The Lost Dreams

by Fiona Hood-Stewart

  He took her hand patiently. “I know you don’t like the limelight.” He looked her straight in the eye. “You, of all people, should know what stardom implies, you’ve lived with it long enough.”

  “Don’t remind me of that.” She whisked her hand away and jumped up, returning with a brooding frown to the window.

  “I’m not trying to remind you of anything. I simply want to make you aware of reality.” He pointed to the door. “The minute you step out there the place will be swarming with reporters, TV cameras, the works. So you’d better be prepared. That’s not just the fashion press down there, Charlie. Hell, half those reporters couldn’t tell a cluster setting from a cluster bomb. They’re here because they smell something big—a fat juicy scandal. Only you can ensure that the coverage goes in the right direction, that something positive comes from it—otherwise this might degenerate into some gruesome reflection on Armand.”

  “Couldn’t we just disappear?” She shifted uncomfortably, remembering John’s premieres, the scrutiny she’d shied away from all these years. But now she was the one in the crosshairs, and Brad was right, she’d have to deal with it. Another thought occurred to her. “What do you think will happen when people find out that I’m Sylvain’s granddaughter? Don’t you think they’ll imagine this is all just some tasteless PR stunt?”

  He eyed her a moment, then shook his head. “No. You’ve made your mark on your own. No one knows about Sylvain yet. And unless the Lost Collection happens to turn up one day, I don’t really see why it would be that important. People will remember his talent and say you’ve inherited it, that’s all.” He shrugged, sat down again at the desk and started jotting some notes.

  At that moment the door opened. Charlotte spun around anxiously and watched Oncle Eugène walk into the room on Monsignor Kelly’s arm. He looked pale and fragile, as though a sharp gust of wind could simply blow him away. She held her breath as he made his way across the room. She couldn’t deny she’d felt some hard feelings toward him over the past few hours. She was genuinely angry that he’d kept so much from them all these years, but as she watched his slow, arthritic movements, her resentment lessened. As Mummy had pointed out when they’d talked, Dex and Granny Flora were equally culpable. They, too, had known the truth but had chosen not to reveal it. And, clearly, they’d have had powerful reasons for withholding that truth. Who was she to judge them?

  She moved toward the Cardinal and in a sudden rush of affection sat down beside him, slipping her hand in his withered one.

  “Are you all right, Oncle Eugène?” she asked anxiously. “This has all been a terrible strain on you.”

  “It has, mon enfant,” he agreed, patting her hand kindly, “but I confess it is also a tremendous relief to unburden myself. I have prayed so often over the years, sought guidance as to what I should do. You know, to carry the secrets of others can become wearisome, even to a priest,” he said with a wry smile. “While there were others alive to share them, the responsibility was not wholly mine. But when I became the last living witness, everything changed. I thought that when I died, so would the past. Perhaps it is a blessing that now the truth will finally be revealed, mon enfant. God’s way of righting matters,” he sighed, “for he works in a mysterious way that we mortals are unable to comprehend.”

  “You said Daddy was Sylvain’s son. But he never knew that, did he?” Charlotte tried to keep the bewilderment and bitterness from her voice. It seemed dreadfully unfair that her father should have lived and died without any awareness of his true identity. It was odd enough for her to suddenly discover a whole new facet to her being. “Why did none of you tell us? What made you and Dex and Granny think you had the right to hide this from us all these years?” She stared hard at the Cardinal, trying to master her anger.

  “I know, mon enfant. Times were strange. Afterward, once the war was over and life went back to normal, it seemed better to preserve the status quo.” He shook his head sadly. “Genny and Sylvain had been killed in the war, and David was settled at Strathaird. He was only a baby. It is true that David never knew the truth about himself, but did it change much in his life? Was he any less content not knowing that he was Sylvain’s offspring? He lived happily, believing he was Angus and Flora’s child, and they loved him as a son. It is too late to look back, to wish things had been different. We must accept that now and make peace with ourselves and with God.”

  His face creased with weariness and his thin lips quivered. “Of course, it is hard to see how Armand’s death could have been part of the Lord’s plan. I suspect much of the responsibility for Armand’s actions rests with me, and that, I’m afraid, is a burden I shall carry with me to the grave,” he murmured, passing a hand quickly over his eyes.

  Charlotte wrapped an arm around his shockingly bony shoulders, aware now just how deeply he’d been affected by Armand’s death. It was impossible not to feel for him. She frowned and sent Brad a quick glance. He moved around the table to join them.

  “But enough.” The Cardinal became suddenly brisk. “Linus, bring me what I asked for.” He straightened against the sofa cushions as Monsignor Kelly came forward, carrying Charlotte’s watch in one hand and a small enamel-inlaid jewel box in the other.

  Charlotte’s pulse quickened as he laid them carefully on the smooth tabletop. She leaned forward, eyebrows knit. The box was clearly Sylvain’s work. Its top had an octagonal indent set with precious stones. She glanced at her watch, then back at the box, gripped by a sudden ripple of excitement: both pieces were the same odd shape, each one a mirror image of the other.

  “I want you to place the face of the watch into the slot on the lid of the box,” the Cardinal said, turning to Charlotte and gesturing toward the table.

  Brad leaned forward, and Monsignor Kelly smiled encouragingly.

  Fingers trembling with excitement, sensing that something of great moment was about to take place, Charlotte picked up the watch. Carefully she placed it facedown into the recessed octagon on the box’s lid, letting out a gasp when it fell precisely into place.

  “My God,” she exclaimed, hands shaking. “These were made for one another.”

  “Now twist the watch to your right,” the Cardinal continued, ignoring her.

  Holding her breath, Charlotte twisted the timepiece. She heard a tiny click, and watched in openmouthed amazement as part of the box lid sprang open, revealing the secret compartment within. “I don’t believe it,” she whispered, clutching the two pieces. “This is incredible.”

  “The box has been in my possession since the spring of 1940,” the Cardinal murmured, his voice vibrating with new emotion. “It was Sylvain’s last gift to me before he and Genny disappeared into hiding. I have used it over the years to hold my cross, never suspecting what it contained. To think I have looked at it, day after day, for over sixty years, but never suspected the truth until now.”

  “That’s astonishing,” Brad remarked, fascinated. “But what prompted Sylvain to create such a box?”

  “This.” With a dramatic gesture, the Cardinal held up a folded piece of paper and a bronze key.

  Charlotte jumped up and stared at them in wonder. “You mean…?” She could not go on.

  “The key is to a safe at the Union de Banque Suisse on the Bahnhofstrasse in Zurich. The secret codes for the numbered account and the safe references are all recorded here in Sylvain’s own handwriting.”

  Charlotte let out the breath she’d been holding. “It might be…?” She couldn’t end the sentence.

  “Yes.” The Cardinal nodded, face serious. “I believe we may have discovered the whereabouts of the Lost Collection.”

  “Oh my God.” Charlotte dropped into the nearest chair. Brad moved next to her and placed a firm hand on her shoulder.

  “It’s unbelievable,” she whispered, reaching for his hand, hers trembling. “But if it’s there, who will claim it?”

  “You will, ma chère. You are, after all, his rightful heir.”

  “Me?” C
harlotte sat up ramrod straight in the chair. “But I can’t claim Sylvain’s collection. That’s ridiculous.”

  “Not at all. The information described in this letter is very clear. Take a look for yourself.” He handed the letter to Brad, who unfolded it and skimmed the contents.

  “The UBS on the Bahnhofstrasse in Zurich. If I’m not mistaken, the bank has been in the same location since the twenties, which means the safes have probably remained intact. And this,” he remarked, raising a second piece of paper, “is a notarized power of attorney in Eugène’s name. They can hardly refuse that.”

  “Precisely. I also happen to be well acquainted with the directors of the bank. Not only do we have la Vallière family accounts there, but I oversee certain Church investments that are managed by that particular establishment.”

  “I see,” said Brad.

  “In fact,” the Cardinal continued, glancing at Charlotte, who was still sitting in dazed silence, “I have already made arrangements for Sylvain’s descendant to visit the bank and verify the contents of the safe.”

  “You mean me?” Charlotte put her hand to her mouth and swallowed.

  “Yes, mon enfant. Now that your father and brother are gone, you are Sylvain’s one and only legitimate heir.”

  “Surely they won’t just take your word for it. They’ll want proof, DNA tests, something,” she cried desperately, the responsibility of such a legacy so great she could barely think straight.

  “That will be dealt with in due course. There will be one or two bits of paperwork required, but I think I’ve managed to cut through most of the red tape. I assure you, with my sponsorship, no one will challenge your claim,” he added with a sniff and a dismissive wave of the hand.

  “But what would I do with it?” Charlotte asked in a small voice.

  “I have no idea. That is a problem we shall deal with later. For all we know, he may not have been able to smuggle his jewelry out of France. The safe may well hold nothing more than gold coins and perhaps some precious stones. At this point we cannot conjecture or elevate our expectations too high.”

  “No, of course,” she murmured automatically, trying to pull herself together, grateful for the warm support of Brad’s hand on her shoulder.

  “Still,” the Cardinal went on, eyes misting as he remembered, “when he gave me the box he said certain things that, in hindsight, may have been intended as a signal. Ah, who knows…” He hesitated, staring into space.

  Charlotte wanted desperately to ask what Sylvain’s parting words had been, but something stopped her. There were some secrets that were Oncle Eugène’s alone, and she didn’t have the right to pry.

  “Time has a funny way of catching up with us,” the Cardinal said, focusing once more. “Maybe the collection has been waiting for you, Charlotte.”

  “What do you mean?” she asked, frowning.

  “Waiting for you to find yourself, mon enfant. You might not have been ready for the responsibility before. Linus tells me this morning’s papers are full of your success.” He watched her carefully. “They seem to have found out the collection was yours and not Armand’s. One wonders how, n’est-ce pas? None of us here has said anything. Perhaps other forces were at work, preparing for this moment.” He sent her a mischievous smile and patted her cheek before turning to the others. “Now,” he said in a matter-of-fact tone, “this is how we shall proceed. You, Bradley, will accompany us to Zurich.” Brad nodded. “Linus will deal with the press and the paparazzi here. We shall have to leave the hotel via the lower floors. I suspect we shall discover how Victor Hugo’s characters in Les Misérables must have felt,” he added with a touch of humor. “But never mind. We must head for Zurich at once and clarify this matter immediately.”

  Charlotte glanced up at Brad. This was all so unexpected, so overwhelming. Could it be that after all these years the Lost Collection was finally going to be found?

  “What will we do with it if it’s there?” she murmured to the room at large.

  “That, ma chère, would be entirely up to you.”

  “But what if I don’t want that responsibility?” she challenged.

  “Then I would say you underestimate yourself. But I have the feeling that now you are ready to shoulder what, even a few months ago, might have seemed impossible. You have changed, Charlotte. It is time you recognized your own strength.”

  She looked at him, surprised. Yet what he said was true. Little by little, her self-confidence was growing. Even the tremendously difficult decision to go ahead with the divorce had finally been faced. She nodded, feeling a sudden sense of surety. “Let’s go then, Oncle Eugène. You’re right. We must settle this matter as promptly as possible and then get on with our lives.”

  “Good. Bradley, will you see to the reservations? Linus, you call the Baur Au Lac hotel and tell them which suites to reserve. As for you two,” he remarked with a weathered smile, “I’m glad that before I pass on to a better world I will have had the pleasure of seeing you two reunited. It was meant to be.”

  Brad and Charlotte exchanged a look of surprise, then realized one should never underestimate the Cardinal’s powers of observation. The man had the eyes and ears of a hawk.

  “Very well. I’ll see to the reservations. Will you be ready to depart this afternoon?” Brad asked Eugène.

  “Of course. We can be at the bank before lunch tomorrow. After so many years, Sylvain’s mystery will be solved.”

  At ten o’clock sharp the next morning, Charlotte, Brad and the Cardinal sat in the office of the bank’s president. The gray-haired, gray-suited man carefully reviewed all the information Eugène had provided, including Sylvain’s letter, which had been examined by an expert and declared authentic. Charlotte waited, studying the paneled walls hung with nineteenth-century watercolors of Lake Zurich, trying to remain calm. Her eyes traveled to the window. It seemed strange that only steps away in the fine shops of the Bahnhofstrasse, people were shopping, or sipping coffee and reading their newspapers on the terrace at Sprüngle, the famous Swiss chocolatier, unaware of the drama unfolding in their midst. She returned her gaze to the desk, only to discover the bank president was smiling discreetly at her.

  “Everything seems to be in perfect order, Your Eminence. If madame and you—” he indicated Brad and the Cardinal “—would like to follow me, we shall take the necessary steps to proceed further.”

  Now nothing remained but to descend several floors into the bank’s subbasements, where the safes were housed. How many of the world’s important treasures remained stashed here? she wondered, awestruck. Brad gave her hand a quick squeeze and she glanced back at him with an anxious smile. If the Lost Collection were indeed here, she had no idea what it might consist of. There were rumors, of course, of fabulous pieces and breathtaking artistry. Presumably he would have wanted to keep the exceptional ones out of the Nazis’ hands. Perhaps she would have to open a museum. A panoply of possibilities fanned out before her as they entered an elevator and descended in silence, touched by the magnitude of the moment.

  Reaching the lowest level, they stepped into a marble-floored hallway. The president stood aside, allowing them to pass through into an antechamber where two supremely serious bank officers, clad in similar gray suits, immediately rose to greet them. The president turned and shook hands with a small middle-aged man standing a few steps away, holding a briefcase.

  “This is Mr. Bauer from the Zurichoise Insurance Company,” the president said, making the introductions. Then he presented the bank officers with the number of the safe. Eugène was asked to sign the registry. His signature was checked. With a murmur and nod to his colleagues, one of the bank officers disappeared through a door at the back of the room. He returned several moments later with a key similar to the one Charlotte clutched in her damp palm.

  This was it.

  The moment had arrived.

  A button was pressed and massive metal doors opened. The group followed the bank officials through the doors, passing ro
ws of safes before they stopped before a large one, set at eye level, marked 1939.

  The year it was last opened.

  There was utter quiet as the bank officer placed the first key in the lock. Then he turned toward her. With shaking hands, she placed her key into the lock next to it. The two keys were turned simultaneously and with a creak the door gave way.

  Specks of dust floated to the floor as the bank officer opened the door wider and all eyes stared within. Charlotte blinked. At the front of the safe sat a pile of gold ingots.

  “Would you like us to remove them, madame?” the president asked.

  “Please,” she agreed, her voice faint.

  One by one the ingots were placed in piles on a nearby table. As they were removed, she began to distinguish new shapes in the depths of the safe. When the last bar of gold was gone, she could see more clearly. There, neatly stacked, were a number of blue velvet jewel boxes.

  She drew in her breath. Heart pounding, she glanced at Oncle Eugène. He nodded encouragingly. In an agony of anticipation she took a trepid step forward and, hands shaking, carefully pulled the front pile toward her. The boxes were flat and thin. As she removed the first one and pressed its tiny snib, she closed her eyes. The last hands to touch these had been Sylvain’s. Composing herself, she raised the lid and gasped.

  The necklace that lay on the white satin bed was more beautiful than any she’d ever beheld. Seconds ticked by as she stood rooted to the spot, dazzled by the piece’s exquisite perfection. Flawless diamonds of remarkable shape and color completely dominated the almost invisible platinum setting that supported them. Exquisite baguette diamonds were channel-set, surrounded by smaller ones placed in pavé settings. The larger round ones, of extraordinary quality and clarity, were set in open-shoulder frustum-cone bezels. She swallowed in silent wonder, knowing what patience and experience were required to even contemplate the execution of such a piece.

  The bank officer stood waiting beside her and she handed him the box, which he handed to the insurance appraiser. The small man immediately placed it on the table, and began examining the necklace with a jeweler’s loop.