by SL Beaumont
“What is it, Steph?”
She was open mouthed, struggling to form the words. She leaned over the first two frames and tentatively reached out a hand to touch it. “Monet,” she said.
“Really?” James wasn’t convinced.
“Or a copy. It’s not a print. He often made a number of versions of the same image in different lights and conditions. This looks like The Thames Below Westminster which hangs in the National Gallery in London,” she said in an awed whisper.
“Let’s see what else there is,” James said. “I can’t believe this. Do you think we’ve uncovered Hoffman’s stash or are these just forgotten items in storage?”
“I don’t know, but if that’s a real Monet, then this is big,” she replied, dragging her gaze away from the painting to the shelves.
James lifted down one of the large wooden boxes from the second shelf. With a grunt he set it down on the ground. Stephanie crouched down and started to look at the contents while James lifted down another box.
“Some of these are damaged,” James said, holding up two fine sketches where the paper was spotted with mildew. “I guess the rain has come in here.” He shone his torch up at the roof.
“This looks like a Paul Klee watercolour,” Stephanie said, carefully lifting out a small unframed canvas. The picture had the distinct line and geometric style of Klee. Its green, yellow and red shapes were stunning in their simplicity. “Wow.”
Shouts and loud voices interrupted them. They exchanged a glance and James quickly crawled partway through the hole to listen. Stephanie crouched beside him, with her hand on his back.
“Hey, I told you. I do not know what you are talking about.” They could hear Jean-Pierre’s raised voice.
“Oh, but I think you do,” a well-spoken woman’s voice replied.
Stephanie gasped.
“I know nothing about any art,” Jean-Pierre insisted.
“I don’t believe you,” the woman said. The sound of flesh hitting flesh echoed down the cave, as Jean-Pierre cried out.
James scurried backwards and looked at Stephanie, wide-eyed.
“That woman sounds a lot like Dr Pierce from the National Gallery. She’s a nasty piece of work,” Stephanie whispered. “We need to hide. Do we have time to pull a crate in front of the opening?”
“Yeah, worth a try.” James crawled back part way through the hole. “I’m going to have to go out.” He disappeared as Stephanie’s heart nearly leapt out of her chest.
James’s feet reappeared a few seconds later as he edged backwards into the room, pulling an empty wine crate as quietly as he could. He positioned it in front of the hole. “Poor Jean-Pierre is getting quite a beating. We need to help him,” James said.
“I know. But what will they do to us?” Stephanie asked, afraid. She wrapped her arms around herself, unsure what to do. Her mobile phone dug into her ribs. “Hey, wonder if we can get mobile reception,” she said suddenly, pulling her phone from her pocket and holding it up. One bar. She moved closer to the area where the roof had caved in, holding the phone above her head—two bars. She quickly searched and called Detective Marks’s number. After what seemed like an eternity, but was only three rings, he answered.
“Stephanie, I had a long conversation with your friend Michael, this morning,” he said by way of greeting.
“We are trapped in a cave on the Mouchan vineyard near Epernay, with some unusual artwork,” she whispered.
“What?”
“Can you send the police as the owner is being beaten? He will be forced to give our location away soon,” she whispered again.
“Okay—stay on the line,” Marks said. Stephanie could hear him issuing orders to someone next to him.
“Been doing some work down here, farmer boy?” a voice directly outside their hiding place, made both Stephanie and James jump.
“Shit—we’ve been found,” James murmured, carefully stepping towards a side wall, out of line of sight from the hole, pushing Stephanie behind him. A scraping noise, and the wine crate was removed and a powerful flashlight shone into the room. There was nowhere to hide. A face appeared beside the flashlight.
“Ah, little brother—it’s been too long,” Alex said as though it were every day that he found his brother hiding in a cave. “Come on—out you come.” Alex shone the torch up into James’s face. “Hang on—that’s not Stephanie with you?” But there was no surprise in his voice.
James sighed and got down and crawled back through the hole. Stephanie looked around for somewhere to leave her mobile phone. “Marks, Alex is here along with Dr Pierce and some men,” she whispered and set the phone down on a little ledge near the area where the roof had caved in. She too, crawled back through the opening.
Rough hands pulled her to her feet. James was being held by a tall dark-haired man and beside him, a shorter, stockier man was holding up a badly beaten Jean-Pierre. His right eye was swollen and blood streaming from his nose was dripping off his chin. His left arm hung loosely at his side. She started towards him, but Alex grabbed her arm and pulled her back.
“Such compassion in you, Steph, I’m touched,” he said.
“Hello again, Miss Cooper.” Dr Pierce stepped out of the shadows.
Stephanie scowled at her.
“What have you found for us?” she asked.
When Stephanie didn’t reply, she nodded to a third man who turned and punched James in the ribs. James gave a cry and doubled over. The man’s knee connected with James’s jaw. Stephanie gave a cry, and escaping from Alex’s grip she grabbed the man’s arm as he went to rain another blow down on James’ head. He turned and smiled nastily before back-handing Stephanie across the face and sending her sprawling across the ground. James gave a strangled cry and struggled against his captor earning him another punch to the head.
“Enough,” Alex said, bending down and helping Stephanie to her feet. “I think Stephanie gets the message. Don’t you, Steph?”
She nodded. “There are some terracotta icons, three large oil paintings, a couple of boxes of watercolours and sketches,” she replied through clenched teeth, rubbing her hip.
Dr Pierce smiled. “Now, that wasn’t difficult, was it? Steve, Mark—make that hole bigger. Paul, tie these three up. I’ll decide what to do with them later.”
Paul pulled plastic ties from his back pocket and proceeded to slip them around James’s wrists, securing them in front of him. Jean-Pierre, barely conscious, was next. Paul pushed him down onto an upturned wine crate. Stephanie rushed to his side as he almost toppled off. She crouched beside him, gently holding his head. His eyes rolled as he looked at her.
“I’m so sorry,” she murmured to him. “We’ll get you out of this.”
Paul pulled her roughly to her feet and secured her wrists before pushing her back beside Jean-Pierre. When he turned his back to help with the demolition of the wall, she slid to where James had been dumped. He was clearly in a lot of pain, but gave her a small smile as she nuzzled her head against his.
“Are you okay?” she asked. Blood ran from the corner of his mouth.
“How are we going to get out of this?” he whispered, as white dust filled the air from the destruction of the wall.
“I’m working on it,” she said, looking around.
“That’s enough,” Dr Pierce’s shrill voice rose above the crack of axes and chisels against the stone. The hole had doubled in size. She bent over and walked into the little room. Alex followed.
“Are these what you were expecting?” he asked her.
“Yes,” she replied, her voice slightly breathless and awed. “Amazing.”
“Right, let’s get these out of here,” she ordered. She signalled the three men into the little room. For a few moments, Stephanie, James and Jean-Pierre were alone in the cellar. Stephanie considered making a run for it, but when she looked at James and Jean-Pierre, she realised that neither would get very far. Perhaps compliance was the best response at this point. She kicked the ground w
ith her boot in frustration.
The men ducked back out through the opening, each carrying a box containing a terracotta figurine. They hurried through the cellar to the entrance. They repeated the process several times, carrying all of the paintings and the wooden boxes.
Alex and Dr Pierce emerged once the room was empty. She cast a glance at Stephanie. “Thanks again for leading us to such a wonderful find. Pity no one will ever learn about it,” she said. Stephanie felt the cold hand of fear grip her throat and she pulled in a sharp breath.
Brushing dust off her hands and smoothing down her skirt, Dr Pierce turned to Alex, pulling a gun from her handbag. “Kill them. I will see you at the car.” She turned and sauntered back towards the cellar entrance with her heels giving a rhythmic tap, tap as she walked.
Stephanie looked at Alex, her eyes wide. “You can’t.”
“I am sorry, Steph. I have no choice,” he replied, pulling James to his feet.
James spat at him. “You bastard. Good luck telling our mother that you killed her favourite son.” Alex slapped him.
“Now get in there.” He pushed James roughly into the little room, now devoid of its long held secrets. “You too,” he said to Stephanie. She stood rooted to the spot and shook her head. Alex sighed. “Come on, we don’t have much time.”
“It’s my life—I am in no hurry to have it ended,” she said.
“Well it will be if you don’t hurry. Now help me with him,” he pointed the gun at Jean-Pierre. Stephanie frowned, confused, but did as he asked and helped Jean-Pierre to his feet. Together they shuffled through the opening.
Alex leaned in and looked at them. “Over there,” he instructed, waving the gun at them.
Stephanie let Jean-Pierre go and moved closer to James. Jean-Pierre sprawled awkwardly at their feet. With a grunt of pain James lifted his tied wrists over her head and pulled her into an awkward embrace, turning her head so that it was facing his chest. “Don’t look, Steph,” he said. “I love you.” He kissed the top of her head.
She gasped back a sob. “I love you too,” she replied, tilting her chin up to look into his eyes as she waited for the first shot.
Chapter 33
Afternoon, Wednesday 4th January
Four loud cracks echoed around the cave, the sound bouncing off the walls and roof. Stephanie felt James’s arms tighten around her as she waited for the pain, but there was none. She saw James nod once at Alex, before he pulled them to the ground, where they lay awkwardly in each other’s arms.
“Lie still,” he whispered.
There was a clatter as something metallic landed on the floor beside them, followed by a scraping sound, as barrels and crates were moved into place, blocking the entrance.
“Let me see,” a rough male voice spoke.
“We don’t have much time; those gun shots will have alerted someone. Help me conceal the entrance,” Alex replied.
There was more scraping and dragging as crates were lifted and stacked onto one another and then the sound of running feet as Alex and his companions left the scene.
Stephanie waited several moments before she spoke. She strained, listening for any sound. There was none. “Did what I think happened, just happen?” she whispered to James.
“Yes,” he replied. “Apparently he does have a conscience buried in there somewhere.”
Stephanie tried to sit up, but she was tightly held by James. “Wait,” he said, manoeuvring them into a more comfortable position. He leaned his head slightly and kissed her. Gently at first, and then deeper and more passionately as the realisation of the lucky escape they had just had, hit them both.
“Ah, guys?” Jean-Pierre mumbled, interrupting their kiss. “Can that wait until later? Shouldn’t we get out of here in case they come back?”
Stephanie giggled, embarrassed. “Yeah.” She wriggled out from within James’s arms and looked around. “We probably don’t want to go out the front way in case they haven’t left yet. See where the roof has caved in, Jean-Pierre—where will that lead to?”
“Up on the hill somewhere,” he replied.
James struggled to his feet and picked up a chisel that Alex had thrown in before he blocked off the entrance to the cave. “Here, Steph,” he said and spent the next few minutes clumsily sawing away at the plastic tie around her wrist. Once she was free, she did the same for him and Jean-Pierre.
Jean-Pierre wasn’t in great shape. “Perhaps we should leave you here and go for help?” James suggested, as Stephanie tried to make him comfortable leaning against the wall. He winced as she manoeuvred him. His arm was broken. One side of his face was cut and bleeding and his right eye had swollen shut. He held his arms across his ribs, as though trying to hold himself together. He took some deep breaths and closed his good eye and nodded.
“If they come back, I’ll play dead,” he said.
James stood looking up at the hole in the roof. “If you climb on my shoulders, Steph, I could boost you up through the opening,” he suggested.
She looked at him. He was obviously in pain. “Maybe we can use the shelves to climb on instead,” she said. “’Cos you’re hurt and I’m not going to be able to pull you up after me.”
“Let’s do a bit of both,” he said.
Together they dragged the shelves that had once housed the figurines and the boxes of paintings and sketches under the opening.
“I think these might be a bit rotten,” James said, giving them a kick.
“Yeah, but they only need to work once,” Stephanie said, placing her foot on the bottom shelf and testing if it would support her weight. It shuddered, but held. With James supporting her, she climbed onto the second shelf and found that if she stretched, her hands reached the opening.
“Give me a push,” she called. James put his hands on her butt and hoisted her up.
With one foot on the top shelf and her arms bracing the opening, she pulled herself free and landed on her back on the cold damp grass of the hillside. She quickly looked around. Below her was the vineyard and farmhouse. Her eyes followed the long driveway as it wound through the rows of vines towards the road. Two vehicles had just turned onto the road and were speeding away from the vineyard in the direction of Epernay. She couldn’t make out the number plates and patted the pocket where she usually kept her mobile, but it was empty.
“Throw me your phone,” she called to James. A few seconds later, it came flying out of the ground. She fumbled and caught it. She quickly found the camera app and zooming as much as it allowed, snapped several pictures of the retreating vehicles.
“What can you see?” James called from below.
“Two cars leaving,” she called back down. “I’ll come in the main way and let you guys out.”
“No, Steph. I don’t trust them not to have left someone here. Help me up,” James called.
She heard the wooden shelves creaking as James climbed. His head appeared through the opening. She hooked her hands under his arms and helped him to support his weight as he pulled himself clear. Rolling onto the grass beside her, he swore.
“God, that hurts. I must have broken ribs,” he said. “Here’s your phone—not sure if it’s working.”
Stephanie leaned over and kissed him. He held her to him as she went to move away.
“I really thought that we were going to die. We haven’t sorted things out between us and it would have been too late,” he said, his eyes roaming her face.
“It’s okay, we now have time. As cheesy as this sounds, if I had to die in anyone’s arms, then I’m glad that it would have been yours,” she replied, brushing her lips gently across his again.
“It’s not okay. But I will make it up to you. That’s a promise,” he said, kissing her deeply.
“Hurry up,” a muffled voice floated up from beneath them. “I don’t feel so good.”
“Hold on, dude, we’re coming in the main entrance to get you out,” James called. Stephanie looked at her phone. The screen was cracked, however the backli
ght was still working. She managed to reconnect her call to Marks.
“Oh thank God,” he said. “Are you okay?”
“Not really. James and Jean-Pierre are hurt, and Alex and Dr Pierce took all of the art work,” she replied.
“As long as you are alive. The gendarmerie should be there any moment and I am about to board a plane. I will see you in a couple of hours,” he said.
Chapter 34
Evening, Wednesday 4th January
They ordered room service, while they took turns at showering and changing out of their filthy, torn clothes. Stephanie looked sadly at her favourite jeans—ruined—but at least they were alive. It could have turned out so differently. They devoured omelettes, baguettes and fresh fruit, discovering that they were ravenous, now that the adrenaline had finally seeped out of their exhausted bodies.
Max had flown over with Marks and his team of detectives and hadn’t let Stephanie out of his sight.
“Now, I need you two to run through everything that happened here again,” Marks said, sitting down opposite them.
“We understand,” James said, taking Stephanie’s hand as she curled up beside him again on the couch, tucking her feet up. “But first, you need to tell him what you think those paintings were,” he said to Stephanie.”
Stephanie nodded. “We didn’t get time to look at everything. There were more boxes on the top shelf. I can’t be sure, but I think one of the paintings was Monet’s The Thames Below Westminster, there was also an oil by Emil Nolde and a watercolour that looked like Paul Klee.”
Marks’s mouth dropped open. “Describe the Monet to me,” he said.
Stephanie closed her eyes and tried to bring the painting she had seen in the cave into her mind. “It showed Westminster to the right in the background haze with a wooden pier in front with some men on it. There were several steamboats on the river, which looked choppy. The sky had a slight orange hue,” she said opening her eyes. “It was like one that I have seen at the National Gallery, but with more colour.”
“It sounds like it,” Marks said. “There has been some debate as to whether one of the paintings in the series was unaccounted for.”