The Two Sisters of Borneo (8 page)

She put on her black nylon Adidas jacket and training pants and then slid the bankruptcy documents into her bag and headed for the lobby. The concierge nodded when he saw her, reached behind his desk, and pulled out an umbrella that looked big enough to shield a family of four.

“You said the Rijksmuseum?”

“Yes.”

“When you leave the hotel, turn right at the third street, walk to the third block, and then go left,” he said. “That will take you to Museum Row. The Hermitage, the Van Gogh, and the Rijksmuseum are all there.”

“I want to see the Rembrandts.”

“Go to the Rijksmuseum then, but if you haven’t been to the Van Gogh you’re missing something special. More than two hundred of his works are on display there.”

“I’ll see if I have time,” Ava said.

Despite the umbrella she was instantly wet the minute she stepped outside. The rain was being driven sideways by the wind. She held the umbrella at an angle and started to walk.

The Rijksmuseum was the national museum of the Netherlands. More than two hundred years old, it moved into its current quarters in 1885. It was constructed in the style of a French château, with a grand central building framed by two enormous towers and flanked on either side by large and impressive wings.

Ava could see the building from several blocks away, its slanted green roofs looming through the sheets of rain. She lowered her head and plunged forward. When she got to the front entrance, she looked up and found herself confronted by construction barriers and a security guard holding an umbrella.

“Don’t tell me the museum is closed,” she said.

“Only the main building, for renovation.”

“I wanted to see the Rembrandts. That’s where they are, I think.”

He pointed towards the wing to the left. “The most important pictures in the collection have been moved to the Philips Wing. You will find what you want to see there.”

She took the pathway that led to the Philips. The last time she had been to the museum she had lined up for close to half an hour before getting in. As she neared the entrance this time, she couldn’t see another person.
There are some benefits to wet, dreary weather
, she thought as she paid her admission. Then she stood back as the security guard examined her bag and its contents.

She was just about to climb the stairs to the first-floor exhibits when her cellphone rang. She reached into her pocket and saw Amanda’s number displayed on the screen.

“No mobile devices can be used inside the museum,” a voice said.

Ava turned and saw the security guard behind her. “No mobile devices,” he repeated.

“Can I speak from down there?” she asked, pointing to the hallway near the front door. “I don’t want to go back outside in this rain.”

“Yes, that will be all right.”

Ava opened her phone. “Amanda, give me a minute. I’ll be right with you,” she said.

She retraced her steps, and when she reached the hallway, she turned into an alcove on the left and leaned against the wall. “Sorry, I had to find a spot where I could talk,” she said. “Where are you? May said you were going to call me from the hotel. I didn’t expect you to be back so soon.”

“I didn’t want to wait. I’m in the parking lot of the restaurant.”

“You should be on your honeymoon,” Ava said.

“There’s no way that was possible after talking to Chi-Tze.”

“I’m sorry it happened this way.”

“Me too, though the news is so bad I can’t think of a good way to find out.”

“It isn’t your fault.”

Ava heard Amanda sigh as if it came from her toes. “That’s what May said. Logically I know I did proper due diligence, and logically I knew this business was sound. But emotionally . . . it was like getting kicked in the stomach. And I’m still kind of reeling.”

“We’ll sort it out.”

“How?”

The question, quick and pointed, caught Ava off-guard. It reminded her that Amanda was not someone to be spoken to lightly or in clichés. “May thinks her lawyer will light a fire.”

“He might,” Amanda said.

Ava could hear the doubt in her voice. She thought about mentioning Jacob Smits and then discarded the idea. “The thing is, we won’t just accept this. I’m not sure what will or will not happen; all I know is that we will pursue it until there’s nothing left to chase. And there isn’t much point worrying about that from your end. Just keep the sisters calm and the business in one piece.”

“We meet with their bank tomorrow.”

“Who are
we
?”

“Me and the sisters. May is leaving for Wuhan.”

“Are you okay with that?”

“Yes. Actually, I’m glad to see she still has confidence in me.”

“We have agreed to put another five million into the business.”

“I know, she told us when she came back to the table after talking to you.”

“How did the sisters react?”

“Relieved.”

“Of course.”

“They really are very capable. I mean, Ah-Pei virtually ran the business with her parents for ages, and single-handedly for a few years while Chi-Tze was finishing her degree. Then the two of them were building it very nicely until this disaster.”

“Well, with the five million they can go back to building it. There’s no reason for them to be distracted by this sideshow. And the same goes for you. Stay focused on the business. Let May and me worry about the other money.”

“After tomorrow I think it will be easier. The bank has been leaning on them very hard. They’ve exhausted their lines of credit and the bank is looking for at least a partial paydown. And they haven’t been able to pay some of their key suppliers, so they’ve have been worried sick about competitors picking them off. The five million should get everything back on track.”

“That’s all we want to happen.”

Ava heard another deep sigh. “God, what a way to start a new business,” Amanda said.

“And a marriage. Tell me, how did Michael react to your leaving the honeymoon?”

“He was okay,” she said. “Actually, it surprised me just how okay he was. After the mess he and Simon got themselves into last year, he’s certainly more empathetic about other people’s problems. Before, he would have been dismissive. He would have said that whatever problem someone might have, they brought it down on themselves through bad judgement, or some flaw in their character. Now he understands that sometimes things happen that are beyond anyone’s control.”

“Good.”

“And Borneo isn’t that far from Hong Kong. I told him he can fly over on the weekends until I get back.”

“And he will?”

“He’d better.”

Ava laughed. “It sounds as if you have things organized already.”

Amanda went quiet, and Ava wondered if she had somehow upset her.

“Ava, I need to tell you how much I appreciate the fact that you and May are standing by me and Ah-Pei and Chi-Tze.”

“There’s no need to talk about that anymore.”

“Still —”

“Amanda, listen to me. I don’t want to have to say this again,” she said. “I was in business with Uncle for more than ten years. We never had a contract and we never had a personal disagreement. It worked because we never second-guessed one another. We each understood that both of us were doing our best, and if things didn’t always work, there was no reason to point that out. There was total trust between us. We were partners in the complete sense of the term. Now, I would never have agreed to get into this business with you and May if I hadn’t felt the same way, and I know those are May’s feelings as well. So I don’t want to hear you ever again thank us for standing by you. We are in this thing together. There will be ups and downs, but if we all carry the load, it will be bearable.” She paused. “Do you understand?”

“Yes, Ava.”

“Then go and calm the sisters and get this business back on track.”

Ava hung up and then climbed the stairs again. The security guard stared at her cellphone. She held it up and punched the off button. He nodded and she slipped it into her pocket.

The Rembrandts occupied one large room in the centre of the Philips Wing. Ava headed there with purpose, passing some Van Dycks, Vermeers, and Hals. Vermeer’s
The Milkmaid
caused her to pause for a second, but no more than that.

The Rembrandt room had paintings on three walls. The fourth was devoted to a written history of the man and his work, in ten languages. Six cushioned benches ran the length of the centre of the room. One was occupied by a Japanese couple. There was no one else in the room except for a security guard positioned at its single entrance and exit. Ava sat down. For the next ten minutes she took in the entire nineteen paintings from a distance.

Ava wasn’t an art scholar. Most of what she knew technically about paintings she had learned only months before, when she was involved in running to ground some art forgers. But she loved art in general, in the same way that she appreciated good books and fine films — as the end result of creative processes she didn’t understand and could never emulate. It amazed her what human beings could extract from their imaginations.

After absorbing the totality of the works on display, she stood and walked towards the nearest wall. Then, painting by painting, she worked her way around the room. She had no idea how long she spent with each, and she had no schedule. Each painting drew her in on its own merits and then released her to move on to the next.

How did he do it?
she asked herself.
How could anyone use just a brush and paint to create such complicated, layered, nuanced, multihued images, so awash in light and shadow?
She got as close as she could to every painting, her neck stretched forward, her eyes searching for brushstrokes.

She circled the room once, sat on the bench to reinvigorate her senses, and then went around again. None of the paintings paled on second examination. If anything, their complexity increased. She was in front of
The
Night Watch
— she had no idea for how long — when the security guard appeared at her side. His presence startled her, and for a second she wondered if she had ventured too close.

“Miss, the gallery is closing,” he said.

She looked at her watch. It was ten minutes to six. “Sorry, I had no idea of the time.”

“That’s common enough here.”

She pointed at the painting. “What a genius he was.”

“I’ve seen tourists come here every day for a week and never leave this room,” he said.

“I can understand why.”

“So perhaps I’ll see you tomorrow. But for now, you do have to leave.”

“Of course,” Ava said.

It was dark when she walked out of the Rijksmuseum, which made the wind and the rain seem even nastier. She opened her umbrella and peered into the street, trying to figure out how to get to the pub that Jacob Smits had mentioned. When she felt oriented, she held the umbrella towards the wind and started to walk.

It took more than ten minutes to get to the Melancholy Miller. The umbrella had kept her head and torso dry, but the bottoms of her pants were soaked and her running shoes were squishing. The pub was small, only ten tables spread around a horseshoe-shaped bar with six stools on each side. She looked for a man in a brown suit. There were two men at the bar, neither in a suit, and two tables were occupied by what looked like students. She sat at the table farthest from the bar. The bartender, tall and thin in a grey T-shirt and blue jeans and looking much like a student himself, yelled at her in Dutch.

“I only speak English,” she said.

“What would you like to drink?” he said, switching languages.

“I’m waiting for someone. I’ll order when he gets here.”

A few moments later a short, squat figure burst through the door, a hooded yellow rain slicker covering him from head to knee. He stood in the doorway and stared around. When he saw Ava, he pulled back the hood.

“Ms. Lee?” he said.

“That’s me.”

“I’m Smits.”

He pulled off the slicker over his head, scattering water in all directions, hung it on a hook, and started towards her. He was no more than five foot six but had to be well over two hundred pounds. He was almost round, his weight evenly distributed and firmly layered, with no jiggling of excess flesh. He looked surprisingly fit to Ava; she noticed how quickly he moved, his body in rhythm, and it occurred to her that he might be a very good dancer.

His head looked immense, but its size was probably exaggerated by his small, almost delicate facial features. He had tiny pink ears with lobes the size of pearls. His lips were thin and drawn. Deeply recessed blue eyes gazed at her from under light brown eyebrows that were so fine she wondered if they had been plucked and shaped. He was bald, with just a hint of fringe the same colour as his eyebrows.

“Ms. Lee,” he said when he was two paces away, offering his hand.

“Mr. Smits, you should have told me about your orange tie,” she said.

He looked down at his tie, loosened at the neck, its tail resting on the upper ledge of his belly. “We Dutch love our orange.”

He took a seat across from Ava and made a fuss about settling in. “Sorry to be a little late.”

“The weather is atrocious.”

“It’s typical enough.”

“Do you want something to drink?”

“Of course.”

Ava motioned to the bartender. “We’ll order now.”

“What do you want?” the bartender asked.

“I’ll have a glass of Pinot Grigio,” she said.

Smits looked at his watch. “I’ll have a Heineken,” he said and then turned back to Ava. “I’m trying to cut back. I don’t drink now until after six in the evening, and even then I try to limit myself to two.”

Ava didn’t know if he was making a joke. “Thanks for seeing me at such short notice,” she said.

“My pleasure.”

“How long have you been doing this kind of work?” Ava asked.

“Six years. I was actually hired by the man who started the business, but he died eighteen months on and I found myself running it. My wife says some things are meant to be, and this is one of those things. I would never have had the courage to quit my job and start out on my own. My partner’s death gave me no choice. It’s worked out well, better than I could have believed.”