canal,” Sam told me when we crossed a bridge and paused to look down into the water.

  Accustomed to the broad reaches of the Thames River, I thought the canal looked narrow and confined between its stone banks, but, on both sides, wide pavements were busy with pedestrians and cyclists. The air rang with the jangle of bicycle bells.

  We continued our walk, slowed by my frequent stops to gaze at an architectural detail on the tall, skinny houses built of brick or grey stone with steeply sloped black slate roofs. Many still had the large roof-mounted hooks used to lift goods from canal boats into the attics of the homes.

  My hands and toes were cold by the time we arrived at Rembrandtplein and entered the café, which was warm, steamy and smelled of coffee and pastries.

  Sam and I found a table in a quiet corner and then he went to the counter to order cappuccinos and sandwiches. Left alone, my mind whirled with thoughts of auras, but I made sure I was smiling when Sam came back with our food and drinks.

  “What’s bothering you?” I asked after watching his face for a few moments. This was not the cheery Sam I knew.

  “Over the weekend, when I was checking everything out… it was strange. Not just the pillar.”

  “What happened?”

  He shook his head slowly. “Nothing specific. It was more of a feeling. As though someone was watching me poke around. In fact, I definitely felt watched. When I was up on the top floor, I heard sounds, like echoes of voices. And footsteps too.”

  “Mice in the attic?” I suggested.

  “Louder than that.”

  “There has to be a reasonable explanation, Sam. The building is empty. Maybe a cat running across the roof? You’ve seen my flat, up on the top floor. Well, a couple of years ago, I heard noises at night. It sounded like someone whispering, and it went on for weeks. It was really unnerving. Then I realized there were birds nesting in the eaves. That was what the noise had been.”

  Sam smiled. “I’m sure you’re right. But all that empty space, those floors and rooms that have been abandoned? It’s odd, don’t you think?”

  “Odd, yes, but not scary. I’ve worked on abandoned buildings before. It’s unsettling, but at least there aren’t any squatters in the house. I’ve seen a few places that became squats. Not a pretty sight.”

  Sam nodded. “I’m sure I’m overreacting.” He reached over to squeeze my hand.

  I squeezed back, trying to blink away tears that burned my eyes. Did he have some kind of intuition that he was in danger? Instead of dismissing his anxiety, perhaps I should take advantage of it and convince him to leave.

  I thought about that. Putting him on the next flight to London might save him. Or it might not. He could get hit by a car on the way to the airport. There could be a terrorist attack, or a plane crash. Maybe that ex-girlfriend of his was an evil stalker. I swallowed hard to keep down the acid rising in my throat. Contemplating the myriad ways in which Sam could die made me feel sick.

  “Eline seemed incredibly stressed,” Sam said. “Is it because of the house sale? She wants to be out of it, that’s for sure. But I suppose I would too, under the circumstances. Just get it over and move on with her life.”

  I thought about that. Eline was more than stressed. She was in danger. Maybe she knew something about the house that we didn’t. Just like Tessa.

  I lifted the top piece of bread off my sandwich to inspect the middle. The thick slices of aged gouda looked appetizing, but as soon as I ate the first bite, I felt nauseous. Food and auras didn’t go well together.

  “What’s the deal with Pieter?” I asked. “I hadn’t realized there was a co-inheritance situation there. Do you know why Mr. Janssen included his nephew in his will?”

  “I looked into it when we first received the sales documents. It seems that the nephew’s parents died when he was young…”

  Sam paused and closed his eyes for a second. I put my hand over his, silently consoling him for the loss of his own parents.

&nbs
p; After a few seconds, he cleared his throat and continued. “Tomas Janssen looked after the boy after that. It seems he treated him like his own son, as he had no kids of his own. He was fifty when he married Eline and that was his first marriage. They don’t have any children.”

  “How old is Pieter?”

  “He must be in his forties now and hasn’t lived in Holland for over twenty years.”

  “Is he deliberately delaying the purchase? Does he not want to sell?” Seeing that Sam had already finished his sandwich, I pushed my plate towards him. “Want mine?”

  Between bites, Sam answered. “As far as we know, he’s happy to sell. After costs and legal fees, he and Mrs. Janssen will be getting about three million euros each. For some reason, he’s just dragging his feet. Maybe the fact that he’s out of the country is slowing down the paperwork.” Sam paused. “Although there’s more to it than just that. It took far longer than it should have for anyone to produce the original house deed. And I’ve had trouble getting basic information, like property boundary reports and utility contracts. But Terry is working on it. I’m sure he’ll get it sorted.”

  I wondered if Sam was worrying unduly. Legal documents were an integral part of the process of developing property. On several occasions in London, projects had stalled for months as the various parties worked their way through mounds of paperwork. But it usually worked out in the end.

  “Well, I hope Pieter gets a move on,” I said. “The delays are probably what’s stressing Eline out too. I wonder if she and Pieter get along? Perhaps there’s some friction between them? Maybe she didn’t think Tomas should have left his nephew half of her home?”

  Sam shrugged. “I don’t know. But unfortunately for her, there’s no getting around a will.”

  It struck me then that Pieter might be the source of the danger to Eline. After all, if she died, he’d inherit all the money from the sale of the house. I decided to contact her and see if we could meet again. I could ask her some questions about Pieter. Even a casual conversation might yield some useful information.

  Sam looked at his watch. “We should get back. The structural engineer, Alex, texted that he should be there in about half an hour.”

  “We can get him to look at the concrete pillar then.” I stood and picked up my bag. “We need to find out why it’s there and if we can take it out. It’s going to be a bit of a challenge to work around it.”

  As we walked back, I tucked my arm through Sam’s. If a wayward bike or an accidental fall into a canal were possible dangers, I was ready to protect him. Besides, I appreciated the warmth of his arm against mine. The wind had strengthened, carrying a sharp edge of cold with it.

  A young woman with a honey-blonde ponytail was leaning against the front door when we reached the house. Dressed in skinny black trousers with a black turtleneck under a tan jacket, she looked rather like a model. She pushed away from the door when she saw us.

  “Hi. I’m Alex. Sorry, I’m a bit early.” She stuck out a hand to shake ours.

  I’d assumed Alex was a male. Judging from Sam’s expression, he had too. Alex smiled, one of those wide smiles that lights up the eyes. “No worries, I get that a lot. Most people don’t expect their structural engineer to be female.” She shifted a tan leather satchel on her shoulder and gave an exaggerated shiver. “Shall we go in? It’s brass monkeys out here.”

  Inside, we took the lift up to the first floor. Alex wandered around the room, pausing to examine portraits of old men in ruffled collars, a collection of blue and white porcelain artfully arranged on dark shelves, and sets of silver candlesticks holding cream-colored candles. The scent of beeswax lingered in the air and a gilt carriage clock softly chimed the hour.

  “Bloody hell,” she said. “It’s like a museum. Can you imagine vacuuming all those rugs?” She ran a finger along a tabletop as though testing that it had been dusted recently. “Is the whole place like this?” she asked.

  “I’ll show you.” Sam beckoned us to follow him.

  Alex left her satchel on the sofa, but first retrieved a tablet and turned it on. I took a notebook and pencil with me, prepared to take more detailed notes.

  First, we showed Alex the rest of the apartment, with its contemporary kitchen and multiple bedrooms. She sighed at the sight of an immense clawfoot bathtub in one of the en-suite bathrooms.

  “A bubble bath in that would be heavenly,” she said. “With a glass of champers and a good book. I could soak for hours.”

  Sam hurried us out, his face slightly flushed. When I grinned at him, the flush deepened.

  “Moving on,” he said. “Follow me. Oh, and we’ll need these.” He picked up the torches and found a third one in a drawer. “There’s no working electricity up there,” he explained to Alex.

  Her eyes widened when he pushed on the hidden door at the end of the hall. “Brilliant,” she said. “You’d never guess it was there.”

  “Apparently, the people that owned the place in the early 1900s used this floor as spillover accommodations for their guests,” Sam said as we climbed the stairs. “The house was abandoned in the 1960s and remained empty for about fifty years until the Janssens bought it.”

  When we reached the salon, we stopped to let Alex look around. This time, I noticed the quality of the flooring and of the paneling that covered the walls in the salon. The wall paint had faded, softening the original blue color, but the wood itself was still in surprisingly good condition. A thin layer of dust muted the chestnut color of the floors but again I was amazed at how intact the oak planks were. Considering the building had been empty for so long, it had survived remarkably well. It was a fighter, obviously, refusing to fall into disrepair. And someone had done a semi-decent job of keeping the place clean. It was perfect for renovation.

  It was arctic up here, though. I rubbed my arms to warm them.

  Sam noticed. “Yes, we’ll need to wear warmer clothes. There’s no need to dress up. Jeans and sweaters will do.”

  “Thank you,” I said, rejoicing at the prospect of abandoning my heels, suits and silk shirts.

  Alex flicked dust off her fashionable jacket. “I’m enjoying the project more already.”

  “There’s something you need to see,” Sam said, heading towards the bathroom where he’d broken through the paneling. I stood back while he led Alex through the jagged hole to inspect the concrete pillar.

  When they returned, Alex looked thoughtful. “I don’t think it’s supporting the upper floor, so I don’t know why it’s there. I’ll have to do some more investigating.”

  “I was thinking it could be the shaft for a dumb waiter, but the location isn’t right for that,” I said. “You’d think it would come out in the old kitchen if it was being used to bring up food.”

  “Old kitchen?”

  “I haven’t been down there yet, but the plans show kitchens, sculleries and pantries on the ground floor.”

  “Ah, right. Maybe a laundry chute then?”

  “Maybe. Some of those spaces downstairs must have served as washing and drying rooms a couple of hundred years ago. And with a house this size, the servants would have stacks of bed linens to deal with. But I didn’t see an opening in the pillar, so…” I turned to Sam. “Is there any sign of it on the third floor?”

  “No. But then I haven’t broken through the back wall yet. Shall we go up and take a look around?”

  Alex frowned. “Fourth floor, surely? Oh wait, sorry. That’s in the States. There, the ground floor is the first floor. You’d think I’d be better at remembering the difference between the two, given that buildings are my job.” She laughed. “But in my defense, I went to university in the US and their floor numbering is ingrained in my head.”

  “Where did you study?” I asked.

  “MIT. Civil engineering. I loved living in Boston. That’s where my dad lives now, so I go back often. Anyway, yes, let’s go to the third floor.”

  The layout at the top was odd, consisting of only two ballroom-sized ch
ambers with tall windows at the front that revealed beautiful views of the street and canal below. Although the walls were paneled and painted, this time in green, there was no furniture to give any hints of how the rooms had been used in the past.

  “I think this is where the offices used to be.” Sam turned in a circle with his torch held high to illuminate the second chamber.

  He could be right. These open areas offered plenty of space for desks.

  “When?” I asked. “VOC offices?”

  “No, the VOC had its own headquarters, the Oost-Indische Huis. It’s still standing, a national monument now, I think.” He pointed the light into the far corner. “The building department indicated that there were offices up here in the nineteenth century. Import merchants, apparently.”

  We moved slowly, taking notes as we went. There was no sign of the concrete pillar.

  “If it does continue up, it’s probably behind the paneled wall, as it is downstairs,” I said. “Can we break through up here too?”

  Sam looked dubious. “It was a lot of work breaking through that paneling, even though it had rotted out. We don’t have much time. I think for the purposes of the feasibility study, we assume there’s a utility corridor like the other one.”

  “It’d go faster with a sledgehammer,” I said. “If we can get one.”

  “Let’s not worry about it now,” Alex said. “We can get to it later. I’ve got loads to do already.”

  It took us nearly an hour to complete the tour, and by that time I was numb with cold and anxious to reach the warmth of the apartment.

  If Alex was chilled, she didn’t complain. “That was exciting,” she said as we piled into the kitchen. “Can we make tea?”

  “I’ll do it,” Sam said.

  “Funny, isn’t it?” Alex looked around the kitchen. “The apartment is like a stage, all dressed up. The rest is just backstage space that the public never sees.” She blushed when Sam looked at her with raised brows. “I act,” she explained. “In a small off-off-off West End theater in London. It’s my hobby, and I love it. Anyway, that’s enough of that. Is it okay if I plug my computer in here?” She’d brought in her leather satchel from the living room and now pulled out a shiny laptop. That satchel was like Mary Poppins’ carpet bag. It held a lot more than its size suggested.