The House on Findlater Lane

by Helen Goltz

  Should I introduce myself or not? Might ruin all the fun.

  Holly gets a client

  The next morning proved to be fruitful. At around 9 am, there was a sharp rap at the front door; just two quick knocks as if someone was very busy and on a mission. Holly breathed a sigh of relief that she had got up early, exercised, showered, and looked a bit respectable if it was a business enquiry.

  She straightened her dress, and answered the door to find a neat, slim woman no taller than herself standing there. Her grey hair was whipped back in a bun and she was tidy… that’s how Holly’s grandmother would have described her – a pale blue pantsuit, a floral scarf, sensible shoes and a tan handbag. Beneath her arm was tucked a grey-coloured folder.

  ‘Hello, may I help you?’ Holly asked.

  ‘My dear, you look surprised to have potential clients knocking on your door. I gather I’m the first then,’ the tidy lady said, with a nod to Holly’s sign in the window.

  ‘Yes, you’re right. You are my first client in the village,’ Holly said, delighted. ‘Please come in, I’m Holly Hanlon.’

  ‘Thank you. I’m Esther Bohmer,’ she said, wiping her feet on the front mat and observing the room as she entered.

  ‘I’ve just made a pot of tea,’ Holly said, with a quick glance around; the room was clear. ‘Will you join me, Ms Bohmer?’ She led the way to the kitchen and offered her potential client a chair.

  ‘Please call me Esther and tea, white, no sugar, would be delightful, thank you. Were you expecting someone?’ Esther asked, noting the two cups and saucers. ‘Were you expecting me, perhaps?’

  Holly gave a small laugh. ‘No, I’m not psychic… I find real things, not otherworld things. The two cups… well, I’m a bit embarrassed to say.’ Holly blushed.

  Esther sat opposite Holly at the table, placing her folder beside her, as Holly remained standing to pour.

  ‘At my age, dear, I’ve heard it all. I’m sure you won’t surprise me,’ Esther said.

  Holly smiled. ‘Okay then…’ She lowered her voice. ‘I’m trying to coax the Sergeant to appear… you know, the resident… well, ghost. And I thought if I made tea for two… I’m not saying ghosts drink tea… it’s ridiculous, I know,’ Holly said, realising how daft she sounded.

  Esther smiled. ‘I think it is rather a charming idea. You know tea solves all problems, and I’ve heard he can be a problem ghost.’

  ‘So, you know of him, the Sergeant?’ Holly said, her interest piqued.

  Esther reached out and accepted the cup of tea with a curt nod. Holly grabbed a plate and an unopened packet of shortbread biscuits (supplied thanks to Aunty Kate) and returned, sprinkling a few on the plate for the two ladies to share. She lowered herself into a chair.

  ‘Never too early for shortbread,’ Esther said, helping herself. ‘Thank you. The Sergeant … yes, there are a few tongues already wagging in the village about you and this house. They’re saying that you are quite brave. I’m gathering you know about its history then?’ she asked, diplomatically.

  Holly reached for a biscuit and gave Esther a nod.

  ‘Yes, I actually am part of its history. My grandmother, Lily Hanlon, once owned this house and her daughter, my Aunty Kate, owns it now.’

  ‘Is that so?’ Esther said, her eyes widening with interest. ‘Well, that is wonderful. I knew Lily… even though I look far too young to have known her,’ she teased.

  Holly laughed but not too much, as the joke required.

  Esther continued: ‘Lily moved away some time ago, didn’t she?’

  ‘Yes, she had friends in London and she went back there to live in a retirement village. She died about fifteen years ago, she was quite old – seventy-one. Oh, sorry, that might not be that old!’

  Esther smiled. ‘Well, I’m eighty-eight and I don’t feel a day over eighty-seven!’

  Again, Holly laughed. She liked this old girl.

  ‘I always liked Lily, and your grandfather, Matthew, and I do remember their children as well. There was Kate, and two boys – one who died in an accident… a terrible time it was…’ Esther frowned as she trawled through her memories.

  ‘Yes, that was my Uncle Sam, Aunty Kate’s twin brother,’ Holly confirmed.

  ‘Yes, the twins, they were delightful. Young Sam was a very good runner, but the water took him if my memory serves me well.’

  Holly nodded. ‘He drowned when he was ten.’

  Esther shook her head. ‘Life is a strange bag of experiences, isn’t it? The other lad was a surly fellow… quiet and moody, good academically but always in the shadow of the twins, I thought. So, whose daughter are you? Kate’s?’ Esther asked.

  ‘My father, Joseph, is that surly fellow,’ Holly said, and smiled.

  ‘Goodness! I won’t be winning any diplomacy awards this morning, will I?’ Esther chuckled.

  ‘Don’t worry, he is surly,’ Holly said, assuring her. ‘You wouldn’t be the first to say that, but he’s a big softy at heart. And did you meet the Sergeant when he lived here?’

  Esther looked over at his portrait and smiled. ‘Yes, he was an agreeable young man and his wife was delightful. Now, what was her name… Margaret, Mary… No, it was Meg, that’s it.’

  ‘Meg,’ Holly repeated after her.

  ‘But something tragic happened to that young man, the Sergeant. He was killed in the line of duty, leaving behind his beautiful young widow.’ Esther sighed.

  ‘So why is he still here then?’ Holly asked, looking at the portrait.

  ‘Here as in on the wall, or here as in spirit?’ Esther enquired with interest.

  ‘Hmm, maybe both.’

  ‘That I don’t know, but they were happy here. Maybe he feels his death was unjust. Maybe he’s waiting for Meg to join him in the afterlife, if she hasn’t already?’ Esther asked.

  ‘I’m not sure,’ Holly said. ‘So she obviously didn’t stay on here?’

  ‘No, she left within weeks of the Sergeant’s death. Must have been too painful for her to stay here.’

  Holly nodded and they paused for a moment and reflected on life and all its ups-and-downs.

  ‘I’m sorry. You have come here on business. What can I help with?’ Holly came back to the here and now.

  ‘Yes, right you are, down to business. Now, young lady, I’m hoping you can find a necklace for me. I believe it is in England and… it’s been missing for over fifty years.’

  Holly paused, the biscuit halfway to her mouth. ‘Wow! Well, there’s a challenge. Most things find me before I find them. Wow… fifty years!’

  Esther nodded. ‘If you’re interested in helping me, I’ll tell you the whole story.’

  ‘Please, yes,’ she sat back and pulled her teacup closer. ‘Oh, I should take notes.’

  ‘No need, I have detailed it for you here,’ Esther said, pulling some pages from her handbag, ‘if you’re interested in taking the case.’

  ‘Thank you,’ Holly said, suppressing a smile. Of course Esther had it all detailed, and probably cross-referenced as well. She seemed very organised, Holly thought.

  ‘I came to England when I was seven, in 1939. Have you heard of the Kindertransport?’

  Holly shook her head. ‘No. What is it?’

  ‘It’s German for children’s transport. Just before the outbreak of the Second World War, a lot of Jewish children were rescued from Germany and Britain took us in, about ten thousand or so. I was one of them.’

  ‘Just children?’ Holly asked.

  Esther nodded.

  ‘How terrifying for you,’ Holly said, placing her hand on her heart.

  ‘It was. Thank you for saying that. I was an only child and my parents sent me away for my own safety. We arrived at the Port of London and a lovely couple fostered me and brought me to this little village, I was very lucky. After the war, I found out my mother died in a Bergen-Belsen concentration camp in 1943, and I never found out what happened to my father.’

  ‘Oh Esther, that’s horrific,’ Holly sai
d.

  ‘It was… it is,’ she agreed. ‘Some people say that we should move on now, not pursue those Nazis still alive because they are so old, or forget what claims we have to justice, but then I ask them… if your parents or children were killed by Nazis, would you eventually say, “Don’t worry about it, everyone is too old now?” Of course not,’ Esther answered her own question.

  ‘I’d pursue them while I had breath in my body,’ Holly said.

  ‘Thank you, my dear, and that’s why I know you’ll be the perfect person for this job. Even if I die, Holly, I would like you to see it through.’

  ‘Are you dying?’ Holly asked, lowering her voice.

  ‘No, but I’m old, you never know,’ Esther said, again with a sly look.

  Holly smiled and shook her head. ‘I suspect you have a wicked sense of humour, Esther, I’m alert to that now.’

  Esther laughed. ‘Oh dear, I won’t get away with anything then! So, let me tell you about the job. I’m chasing a very special piece of jewellery that my parents owned. It was made with love, and when they were taken away by the Nazis it was confiscated by a German family. I’d like to have it back before I die, so that I can choose to leave it with someone I love.’

  A garden, a client and a rare pink diamond

  Luke took a juice from the office fridge, unscrewed the lid, and stood over his desk.

  So, Findlater House has a new tenant, he mused. He thought about Alfred’s comment. If plans were drawn up for a garden they’d still be on file somewhere. His father must have done them because Luke had no memory of designing anything for the “ghost house”, as he and his school friends used to call it.

  Pulling out the chair, he sat down in front of the laptop, logged in and went to the Work in progress files. He searched using the cottage name, then the address – nothing.

  He found the plans for his own garden which he had been designing for close on ten years… yep, no time like the present, he thought. But, after working all day, he just didn’t have the energy to do his own home. Not a good business card, he knew it. One day.

  He opened the file marked Archive and did the searches again; three files appeared with Findlater House file names.

  ‘That’s more like it,’ he said, to no-one. He straightened in his chair, opened the first file and let out a low whistle. He recognised his father’s signature at the bottom of the design; it was beautiful. Tiers of plants and flowers embraced both sides of the entrance, arranged in rows of pots and curving around to the foot of the front stairs. A small topiary graced each stair on both sides.

  ‘Beautiful,’ Luke said. ‘Cost a bit, too’. He opened the second file and found the quote… yep, not for the fainthearted. Opening the third file, he found all the original photos of the cottage and the existing yard. The photos were circa 1960–1970s – small, square shots that must have been scanned in and put online when they converted all their paper records to the system.

  Who was the client – Kate or her mother? Luke wondered. He waded through the photos until he came to a shot that actually had people in it – a couple. He went back to the quote and saw it was made out to Sergeant Alexander Austen and Mrs Austen. Odd, he thought. Luke knew enough history to know the place had always belonged to the Hanlon family. It was strange that the tenants would be looking to put in a garden. Unless the Hanlon family decided an improved garden would encourage their tenants to stay long-term.

  Returning to the photo, Luke studied the pair – the guy was tall, dark and good-looking, and the woman was a beauty. She looked really “Seventies” with her flowered-print loose pants and top, and the long dark hair. She came up to the man’s shoulder, had her arms wrapped around him, and they looked in love.

  Dad must have taken that shot of them pre-garden renos while he was there, Luke mused. Wonder where the two of them are now? Geez, they’d have to be in their seventies or eighties. Probably dead.

  He went back to the garden plans and studied them. Well, that’s a good head start, anyway, if the new Findlater House tenant comes back, he thought. Hope she’s got a good-sized budget.

  Holly poured them both a second cup of tea.

  ‘I’d best tell you about the necklace first before I tell you how it came to be lost, shall I?’ Esther said.

  ‘Yes, please,’ Holly said, ‘and don’t scrimp on detail!’

  Esther smiled. ‘No scrimping. My father was a jeweller and my mother assisted him in our family jewellery store. We lived a very comfortable life in Berlin. I was spoilt and adored, being the only child, but my memories are very sketchy now of what our life was like. I’ve spent many hours, many days, months and years, trying to remember the smallest details about my family, as you can imagine. But it all came to an end when I was seven. Holly, we were Jewish.’

  ‘Oh,’ Holly said.

  ‘Yes. I am sure you know your history, you know of the Nazi Party and the genocide of the Jewish people?’

  Holly nodded. ‘Of course.’

  ‘Good. Well, it started as early as 1933 – the Nazi propaganda to boycott Jewish businesses. My father had to close the shop front of our business and just take private jewellery commissions and bespoke orders. I imagine they were worried financially about the future and the business, but I don’t know… I was only a baby then, I have no memory of it. I was seven when I was sent away in 1939 and I only have a window of memories prior to that as well.’

  Esther stopped to sip her tea and then continued. ‘I can’t remember a time that there wasn’t tension in our city, but I guess my parents screened me from it as best they could. But the year before I was sent away, 1938, was the worst. I had started school but then wasn’t allowed to continue. I couldn’t visit some of my friends or go to birthday parties if they lived in an “Aryan” zone and some of my relatives lost their jobs because they weren’t allowed to serve German clients – and you know enough from your history lessons of what was to come.’

  Holly nodded. She didn’t speak; anything would have sounded hollow.

  Esther continued. ‘My mother and father were very frightened and they told me they were sending me to boarding school in England to help me study English. They said it would only be for a few years and then we’d all be reunited. I didn’t want to go, I was terrified. So I sailed away from them thinking I was terribly hard done by – I’d never known any other life than with them – and if it hadn’t been for all the other children around me, it would have been unbearable.’

  ‘And did you come to this village then or in later years?’ Holly asked. Occasionally, she thought she caught movement from the corner of her eye and subtly glanced around, but the room was empty; the Sergeant was in his frame.

  ‘I was very, very lucky to be taken in by a lovely family in London and I never returned to Germany. Both of my parents perished and my English family has long since passed away, but I came to this village when I married. My husband, who has passed as well, was born here. So, to the job…’ Esther got back on track.

  ‘Esther, I’m so very sorry for your generations of loss,’ Holly said. ‘There are no words.’

  ‘No,’ Esther said, ‘but thank you, my dear.’ She took a deep breath and continued. ‘My parents had some valuable paintings and as you can imagine, as jewellers, some beautiful jewellery. It was all stolen by the Nazis, and retrieving it has been… well, a life-long battle.’

  ‘But shouldn’t it be legally returned to you?’ Holly said, with a dismayed look.

  ‘In an ideal world, yes,’ Esther said, ‘but there was so much stolen… I found out in my searching that auctions were held for months on end in 1941 to sell items looted from Jewish homes.’

  Holly groaned.

  ‘Yes, some days I wondered if it was worth it… for my health,’ Esther said. ‘It’s a complex area and I won’t get into the detail of it with you this visit, but in a nutshell, there has been considerable support from organisations worldwide to assist Jewish family to recuperate their possessions. Here, in Britain,
since the late Nineties, museums across the country have undertaken detailed research of their collections to identify objects which may fall into this category. There are working groups that look into what they call the spoliation of art during the Holocaust and World War II period. There was also a large conference in Washington in 1998 to address Holocaust assets.’

  Holly nodded, taking it all in. She made a mental note to research this for herself; she had never heard of it prior to now.

  ‘That’s a good thing though, isn’t it?’

  ‘It is my dear, absolutely. But in many cases and in my case, these items are not in museums, but rather, in personal collections.’

  ‘In German households?’ Holly asked.

  ‘Sometimes, or sold to collectors around the world,’ Esther said, ‘so you can see how futile it can become unless someone puts the piece up for sale and it is identified. Several decades ago, I joined a class action of Jewish descendants trying to retrieve stolen goods. As part of this, I was able to reclaim several of the original paintings that were taken by Nazis and were hanging in German homes. I’ve since donated them to the British Art Gallery,’ she said, and stopped. ‘You see, Holly, I don’t want the objects returned for money… I don’t need it. It’s the principle of the matter and I would rather have these works enjoyed by many, or sold with the proceeds going to charity, than sitting in a private home where they have no right to be in the first place. Does that make sense?’

  Holly nodded. ‘Perfect sense, and I couldn’t agree more. But do the current owners always know the history of the artwork in their possession?’

  ‘Not the descendants… to them, it was a gift handed down from their relatives and they are often quite shocked, as you can imagine.’ Esther looked down at the folder in front of her, opened it and pulled out a photo. She slid it in front of Holly.

  ‘Oh, wow,’ Holly said, admiring the piece of jewellery – a row of perfectly round creamy pink pearls with a clasp featuring a large diamond. Even from the faded photo she could see its beauty. It was a rare colour photo, it looked painted. ‘Is that a pink diamond?’