“Of course I like it, although I am no expert, I was just wondering…”
Carlo did not allow her to finish her sentence.
“As I was saying, next Saturday, the fourteenth of December, my goodness ten days later it will be Christmas, there will be the premiere of La Bohème and I would… it would give me great pleasure… well, I would be very happy if you would accept my invitation.”
Thérèse sighed and with a sad smile she said,
“I would love to accept, but I’m afraid that I don’t have a suitable gown.”
“I would never dare to propose that you should accept a gown as a gift,” said Carlo, “but I can tell you where you can rent one at a reasonable cost: if you wish, I can accompany you.”
There was a moment’s silence, Carlo poured out a little more tea and Thérèse sipped it in silence, then she looked up and with a smile, she said.
“Thank you for the invitation, but…” she gave a pause worthy of a consummate actress “…but for the dress, I would prefer to go alone: could you write down the address for me?”
Paris- December 14th 1929
Carlo had seen La Bohème in the company of Thérèse and other friends they had welcomed to their box. It had been a great success and the audience had encored the singers for at least twenty minutes.
Now, the evening continued with a gala reception in the foyer and Carlo was surprised how comfortable Thérèse appeared in this setting. He considered, quite rightly, that during the years she had spent in New York, Thérèse had often attended concerts and worldly social events. He, on the other hand, in these circumstances could only think of the past years and in particular of 1919.
He had been engaged to Elena for three years and together they attended all the worldly events in Milano. At the time, he was living there, because when he was called up at the start of the war, perhaps by chance or thanks to his father’s influence, he was assigned as orderly to a high-ranking official at the military district. When the war ended, he remained in Milano because he was thinking of setting up home there, in fact, he and Elena had begun to consider getting married. On January 18th 1919, she became ill and a week later, she died: one of the many, innumerable victims of the epidemic of Spanish flu.
Carlo had never quite recovered from this tragedy, sentimentally. When his work allowed, he conducted a brilliant social life, but he always had a strange feeling of discomfort, as if he were in the wrong place or with the wrong person. That evening, for the first time in ten years, he did not feel uncomfortable.
“Senor Fantone!”
The voice was unmistakeable; Carlo turned and faced the massive bulk and smiling face of the tenor Lucas Cortes, still reddened by the effort of his recent exhibition and the encores granted.
“Maestro Cortes, what an honour!”
“Maestro? Oh come on!” squeaked the tenor.
Carlo, who had met him in Milano when he was a promising young opera singer, had always wondered how his friend could encompass two personalities with such different voices. When he was singing, he had a powerful tenor voice that was making him famous all over the world, while when he conversed, his voice became surprisingly acute.
“Well,” continued Lucas, “what have you been doing for the last year? I haven’t seen you since La Traviata last year in Milano!”
“I can hardly follow you around the world,” answered Carlo. “I have to work too, you know.”
“Yes, because in your opinion I…” then he stopped and took Carlo by the arm, whispering in his ear. “You old goat, why are you so unkind to your friends?”
Carlo merely said “Hey?” knowing well what Lucas was driving at.
“That beautiful woman who is with you? Have you decided to set up home?”
Carlo pulled him aside, then he looked around him and said, “I wish I could.”
Lucas stared at him in amazement. “Why? Doesn’t she want to?”
“I don’t know yet,” whispered Carlo.
Lucas’ powerful truly tenor guffaw made everyone turn around and curiously some even applauded.
“You see Carlo,” said Lucas, “I have become so famous that people applaud even when I laugh! Come, come, introduce me to the beautiful lady.”
“Don’t do anything silly, eh!”
“I couldn’t even if I wanted to: next week I will be in Berlin, I won’t even be able to spend Christmas peacefully at home!”
Carlo introduced Lucas to Thérèse, but he was soon carried off by admirers who wanted to enjoy his company.
The evening was drawing to a close when Lucas reappeared bringing with him a gentleman of curious appearance: apart from the cut of his clothing which was about thirty years out of date, totally black, with a high stiff collar and a black bow tie, it was his face that made him unsettling. His hair was raven black and his skin pale, contrasting strongly with the bluish shadows of his freshly shaven beard.
“Carlo, I would like to introduce to you and Madame Milaud,” he turned a magnificent smile on Thérèse, “a very dear friend of mine, also Spanish, Senor Francisco Bertrams.”
“Professor Bertrams!” exclaimed Thérèse in surprise.
“In person, Madame. I hope that you know me because you have attended one of my conferences,” said the professor in a deep warm voice.
“In effect, I was present at one of your demonstrations at the Carnegie Hall in New York, if I remember correctly… it was in autumn about two years ago.
“In effect, it was the eighteenth of September of nineteen twenty seven,” specified the professor.
“My friend,” continued Lucas, “wanted to meet Madame Milaud, but it seemed inopportune to him to introduce himself.”
Carlo glanced at Lucas, who answered with a wave of the hand that meant ‘calm down, it’s all right.’
“I apologise also to you Mr Fantone, said Bertrams, “but you both have, in some way, something to do with an object in which I am very interested. Professionally, I mean.”
Both Thérèse and Carlo turned an interrogative gaze on the newcomer.
“I see from your expressions that you are surprised,” continued the professor in his deep voice. “Last April I was at the Hôtel Drouot to witness your battle over a gold coin of which I already knew the sad reputation and which I had examined for my studies. It was not, in fact, my intention to purchase the coin; I just wanted to examine it carefully, which was not possible in the presence of the representative of the house of Drouot. I had counted on contacting the purchaser, but I was told that Drouot never gives out such information.
This evening I recognised the lady, please forgive me Senor Fantone if I did not remember you: then, when I saw that the lady was speaking to my friend Cortes, I came forward.”
“Forgive me if I interrupt,” said Carlo, “but what exactly is your professional interest in the coin, if I may ask.”
Thérèse turned to Carlo. “I had the good fortune to attend a conference and an experiment by the professor when I was in New York. The professor believes that only a tiny part of the capacity of our brains is used and that these limits prevent us from perceiving many things.”
“For example?” asked Carlo.
“In that experiment the professor managed to make contact with a person who had died many years earlier.”
Carlo turned to the professor and with a perplexed expression asked, “Are you an oc-cul-tist?”
The professor lost the calm expression that had marked his features so far.
“I beg you not to call me an occultist; I consider the term highly offensive!”
“Forgive me, but…” Carlo tried to insist.
“My friend Cortes,” continued the professor regardless, “tells me that you are a well-known antiquarian. Well, would you be offended if someone referred to your profession as that of junk dealer? I would imagine so!”
The professor’s eloquence now knew no bounds.
“I have worked in V
ienna with Professor Jung; I have held courses on the human psyche at the Universities of Berlin and Milano. I have had the good fortune, regrettably only shortly before his death, to meet Professor Lombroso, but in any case I had the privilege of reading a draft of his last book Ricerche sui phenomeni ipnotici e spiritici. Mr Fantone, believe me, this is science not a circus. There are, it is true, many charlatans who take advantage of the gullibility of the people to get money out of them: they ruin for a few francs, the work of many committed people.
I hold conferences for which I ask a fee, just like any of my colleagues who take part in a symposium. The participants who want to take part in an experiment, which normally follows my lesson, must book a place beforehand, because I allow the presence of not more than ten persons. Ah! I forgot to say that the experiments serve only to enrich my experience, not my pockets: they are free of charge. In effect,” he continued, “I should pay the participants because without their assistance, the experiment could not work.”
There was a moment’s silence, which was interrupted by the noisy return of Lucas Cortes, who in the meantime had been drawn away again by his fans.
“Well, was it a useful meeting?” he asked the professor.
“For the moment we have simply had the opportunity to clarify my profession,” said the professor, winking at Carlo who immediately said.
“Professor Bertrams, I hope that I can speak also for Madame Milaud when I propose a meeting in the next few days, perhaps at my hotel. Do you agree Thérèse?”
“Of course I agree. What about the day after tomorrow, Monday, in the afternoon at two?” asked Thérèse.
“Perfect,” chorused the two men.
“Well then, I will ensure that we have a private room available for two in the afternoon,” concluded Carlo.
After they had said their goodbyes to Professor Bertram, Lucas Cortes took Carlo and Thérèse by the arm to make what he had to say to them even more confidential.
“I beg you, do not underestimate the professor. He is a genius, a true genius. Don’t worry, above all you, Carlo, about his extravagant way of dressing in black that makes him look like a porte-malheur… you know, one who brings bad luck?”
A Jonah, yes he looks quite like an evil eye,” commented Carlo.
Paris – December 16th 1929
“Madame Milaud, may I ask if the coin is yours?” as soon as they were all sitting in the private room XXI-me Siècle that Carlo had booked.
“It is now. But previously it belonged to a dear friend, who is no longer with us…” answered Thérèse with a sorrowful and worried air.
The professor observed her waiting for her to continue, although it was clear what she meant by the unfinished phrase. Since Thérèse did not speak, the professor asked,
“Am I right in thinking that you are silent because the person in question died?”
Thérèse simply nodded.
“Was it a natural death or… a tragedy?”
Thérèse said nothing. She was overcome by profound sorrow.
“It was a tragedy, was it not? I was almost certain. You would do well to free yourself of that terrible inheritance,” said the professor bluntly, “and as quickly as possible, without thinking about it too much.”
Carlo started in his armchair, but he had no time to intervene, because the professor was exhorting Thérèse.
“How long have you possessed the coin?”
“Since I left America,” sighed Thérèse.
No, no. I mean, how long is it since you learned of the tragic demise of you friend?”
“Two weeks.”
“And in these two weeks, has everything gone well, have you had any problems? Have there been any unusual events?” The professor’s tone was alarmed and understanding.
Thérèse told him of the two events that had happened and to some extent the professor was relieved, because he considered them part of the possible risks of living in a big city.
“However,” continued Thérèse, “this morning…”
“What happened, Thérèse?” exclaimed Carlo startled. Thérèse lowered her gaze; she took a handkerchief from her sleeve and dried a tear.
“Today I intended to take the coin to be examined. I went to the bank where I had deposited it in order to collect it. It is the same bank where I had deposited part of my traveller’s cheques and opened an account. The director asked to see me and he said that he had not been able to cash the cheques because the bank that issued them has failed and they are now worthless. I left the coin there because I had to pay for the deposit box… but I don’t have a single franc left.”
Thérèse began to cry quietly, while Carlo took her hand gently.
“We will find a solution, Thérèse,” he said reassuringly.
“In any case,” continued the professor, in a tone if possible even deeper than usual, “this seems to me to be proof that the coin is beginning to cause trouble. Get rid of it, as soon as possible, find a way.”
“But how can I transmit to someone else a similar plague? It would be like… well, like deliberately infecting another person!”
“There are…” as he spoke, the professor turned on Carlo a profound and disquieting gaze, “there are people who for curious reasons are immune to what we could call a contagion.”
“Why are you looking at me like that?” asked Carlo uncomfortably.
“Because you, for reasons that I ignore, are one of those persons: I can feel it. Take charge of the coin, nothing will happen to you, and bring it to me so that I can examine it. I will be near your hometown at the end of January, we could meet there.”
“Not far from Locarno? Where?”
“In Ascona, I have been invited to hold a conference there on January 30th at the new hotel they have opened on Monte Verità.”
“What the one owned by the balabiòtt?” retorted Carlo, surprised and amused.
“Yes, precisely that one,” said the professor waggling his eyebrows, “…but nowadays the nudists are no longer in residence. It’s a pity!”
Paris – December 16th 1929
Having finished their meeting, Carlo accompanied Thérèse home; she was very upset. As they walked side by side, Carlo had offered his arm, but she had refused it. Then she had begun speaking of the events she had just told Professor Bertrams about and his probable immunity to the contagion.
“Why should you have this prerogative?” asked Thérèse.
“It is as if he had read my mind,” said Carlo, “because just at that moment I was thinking of something my father had said.”
He told her about the coin found in the book, which not only had been in his family’s possession for years, but even for centuries with his ancestors.
“My father is convinced, and I am beginning to believe, that the person who minted the coin was a distant relative of ours. According to my father, that is the reason that possessing the coin does not do us any harm. Why this should be so, however, I do not know.”
“What should I do now?” asked Thérèse, “should I sell the coin?”
They stopped. They had reached the junction between the Boulevard and rue Montmartre. Carlo turned to her.
“I have a proposal: just listen to what I have to say, and then tell me what you think.”
Thérèse nodded.
“For a year now, my father and I have been considering opening a branch here in Paris, since a significant number of the antiques we sell come from auctions held in the city. The journeys and my stays here, which at first were enjoyable, are becoming a burden. My father can no longer keep up with the work and when I go back to Locarno, I have to deal with many of the aspects of the business that he previously dealt with.”
They started walking again, while Thérèse listened carefully.
“You are an independent and capable person and you could manage our office here in Paris.”
He stopped, expecting a reaction, but she continued to listen, wa
iting for him to reach the heart of his proposal.
“That is what I was thinking until yesterday, but the events of today have suggested a different possibility.”
Thérèse looked at him worriedly.
“I will say it without any messing about: let’s form a company together. The value of your participation will be the coin, so that it will not become mine, but ours, of the company. Apparently, the coin only harms individuals.”
Thérèse, who perhaps feared a proposal that she would not have been capable of accepting, looked at him in relief and with a smile, said,
“It seems like an excellent proposal! Thank you! Thank you for your trust!”
Carlo would have liked to hug her, hold her close and kiss her passionately, but he limited himself to kissing her hand.
“Well, now that I can call you ‘partner’, let’s meet tomorrow morning at eleven in rue de Richelieu 12. The lawyer Monsieur Barret has his chambers there and he will draw up the company documents.
When they reached the house, Carlo had the chance to meet Madame Antonelli. In the short time they spent together, madame had carefully observed him without showing it. As he left, Carlo remembered that Thérèse was in financial difficulties, but he did not want to hand her money directly, since it would seem impolite, so he asked Madame Antonelli if she could lend Thérèse the hundred francs needed to withdraw the coin.
Madame nodded with a feline smile of satisfaction.
December 17th 1929
Jean-Luc Benoit was beginning to find life as a semi-prisoner irksome. He kept saying to himself that at least this way he would not risk being discovered and upsetting his plans, but living like a nocturnal animal for the last ten days without being able to get out for a breath of air until the sun went down was weighing heavily on him.
The sight of Thérèse, who had looked surprisingly beautiful and feminine, had taken him back ten years, at least as far as his sentiments were concerned: the years of prison had hardened him and made him cynical, above all with regard to women. Behind bars, women were roughly simplified and transformed into two breasts and a tuft of pubic hair. The sight of his wife had been like taking a cloth to a blackboard, it had wiped out everything, tabula rasa, as if a spring had snapped and freed the true Jean-Luc who had remained a prisoner for eight years: as if he had returned to nineteen twenty.
A Bad Coin Always Turns Up Page 8