Lewi's Legacy (11 page)

Mikhail answered immediately, asking how he got on with the journey. He seemed very relaxed, seemingly unaware of Victor’s plight. Whilst he was telling him about the journey someone walked into the office. To his relief it was Mikhail, Victor smiled at him, realising that he must have been close by all the time.

‘I was hoping that you could solve the puzzle I set you dear boy, and you did very well. It was like one of your James Bond films no? Well I think that it’s time to get you home, you must be very tired.’

‘Don’t you think that we’re taking a risk leaving all this in here overnight? Victor asked. ‘I think I should stay here until you arrange for some security at least.’ The young man looked concernedly at his illustrious employer.

Mikhail smiled at the young man as four large men wearing flak jackets and shouldering automatic weapons sauntered in.

‘I have taken care of that dear boy, but thank you for your concern, which is to your credit. Now I know that I have the right man for the job.’ He kissed the young man on both cheeks. ‘Welcome to Paris.’

They walked to the chauffeured limousine, with blacked out windows, perfect for a Russian Ambassador, Victor thought. They sped into the night and were soon in the centre of the great city. Victor tried to peer out of the windows as the car came to a halt. Mikhail put a reassuring hand on his shoulder. As he opened the passenger door Mikhail thrust some keys into his hand.

‘You are now home. Number seven is yours for a job well done. Ring me on the same number on Wednesday night, take a couple of days break, you deserve it! He shouted as the Limo sped into the night, leaving him standing on a tree lined boulevard in front of a beautiful property, truly French.

The obvious front door key opened the heavy coloured glass-lighted door silently. It opened on to an ornate hallway panelled in fine oak. As he climbed the stairs, the walls were covered in ancient tapestry, and there was thick, clean red carpet on the floor. It was the same for the second floor, and as he reached the top of that, he looked at the apartment doors. They were solid mahogany and really shiny, reflecting their opulence. The only mark on each door was a golden Roman numeral, V, V1, and then V11; he was home. He tried to push the key into the keyhole, but it silently swung open on its own. The floor was covered in a very deep pile cream carpet, and standing on it was some beautiful ornate furniture.

He could hear some music which was emanating from the bathroom. He stopped and looked at his key, thinking he must be in the wrong room. There was no number on the key, but on the ring there was a gold plated fob in the shape of the Roman numeral ‘V11’. He knew he was in his own room, so he pushed the bathroom door open and Black Sabbath blasted between his eardrums. His eyes however were filled with something else!

11
Ancestry Revealed

Menorah

Louis awoke early on his first day in France with his dad, and soon to be step mother. He sat up in his bed and listened. The first sound he heard was the singing of birds outside his little window. Only a few days ago at the garage, in his room at the house which was facing a busy road, the first noise to reach his ear, were the swishing of cars taking people to their daily grind. He lay and listened intently for a moment and there came another sound, more muffled this time, but unmistakeably the sound of the crying of his baby brother. He wanted to go and give him a cuddle, but decided to wait until breakfast time.

He was first in the huge kitchen, and felt the top of the massive range, and it was still quite hot from the night before. As he looked by the side of the cooker, there was an old basket full of chopped wood ready for refuelling. So he opened the bottom door and gently pushed two large chunks inside. Then he filled the kettle and placed it on the hob.

‘Did I wake you?’ Louis asked as the three of them stumbled bleary eyed into the room. Collette was carrying André, who as soon as he saw his big brother was leaning towards him with both arms outstretched. He nestled the baby in his lap, and kissed the top of his blonde tousle haired head. It made him giggle with delight, and his father looked at them both with immense pride in his face.

‘Are you both nervous about today?’ Louis asked them both.

‘It’s not until two, and very informal. The whole thing is going to be held on the village square, all the villagers will be there.’ As Henry spoke, he put his arms around Collette who was busying herself at the cooker, and gave her a kiss on her neck, and she lifted he head to him in response.

‘You must be the happiest man in the world today dad.’ Louis said.

‘Ah yes he is Louis, and I think the luckiest too.’ Collette studied her new stepson as he cuddled her baby.

That reminded the young man about something. He asked his father if he still had the old grey sports jacket that he bought at the sale at Scattergood’s. Henry said he did have it somewhere in the wardrobe, but he hadn’t worn it for some years. He looked puzzled as his son asked him to bring it down into the kitchen, as he wanted to show him something. It only took a few minutes to fetch and his father showed it off, still on the coat hanger. Louis stood up with André nestled in one arm. The baby watched intently as he poked two fingers into the tight top pocket and drew out a tiny square envelope. His father took the envelope gently and put the coat on the table. Collette stopped what she was doing and turned around to look. He felt something inside and was just about to open it when his son stopped him.

‘It must not be opened dad, not on any account.’

The paper was plain and uninteresting and Henry was just about to hand it back when Collette spotted the curious writing on the back. She looked closely at the tiny script turning it one way and the next.

‘This is ancient Greek, and I think I know what it says. ‘The two men waited with baited breath. ‘This is the profound statement said by the greatest of all philosophers, called Socrates and I think it says ‘know thyself’ She smiled to herself proud that she had unravelled something that was thousands of years old, and yet just as fresh today.

The men looked at her in awe, and thanks to her nimbleness, they avoided losing it forever as André tried to grab it. They all knew where it would have gone, straight in his mouth.

‘So my boy, what is the story? Pray tell us.’ Henry demanded.

Taking the little envelope from Collette he said that the story was a long one, and he would tell it to them in front of the fire that night when his little brother was in bed, and they had got married. They both accepted his offer, and his father went upstairs to replace the coat and Collette resumed making breakfast for them all singing sweetly. Louis resumed cuddling his baby brother, a true labour of love.

At one thirty a large taxi drew up to the house duly dressed in flowers for the wedding couple. Collette looked stunning in a beautiful pink dress and his dad was in a rather crumpled dark suit, obviously not worn for many a year. She kissed the baby and gave him to his brother as all four of them sat in the wide back seat. André was now demanding to be with his brother at every opportune moment.

As they reached the village square Louis could see a major change from the day before, when he had asked for the directions. The trees and surrounding shops were decked in little tricolour flags and tricolour ribbons. In the centre of the square there was an arch made out of flowers and in front of it were about fifty different styled chairs for all the guests, which of course was the whole of the village population.

Carrying his little brother, Louis looked over to the butchers shop, and was pleased to see the butcher, out of his work clothes, standing in the shop door holding his little boy’s hand. He was dressed in a sailor suit and blue hat. Louis walked towards them and put his hand out to the boy smiling broadly.

The boy looked up at his father for approval, who let go of his sons hand and then the boy ran to their side laughing. ‘Je m’appelle André, et vous?’ The French boy asked as he gripped the young man’s hand.

Louis pointed to himself ‘Je Sui Louis, aussi Mon frère, il est André aussi!’ he said in his broken French, but the boy understood. ‘Je suis André, tu est. André, deux Andrés n’est-ce pas!’ he shouted to his father, who laughed encouragingly.

The service was soon proceeding with Louis by his father’s side holding a baby and the hand of the butcher’s son and in a flash it was all over as the local priest blessed the whole congregation who were bathed in sunshine. At that point the five piece band struck up, and some flower headed children danced in a circle holding hands.

The whole proceedings were being filmed by the local TV station, and at the end of the service, a very pretty interviewer collared Henry for an interview. She asked some questions about Henry’s past and he readily introduced his son, mentioning that both his sons were half French. He talked about what happened to Louis’s grandparents in the War and his mother soon after he was born. The thoughtful woman apologised to Collette and Louis, saying that Henry’s story could be of National, even International interest, so she carried on interrogating Henry until she felt that she had enough.

The after service wine was provided by Henry and Collette, and all the food was donated by all the local shops. Louis felt a bit tired, and his brother was becoming quite a heavy weight, so he sat down on a chair to rest a while. The butcher boy André was still following Louis like a faithful dog and when they sat down he was stroking Louis’s baby brother’s blond head and baby André, was falling off to sleep with the action.

Several of the older generation came over to speak to Louis but they spoke so quickly he couldn’t understand, but Collette arrived in time to act as interpreter and with a little relief took little André from Louis, who was by then asleep. The band stopped playing and some of the villagers started clearing away, all very happy with the wine and the glorious food that had been laid on.

Louis looked down at the butcher’s boy, and he also looked decidedly tired, but he wouldn’t let go of his hero’s hand. He led the boy to his father who picked him up and carried him back to the shop. He turned round once, and waved at Louis with his free hand and disappeared into the shop door.

It was time to leave, and after their goodbyes they piled into the taxi, tired but grateful it was all over. Henry had forgotten to ask his son about the little envelope, and although Louis hadn’t forgotten, he decided not to raise it unless asked, and no one ever did.

Nearly two months had passed since the wedding and Henry was busy organising the extra temporary labour he needed to harvest the grapes on the vines that would very soon be ready. It was a traditional time where all the able bodied villagers gladly helped, as they all knew there was a very short window of time to cut the grapes before they went overripe.

They all sat in front of the fire one evening and Louis asked his father about his mother, and did he have any old photos to show him. Henry came downstairs with a few pictures. One was of his wedding in Nottingham with his then new wife Rochelle. The other was of an older couple standing straight together; this was his maternal grandpa and grandma, Louis and Selina Levi.

The third picture was an old sepia one of a group of people standing as they did in those days, with unhappy faces, probably having to wait for the exposure to happen on a very old camera. His father pointed out his very young grandparents and their baby Rochelle in the middle of the picture. He said that sadly, he couldn’t recognise any other person, but they could be relatives to his mother. Louis got quite excited when his father told him that he would try to get the pictures copied for him.

Soon the harvest was over and the balmy autumn was giving way to frosty mornings and longer nights. On one of the frosty mornings, the postman delivered a letter to them, from Southampton, England. They all gathered around to listen whilst Henry read it out aloud. Apparently the reported story of the wedding, so long ago now, had reached England and it seemed that a widow of a man who was related to Louis’s great grandfather wanted to see him. She wrote that it was very important, and asked for Louis to go to see her as soon as possible in Southampton.

He asked his dad for advice, as the young man did not know what to do. Henry’s view was that the lady probably didn’t have too much time left, and that Louis would probably regret it if he didn’t go. He realised that his older son had grown very fond of his baby brother, so he suggested that he think about it, and decide in the morning. All night he wrestled with two different options. Should he stay with the only family that he had ever had, or fill the gap about his ancestry, that at that time was closed to him since the untimely death of the three people who could have helped, his mother and her parents. It was a simple choice, and in the end he chose to go back to England.

He could always get back to his family, but this information might only be available for a short time.  Only two days afterwards he was driving slowly down the rough track, the picture of his loving family was receding in his rear mirror, waving goodbye.

‘When will I see you again?’ he asked, but no one answered.

He reached the end of the lane, and only the beautiful house was now in his mirror, too far away to see them standing there, but he knew that they were still there waving. With a sigh, he turned into the main road out of their sight, but he hoped not out of their mind.

After an overnight stay in the same hotel in Orleans he made good time to Calais and was soon on the docks at Dover. After months of driving on the right hand side of the road, it was a relief to get back to normal, and the journey to Southampton was quite a nice drive in the little red mini. Following the signs to Shirley, and after asking a few pedestrians the directions, he finally brought the car to a halt outside the garden of the lady’s bungalow. A small old lady opened her front door as he walked up her pathway.

‘Mrs Levi?’ he asked.

‘You must be Louis, do you know that you favour your granddad in you looks dear boy? Please call me Aunt Ruth; it would make me very happy.’ She gave him a hug and looked at him closely. ‘You look tired my boy, I have run a bath for you and there is a nice bed airing for you.’

‘Can I go straight to bed after my bath aunt Ruth?’ she nodded. ‘I’ll get my things then, and we’ll talk tomorrow, is that ok?’ His Aunt seemed extremely pleased that she had someone staying there, the first time for so many years.

He shouted goodnight and she told him to get up whenever he liked. He was planning to get plenty of sleep and get up very late, but he couldn’t, not with the smell of cooking coming from Aunt Ruth’s kitchen.

He sat at the kitchen table absolutely ravenous. She put down a dishful of food that he had never seen before, and it smelled out of this world. He asked her what it was.

‘Well I just threw it together, and it was the favourite breakfast of my late husband Moshe, they are baked apple pancakes, traditional where were come from. Now eat up and enjoy them my boy’.

As he sat back with his coffee in hand, he asked his aunt whether he could stay with her for a while, because he would like to live in the area and find a job. He said also, that he would move out of her home as soon as he was able, to get a place of his own. Ruth asked him what he used to do for a living, so he told her about his job at the garage in Derbyshire. He was pleased and surprised with her response.