Bleeker was looking at me with concern too, his brows drawn together. “I realize this is all very distressing,” he said. “But we have to discuss the impact of Eline’s death on the estate’s business affairs. I’m sure you all realize that we will need to delay the house purchase, perhaps for a very extended period of time.”
Sam turned away from the window to look at him. “How long?”
Bleeker shrugged. “I can’t say, I’m sorry.”
“But the nephew will probably still want to go ahead with the sale?” Moresby asked. “And he’ll have the right to do that?”
“Yes, of course, he retains the right to sell the property, which will belong to him in its entirety. That’s the way Tomas Janssen wrote up the will. In the event of Eline’s death, everything goes to Pieter Janssen. But we don’t know for sure that he will want to proceed with the sale now that it is solely his. He may want to live in it. But that’s a future issue. For now, I need to work on the inheritance documents, the passing of property from Eline to her nephew.”
“Are we talking weeks or months to get this sorted?” Sam asked.
“Months?” Moresby spluttered. “We can’t wait months.” He took a white handkerchief from his breast pocket and wiped his forehead. “What a bloody disaster.”
“Bit of a disaster for poor Eline too,” Alex muttered.
Moresby ignored her. “I put my reputation on the line by choosing this city and this building,” he said, staring up at the ceiling as though remembering a happier time. He frowned. “They’ll never trust my opinion again.” He glared at Sam. “And you won’t get paid.”
“I apologize,” Bleeker said.
“But surely someone can get a message to Pieter and find out what he wants to do about the house?” Sam asked. He was rubbing his temple as though he had a headache.
I sympathized. My head was pounding with a toxic drumbeat of anxiety, guilt and frustration. I was terrified for Sam, I had failed to save Eline, and the future of the project was uncertain. I rolled my shoulders, trying to work out the tension in them. They felt like steel coils.
“Of course,” Bleeker said. “But in the event that Pieter still wishes to sell, we will need him to sign a number of documents and for that he will have to come to Amsterdam.”
“He’s already in Amsterdam,” I said. “We met him yesterday. He said he and Eline had an appointment with you late yesterday afternoon. You didn’t see him?”
Bleeker shook his head. “I didn’t. There was no appointment that I know of.”
Alex and I exchanged looks. I felt the weight of an iron slab pushing on my shoulders. Had the man who’d visited yesterday been an imposter? It wasn’t the nephew? We needed to tell the police.
“But, Mr. Bleeker, the man we met said he was Pieter Janssen and that he and Eline were planning to see you. Are you sure there was no meeting?”
The lawyer shrugged. “As I said. Perhaps they met with one of my associates though. I will check.”
“Have you met him before?” I asked. “To be honest, we’re not even sure it was Pieter who came here yesterday.”
“I haven’t,” Bleeker said. “All our communications to date have been by phone. Listen, it is probably best if you let your respective companies know that there will be a delay. Perhaps you’d all prefer to return to London until I notify you that we are ready to proceed again?”
“Go back to London?” Moresby slapped his hand on the table. “Impossible. When I go back, it’s with the bill of sale in hand, or not at all.”
The way things were looking, Moresby might be permanently displaced. I had a picture in my head of him wandering the streets of Amsterdam for years to come.
“Can’t we finish the first phase?” Sam asked. “If we’re able to spend a few more hours here today, we can wrap up our reports and give Mr. Moresby the document he needs to present to his Board. That will keep things ticking over while you deal with the will. At least we’ll minimize the amount of time we lose.”
Poor Sam. If this fell apart, he wouldn’t get paid by TBA. And I knew this project was important to him for more than just the money. He’d have nothing to show for all the time he’d put in and no references from a happy client.
Bleeker was frowning. “I’m not sure about that. It would be best if you were to put things on hold for now.”
“There’s a lot at stake here,” Sam argued. “We just need a few hours to finish up. Then, if Pieter does decide to proceed as planned, we won’t have wasted any time.”
“Good plan,” Moresby said.
“Very well.” Bleeker nodded. “As long as you do nothing that has a material impact on the property, you may stay.”
His mobile rang and he stood up and moved towards the door to take the call. After only a minute, he came back to his chair.
“That was Pieter Janssen,” he said. “He has asked for a meeting this afternoon and apologized for missing our appointment yesterday.”
“The appointment you didn’t know you had,” I said.
“There must have been an administrative mix-up. I have a new receptionist. Anyway, for now, I don’t know what Pieter will do about the house, but I will let you know as soon as I’ve talked with him.”
“We’ll stay here until we hear from you,” Sam said.
Bleeker nodded. “I’ll be in touch.”
11
When Bleeker had gone, Moresby jumped to his feet. “Let’s get on then,” he said. “Finish up the report so I can present it to my Board.”
“It will be incomplete,” I reminded him. “We can’t really finish it until we break in on the top floor to see where that concrete pillar goes.”
He waved me off as though swatting an insect. “That’s a minor detail. I can handle that. The important thing is that I have enough information to verify the feasibility of the renovation.” He leaned towards me as though sharing a secret. “I’ll be honest with you. The Board members don’t have a lot of imagination between them. As long as the building is stable and the managing partners each get an office with a view, everyone will be happy. At this stage, they’re not going to worry about a few square meters of space and whether it’s usable or not.”
Alex raised her eyebrows and flashed a grin at me. Under other circumstances, Moresby would be the ideal client, content with a big picture overview and not fussy about the details. But we had a bigger problem than that to deal with. What if Pieter Janssen decided not to sell now that Eline was dead?
I reminded myself that I didn’t care about the fate of the project. The only concern was what effect it would have on Sam’s future. If the project was canceled, it would be a disaster for him. But then so would dying. I really didn’t know what to do but I was leaning towards doing everything I could to get him on the next plane to London.
“We can do this,” Sam said. He checked his watch. “It’s ten a.m., so I say we aim to finish everything by end of day, and then we can compile the documents into one report. Everyone all right with that?”
“You’ll have plenty of drawings for me, won’t you?” Moresby asked me. “Things that will show what the building could look like when it’s finished?”
“That’s my job,” I said. “I have a lot of sketches ready. Do you want to take a look at what I’ve got so far?”
“Excellent idea.” He sat down next to me and reached into an inside pocket of his jacket for a pair of reading glasses. Together, we huddled over my notebook, and I described the way I thought each floor could be used. Sam settled at the opposite end of the table, and Alex spread out her mechanical drawings next to him.
It felt strangely calming to be working again, as if nothing untoward had happened. But very soon my brain started to hum with questions. What was I going to do about Sam when we returned to London? What if the aura didn’t disappear when we left Amsterdam? What if he was still in danger? Then what? I couldn’t camp at Sam’s grandmother’s house. Trailing him to his office wasn’t practical. Short of locking hi
m in a padded cell, there was no way I’d be able to protect him.
“Kate?” Moresby glared at me. “Have you been listening to anything I’m saying? I asked if we could move the computer server room to the top floor?”
“What? Oh, well actually, it will be more… more cost-effective having it located it on the ground floor. But if you don’t mind the costs, we can do it. The whole building will need new wiring anyway, apart from this apartment level of course.”
I forced myself to focus on the work in hand, answering Moresby’s questions while trying hard to push away thoughts of Sam’s future. My body seemed to be mirroring my brain. One moment I felt hot and the next I was cold. I wondered if I was getting the flu. Just what I needed, on top of everything else.
A while later, Alex sat back in her chair and stretched her arms over her head. “I need a break,” she said.
“Me too.” Sam tapped his laptop. “Let’s make some tea and review how far we’ve got.” He stood up. “Are you still planning on flying back to London today, Mr. Moresby?”
Moresby shook his head. “No, I will stay to hear the outcome of Bleeker’s meeting with Pieter Janssen. If there are any complications there, I’ll need to know immediately.”
“Excellent. We’ll just keep pushing on then and assume that the project will go forward with minimal delays.”
For a microsecond, a smile flashed across Moresby’s face. He looked like someone’s kindly uncle. But then it was over, and his mouth returned to a thin line over his set jaw.
“Jolly good, everyone,” he said. “Fine work. Much appreciated. I’ll be at my hotel if you need me.”
Once Moresby had gone, the three of us sat and looked at each other.
“What now?” Sam asked.
“I say the first thing we do is eat.” Alex switched off the kettle that she’d just turned on. “Let’s get out of here and have lunch. We’ll all think better when we’re not starving.”
That girl could eat ten times a day and not put on an ounce. Still, lunch sounded tempting, and getting out of the house even more so.
When we stepped onto the street, the wind had picked up, ruffling the surface of the canal. Pedestrians clutched at their scarves and hats to stop them blowing away, and cyclists bent their heads low over their handlebars. But it was pleasant to be out in the fresh air and I took a few deep breaths. We walked slowly, admiring the narrow houses and the many bridges, wide and thin, plain and ornate, that crossed the canals.
“I want to rent a bike,” Alex said as several sailed past us. “Maybe we can do that tomorrow.”
No way, I thought, but I didn’t say it out loud.
For a while, it was peaceful walking along the water’s edge but, as we got closer to the Rijksmuseum, the crowds thickened. Tourists followed guides with color-coded flags or umbrellas, and groups of school kids in matching sweatshirts swarmed everywhere.
Sam led us away from the busy area, along a quiet side street to a rijsttafel, an Indonesian rice table restaurant. I’d heard of them but never eaten in one. Dutch colonialism in the East had begun with the VOC. When the Dutch came home, they brought with them a love of the spicy foods they’d eaten in Indonesia. Like the Brits in India, I thought. Every small town in England has an Indian restaurant.
I wondered if Jacob Hals, the man who built the Janssens’ house, had ever traveled on one of the company’s big sailing ships. More likely he’d stayed in the safety of Amsterdam, reaping the profits made by the soldiers and merchants who worked for the VOC.
The restaurant was busy, but we got a table in a quiet corner and let Sam do the ordering. When the waiter brought a dozen small dishes of rice, satay chicken, spicy vegetables and pickles, I didn’t think we’d get through it all. I shouldn’t have worried. The food was delicious, and we emptied every plate.
While we ate, we formulated a plan of sorts. I wanted to talk to Eline’s friend, the one she’d been staying with. I was hoping she would know something that might help me work out the threat to Sam. Alex already had plans to meet Willem for dinner and hoped he’d tell her more about the Janssens and the house.
“But now I’m wondering if there’s any point,” she said. “Maybe we should wait until we hear from Bleeker and whether the project is even going ahead. Whatever Willem knows about the house isn’t much use if the project gets cancelled.”
“No, but we still need to work out what it is that threatens Sam,” I said. “And whether it is related to the house in any way. He might know something.”
I glanced up at Sam to check on his aura. His lips were pressed tightly together. “I’m sorry,” I said, reaching over to put my hand on his arm. “I know you don’t like thinking about it.”
Still scowling, he got up and walked off towards the loo.
“Poor Sam,” Alex said. “But you’re right. I’ll keep my dinner date with Willem.”
“I’ll stay with Sam while you’re out. One of us needs to be with him all the time.”
Her eyes sparkled. “I’ll take the night shift then.”
We tried to keep our faces straight when Sam came back to the table, but Alex was still smiling when he sat down.
“I won’t even ask,” he said.
“Better not to,” I agreed.
We were more somber by the time lunch was over, each of us ready to tackle our self-imposed task. First on my list was tracking down Eline’s friend. I thought I remembered Eline saying her name was Karen. Or it could have been Catherine. Our only possible lead seemed to be Henk. He might know where Eline had been staying. So, we walked, more briskly now, back to the house, hoping he’d still be there.
We found him polishing the vast and empty dining table and left Alex to talk with him. She joined us a few minutes later.
“Agh.” She plopped down on a chair.
“No help then?” Sam asked.
“None at all. I think he’s cut up about Eline’s death, but insists he knows nothing. He just kept asking when we were planning to leave. I said I had no idea and told him we’ll probably be around for the foreseeable future. You should have seen his face.”
“There has to be some other way we can find the friend,” I said, watching as Alex jumped back up and started to make tea. The noise of clanking mugs must have woken Vincent, wherever he’d been hiding, and he wandered into the kitchen to rub up against Sam’s leg. Dutifully, his on-call waiter went to the pantry to find a can of food. While the others were busy, I had an idea.
“Be right back,” I said.
After checking that Henk was still busy polishing the dining table, I hurried along the corridor that led to Eline’s bedroom. I grasped the crystal doorknob, trying to shake off the sense of guilt at what I was about to do, and then turned it. The room was empty, but I hesitated. This was Eline’s personal space and I was intruding. It was all for a good cause though, so I put aside my reservations and took a few steps inside.
Heavy damask curtains were drawn across the window, allowing only a sliver of grey light to fall across the burgundy colored quilt, the packing boxes stacked against one wall, and the suitcases on the bed. I had the unnerving feeling that someone was in the room watching me.
The surface of the dressing table was almost invisible under stacks of papers, perfume bottles, and jewelry boxes. I flipped through a pile of papers, wondering what Pieter had taken. The papers weren’t revealing much. They were all in Dutch. I straightened the pile and moved on to another one, only to find the same problem. Frustrated, I opened the largest of the jewelry boxes. It was crammed full of rings and earrings, all glittering with precious stones and gold. As I closed it and slid the clasp back into place, I heard a noise in the hallway outside. My hands began to shake so badly that I almost dropped the box. If Henk discovered me in here, what would he say?
I backed away from the dressing table and crouched down behind the huge four-poster bed. Ducking down as low as I could, I held my breath. Light from the hallway fell across the room as the door opened. I
waited, hearing Henk’s wheezy breathing but no footsteps. He had to be standing at the door looking in. Time seemed to slow, and then the light faded, and I heard a click as the door closed. Wary, wondering if he had come in and closed the door behind him, I waited for another few moments.
Focused as I was on controlling my breathing, it took me a few seconds to realize I was staring at a leather-bound book on the floor under the bed. Next to it was a pile of envelopes of different colors and sizes. I reached in and pulled out a couple. They were condolence cards, I realized, judging from the somber colors and the images of flowers on the front. I slid them back under the bed, picked up the book and carried it to the window. It appeared to be an address book, with entries in neat handwriting on each page. None of it made sense to me, but I guessed Alex might be able to decipher it.
I slipped out of the room, pulled the door closed, and dashed to the kitchen, where Sam and Alex were at the table, drinking tea. I could practically see a fluffy pink cloud enveloping them, all warm and mushy.
“Where did you go?” Alex asked, sliding a mug towards me.
“Take a look at this,” I replied, handing her the book. “Can you read it?”
She flipped through a few pages. “Yes, it’s an address book.” She looked up at me. “Did you go through Eline's things?”
“Never mind that. Can you see if there’s a Karen or Catherine in there?”
“We don’t have a second name.”
But she was already turning more pages. It seemed to take forever until she paused. “Karen Visser,” she said. “She’s the only Karen listed in here and there’s no Catherine.”
“Is there an address? A phone number?”
“Both. I’ll write them down. Shall I call her?”
I thought for a second. “I’d rather talk to her in person. I think I’d learn more that way.”
“But what if she doesn’t speak English?” Sam asked. “You’d better take Alex with you.”
He had a point, but I had no intention of leaving him alone. On the other hand, three of us turning up on Karen’s doorstep would be overkill. I’d have a better chance of winning her confidence if I went by myself.
Assignment in Amsterdam Page 10