“We are trying to investigate what happened with De Wijenburgh and, since you are one of the people who was cheated, I wonder if you would be interested in meeting with me?” I ask.
At Leiden University Hospital, we are told that Sophia is refusing to eat. The hospital calls in an internist who places her under observation. Shortly thereafter, Michael and I are called into a meeting to discuss the findings.
“I believe there is a bonding issue between mother and daughter here,” says the doctor.
“So you find nothing medically wrong with her?” inquires Michael.
“That’s correct.”
“What brings you to this conclusion?” he continues as if each of his words were a missile. The doctor doesn’t have a chance to respond. Michael continues, “Has it ever occurred to you that Sophia might have neurodevelopmental issues and her difficulty in taking food may lie in the fact that she may be mentally challenged?”
Michael’s words hit me like an emotional bomb. I can do something about the bonding issue, but I cannot help her if she is mentally impaired. At first I am angry with Michael, because it sounds as if he knows more than he’s telling me.
“How dare you put my wife through this!” Michael demands.
Michael is the first person to verbally state for the record that Sophia’s eating problems could be due to her mental limitations. A baby’s ability to suck, swallow, and breathe does not develop until around thirty-four to thirty-five weeks of gestation, and Sophia was born at twenty-five weeks. There can be any number of reasons why Sophia is having difficulty. The tube may be causing discomfort or she could be experiencing gastrointestinal reflux if the sphincter muscle between the esophagus and the stomach is not closing properly. Michael and I take a moment privately.
“Maybe they are right about the bonding, Michael. I’m afraid to hold Sophia, and she must sense that. You are wrong! Our daughter is just underdeveloped.”
Michael bursts into tears. I don’t ask why. I’m not strong enough to hear what he is trying to tell me.
Sophia’s exposure to this world has not been welcoming. Every time someone touched my daughter they hurt her.
As her mother, I refuse to be associated with anything that will bring her pain. Everything that is done to save her also tortures her to some degree. I want to be the person who comforts her after the needles and injections and examinations are over. Let me be a place of safety for my daughter so that she knows that once she is in my arms she is out of harm’s way and under my protection. The nursing staff views this behavior as being unloving, but what I choose to be for my daughter is all about love.
At a quiet café in close proximity to my office, I meet with Mr. Mulié, who turns out to be an intelligent, middle-aged, well dressed, articulate teacher of economics and law. I notice his body language is relaxed.
“How did you become involved in the icon business?”
“It was an investment vehicle for me,” he says. “I never thought to question the legitimacy of investing in this icon exhibition. The minimum I would be left with at the end of the exhibition was John the Baptist with a confirmation from auction houses that it was worth more than I paid for it,” he replies as he places a receipt from De Wijenburgh dated November 30, 1977, in front of me. According to his receipt he was guaranteed a share of John the Baptist before Mr. Stoop was. It states that the “Icon Gallery” will sell the icon for him. The Icon Gallery is owned by Hetty Roozemond, wife of Robert J. Roozemond.
“Hetty is my cousin,” Mulié says, to my surprise.
The icon was kept at De Wijenburgh until it was declared bankrupt. At that point, Mr. Mulié asked for it back, but was forced to petition the receivership to get it.
“Mr. Mulié, will you consider sharing your documentation with our lawyers tomorrow over lunch?” I say, not believing my good fortune.
“I’ll bring my file.”
I am excited to inform Kyprianou that we hit the jackpot with documents that show how De Wijenburgh and Roozemond structured the business. De Wijenburgh proposes to individuals usually introduced by guys like Van Rijn that they purchase an icon as an investment. They show documents that assess it at a greater value and sometimes sell it the same day for a profit, which they promise to split with their new investors. The investors must agree to allow De Wijenburgh to exhibit the icon for three years. The icon travels around the world on exhibition at other galleries, and in return the investors are given a duplicate icon (a replica) until the original is returned after the contractual period. Somewhere in the travels, these icons, which were already sold, are sold again. The structure of De Wijenburgh gave us insight into the labyrinth of the trade. Never taking possession of these stolen artifacts keeps Van Rijn and Roozemond free of culpability. Much of the evidence is considered hearsay and therefore it is difficult to initiate a court proceeding.16, 17, 18
Mr. Mulié’s relationship to Mrs. Roozemond could have contributed to his good fortune, as Mulié did have possession of the John the Baptist icon, unlike Mrs. Stoop. He managed to acquire it from the bankruptcy receivership before any other claimants surfaced. He sold it to Christie’s in October of 1985.
One question remains—who is the possessor of the John the Baptist icon now, and what is their legal position under British law? I send Mr. Toorenaar in search of information about Yannis Petsopoulos, who is listed in Hetty Roozemond’s book as the last public owner of the icon. It is also time I sit down with Van Rijn, the only one who knows where the last remaining facts are buried.
Michael was correct about Sophia’s mental disabilities impacting her ability to eat normally. Although, Sophia’s condition is unchanged she is released from the hospital into our care. The full-time nurse that we hired is waiting for us at the front door when we arrive home. Alongside Sophia’s bassinet is a stand that holds a feeding drip. Sophia’s stomach is still so tiny she has to be tube fed through her nose day and night. Sophia also suffers from apnea, which means there are times when she may stop breathing.
The alarm sounds, indicating that either Sophia has moved and disconnected the feeding tube or the bag of food is empty. It doesn’t matter why it is ringing; it always makes me panic. Michael rushes to check on her each night. Michael takes the night shift and I take the lead during the day. I’m too afraid to be alone with her should something happen; I am more comfortable caring for her when I have the nurse nearby.
The first few weeks I feel trepidation over every little sound and whimper she makes, questioning my maternal instincts and reactions, wondering if I am doing everything right. I worry how the stress is impacting Andreas. He was expecting a baby sister to play with, and he can’t touch her. I wonder how Sophia’s inability to respond to his efforts to bond will play out.
Thankfully, I become more relaxed as the weeks pass, more confident that I can care for her. Nevertheless, I can’t help but compare Sophia’s progress to Andreas’s. Sophia only moves slightly, and she doesn’t seem interested in anything. Her intestines are not functioning and need daily intervention. Andreas closes his eyes and puts his hands over his ears when she screams in pain, which brings me to tears.
Michael and I see her lack of development and speak to Ines about it. We spend countless hours researching and trying to find experts to help us support Sophia’s growth.
The way I make this work is to place myself in a total state of hope and possibility. I cannot accept that my daughter will live anything other than a normal life. I am in a state of denial, and anything I see that is out of the ordinary I refer to Ines and Michael for a solution. They understand that I am not ready for the truth.
Michael tries to gently coax me to see that Sophia will never be a normal child, but I refuse to let anything diminish my hope.
“It will take a bit longer for her to grow into being normal,” I say again and again. “I’m sure she will be absolutely fine.”
Michael takes on the responsibility to confer with Ines and the other Leiden doctors about t
he road that lies ahead for my Sophia. I am not ready to break free of the cocoon into which I have spun myself.
I have yet to cry. I search inside myself for what holds me back, and I am reminded of the day that my mother instructed my siblings and me to commit suicide rather than being captured by the Turkish army. She seemed stone cold and without emotion. I questioned her motives then, but I understand them now. “If I collapse, all will collapse around me” must have been her thought process on that dark day many years ago. I now adopt that same mantra. We are so quick to condemn each other when it is far more peaceful to create a respectful space to try and understand our differences.
In Anastasia’s death and Sophia’s survival there is a purpose that has not yet been revealed. Until that day comes, I will not be free.
Thirteen
THE BIRTH OF AN ICON HUNTER
JOHN THE BAPTIST 1992
The Church of Cyprus has to employ three lawyers to get back what rightfully belongs to it. Attorneys Kyprianou and Kounoupias confer with the Beker CS Advocaten lawyers for their opinion as to whether the John the Baptist icon will be considered a “good faith” purchase in light of the recent evidence acquired from De Wijenburgh documents.1 There is no proof that Mrs. Stoop ever purchased the icon, which also was never in her physical possession. Mr. Mulié’s awareness that the icon originated from Cyprus, added to the fact that he is a historian and the cousin of Hetty Roozemond, seems to create reasonable doubt as to the “good faith” theory advanced by De Wijenburgh and Mr. Mulié.2
Meanwhile, Kounoupias, a specialist in intellectual property law, makes an astute move to pressure Sotheby’s to reveal the identity of their client by applying a copyright principle to the cultural heritage case. The Norwich Pharmacal Order is a court order to get an individual or corporation to reveal documents and information that might help with identifying a third party suspected of wrongdoing. The premise that Sotheby’s is not the wrongdoer, but has knowledge of who is, places pressure on them to reveal their client’s identity, who as it turns out, is Greek.
Yannis Petsopoulos, a dealer of Byzantine and Islamic art and a publisher of art books, has an antique shop near Portobello Road in London. He is a tall, sophisticated man with an athletic build. He purchased the icon of Saint John from Christie’s in 1985, and in 1987 he created the “East Christian Art” exhibit in London where the icon of John the Baptist was displayed as a Cypriot icon and was viewed by leading scholars and specialists in the field.
The exhibits are coveted events, attended by collectors, experts, and historians. Even diplomats are invited to mingle. Alcohol and gourmet food are in abundance as the upper echelon of society network among sacred treasures of old. These events can also serve as a shield for dealers to hide behind while they gauge whether or not the legitimacy of the artifacts will come into question. Mr. Roozemond says in his statement concerning De Wijenburgh, “I would like to express that we never kept anything secret about the collections or the icons . . .”3 He goes on to say that during the Brussels stop of the exhibition he sent a personal invitation to the attaché of the Cyprus embassy, who attended the exhibit and made mention of the importance of the icons at the event. This way, if the ambassador did not recognize the artifacts as being stolen from their country, dealers can use that fact in court when they claim they did their due diligence.4
It was obviously an oversight of the Cypriot diplomat, but then again, to be an art historian is not one of the expected qualifications for his job. The fact that Petsopoulos had individuals present who did not identify the icon as looted did not mean that it wasn’t.
Those who deal in the trade should know that an artifact not listed on the Interpol database doesn’t automatically make it a legal sale. In the case of the Cypriots, the Turkish government refuses to let us get into the churches in the occupied area to take inventory, making it impossible for us to report what’s missing to Interpol.
Further investigation reveals that Axia Art Consultants, Ltd. financed the East Christian Art Exhibit in London. Axia is a Liechtenstein-based registered company belonging to Yannis Petsopoulos.5 The timing of this sale of the icon is particularly interesting.
According to British law, there is a six-year statute of limitations, which means that if I buy a stolen artifact and the Cypriot government discovers this six years and a day later, they no longer have a claim of ownership to the icon.
Attorney Kounoupias builds his case by applying the law principle of “nemo dat quod non habet,” a Latin term meaning “a person cannot grant a better title on the object than what he has.” The law states that the purchase of a possession from someone who has no ownership right to it also denies the purchaser any ownership title. This, in combination with the reasonable doubt placed on the history of the sales, considerably weakens Petsopoulos’s case. According to Nick Kounoupias, he and Michael Kyprianou went to see the art dealer in London armed with the evidence I received from Mr. Mulié. Petsopoulos openly admitted that the John the Baptist icon came from a village in Cyprus. During the meeting, the lawyers try to convince Petsopoulos to voluntarily return the icon. If the Church of Cyprus continues to press its case against him and his company, Axia, it could create unfavorable publicity, especially since Petsopoulos also played a role in introducing Aydin Dikmen to Dominique de Menil for her purchase of the Lyssi frescoes.
In July, I receive an invitation from Michael Kyprianou to attend a meeting with the archbishop on August 5 in Cyprus.6 Reaching out to my husband, Michael, I request that he reserve the time in his schedule to join me. It is important for him to see firsthand that my work is not only vital to Cyprus’s repatriation efforts, it is valued by the head of the Orthodox Church. The archbishop is aware of my participation in the recovery effort as consul due, in part, to the fact that I send a copy to the Church of every memo I send to the government. My request for better coordination between government and Church is being heard. A strategy to heighten expediency in processing the leads we receive would be a dream come true for me, as bureaucratic sluggishness has been a source of frustration for months.
Kyprianou also requests that I write again to Roozemond to schedule a sit-down meeting, which I do. Roozemond stays at arm’s length, continuing to require higher-level government representation before agreeing to a meeting.
Arriving at the Hotel des Indes in preparation for a meeting with Van Rijn, I scan the lobby for anything out of the ordinary. I am always aware of the fact that Van Rijn’s intention is to compromise people. I find him sitting at the usual table. He rises to greet me and pulls out my chair.
“Tazulaah, it has been too long since I’ve had the pleasure of your company.”
“Thank you.” I say.
“This government of yours keeps you quite busy, I hear.”
“I’d love to know more about what you hear, Van Rijn. Please surprise me.”
A waiter brings us our standard order, which Van Rijn had ordered before I arrived.
“It would be far more interesting to hear about what you’ve uncovered, Madame Consul.”
Van Rijn sees me as his protégée, so I play along. “Let’s get right to it then, shall we? I know about Stoop, Mulié, and Petsopoulos. I must say that the whole ‘investment scheme’ was ingenious—misleading Stoop to think that he was giving tax-free money to his daughter and getting them to believe that they owned the icon.”
He laughs.
“You and Roozemond were quite the team. I do have to ask you, Van Rijn, is there no limit to who you will cheat? I mean Stoop was a friend, a financier.”
The corners of his mouth curl just enough for me to know that I have won this round. “You are fantastic, you have the moves of James Bond and the looks of Melina Mercouri!” he says. “Bravo.”
“I’m glad you find this all so entertaining,” I say. “By the way, your theory about the Cyprus government turning the other cheek when it comes to investigating Greeks is wrong.”
“I’m impressed, Consul. Don�
��t get ahead of yourself; you still need me.”
“I am not here to impress you, Van Rijn. I am here to request that you give a detailed statement about your involvement with the John the Baptist icon,” I say in all seriousness.
Van Rijn pauses to think. Without taking his eyes off mine, he answers, “What is your government prepared to give me in exchange?”
“Let’s not play this game. It’s time for you to prove something to us. Giving me a statement will be the first step toward achieving that.”
“I like you, Tazulaah, I do. Your dedication to your country and your people is impressive. I will not do what you ask.”
“I have a meeting with the archbishop of Cyprus coming up. It would be nice if I can tell him that you have agreed to give us a statement.”
“I see, you want to impress the archbishop! Walk into that meeting with my statement in hand and show him what you’re made of.”
“Don’t be ridiculous. There is a distinction here, an important one for you to understand. We will win this case if it goes to trial, with or without you and your statement. This is an opportunity for you to be of service to the Church and the government without it costing you.”
“You have learned well, Tazulaah.”
“So do I have your word?”
“You don’t give an inch, woman.”
He is not going to budge, so I call his bluff and start to gather my things.
“What kind of information are you looking for?” he asks.
“Verify whether or not Stoop ever owned the icon and what went on between you and Roozemond regarding De Wijenburgh.”
He goes to light a cigarette, but I put my hand up to stop him.
“If you don’t mind. Was it Dikmen?” I ask.
“Of course, it was Dikmen.”
“Is the John the Baptist icon in the De Wijenburgh catalogue and the Sotheby’s catalogue the same icon you purchased from Dikmen?”
The Icon Hunter Page 16