And Thereby Hangs a Tale (12 page)

He didn't have a single customer all day,
just three browsers and a visit from the VAT inspector. When he locked up for
the night, he had to admit to himself that it hadn't been a good week so far.
But all that could change if the American returned on Saturday with his partner.

On Thursday morning the stretch limousine drove
up and parked outside Susan's gallery.

The chauffeur stepped out, removed Chairman
Mao from the boot and carried the Chinese leader inside. A few minutes later he
ran back on to the street, slammed the boot shut, jumped behind the steering
wheel and drove off, but not before a parking ticket had been placed on his
windscreen. Julian laughed.

The next morning, while Julian was
discussing the Adam fireplace with an old customer who was showing some
interest in the piece, the doorbell rang and a woman entered the shop.

'Don't worry about me,' she said in a
gravelly voice. 'I just want to look around. I'm not in any hurry.'

'Where did you say you found it, Julian?'

'Buckley Manor in Hertfordshire, Sir Peter,'
said Julian without adding the usual details of its provenance.

And you're asking eighty thousand?'

'Yes,' said Julian, not looking at him.

'Well, I'll think about it over the weekend,'
said the customer, 'and let you know on Monday.'

'Whatever suits you, Sir Peter,' said
Julian, and without another word he strode off towards the front of the shop,
opened the door and remained standing by it until the customer had stepped back
out on to the pavement, a puzzled look on his face. If Sir Peter had looked
round, he would have seen Julian close the door and switch the OPEN sign to CLOSED.

'Stay cool, Julian, stay cool,' he murmured
to himself as he walked slowly towards the lady he'd been hoping to serve all
week.

'I was in the area a couple of days ago,'
she said, her voice husky and unmistakable.

I know you were, Gloria, Julian wanted to say.
'Indeed, madam,' was all he managed.

'Millie told me all about your wonderful shop,
but I just didn't have enough time.'

'I understand, madam.'

'Actually, I haven't come across anything I really
like this week. I was hoping I might be luckier today.'

'Let's hope so, madam.'

'You see, I try to take home some little memento
from every city I perform in. It always brings back so many happy memories.'

'What a charming idea,' said Julian,
beginning to relax.

'Of course, I could hardly fail to admire
the Adam fireplace,' she said, running a hand over the marble nymphs, 'but I
can't see it fitting in to my New York condo.'

'I'm sure you're right, madam,' said Julian.

'The Chippendale rocking chair is
unquestionably a masterpiece, but sadly it would look somewhat out of place in
a Beverly Hills mansion. And Delft isn't to my taste.' She continued to look
around the room, until her eyes came to rest on the egg. 'But I do love your
Fabergé egg.' Julian smiled ingratiatingly. 'What does the green dot mean?' she
asked innocently.

'That it's reserved for another customer, madam;
an American gentleman I'm expecting tomorrow.'

'What a pity,' she said, staring lovingly at
the egg. 'I'm working tomorrow, and flying to Paris the following day.' She
smiled sweetly at Julian and said, 'It clearly wasn't meant to be. Thank you.'
She began walking slowly towards the door.

Julian hurried after her. 'It's possible, of
course, that the customer won't come back.

They often don't, you know.'

She paused by the door. 'And how much did he
agree to pay for the egg?' she asked.

'Six hundred and twenty-five thousand,' said
Julian.

'Pounds?'

'Yes, madam.'

She walked back and took an even longer look
at the egg. 'Would six hundred and fifty thousand convince you that he
won't be returning?' she asked, giving him that same sweet smile.

Julian beamed as she sat down at his desk and
took a chequebook out of her bag.

'Whom shall I make it out to?' she asked.

'Julian Farnsdale Fine Arts Ltd,' he said,
placing one of his cards in front of her.

She wrote out the name and the amount slowly,
and double-checked them before signing 'Gloria Gaynor' with a flourish. She handed
the cheque to Julian who tried to stop his hand from shaking.

'If you're not doing anything special
tomorrow night,' she said as she rose from her chair, 'perhaps you'd like to
come to my concert?'

'How kind of you,' said Julian.

She took two tickets out of her bag and passed
them across to him. 'And perhaps you'd care to join me backstage for a drink after
the show?'

Julian was speechless.

'Good,' she said. 'I'll leave your name at
the stage door. Please don't tell Millie or Susan.

There just isn't enough room for everyone.

I'm sure you understand.'

'Of course, Miss Gaynor. You can rely on me.

I won't say a word.'

'And if I could ask you for one small
favour?' she said as she closed her bag.

'Anything,' said Julian. 'Anything.'

'I wonder if you'd be kind enough to deliver
the egg to the Park Lane Hotel, and ask a porter to send it up to my room.'

'You could take it with you now if you wish,
Miss Gaynor.'

'How kind of you,' she said, 'but I'm
lunching with Mick...' She hesitated. 'I'd prefer if it could be delivered to
the hotel.'

'Of course,' said Julian. He accompanied her
out of the shop to the waiting car, where the chauffeur was holding open the
back door.

'How silly of me to forget,' she said just
before stepping into the car. She turned back to Julian and whispered into his
ear, 'For security reasons, my room is booked in the name of Miss Hampton.' She
smiled flirtatiously.

'Otherwise I'd never get a moment's peace.'

'I quite understand,' said Julian. He couldn't
believe it when she bent down and kissed him on the cheek.

'Thank you, Julian,' she said. 'I look
forward to seeing you after the show,' she added as she climbed into the back
seat.

Julian stood there shaking as Millie and Susan
joined him on the pavement.

'Did she give you any tickets for her show?'
asked Millie as the car drove away.

'I'm not at liberty to say,' said Julian,
then walked back into his shop and closed the door.

The smartly dressed young man writing down
some figures in a little black book reminded her of the rent collector from her
youth. 'How much did it cost us this time?' she asked quietly.

'Five days at the Park Lane came to three thousand
three hundred, including tips, the stretch limo was two hundred pounds an hour,
sixteen hundred in all.' His forefinger continued down the
handwritten inventory. 'The two items you purchased from the jewellery shop
came to fifteen hundred.' She touched a pearl earring and smiled. 'Meals along
with other expenses, including five extras from the casting agency, five
autograph books and a parking fine, came to another nine hundred and twenty-two
pounds. Six tickets for tonight's concert purchased from a tout, a further nine
hundred pounds, making eight thousand, two hundred and twenty-two pounds in
all, which, at today's exchange rate, comes to about thirteen thousand three
hundred and sixty-nine dollars. Not a bad return,' he concluded as he smiled
across at her.

She glanced at her watch. 'Dear sweet Julian
should be arriving at the Albert Hall about now,' she said. 'Let's at least
hope he enjoys the show.'

'I would have liked to go with him.'

'Behave yourself, Gregory,' she teased.

'When do you think he'll find out?'

'When he turns up at the stage door after
the show and finds his name isn't on the guest list, would be my guess.'

Neither of them spoke while Gregory went over
the figures a second time, then finally closed his little book and placed it in
an inside pocket.

'I must congratulate you on your research this
time,' she said. 'I must admit I'd never heard of Robert Adam, Delft or
Chippendale before you briefed me.'

Gregory smiled. 'Napoleon once said that time
spent on reconnaissance is rarely wasted.'

'So where does Napoleon stay when he's in Paris?'

'The Ritz Carlton,' Gregory replied
matter-of-factly.

'That sounds expensive.'

'We don't have much choice,' he replied.

'Miss Gaynor has booked a suite at the Ritz because
it's convenient for the Pleyel concert hall. In any case, it gives the right
image for someone who's planning to steal a Modigliani.'

'This is your captain speaking,' said a
voice over the intercom. 'We've been cleared for landing at Charles de Gaulle
airport, and should be on the ground in around twenty minutes. All of us at
British Airways hope you've had a pleasant flight and that you enjoy your stay
in Paris, whether it be for business or pleasure.'

A flight attendant leaned over and said, 'Would
you be kind enough to fasten your seat belt, madam? We'll be beginning our descent
very shortly.'

'Yes, of course,' she said smiling up at the
flight attendant.

The attendant took a second look at
the passenger and said, 'Has anyone ever told you that you look just like
Glor-ia Gaynor?'

T
HERE HAVE BEEN Grebenars living in the small
town of Hertzendorf, nestled in the Bavarian hills, for more than three hundred
years.

The first Grebenar of any note was Hans Julius,
born in 1641, the youngest son of a miller. Hans worked diligently as a pupil
at the town's only school, and became the first member of the family to attend
university.

After four years of conscientious study, the
young man left Heidelberg with a law degree.

Despite this achievement, Hans did not hanker
after the cosmopolitan life of Munich or even the more gentle charm of
Friedrichsville. Rather, he returned to the place of his birth, where he rented
a set of rooms in the centre of the town and opened his own law practice.

As the years went by, Hans Julius was
elected to the local council, later becoming a freeman of the town as well as
an elder of the parish church. Towards the end of his days he was responsible
for establishing the town's first municipal museum. If that had been all Herr
Grebenar achieved, commendable though it was, he would have gone to his
grave unworthy of even a short story.

However, there is more to be said about this
man because God had given him a rare gift: a good eye.

Young Grebenar began to take an interest in paintings
and sculptures while he was at university, and once he'd seen everything Heidelberg
had to offer (several times), he took every opportunity to travel to other
cities in order to view their treasures.

During his bachelor years he put together a small
but worthy collection, his limited means not allowing him to acquire anything of
real significance. That changed the day he prosecuted Friedrich Bloch, who
appeared before the court on a charge of being drunk and disorderly.

Herr Grebenar wouldn't have given the
uncouth ruffian a second thought had Bloch not described himself on the court
sheet as a painter. Curiosity got the better of the prosecutor, and after Bloch
had been fined ten marks, an amount he was ordered to pay within seven days or
face a three-month jail sentence, Grebenar decided to follow him back to his home
in the hope of finding out if he painted walls or canvases.

Over the years, Grebenar had come to admire
the works of Caravaggio, Rubens and Bruegel, and on one occasion he had even travelled
to Amsterdam to view the works of Rembrandt at his studio, but the moment he set
eyes on his first Bloch, Child Pushing a Wheelbarrow, he realized that he was
in the presence of a remarkable talent.

An hour later, the lawyer left Bloch's
studio with an empty purse but in possession of two self-portraits in oil, as
well as Child Pushing a Wheelbarrow. He then went straight to the guild house,
where he withdrew a large enough sum of money to cause the clerk to raise an
eyebrow.

After a light lunch he returned to court, where
he discharged the artist's fine, which caused
several more raised eyebrows, because he had successfully prosecuted the
miscreant only that morning.

When the court rose later that afternoon, Grebenar,
still wearing his long black gown and wing collar, took a carriage back to the artist's
home. Bloch was surprised to see the prosecutor for a third time that day, and
was even more surprised when he handed over the largest number of coins the
artist had ever seen, in return for every painting, drawing and notebook that bore
Bloch's signature.

Herr Grebenar did not come across Friedrich Bloch
again until the artist was arrested a year later, on the far more serious
charge of attempted murder.