Assignment in Amsterdam

by Carrie Bedford

  Alex and I sat together at the kitchen table while Sam perched on a long stretch of white marble counter. It reminded me of when he was a student. It seemed then as though he never sat down properly. In seminars, he’d turn chairs around and straddle them with his arms across the back or sit on tables or counters as he was now. Sometimes he didn’t sit at all, but leaned against a wall or doorframe. As far as I could tell, his professors and lecturers weren’t bothered and some even seemed to find it entertaining. When I’d asked Sam about his funny habit, he’d been surprised, as though he hadn’t even realized he was doing it. Then on further thought, he’d told me that, after his parents died and Sarah was injured, he’d lived strictly by the rules, in an attempt to ward off another disaster. He was never late, never missed a lecture, and always turned in his assignments early. His unconventional seating preference was, he said, his petty rebellion.

  I opened my laptop but found it hard to concentrate. All I could think about was Sam’s aura and what it signified. I glanced up at him. He was staring at a piece of paper, but I could tell he wasn’t reading it.

  Vincent reappeared just then and stood on his back legs to nuzzle Sam’s leg. Dutifully, his servant jumped down to fill a dish with food.

  “Sweet cat,” Alex commented. “Did he come with the house?”

  “More or less. We think he’s a stray.” Sam picked up the paper he’d been staring at.

  “What are you working on?” I asked. “It must be something enthralling, judging by your expression.”

  “Just reading the background paperwork on the property,” he answered. “It’s interesting because there’s a gap in the ownership history back in the fifties.”

  “Huh. That information should be on record at whatever the Dutch version of County Hall is, shouldn’t it?” I asked.

  “Yep. But no one has come up with anything yet. Maybe we’ll go over there ourselves one day this week to see what we can find out.”

  I heard a noise in the hallway, a floorboard creaking, and then another. Hardly aware of what I was doing, I moved closer to Sam, positioning myself in front of him.

  An elderly man walked in. His grey hair corkscrewed out from under a flat cap and he wore a dark waistcoat under a plaid jacket. I put my hand on Sam’s arm. The apparition looked like a domestic servant from a century ago. Only this one had an aura rotating slowly over his head. I looked from him to Sam and back again. Four people under threat of death in the same house? That was very worrying. Actually, it was terrifying. I didn’t have much time to dwell on it though because the old man started talking, his voice thick and raspy from decades of smoking.

  I didn’t understand a word of what he said but, to my surprise, Alex answered him in the same language.

  “Who is he?” Sam asked.

  “This man is the caretaker. His name is Henk. He comes in every day to look after the place, apparently.”

  I sat back down, feeling dizzy. Henk was elderly, so perhaps his aura connoted death by natural causes. But still, it would be an unlikely coincidence if it wasn’t linked in some way to Sam’s. I double-checked Alex, staring a little too long at the space over her head. Definitely no aura.

  When Henk pointed to the table, Alex spoke to him, her voice rising in frustration. And then she stalked off.

  “Follow me,” she said to us. “We’ll have to work in the dining room.”

  The dining room was more like a banquet hall, its table big enough to seat twenty on dark oak Georgian chairs with gold satin upholstery. A crystal chandelier that matched the one in the living room sparkled overhead.

  After we’d dumped our papers at one end of the long table, I looked at Alex. “You speak Dutch?” I asked.

  “Yes, my mother is Dutch. She lives in London, where I grew up. Mum insisted on speaking Dutch to me when I was little, and we’d sometimes come over here to see my grandparents and cousins. That’s why my firm chose to send me to work on this project, because I speak and read the language. And, of course,” she laughed, “because I’m so damned good at what I do.”

  “So, this Henk character?” Sam asked.

  “He says he always has his coffee and tea breaks in the kitchen. At the table. So, he suggested we move elsewhere. Funny little man. He’s very full of himself. Says he’s been working here for sixty years, since he was a kid.”

  “He doesn’t work for the Janssens then?”

  Alex tilted her head. “He does. That’s what he said, but they’ve only had the property for ten years, right? They must have inherited him with the house when they bought it.”

  “He’ll know all about the place then,” Sam said. “Maybe he can fill in the gaps and tell us who lived here before the Janssens bought it. It would be interesting to know more of the building’s history. And maybe he’ll know what that pillar is for.”

  “We’ll ask him,” Alex said. “But let’s give him his tea break first. And we need to crack on. We have a lot to get done today.”

  Sam said he had a conference call scheduled with Terry and some other TBA people, so Alex and I gathered our things and set off for the top floor. That was where I envisaged placing the conference rooms and executive offices. We hadn’t been working for long when Sam came up.

  “Just got a call from Moresby. He’s going to meet the Janssens’ lawyer at his office and thought I should be there. We’re hoping to, finally, get some of the paperwork we’ve been waiting for.”

  “I’ll come with you,” I said. There was no way I was letting Sam out of my sight.

  “Me too.” Alex picked up her tablet and tape measure. “Some fresh air sounds good.”

  5

  It turned out that Bleeker’s office was close, a ten-minute walk to an old brick building with a beautiful gable roof, overlooking the Prinsengracht Canal. The front door led to a spacious lobby decorated with black leather chairs and tall green plants in white ceramic pots. Dominating one wall was a six-foot-wide engraved glass plaque assuring us that we’d entered the offices of Bleeker, Smit and Meyer.

  Moresby was already there. When I introduced him to Alex, he frowned. “Why are you all here? It’s a business meeting, not a school outing.”

  “Because I was so looking forward to meeting you,” Alex responded.

  He frowned some more and went off to check with the receptionist. She accompanied us to a conference room and offered us coffee. Minutes later, a man, presumably Bleeker, entered. He was tall, as the Dutch often are, with chestnut hair swept back in a way that added to his height. A hint of silver at the temples gave him a distinguished look.

  “Armani,” Alex whispered. I wondered how she knew that. To me, his light grey suit just looked nice.

  “Arte Bleeker,” the man said as he shook hands with Moresby and then each of us in turn. “Shall we sit down?”

  When we’d grouped ourselves around the conference table, Bleeker set down a bulky folder. “I made copies of the permits for the work on the apartment as well as certified copies of the purchase document,” he said, giving Sam and Moresby each a folder of papers. “And I have the complete plans for the apartment renovation if you’d like them?”

  “Excellent, thank you,” Moresby said as he leafed through the pages. “This means we can move the project along at full speed.” He looked at Alex and me. “I cannot stress enough the need for you to give this your complete attention and effort. We have deadlines, and it’s my job to ensure that we meet them. Sam here will give you his fullest support, won’t you?”

  Sam nodded. “Of course. Although I would like to point out that today is the first day the team has been together.” Moresby’s brow furrowed. Bleeker looked amused. “But we’re ready to get going. You’ll see good progress over the next few days, I promise.”

  “Anyone have any requests?” Bleeker asked. “Mr. Holden?”

  “Sam, please.”

  Bleeker nodded. “Sam, I heard that you sent a list of questions to Mrs. Janssen? It would be best to come to me with that sort of
thing. She’s rather fragile at the moment, understandably, and we want to support her as much as possible. What can I do to help?”

  Sam explained that he had needed a copy of the electrical plan for the renovated apartment. He held up the papers Bleeker had just given him. “But I assume it’s all in here?”

  Bleeker nodded. “You should find everything you need. Is there anything else?”

  “Are there any structural plans for the whole building?” I asked. “We’ve all got copies of architectural plans for the apartment, of course, but it would save a lot of time if we could get hold of any structural drawings.”

  “What is the difference?” Moresby asked.

  “Architectural plans include scaled and dimensioned floor plans, exterior elevations, window and door placement,” I explained. “As well as mechanical drawings to show wiring, heating and cooling ducts, plumbing and waste. It would be useful for Alex to have construction drawings that show load-bearing walls, roof weight, that sort of thing.”

  I thought about mentioning the mysterious pillar but decided against it.

  Moresby nodded. “I see.”

  Bleeker shook his head. “I’m sorry. Given the age of the house, there are no plans on record with the building department. Does that create a problem?”

  “Not particularly,” Alex said. “It just means starting from scratch and takes more time, but I’ve done that before. No worries.”

  “Mr. Bleeker,” Sam said after a short pause. “Have you heard from Pieter Janssen? I understand that we’re still waiting for his signatures on certain documents. Which is rather holding things up.”

  Bleeker shook his head slowly. “I understand. We have messages in to him. I’ll let you know as soon as he gets in touch.”

  Sam pinched the bridge of his nose and looked pained. “TBA Capital is on a tight deadline, as I’m sure you know. We’d like to have an idea of when we can expect the papers to be signed.”

  Moresby leaned in. “I second that, Mr. Bleeker.”

  “Please rest assured I will do everything possible to expedite the documents.”

  Sam and Moresby exchanged looks, and Sam shrugged. It seemed there was nothing more to be done.

  “In that case, we will let you get on with your work,” Moresby said.

  He’d just got to his feet when the conference room door opened. A woman stepped in, looking worried. Whatever she said to Bleeker had him looking worried too. Seconds later, Eline Janssen burst into the room. Her eyes were red, her expression distraught.

  As she spoke in Dutch to Bleeker, Alex translated. “I don’t know who she is but she’s talking about someone called Tessa,” she whispered to me. “Apparently, she’s dead.”

  My body reacted before my mind could. My hands began to shake. I took them off the table and clasped them tightly in my lap. Tessa’s aura had been moving fast, but I hadn’t imagined she would die so soon.

  “That’s Eline,” I told Alex. “Did she say what happened to Tessa?”

  “She fell down some stairs, I think. It’s a bit muddled.”

  I could see why Alex was having trouble following the conversation. Eline was almost hysterical, sobbing and clutching at Bleeker’s arm. He remained calm and soothing while his assistant kept offering Eline a glass of water. Moresby moved to the window and stared outside. I guessed raw human emotion wasn’t something he was comfortable with.

  Sam stood up. “We should go,” he said to us. “We can’t do anything here to help.”

  Bleeker nodded in acknowledgement, and we gathered our things and left, collecting Moresby as we went.

  “Goodness,” Alex said, once we were out on the street. “Poor Eline.”

  I told her about Tessa’s visit earlier in the day, leaving out the aura part. I had to work out what to do about Sam. And Eline. Death had struck awfully close to both of them. I didn’t have much time.

  Moresby said he was going back to his hotel and admonished us to work hard for the rest of the day. Instead, the three of us took a detour on our way back to the Janssen house, pausing to view the Magere Brug, the Skinny Bridge, over the Amstel River. We all needed a moment to get over Eline’s unexpected and dramatic appearance. Sam and Alex had expressed their sympathy for Eline, but they had no reason to be unduly concerned about what had happened to Tessa. So, I tagged along after them, glad of some time to think.

  When they stopped to buy waffles, I had one too, but I didn’t even notice the taste of it. Fingers sticky, a little giddy from the sugar rush, we finally piled into Janssens’ kitchen, where Sam laid the folder of papers on the table before going to the sink to wash his hands.

  “Can I take a look at the original purchase document?” Alex asked.

  “Help yourself.”

  I looked over her shoulder as she opened the folder and took out a piece of thick creamy paper covered with typed legalese and lots of stamps and seals. It was in Dutch, and I didn’t understand a word. I noticed Tomas Janssen’s name, though, and another one.

  “Martin Eyghels,” I read out loud.

  “Yes, he was the seller,” Sam said. “It’s not clear when he bought the place. Sometime in the late 90s. Still, it all looked normal to me.”

  “Do you think the house is over-valued?” I asked. “It’s a lot of money, given that more than half of it is undeveloped.”

  “Originally, I thought that too, but it is a massive building and has a lot of land for being in a city.” He put the paper back in the folder and stood up. “I’m going to call Terry to tell him what we’ve got here. He’ll be happy we’re making some sort of progress after weeks of asking. I’ll be in the dining room.”

  “I need the loo,” Alex said.

  As she wandered off up the hallway, I heard noises in the living room and went to investigate. Henk was up on a ladder, hanging the picture that had fallen.

  That reminded me to check the chain that I’d hidden in my bag. My examination made my stomach flip. There were scratches on the metal. Did someone deliberately damage the link? It looked as though it had been forced open just enough to hold the weight of the painting for a while, and I wondered how long it would have taken for gravity to act on it. Was it done recently, like today? A week ago? A year? Or was I imagining it and the scratches had been caused when the link simply broke apart from old age or an inherent weakness?

  Hearing Alex’s footsteps, I shoved the chain inside my bag. Until I knew more, I didn’t want to alarm her or Sam.

  “Let’s go sit and make our to-do lists?” she suggested.

  “Okay.” It was hard to muster any enthusiasm when my mind was racing with thoughts of auras and what might be causing them. But, I reflected, getting this project completed might be a good way forward. The sooner we were done, the sooner I could get Sam out of here. I needed to think about Eline too. She’d said Tessa’s death was an accident. I couldn’t see how that could be connected to what threatened Eline.

  “I can’t wait to get started,” Alex said. “Funny old place but it’s got fabulous potential.”

  By the time we’d finished our planning session, some of my anxiety had faded. I was eager to get on with my job and determined to do my best. Moresby wasn’t my favorite client, not by a long way, but I’d make sure that his company ended up with a beautiful building for their headquarters. Although, I thought, it was too bad TBA Capital was yet another financial trading company. London was teeming with them. Manipulating money, my dad called it. Money that only existed in some parallel electronic universe. Money that had made London one of the most expensive cities in the world to live in. My little fourth floor flat was hardly as big as one of the conference rooms I had in mind, a tiny fraction of the size of the Janssens’ apartment.

  “Shall we go take another look upstairs?” Alex suggested. “You too, Sam?” He’d just come in after his long phone call.

  “It’s almost five,” Sam objected. “I was thinking happy hour.”

  “Thirty minutes,” she said. “We’ll st
art with the top floor as that should be the easiest. Then the drinks are on me.”

  “I’ll go make some more calls then.”

  After making sure, discreetly, that he was safely ensconced in the dining room, I followed Alex upstairs. The barn-like areas of the top floor were faintly lit by a line of windows along the front of the building, with views down to the canal. In the early evening light, the waterway was a strip of bronze, with ripples from a passing barge carved into its surface. Cyclists and pedestrians crammed the pavements, and lights were already shining in the windows of the houses on the far side of the canal. It was a pleasant and peaceful scene, a striking contrast to the turmoil and pain I felt, thinking about Sam’s aura.

  “Wake up, Kate,” Alex said. “Things to do.”

  I nodded and took a good look at the green paneling along the back wall. As Sam had said, it was in excellent condition.

  “We know there’s a corridor behind the paneling on the blue floor and it’s about eight feet wide,” I said. “Do we assume it’s the same here?” I walked over and tapped the wood.

  “Makes sense,” Alex said. “When they installed gas for lamps and pipes for running water, they’d have run the plumbing along the back. Far easier than digging into stone or brick to cut channels for pipes. Then they probably added the electrical cables in the 1930s.”

  “But we haven’t found an access point yet. They must have been able to get in and out.”

  “That is odd,” she agreed.

  “I think we’ll have to persuade Sam to take down part of this wall so we can take a look. And at some point, the construction crew will need access to pull out all the old pipes and cabling.”

  I leaned closer to the wall, remembering what Sam had said.

  “What are you doing?” Alex asked.

  “Just listening. Sam mentioned he heard noises up here over the weekend. But, honestly, it was probably mice or maybe birds in the eaves.”