The Pearl Thief Page 6

  Her boss was holding out the phone. She was trapped. Katerina had no choice but to accept the call.

  ‘Good afternoon?’

  ‘Katerina Kassowicz?’ He pronounced her name properly.

  ‘Er, yes, it is.’

  ‘Thank you, mademoiselle. My name is Edward Summerbee and my firm, Summerbee and Associates, has been engaged in London by our client, who is offering the item of a rather dramatic strand of pearls to the British Museum for display. Forgive me, we were of the understanding they might be from the Orient, but Mr Partridge has since corrected me on this.’ His voice had a velvety quality to it, the sort that might soothe a child to sleep.

  She tried to imagine the man who owned it as a means for remaining calm but her mind came up blank; he was a solicitor and was presumably highly proper … old, even. ‘How can I help you, Mr Summerbee?’

  It was a question that stalled for time and it worked; his pause told her of his surprise, unsure of how best to answer her.

  ‘Er … well, this is the only moment in which I can speak to you on this matter but I am acknowledging your claim, which is obviously a surprise to all. It not only adds a fresh complexity to this delicate arrangement I’ve been charged to broker, but it presumably brings a crime of theft into the midst and —’

  ‘Mr Summerbee, I must apologise, could you just excuse me, please?’

  Again the pause. ‘Yes, of course. Are you all right, Miss, er, Mademoiselle Kassowicz?’

  She liked his voice. She liked that he could wrap his tongue around her name authentically. ‘I’m fine, I just … I just need a moment, please.’ She turned to Mr Partridge. ‘Forgive me. I really don’t feel very well.’

  ‘Oh, my dear …’ He took the phone. ‘Mr Summerbee, we shall call you back. I’m so sorry but mademoiselle has experienced quite a shock this morning and she really does look rather pale.’ He waited, listened. ‘Yes, yes, of course. I’ll call your secretary soonest.’

  Katerina slowed her breathing, inhaling deeply while he finished up the call. She did not wish to disgrace herself in Mr Partridge’s office. ‘Yes, thank you again. Goodbye, Mr Summerbee.’ He replaced the receiver, looking up at her. ‘Thinking of you as Katerina doesn’t come easily,’ he said, apology in his tone. ‘I’m sorry for the shock you’ve had. I’m going to ask Jean to fetch you a taxi. We can’t —’

  ‘Oh no, please, Mr Partridge. I only live around the corner, barely a few minutes away. The fresh air is what I need and I shall be fine. I promise you, please don’t worry.’

  ‘You’re quite sure?’

  She nodded and found a smile.

  ‘Then please just take the rest of the afternoon off, and should you need tomorrow as well, let Jean know. I’m truly sorry for today’s events.’ He shook his head. ‘Extraordinary, and no doubt painful for you to see these again; I’m making the presumption that they were taken from your family?’

  ‘Stolen during the war,’ she explained. ‘Thank you for understanding, and there’s no way that you could know; I have not used my real name since I was a youngster.’

  Her superior looked further appalled and before he could start a fresh apology, she continued. ‘Good afternoon, Mr Partridge – thank you for your kindness today.’ She didn’t want to say she’d see him tomorrow because her mind was already racing towards escape and putting as much distance between herself, the Pearls and Ruda Mayek as she could. She had no intention of returning to the British Museum the next day. By then she intended to be disappearing into the vast metropolis of Paris.

  And so here she was, contemplating the reawakened horror at the sight of the Pearls. She had hoped running away from them was the best immediate solution, but the shock rode with her on the train and the ferry back to France. It walked alongside her all the way back into her Parisian home. The apartment over the last few days felt too small for her problem, which is why she’d headed outdoors, with cigarettes and in search of coffee because she’d run out. Shock sat now on her shoulder and urged her to use Daniel Horowitz, a stranger who could not hurt her; she needed someone to talk to, to let the poison out with … Perhaps talking aloud to this random man, who had no vested interest in her life, might help her unlock the demons she kept incarcerated.

  He’s Jewish. He will understand, a voice inside her counselled. He’s safe.

  Was she really going to do this? More than twenty years of silence, and she was about to tell her story to this man when five minutes ago she’d not so much as known his name? She waited for that inner voice to answer. Why not? It finally said.

  Daniel, she noted, waited, patient. He wasn’t even looking at her, happy to broaden his gaze to the grass and the sparrows skipping around.

  Katerina took a low, silent breath before audibly clearing her throat. His gaze returned, landing on her lightly, anticipation in those warm brown eyes.

  ‘It’s hard to know how to answer that question,’ she admitted.

  ‘From the beginning, perhaps?’ Daniel replied, and signalled to the waiter for a second coffee.

  4

  Daniel Horowitz’s sombre expression was a mask for his turmoil of thoughts. Normally sharp and agile, his mind leapt to conclusions fast; he could make the swiftest of decisions while calculating the odds of a successful outcome quicker than most. Other arithmetic problems he solved in his mind more like sport … or, as his sister had once accused, because he was a freak.

  Freak? No, he couldn’t agree. He was just someone who had developed habits that helped him to keep his mind tidy, as he preferred to think of it. Adding, subtracting, multiplying, dividing – manipulating numbers to come out in a way that pleased him was a pastime; nothing sinister. It was about feeling secure.

  Right now, though, his thoughts were chaotic. This was Katerina Kassowicz! She was the link; the only one, as far as he knew … his single chance. For fifteen years he’d waited. He’d earned his nickname ‘the Crocodile’ due to the interminable patience he demonstrated in his work as he waited, watched, pondered, assembled information and all the while convinced himself he was drawing closer to his prey with stealth.

  And here she was; not his prey, in truth, but his navigator. He’d had his eyes cast outwards across greater Europe, looking for the sign of one who could light his path. And all the while the person he was searching for had been here, in Paris.

  He was understandably nervous now that he’d found his guide, but years of work and training had taught him how to cover any sign of restiveness. Even so, it was hard to talk to her; words kept trapping themselves and it was helpful that she perhaps imagined him to be another hapless male, hoping to seduce. He would be rightfully called a liar if he didn’t admit her looks were anything but striking and her slanted gaze entirely disarming. He liked her laugh too when he heard it moments ago for the first time – genuine but sultry – and he already sensed it was not easily won. That quality alone made it worth toiling for.

  The photograph he had of her was grainy and showed a smiling girl of perhaps eleven with plaited hair. She looked like a baby giraffe with lanky legs, slightly knock-kneed, extending from beneath the hem of her summer frock with puffed sleeves. Now look at her. She presented like a movie starlet; she certainly had the poise of a couture model. But that’s not why he was finding it hard to contain his excitement. He would have settled for, and felt a thrill at discovering, any one of the children in that photograph. It could have been none of them whose path ever crossed his and an hour ago he could have been convinced that this was to be his fate. He was blessed, though: she was here. And if he’d been able to wish for one, then it would have been Katerina, the eldest of the troupe … the one with the most knowledge, the longest memories that he would need.

  His daily prayers of nearly a quarter of a century had been answered, so surely with her unannounced arrival into his life that it made his task feel close to holy. Daniel felt no guilt for what was ahead. Katerina was his salvation but now the real journey was beginning.

 
He needed her to speak so he could lose himself in focused conversation. But she remained silent. Nevertheless, he’d made it this far in one hour with her and so he must keep faith that his reluctant manner would intrigue and reassure her. He could tell she was at some sort of crossroad, as if trying to make the most difficult of decisions. The quip on the park bench about her smoking was a gamble that had delivered to him tenfold. Who’d have thought he could persuade her to sit down with him with such ease, and now, if he was reading her correctly, it looked as though she was going to stay for a while and tell him about herself. Could he be that lucky after years of feeling like he was walking in the wilderness?

  The lie about helping her across the icy ground had been confidently spoken. It was true that he had seen her slip once on ice and it was that recollection of a passer-by who had reached for her that he’d borrowed. He’d used that buried memory of hers to create a whiff of truth, like the cunning spy he was. If this wasn’t the single most important case in his life, he’d take a moment to appreciate his coercive skills, but time was precious and he needed to be focused on Mademoiselle Kassowicz. He knew he had to show a certain amount of indifference, so as not to frighten her.

  Daniel had watched her for a week, coming and going through the gardens; he’d shadowed her once to her home – an apartment fringing the Natural History Museum district on the Left Bank – but he dared not linger or be picked out as a stranger in that neighbourhood. His well-honed instincts were telling him this was a closed person who would not respond to him moving too obviously into her life. And she could shut him out as easily as stepping on an ant; all she had to do was accuse him of harassment or simply speak to the police, and years of patience would be undone.

  And so the Crocodile had stood, made to leave and been rewarded by her trust. Daniel heard his companion clear her throat. He returned his gaze and tried his best not to stare at the oval of emotion, particularly those eyes that were startling even without the mote. Their unexpected hesitation between violet and green gave the impression that her maker couldn’t decide which suited best. So now, depending on the light and presumably her mood, they shifted from the cobalt of the stained glass of the famed Sainte-Chapelle in Paris to the Egyptian blue of a goblet he’d seen in the Louvre believed to be from Mesopotamia circa 1500 bc. He thought she’d appreciate his comparison, given her career.

  She lowered her gaze briefly in final consideration and it meant he could enjoy looking upon her angular features, including a soft cleft at her chin and cheeks that needed no shading to create shape; they were the ideal defined frame to welcome the bow of her lips.

  ‘From the beginning, perhaps?’ he’d chanced, and as he’d spoken these words had taken the liberty of raising a hand to catch the attention of the waiter. When the man looked over, Daniel signalled for a second round. Katerina showed no inclination to bolt and his anxiety began to quieten with relief that he had made her comfortable with his silence.

  Locking his attention back on his companion, he watched as she dragged long fingers through her tumble of chin-length hair that from a distance could be mistaken for brunette, but close up it had the burnished sheen of treacle. In the old photo she had looked quite fair. Did she now colour her hair as some women did, or had it darkened in her maturity? He shouldn’t be this intrigued. He should focus on what she could deliver to him. Her hands caught his attention. Her contemporaries wore their nails long and painted them all colours. But not Katerina. Her nails were natural, deliberately filed to be blunt, but they were nonetheless attractive with perfect nude fingers.

  She shivered, replacing her gloves, and knitted her fingers on the table before her.

  ‘I was born in Prague,’ she began. Her voice was quiet enough that he had to sit forward. Its timbre leaned towards liquid darkness but it had a fresh rasp in it that he knew came from talking about something he suspected was never discussed. He noted that emotion moistened her eyes, which she kept fixed on her laced fingers. ‘Our family was not poor. We had a tall, rambling house in the old quarter, and …’

  He watched her swallow. This was hard for her, and he experienced a moment’s helpless guilt at shattering the fragile enclosure she’d built around her memories. He was hungry for those recollections, though; needed them like a starved man needs a knuckle of bread to survive the next day. Even so, shame entered his heart like a tiny splinter that would burrow deeper to vex as much as hurt.

  ‘… and a summer villa about a day’s journey away along the river and into the hills.’

  There would have been far more, he thought; the Kassowicz family was part of the Jewish aristocracy of the region, but she had only a child’s memories. He would not correct her. The coffees arrived, the detritus of the previous serving cleared swiftly, a fresh bill tucked under the sugar bowl, and the surly man was gone again.

  She shook her head and seemed to rally her thoughts. ‘We were a happy family; I was the eldest of several children although sadly my youngest brother died in 1939. He was under a year and we all loved that little fellow. His name was Petr.’

  ‘What did he die from?’ He was being polite, showing he was listening in earnest, but he knew there was so much more death to come.

  ‘They never fully explained.’ He watched her sit up straighter and meet his gaze; her serious mouth gave a mirthless twitch. ‘Forgive me, I have not shared this with anyone, but I probably need to.’

  ‘Why now?’ He couldn’t help himself.

  ‘Because something happened a few days ago that has changed everything.’

  ‘Everything?’

  Her second coffee steamed untouched next to her red and white packet of Pall Mall Longs and a tiny silver lighter. ‘You know how your ritual of watching me pass through the gardens keeps you feeling safe, Daniel?’

  He nodded gently, embarrassed by the lie.

  She gave a small shrug. ‘I have found that it is much better for my health if I keep my memories locked up. Then I too am safe.’

  ‘From the war, do you mean?’ Now that she’d begun, the moment was right to push her along.

  ‘From before the war, when my family was alive, and yes, from the war itself because I was chosen to survive.’ Her voice sounded bitter to him.

  He took a long sip of his sweetened coffee and decided he needed no more. She didn’t seem interested in her second cup. ‘Would you like to walk, mademoiselle?’

  She nodded. ‘I would, thank you.’

  He rose to pull back her chair and dug in his pockets to find some francs to leave on the table. He overpaid but he didn’t care to wait for change. The waiter would get a good tip this cold morning.

  ‘Come, I do believe walking, looking ahead and not at someone, can sometimes make talking easier.’

  She cut him a rare soft smile and he matched her step, not risking taking her arm, instead clasping his hands behind his back. ‘Apart from Petr, how many siblings were there in your family?’ He knew the answer but needed her to resume her story.

  ‘After me came a sister, Lotte, then the twins, Ettel and Hana – before our beloved Petr arrived into our lives. My life changed irrevocably around my twelfth birthday, when Hitler’s Nazis stomped across the cobbles of our beautiful city and took it for their own.’

  Now he needed to shift her away from the pain; it was too early to go there where the open wound seeped. It was quite the balancing act, but he’d done this many times previously with prisoners and with people who had been detained under no charge but were suspected of having information. The trick was in the dance by the spymaster in obliquely approaching the topic he needed his victim to reach but without realising they had arrived.

  ‘What did your father do?’

  ‘He was mostly involved in glass manufacturing but I knew him principally as a historian and art collector – to me that’s what he did. From a child’s perspective, his other businesses seemed to run themselves.’

  ‘Ah, I see,’ he said. ‘So your apprenticeship in artistic a
ppreciation was at your father’s coat-tails?’

  She nodded and he was pleased the gesture was accompanied by one of her half smiles. ‘Yes. I learned so much at his side – that’s what I meant about being homegrown.’

  He looked up deliberately and her gaze followed. ‘My joints tell me it will rain shortly.’

  ‘Perhaps.’

  As if by divine order, they felt the first light spatter and rain-drops glimmered on their shoulders. He cast silent thanks to the heavens for their aid.

  ‘Your joints seem to have an acute sense, Mr Horowitz.’

  ‘Mademoiselle Kassel,’ he said, carefully using her contemporary name, ‘I don’t want you to take this the wrong way but I live very close by.’ He pointed towards one of the grand pairs of gates at the end of a pathway they were approaching. ‘I have a large, airy apartment minutes from here that I share with a pair of strange cats. Forgive me, but I don’t wish to keep interrupting you or prodding you for information. I am intrigued by what you have to say and would gladly sit down right here on the frozen ground, in the rain, and hear it – every word. But I’d rather hear it from the comfort of an armchair with a merry fire burning and some soup simmering on the stove. I sense pain and I’d rather you expressed it, if you feel inclined, in a secure environment rather than one open to eavesdroppers or the elements.’ He avoided swallowing or it would show his tension. This was the moment! ‘Would you consider walking back to my apartment – if that does not strike you as too forward or intrusive?’ Daniel held his breath. He would soon know if the quarry was going to startle and bolt.

  She didn’t. She considered his invitation in that still, rather serious way of hers and then fixed him with her sad gaze.

  ‘I do need to tell someone. This story must be shared, especially now. I believe another must hear it so that should anything happen …’