‘I can’t wait.’
Jack stood up, walked over to the mantelpiece and pointed to the music box. ‘I had it restored by a horologist in Paris specialising in antique mechanisms just like this one made by Symphonion Musikwerke in Leipzig, Germany in 1888. It works perfectly now; listen.’
Jack pulled out a small lever on the top of the box to activate the mechanism turning the disc. Moments later, a delightful Russian folk melody drifted across from the mantelpiece, reminding Rahima of her childhood spent with Madame Petrova and her family a long time ago.
‘It all began when Madame Petrova died suddenly two years ago. As you know, it turned out that she was my great aunt, a connection that I only discovered by chance because of this,’ said Jack. He reached inside his shirt and pulled out the exquisite little Fabergé cross he wore around his neck. ‘How this eventuated is just as fascinating as the story of the music box I’m about to tell you.’
During the next hour, Jack told his mother how the chance discovery of a letter hidden a long time ago had set in motion a chain of events that brought to light a masterpiece created by a musical giant, which but for that letter, would have been lost forever. Rahima listened in silence as Jack – a natural storyteller – brought not only the extraordinary chain of events to life, but the incredible cast of characters as well. He did it in a way that transported mother and son into an extraordinary past filled with drama and tragedy so real and moving, that Rahima had tears in her eyes by the time Jack finished.
‘These are some of my breadcrumbs of destiny, as I’m fond of calling them,’ said Jack, ‘which inspire my writing.’
‘This is without doubt one of the most amazing stories I’ve ever heard,’ said Rahima quietly. ‘Perhaps we could ask Katerina to take us to see those memory trees now? This would be the right time for such an emotional visit, don’t you think?’
‘It would, I agree. I’ll see if I can arrange it,’ said Jack and stood up. ‘It isn’t far.’
63
Madame Petrova’s Memory Trees: 26 July
Sitting next to Rahima in the back seat of the vintage Bentley, Countess Kuragin pointed to the massive wrought-iron gates as they approached the exclusive retirement home – a converted chateau popular with well-heeled aristocrats and celebrities. ‘We are almost there,’ she said. ‘This magnificent estate used to belong to a dear friend of my mother’s, a duchess. She turned it into a retirement home for artists and friends. That’s how Madame Petrova – your aunt – came to live here after she left the stage and retired.’
‘What a wonderful idea,’ said Rahima, admiring the beautiful avenue of trees leading to the entrance.
‘My mother and Madame Petrova had adjacent apartments on the ground floor. They lived here for many years,’ continued the countess, ‘So did the duchess. Her name was Marguerite.’
‘That’s where I first met Madame Petrova, as we used to call her, in 2012,’ Jack interjected. ‘She liked being called Madame Petrova, you see. It reminded her of her days as a celebrated ballerina. She was an extraordinary character, even in her nineties.’
‘Please tell me again about those memory trees of hers,’ said Rahima, looking dreamily out of the car window.
‘When your aunt and my mother were invited by Marguerite to move in here,’ began the countess, ‘they made a pact. In fact, there were six of them living here at the time. All women; close friends who had known each other during the war.’
‘Oh? What kind of pact?’ asked Rahima.
‘They agreed that whenever one of them passed away, the others would plant an oak tree right here in the grounds in her memory.’
‘What a wonderful idea,’ said Rahima, clearly moved.
‘When Madame Petrova died two years ago, Jack and I planted a tree for her as she had requested, right next to ... I’ll show you.’
François, the countess’s gardener and sometimes chauffeur, stopped the vintage Bentley in front of the chateau. Jack got out, opened the back door and helped the countess and Rahima out of the car.
‘Before we go inside, let’s take a little walk to the trees. It isn’t far,’ said the countess.
Jack linked arms with his mother and together they walked along the crunchy gravel path behind the chateau leading to the little grove of oak trees by a pond full of waterlilies. The countess followed a few steps behind, realising that this was a very personal moment for them all.
‘I came here with Madame Petrova almost exactly four years ago,’ said Jack. ‘It was then that I discovered she was my great aunt and it only happened because of this.’ Jack pointed to the little cross hanging around his neck. ‘As you know, only two of these were ever made, right here in Paris. They were designed by your grandfather and personally crafted by Alexander Fabergé, the master jeweller. Your grandfather gave one to your mother, and one to Madame Petrova, her sister, as Easter presents in 1930.’
‘Yes, I know.’
‘When I told Madame Petrova that I was born at the Coberg Mission in Queensland, Australia in 1968, the penny dropped. And the rest, as they say, is history.’
‘It would seem so,’ said Rahima.
‘But this here, right now, is history in the making,’ continued Jack. He stopped and pointed to a tree by the pond. ‘Do you see that tree over there?’ he asked.
‘Yes.’
‘That’s your tree, planted by Madame Petrova herself many years after you disappeared in Africa, presumed dead. In fact, she planted it after your mother died. That’s your mother’s tree right there next to yours. She was known as Sister Elizabeth at the Coberg Mission. She died there just before the mission was closed. I visited her grave. That too was many years ago now.’
Rahima walked slowly over to the two trees, put her arms around the trunk belonging to her mother’s tree and stood there, hugging it in silence. Then she let go of the tree, turned around and looked at Jack.
‘Come over here, please,’ she said. ‘I want you to promise me something.’
Jack walked over to Rahima and put an arm around her.
‘When my time comes,’ whispered Rahima, ‘promise me that you will scatter my ashes here in this place, exactly where we stand right now. I couldn’t wish for more ... after all, my tree’s already here.’
‘I promise,’ said Jack, his eyes misting over.
‘Now, let’s go into the chateau and have a look at Madame Petrova’s apartment I’ve heard so much about. I have something to tell you ...’
Madame Petrova had been one of the most famous and flamboyantly eccentric residents in the retirement home’s colourful history. At the same time, she was also one of its most generous patrons. For years she held court in her apartment, entertaining many visitors, mainly associated with the arts. Because no-one knew what to do with her treasured belongings after her death, management had decided to leave her apartment untouched for the time being. It was therefore just as she had left it, with all her personal effects – including her beloved grand piano with the many photographs – and her eclectic furniture and paintings collection all still in place.
The countess had made arrangements for them to be admitted to the apartment for a visit and had ordered tea and petits fours just as Madame Petrova used to do when entertaining her admirers in her elegant salon. As soon as Jack entered the apartment, he could feel Madame Petrova’s presence. It was everywhere. He could see her standing next to the piano, pointing to photographs while talking about life at the Ritz in Paris during the war.
‘This is quite eerie,’ he said as they sat down in front of the marble fireplace.
‘I know what you mean,’ said the countess. ‘It’s as if she were still here.’
‘Perhaps in a way she still is,’ interjected Rahima, looking remarkably energised and refreshed after that emotional visit to Madame Petrova’s memory trees.
She’s very resilient, thought Jack, watching his mother. I suppose she’s had to be with all that’s happened to her. She’s a survivor.
‘As I mentioned before,’ began Rahima, sitting back in her chair, ‘I’ve something to tell you.’ She waited until the maid serving the tea had left the room, and then continued. ‘I don’t come without means.’ Rahima paused to let this sink in. ‘In fact, I come here as a very wealthy woman, albeit a controversial one, for obvious reasons.’
Jack and the countess looked at Rahima, wondering where she was going with this.
‘For years I’ve had my own bank accounts in Switzerland. I used these funds for my charitable work in Colombia,’ continued Rahima. ‘Apart from supporting the Benedictine mission you already know about, I built hospitals and schools for the poor and set up orphanages throughout the country. This was the arrangement I had with Hernando. I could only go on and stay with him if I was allowed to do this. And, of course, we had a son: Alonso.’ Rahima paused, and looked sadly into the distance.
‘Hernando understood,’ she continued. ‘I know what you are thinking, and you are justified in thinking it. Nothing in life is black and white. There are only shades of grey and everything has its price. The source of those funds ...’ Rahima shook her head.
‘I already spoke to Raul Rodrigo in New York. He has managed my money for years and confirmed that I have access to it in the usual manner. It has nothing to do with the assets of the H Cartel currently under investigation by the Americans. As you know, the CIA is tracing and trying to confiscate Cordoba assets around the world and Rodrigo is “assisting them with their enquiries”, as they say. He’s being forced to do so would be a better way of putting it,’ continued Rahima, steel in her voice. ‘The CIA has him in their grip. You don’t offend America without consequences.’
Jack was beginning to glimpse a different side to his mother he hadn’t seen before. He saw a confident, determined woman familiar with hardship and tragedy, and capable of dealing with both, and with looking after herself.
‘Be that as it may, I never married Hernando,’ continued Rahima. ‘I am Natasha Petrova, a French citizen who lived for many years in Colombia under unusual circumstances, and who has now returned home.’
That’s a bit of a bombshell, thought Jack, as the implications of what Rahima had just told them began to sink in. ‘You obviously have something in mind,’ he said quietly.
‘I do.’ Rahima turned to the countess sitting opposite. ‘As my aunt had no children or other relatives we know of, this makes me her next of kin and heir, I suppose.’
‘It probably does,’ said the countess.
‘With that in mind, do you think it would be possible for me to move in here? I’ve lived in a gated community for most of my life and should therefore fit in well here.’
This was a turn the countess hadn’t expected. ‘I don’t see why not,’ she said, nodding her head. ‘It’s an excellent idea.’
‘I would immediately make a substantial donation to this establishment in my aunt’s name and memory of, say, a million euros. That should open a few doors of welcome, don’t you think?’
‘It certainly would. They are always short of funds here. Retired artists bring with them memories, huge egos and exaggerated vestiges of fame, but little money,’ added the countess, smiling.
‘Good,’ said Rahima. ‘I can see myself living here. And it’s not far from you, Katerina, and you, Jack, but I’ll have my independence. And that is of great importance to me because I want to continue my charity work.’
‘Oh? In what way?’ asked Jack, his curiosity aroused.
‘I discussed this with Isis and Agabe in the plane on the way over while you were asleep,’ replied Rahima.
Jack looked at his mother, amazed.
‘The best way forward would be for me to become involved with Isis’s charitable foundation and stay in the background. The fewer people who know I exist, the better. Channelling funds wouldn’t be difficult; Isis’s lawyers could arrange everything.’
‘Sir Charles,’ said Jack.
‘Yes, she did mention him.’
‘The first thing I would like to do in that regard,’ continued Rahima, warming to the subject, ‘is to do something about the Caritas, languishing in Malta. Agabe told me all about the hospital ship and what it could do in the right hands.’
‘You have been busy,’ interjected Jack, unable to hide his surprise.
‘I owe Agabe my life. Without him I wouldn’t be here. The little chapel where we took refuge after you rang to warn me about imminent danger, collapsed on top of us. Agabe dragged me out of the rubble and carried me to safety. It was a miracle we made it to the monastery alive. It was mayhem and chaos all around us. The monks looked after me there. Agabe’s medical skills were amazing. I think he would make an excellent CEO to run the Caritas. What do you think?’
‘He would be perfect,’ said Jack.
‘And this could help him with his asylum application here as well, I imagine.’
‘It certainly would,’ said the countess. ‘This is amazing, Natasha.’
‘I’m glad you think so. I haven’t come all this way just to whither on the vine, so to speak, and wait for my memory tree,’ joked Rahima.
‘I can see that,’ said Jack, shaking his head.
Rahima reached for her cup and took a sip. ‘Before we go, I still have a promise to keep,’ she said and put her hand on Jack’s arm. ‘You told me that wonderful story about that music box in the conservatory this morning.’
‘And you promised to tell me what you said to the chief of police,’ said Jack. ‘I still can’t believe he let us go.’
‘And you want to know why, right?’
‘Yes.’
‘Like you, I am a strong believer in destiny, Jack.’
‘Wait until you meet Tristan,’ said Jack, smiling.
‘He’s right,’ said the countess. ‘That boy can hear the whisper of angels and glimpse eternity.’
‘So can I,’ said Rahima, looking serious. ‘And what I’m about to tell you is a good example.’
‘Are we still talking about the chief of police here?’ asked Jack. ‘Or ...’
‘Yes. When I pulled back Isis’s costume covering my face inside the coffin and looked the chief of police – his name is Barrera – in the eye, I told him two things. He knew who I was, which made it easier. Hernando had crossed swords with him before.’
‘Easier? In what way?’ asked Jack.
‘Because my identity gave a certain gravitas to what I had to say. First, I told him to think of the hospitals. My charitable work over the years has become well known throughout Colombia. I have poured millions into projects helping the poor and the desperate. I have many supporters.’
‘And the second thing?’ asked Jack.
‘I told him to remember what happened to Fernando Mancilla.’
‘Could you please explain?’ asked the countess, looking a little confused.
Jack began to laugh. ‘Fernando Mancilla was a high-profile Colombian secret police official. He was shot sixteen times in Medellin in 2002. His assassination was ordered by a drug cartel,’ he said.
It was Rahima’s turn to look surprised. ‘How do you know this?’
‘I wrote an article about Mancilla and his feud with the cartel. It was big news at the time.’
‘You see, Katerina? Destiny ...’ said Rahima.
‘Are you seriously suggesting that reminding the chief of police of the hospitals you built for the poor, and the brutal assassination of a colleague, persuaded him to let you go?’ said the countess.
‘Yes. You have to understand the Colombian mentality here,’ replied Rahima. ‘You have to understand the level of fear and violence in that country. The poverty, the desperation, the culture of corruption, the superstition. By reminding him of the hospitals, I reminded him that I really care for the Colombian people, and have done a lot for the country.’
‘And Mancilla?’ said Jack.
‘By reminding him of the assassination, I sent him a clear message of what could happen if he didn’t let me go.’
‘A bit of luck may have played a part as well,’ conceded Rahima. ‘Can you imagine what would have happened had he arrested us? Isis, the megastar thrown in jail? He would have started a war he couldn’t win and he knew it. I simply gave him a way out and at the same time, a way to save face – and his skin.’ Rahima shrugged. ‘It was all about the power of fear and self-preservation. Hernando was a master when it came to such things. I saw him use such tactics countless times.’ Rahima waved dismissively. ‘But enough of this for now. We have more pleasant things to talk about, haven’t we?’
‘We do,’ said the countess. ‘I have something that definitely belongs to you, Natasha. Something very precious your aunt gave me just before she died. Even Jack doesn’t know about this. I’ve been waiting for the right moment …’
‘Intriguing,’ said Jack. ‘What is it?’
‘I’ve never worn it before, but I decided to put it on today because I thought the visit to Madame Petrova’s memory trees would be the right occasion to hand it over.’
With that, the countess unbuttoned the collar of her blouse to reveal a slender gold chain. Rahima and Jack leant forward in anticipation.
‘Good heavens!’ exclaimed Rahima as the countess exposed the little jewel-encrusted gold cross she wore around her neck. Realising the significance of the moment, Jack instinctively reached for his and held it tight.
‘I was only the temporary custodian of this little treasure,’ said the countess. She unfastened the chain and handed the cross to Rahima. ‘Had your aunt known you were still alive, she would have given it to you instead of me, for sure.’
Jack stood up and walked over to his mother. ‘May I?’
The Curious Case of the Missing Head Page 44