Florian's Gate (19 page)

“At the end of the war, the town where my mother and her sister lived was declared part of the Russian Zone, what later became East Germany.” Katya's soft voice carried a determined note. “The border with the American Zone was only twelve kilometers to the west, but it might as well have been on the other side of the world. There wasn't any hope for returning to Poland, or going anywhere else. Travel was very tightly controlled, even between cities within the same zone.

“My mother was very good at languages, and even though she was still just a teenager, she went to work in an American military base called a
Kaserne
. She crossed the border between the two zones every day with a special pass.

“The American Zone was better off than the other areas, and because of her job on the base she and her sister always had enough to eat. But there were enormous problems everywhere in Germany, and every morning more old people would be found dead from cold and hunger and no medicines for their illnesses. A lot of people became sick and died because there was no treatment. My mother's sister was one of them.

“Soon after her sister passed away, Joseph Stalin died. His death sparked off riots all over Eastern Europe, as the people he had oppressed began fighting against the occupying forces and demanding their freedom. The Russian soldiers guarding the border with the American Zone started harassing people who were passing through every day. One night after work she saw a group of Russian soldiers club a man with their rifles. She suddenly turned and fled back towards the American Zone. It must have been a very frightening experience for her. She could hear the Russian guard-dogs snarling and barking to be released as the soldiers yelled for her to come back. But the American patrol came to her aid. The Russian soldiers got into a big shouting match with them,
but the Americans would not send her back. My father was one of those American soldiers.

“They got married a couple of months later. It was a big problem, because the American military didn't like soldiers to marry local girls. They called these local women gold diggers, the ones who tried to get an American boyfriend. A lot of them were, I suppose. Anyway, when my father's tour of duty ended, my parents went back together to the United States.”

Jeffrey waited, and when he was sure nothing more was coming he asked quietly, “Where, Katya?”

“Baltimore.”

“And that was where you were born?”

She gave the window a small nod.

“And you lived there until your father left?”

“ ‘Put it in park, sport,' ” Katya said softly. “I can remember my father saying that a lot. ‘Put it in park while you still can.' ”

She looked at him, her eyes two pools of sadness. “Isn't that a strange thing to remember about your father?”

“Do you remember what he looked like?”

Her forehead creased with concentration. “He was big, I remember that. And his hair was dark. He had big hands, strong hands. He was a mechanic in a factory, and his hands were hard and strong. When he would come home, I would run to him and he would swoop me up and over his head. I would squeal, and he would give me this big booming laugh. Sometimes he would make a muscle for me, and I would try to push it down. It was like trying to crush a stone with my hands. He liked to roll his shirt sleeves up so you could see his muscles, I remember that.” Her face had the look of a little girl's, wide-eyed and open and yearning to be sheltered.

“And then he was gone,” Jeffrey said, aching for her.

“I didn't understand it. Why would he leave like that? I spent
days
looking all over the house for a letter, a note, anything. How could my daddy have left me without saying goodbye? What had I done that upset him so badly?”

“Nothing,” Jeffrey said quietly.

She came awake with a start, spent a moment faltering over what she had said. Then she turned back to the window. “I don't want to talk about it anymore.”

He reached across and took a small warm hand in both of his, then held it the rest of the way to London.

CHAPTER 8

From the outside, Claridge's was easy to mistake as just another row of expensive apartment buildings. There was no sign with flashing lights, no ornate marquee announcing its presence, no break in the turn-of-the-century red-brick decor. Claridge's did not advertise. It did not need to.

Claridge's, like its sister hotels the Connaught and the Berkley, did not accept groups. Even visiting kings and presidents were requested to arrive without a large entourage. There was no check-in desk at Claridge's; instead, an arriving guest was ushered into a small sitting room to one side of the main foyer. Quietly efficient staff in starched white shirts and dark formal wear filled out the various details before personally escorting guests to their rooms.

The style throughout the hotel was Art Deco, the fittings worth a fortune. The entrance hall was tiled in marble, the chandeliers all gilt and silver, the furniture antiques that Jeffrey would have been delighted to display in his front window. Passages from one room to the next were tall and arched and flanked by marble pillars, with liveried footmen stationed at discreet intervals. One suite that Alexander had previously used held a Regency display case filled with silver-framed photographs of royalty who had stayed there, including Czar Nicholas and Queen Victoria. Another had a sitting room large enough to contain the grand piano used by Sir Arthur Sullivan to compose the Savoy Operas. All the suites enjoyed working fireplaces, which a butler would stoke at the press of a button.

Jeffrey's favorite room, however, was the main restaurant. Even at breakfast it was an artistry of massive floral arrangements. Cream silk wall coverings and beautiful Art-Deco mirrors lined the chamber. It was laid out on two levels, with an upper terrace where Jeffrey enjoyed sitting and watching
the arriving guests and scuttling waiters. Alexander vastly preferred having breakfast in his room, but knew from experience that Jeffrey would put up a struggle to be able to sit downstairs and watch six waiters serve his table. Six. For a dawn breakfast.

It was the morning of their departure for East Germany, and as instructed, Jeffrey had packed for a longer voyage. To where, he still did not know.

“It is vital that you do not take more than two days in Schwerin, Jeffrey,” Alexander began, once their breakfast dishes were cleared away and coffee cups refilled. “These other matters simply will not wait.”

He nodded. “But why send me now? I mean, it's waited this long, if this other stuff is so urgent, why not put it off until later?”

“An excellent question.” Alexander Kantor paused to sip from his cup, went on. “Last week I received a telegram to my Geneva address asking me to call a number in Schwerin. It took me a surprisingly short time to place the call. I suppose the West Germans are managing to improve things after all. In any case, a woman answered—someone I've never heard of before. A lawyer—at least that's what she said she was. She did not speak English, and I speak no German, but I had anticipated the difficulty and had an interpreter available. Through this individual she told me that she had heard I was an honest man.”

“Just like the dealer.”

“The exact same words,” Alexander agreed. “But if it was meant to be a code, someone failed to tell me about it.”

“So what did you say?”

“In all my years I've never known how to reply to something like that. I asked her how the weather was.”

“She must have loved that.”

“It did give her pause. Eventually she came back and said she had a most urgent matter to discuss with me. Something to do with several of her clients.”

“Plural?”

“Yes, that disturbed me too. I asked if she referred to the dealer, and she said only indirectly. He was not the client to whom she referred. On that point she was most clear.” Alexander Kantor toyed with his coffee spoon. “She said it was absolutely crucial that we speak together immediately, before the matter was brought before the courts.”

“What matter?”

“I haven't the faintest idea.” Alexander Kantor replied. “But the idea of being taken to court in East Germany is most appalling, I assure you.”

“That stuffed shirt from Bonn, the one who made all the trouble at Christie's over the chest of drawers, threatened us with the same thing.”

“I want you to go and find out what has happened to this dealer,” Alexander instructed, “and what on earth this lawyer is concerned about.”

“I won't let you down,” Jeffrey said.

“Of course you won't.” Alexander reached to an inner pocket, drew out a neatly printed page, went on. “The dealer's name is Götz. He runs the official antique store on the central market square.”

“Can you describe how he looks?”

“Mind you, I only met him once, and that was two years ago. He was a smallish man, certainly no higher than your shoulder. Pale features. I don't recall the eyes save that they were most unfriendly. Bad teeth, yes, I recall that vividly. You will no doubt see a great deal of that in your travels, but his were exceptional. My impression when he smiled was of looking at more cavities than teeth.”

“Strange for a man who's got eight hundred thousand pounds waiting in a London bank.”

“Perhaps, perhaps not. Many a village child in Poland after the war had his or her teeth worked on without the benefit of a painkiller, simply because there was none available. I have
no doubt that such a memory would keep many people from returning to the dentist chair for a lifetime.”

Jeffrey scanned the page, mispronounced the name.

“Götz is pronounced Gertz, because of the umlaut. Gertz.”

“I thought you didn't speak German.”

“There was a time in my past when a little German was forced upon me, but we shall not go into that just now. His shop is part of the National Antique Association, and like most shops in the East, it has no further name than that.”

Jeffrey read down the page, tried the lawyer's name on for size. “Renate Reining.”

“Almost there. The last name should rhyme with the river Rhine. Reining.”

His eyes still on the page, Jeffrey asked, “May I ask where it is we're going after this?”

“It is almost time for your departure, so if you will permit me I will wait and give you the details upon meeting you in the Hamburg airport. Is that acceptable?”

“I suppose I can wait,” Jeffrey replied. Barely.

“Splendid. There is no harm, I suppose, in telling you our destination. It is Cracow, the medieval capital of the Polish Empire.”

“Our family is from there.”

“Indeed they are. We will be speaking of all these things in greater length, as I have said. But from the very outset I wish to impress upon you how vital it is that you do not discuss any of this with others.”

“I understand.”

“Whenever you make travel arrangements from London, you must always have as your destination a city in Western Europe. There is a travel agent I use in Zurich, a most confidential sort of individual. I will give you his name. Use him for booking everything in the East.”

Jeffrey took the information as it was intended, an assurance that he would be told everything, and that this was not to be his only trip. “Thanks, Alexander.”

“I thank you. This affair is long overdue for a conclusion, and it is good that you will be representing us. As I said, it is one trip I would avoid like the grave.”

“I mean, thanks for trusting me.”

“You have earned it, I assure you.” He pushed back his chair. “And here comes your lovely young lady.”

Jeffrey felt only relief as Katya entered the restaurant. Alexander noticed his expression. “You look as though you didn't expect her to appear.”

Jeffrey waved her over. “With Katya I'm never sure about anything.”

“In my youth we would have called that a woman's prerogative,” Alexander said, rising to his feet.

“Nowadays we call it infuriating.”

“That, my boy, is both universal and constant. Unless you intend to make a life for yourself as a celibate, you must accept the burden of patience.”

Katya approached their table, said breathlessly, “Good morning Mr. Kantor, Jeffrey. Are we ready?”

“You look positively splendid this morning, my dear.” Alexander glanced at his watch. “I suppose you had best be off. You have a plane to catch, and I a store to open.”

He extended his hand first to Katya and then to Jeffrey. “You will take care, and you will call me.”

“This evening, as we agreed,” Jeffrey replied.

“Excellent. I wish you both a splendid trip, and all success.”

Jeffrey's nerves pushed to the surface. “What if—”

Alexander stopped him with an upraised hand. “There is no need to anticipate trouble. I know you will do well, Jeffrey. I am sure of it. We will discuss what you find as you find it. Have the same confidence in your abilities that I do.” He patted his assistant on the shoulder and repeated, “I know you will do well.”

The flight from London to Hamburg took just under an hour. Continuous turbulence made it seem like five. They
arrived to the darkness of a heavy thunderstorm, rented a car, and worked their way through snarled traffic to the autobahn for Berlin.

After an hour and a half of monotonous highway driving, the shadow of a tall brick tower appeared through the pouring rain.

“The weather certainly is appropriate,” Katya said.

“It looks ghostly,” Jeffrey agreed.

Vague skeletal shapes rose from the gloom and took on the form of high metal watchtowers, barbed-wire fences, and concrete-lined trenches. The autobahn went through a violent burst of bumps and uneven strippings, then the former East German border was upon them.

A vast expanse of asphalt stretched out to either side of the highway, now cordoned off with makeshift fencing. Beyond the inspection area loomed multistory brick and glass buildings. Structures with mirrored glass walls rose from their roofs, reminding Jeffrey of airport control towers.