by Karen Swan
‘Hey, you want to hear some gossip?’ Ines asked, bringing her back to the present.
‘Always.’
‘Guess who came into the boutique today?’
‘Can’t.’ Flora took another sip of her rosé.
‘Lucia Cantarello.’
Flora hesitated, waiting for the punchline. What was so interesting – or unusual – about a model buying lingerie?
‘She was buying for her girlfriend.’
Flora frowned. She was vaguely aware that the model was engaged to some Russian billionaire. ‘Who’s the lucky girl?’ she asked dutifully but she was already falling back into her memories again – Natascha’s palm at her face; Xavier’s entitled arrogance as he’d stared down at her . . .
‘Flor?’
‘Huh? What . . . ?’
‘It is a scandal, non?’ Ines asked, a conspiratorial smile on her face as she cupped the bottom of her wine glass.
She tried to rally, get back into the conversation. ‘It’s a mess. And what’s worse, I bet that’s exactly what she loves about it – the drama and chaos.’
‘Well, to be honest, there is a lot to be said for high passion,’ Ines said with a wink.
‘What? Screaming fights and crying all night? No, thanks. I can’t think of anything worse, all the drama.’
Ines patted her arm, a bemused grin on her lips. ‘I hope that when love finds you, it will be as straightforward as you expect.’
‘Why wouldn’t it be? It’s perfectly simple – you love someone or you don’t. There’s no grey area.’
‘Love is completely grey! There are no absolutes, no certainties. Sometimes love cannot be stopped even when it is wrong. And what if you end up falling for someone you don’t want to love?’
Flora looked at her as though she was mad. ‘Well, you just wouldn’t.’
‘Why not? How could you stop it? Sometimes the chemistry is just too much. Look at me and Bruno. Everything is opposite – our parents, our childhoods, our jobs, our dreams.’
‘That’s different. You’re the classic Yin/Yang, Opposites Attract story – you two are made for each other, everyone can see that.’
‘Not everyone. Lots of people think he’s with me for my money.’
‘They won’t now he’s got that contract with Hawk. He’s hitting the big league and it’s without any help from you – no contacts, no loans.’
‘I hope you’re right,’ Ines sighed. ‘He’s really nervous about the showcase tonight.’
‘He always is, but he’ll smash it.’
The sky was darkening rapidly now and although the breeze was picking up, it was still warm. Flora sensed that thunderstorms were on the way. They drifted into silence again, Ines’s legs kicking out like a swimmer’s, keeping the hammock swaying. Flora heard her hair rustle against the fabric sling as she turned to face her.
‘Flo, are you OK? You’re so quiet tonight.’
Flora bit her lip. ‘Actually, no. I think I just lost my job.’
Ines gasped. ‘But how?’
Flora grimaced, hiding her face with her hands. She didn’t even know where to start with it all – no one came out of it well. ‘I may have slightly slapped Natascha Vermeil in the face.’
Ines almost fell backwards out of the hammock. ‘You did what?’ she screeched, clearly delighted. ‘Do you have any idea how many people want to do that to that girl? People will be lining up to shake you by the hand.’
‘She hit me first!’ Flora tried to justify, before blowing out through her cheeks. ‘Oh Christ, what was I thinking? She’s my clients’ daughter! I don’t even know what happened to me. I just . . . lost it with them.’
‘Them?’
‘The brother was there too. I told him to go to hell.’
‘Oh. My. God,’ Ines screeched, gripping her arm so tightly, she was sure it would bruise. ‘Tell me everything.’
Flora slumped further in the hammock and told her.
‘. . . So the Poison Princess was sitting on the ostrich?’ Ines repeated, when she’d finished.
Flora nodded.
‘And the Dark Prince walked in when you were fighting with her?’
Flora tried to smile at her friend’s dramatic names, but she couldn’t. They were too true. Ines was silent and after a few moments, Flora looked across at her, anxious at the horror she’d see in her friend’s eyes.
Only, it wasn’t horror that she saw. Ines was sitting beside her with one hand clapped over her mouth, tears streaming from her eyes as she tried to stifle her laughter.
‘It’s not funny!’
‘Oh, but it is!’ Ines wailed, letting the hand drop and clutching her sides instead.
Flora waited, unamused, as Ines recovered herself. ‘You don’t understand. I’m going to get fired, Ines. The second Angus touches down in New York and gets my messages—’ She checked her watch again. Angus would be landing in five and a half hours from now.
‘No, you won’t,’ Ines said definitively.
‘I will. They’ll say I assaulted her and insulted him. And I did!’
‘Pah! You think it will be the first time the parents have heard such stories from those two? That is nothing compared to what they usually deal with.’
‘Ines, they are my clients. I’m employed by the family – it’s only reasonable to expect that I would behave in a professional manner.’
‘Did they behave reasonably with you? Was Natascha reasonable when she drove off with you in the car?’
‘Well, no, but—’
‘And when she stuck her hand in your face?’
‘Well no, but—’
‘And how about when she deliberately defied you and then hit you? First.’
Flora shook her head. ‘Well, there’s no excuse for how I spoke to Xavier.’
‘He was completely unreasonable expecting you to apologize.’
‘He was defending his sister.’
‘Hey! Whose side are you on?’ Ines jogged her with her elbow. ‘. . . Or maybe I should not be surprised. Passions always run high around him.’
Flora’s eyebrows shot up. ‘Excuse me?’
‘Well, you’ve got to admit he is handsome, non?’
‘No, I don’t!’
‘Non? You don’t think so?’
‘You do? The man’s an arrogant, self-entitled, spoilt ego-maniac who clearly thinks the world owes him and his sister a living.’
‘I know! But that doesn’t mean he’s not completely gorgeous.’
‘He’s an arse.’
Nonplussed, Ines gave up with her tease and rolled forward to reach for the bottle of rosé, refilling both their glasses. ‘Well, I am sure you are making worse of it than it is. Besides, they are not your only clients. Angus needs you more than he needs them.’
‘Two days ago I might have agreed with you, but if he had to choose now, he’d choose them. The Vermeils are suddenly much more valuable to him, not just in terms of commission but exposure too. Once the news about this job gets out, it’s going to be picked up in papers all across the world, trust me.’
Ines rolled on the hammock so that she was facing inwards to Flora. ‘Why will it be in papers all over the world?’
‘Because the family owns an apartment that’s been locked up since the war. No one knew anything about it until three days ago.’
Ines’s mouth dropped open. ‘You are joking me?’
‘Nope. It’s a complete time capsule. That’s why they’ve called us in.’
‘Oh my God, what did you find in there?’ she asked intently. ‘No dead bodies, I hope.’
Flora pulled a face. ‘No, but it was stuffed to the rafters with paintings, ornaments, you name it. And Gertie the ostrich of course. That’s where we had the fight.’
‘I don’t believe it,’ Ines murmured.
‘Nor could we. Nor could they, to be honest. We presented them with the inventory today. There’s hundreds of pieces in there.’
‘What are they going to do with it all
?’
Flora shrugged. ‘Sell it, probably.’
‘I can’t believe they forgot they had an entire apartment. God, don’t let Bruno hear about it!’
‘Actually, two apartments. It turns out they own the apartment downstairs too – although that one was pretty much empty. The only things in it are a bed and a painting. Here, have a look.’ She brought up a photo of the portrait on her phone.
‘Wow!’ Ines murmured. ‘I love the colour of that dress. It would look so great in a bra.’
Flora chuckled, pocketing the phone again.
‘So, they forgot about two apartments. How careless.’ Ines tucked her legs into her chest, curling up like a hedgehog, and Flora automatically took over swinging the hammock with her foot.
‘The weird thing is, I get the impression the family doesn’t know there are two apartments. I mean, they will now of course – Natascha’s hardly likely to keep shtum – but it wasn’t mentioned in our meeting yesterday. They only ever talked about one.’ She wrinkled her nose. ‘Don’t you think that’s odd?’
‘Mmmm.’ Ines thought for a moment. ‘But you said one was empty, right?’
Flora nodded.
‘Well, if you were called in to assess the art inside, there wouldn’t have been any point discussing the one without any art in it, would there?’
‘It had the portrait in it.’
‘Yeah. Just one painting. Not worth mentioning.’
‘I guess.’ Flora sighed and they swung in easy silence for a few moments. ‘Did I mention there was a codicil in the grandfather’s will saying no one in the family was to even know about the apartment until his wife dies?’
‘No! Is she dead?’
‘Nope, alive and well and living in Antibes apparently. And she’s forbidden them all from going to the apartment.’
‘Oh!’ Ines said, catching on. ‘So that’s why they called you in – you’re their “eyes”.’
‘Exactly.’
Ines chewed her inner cheek thoughtfully. ‘Well, that explains why Natascha kidnapped you. As soon as she’s told she can’t do something, you can bet it’s all she wants to do.’
She knew her friend was right. Natascha had admitted she had been listening at the door; she would have heard that Flora was leaving separately, alone and in the family’s own car; and she would have known that she needed Flora – as one of the only two people authorized to enter the property – to help her get the key. Little had she realized she’d gone about it the hard way. Flora had had her own copy of the key in her bag. If only Natascha had thought to ask and not grab . . .
Flora watched as a raven landed on a chimney stack and began cleaning its ruffled feathers, her mind still on the key. She was certain the assistant had thought he was giving her the spare, as though there was only one apartment.
She remembered something suddenly. ‘Oh! I nearly forgot . . . Wait there.’
Flora wriggled out of the hammock and ran over the roof terrace into the apartment. A moment later she returned with the letter in her hand. ‘I found it in the apartment yesterday. I meant to give it to Angus but I forgot.’
Ines looked at the tatty sheet. ‘It’s in German.’
‘I know,’ Flora nodded, climbing back into the hammock again. ‘Can you read it?’
Ines cast her eye over it. ‘Not well. It’s not Swiss German, anyway, which is about the only thing I learnt at that school.’
Flora shrugged. ‘Whatever you can tell me would help.’
Ines blew out through her cheeks. ‘OK, well, here we go,’ she said, her eyes travelling over the page. ‘It’s sent from Amsterdam, in October 1940.’
‘Ooh,’ Flora said, resting her cheek on Ines’s shoulder.
‘“. . . Dearest Sister, thank you for your nice words. Edmund and I are both . . . faring well, in spite of the increasing . . . scarcity of food. It has been one hundred and twenty days now since the Germans occupied the city and I think we cannot pretend any longer that the situation is a peaceful one, or even civilized. There have been rumours that the Germans are deliberately blockading supplies but I do not believe this myself. It is too much to believe they would resort to these tactics, starving us like dogs. Isn’t it?”’
Ines cocked a sad eyebrow at Flora before continuing to read.
‘“I pray things are easier with you. I wish you were here. I feel, even as hard as things are here, they must surely be better than Paris. I think I could bear it so much more to have you here with me. We could walk, like we always used to as girls. You could talk to me too, confide in me all your cares. I was . . . dismayed to read your unhappiness in your last letter and spent many nights . . . fretting about you, not just about your most recent loss – for which I cried for you, sister, truly I did – but also your worries for your marriage. If you will permit, I will speak frankly – your husband is still the man you married. He always has been a bon viveur who loves the limelight; indeed, was it not his vitality that drew you to him first? It is no surprise to me that his vanity has grown with his success – perhaps it was even to be expected. Every man has his pride and Daddy didn’t make it easy for him asking for your hand, so now that he has both money and power, of course women laugh more easily in his company. But does this mean his love for you has dimmed? On the contrary, I am certain that much of his flamboyance can be attributed to a desire to provide a better life for you. He is an ambitious man, simply playing the game. Just remember – he plays it for you.
‘“My advice to you is simple – turn the other cheek when he comes in late from the opera, ignore the scent of perfume on his coat, put out his meals with your best smile and ensure he visits you nightly. You can be sure he will settle down once he has a family. Take it from me, fatherhood sobers the flightiest of men. Write soon. Your loving sister always, Birgita.”’
Ines folded the letter with pursed lips. ‘Having a baby to save a marriage?’ she tutted. ‘Thank God I am a modern woman. They would have had me shot for insubordination to my husband, I can tell you,’ she cackled.
‘Hmm,’ Flora smiled wanly, putting the letter back in her pocket and feeling slightly disappointed. She had hoped the fact that the letter had been hidden under the bed had meant it might concern more specific secrets – such as why an apartment full of treasure had been locked up and left for over seventy years.
‘Do you think Angus has got my messages yet?’ she asked, biting her lip anxiously. ‘Maybe there’s Wi-Fi on his plane.’
‘Well, you’ve only sent seven hundred so far. You’d better send another just in case.’ Ines took one look at Flora’s stricken face. ‘I’m joking! Hey, listen, you need to relax. Remember we’ve got the Hermès party tomorrow night. They always serve the best champagne.’
‘Sure,’ Flora replied distractedly, clearly not hearing a word.
Ines jogged her with her arm. ‘We’re going to Île de Ré this weekend. I can’t stay in the city in this heat. You should come.’
Flora turned her head to look at her. ‘Thanks, but if Angus fires me, I’ll have to go back to London, and if by some freak miracle he doesn’t, I’ll probably need to make it up to him and work through.’
‘Really? Stefan’s coming.’
Flora arched an eyebrow. ‘And you’re mentioning that because . . . ?’
‘I’m just saying,’ Ines shrugged carelessly. ‘You two rub along nicely together, that’s all.’
‘He’s a friend. That’s it.’
Ines smirked – she knew full well that the two of them had hooked up once before – but Flora swiped her lightly on the arm.
‘I’m telling you, that’s all we are. Friends.’
Ines shrugged again. ‘OK. I just thought you could do with a bit of fun. All work and no play . . .’
‘Excuse me! I am not dull,’ Flora pouted. ‘We can’t all be having sex on the stairs, you know.’
But Ines didn’t reply. She simply squeezed Flora’s hand as they swung in the hammock and watched the stars begin to s
tud the night sky.
Chapter Eight
Paris sparkled in the sun, golden statues glinting on the bridges, the river below gleaming as boats laden with tourists passed up and down on well-worn routes that would have long since carved out gorges on dry land. Flora walked past them with the unseeing eyes and briskness of a local, oblivious to the heavy-headed swaying of the plane tree canopies or the amusing sight of a couple of policemen on rollerblades, drinking frappés. She didn’t care that the Eiffel Tower had suddenly come into view in a gap between the buildings as she walked down the street, nor was she moved by the sight of a Sale sign outside the Caravane store. She had forgotten all about the blister that had been threatening to form on her heel with these new shoes; she had forgotten about the macaroons she had intended to pick up as a farewell gift for Ines on her way past this afternoon.
Angus still hadn’t rung and she was so distracted with nerves that she was scarcely conscious of where she was and why. In the absence of a call, she had bullishly decided to continue as normal. If he was ruminating on whether or not to fire her, he might be appeased if she achieved something productive today.
And so she had. This morning’s appointment at Bernheim-Jeune (the recognized authority on Renoir’s official works) had been wearying and time-consuming, but ultimately successful. She had sifted through every page of Renoir’s catalogue raisonné – no mean feat for an artist who had produced more than 4,000 works of art during his lifetime – but she had eventually found the image of the Vermeils’ picture. It was officially called Yellow Dress, Sitting, as per the sticker on the back, but not only that; it had a companion piece: Yellow Dress, Walking.
She had taken photographs and details of both entries, and with a brisk handshake had left, eager to get back to the office and feed the details into the various databases that could get their search well and truly off the ground.