“I seem to recall that Europe was gripped by a widespread unpleasantness in that year. Tell me, what did your grandfather do in the war?”
“He was a sergeant in the 506th Parachute Regiment of the 101st Airborne Division.”
“And where in Europe, exactly, did he obtain the necklace?”
“In southern Germany.”
“Under what circumstances?”
“It was among a number of items confiscated from a private residence.”
“I wonder if I can guess whose residence. Let me see, was he a large figure in the Nazi party? Am I warm?”
“You obviously know whom I am talking about.”
“Obviously. Now, back to provenance. How did Herr Goering acquire the necklace?”
“My grandfather was unable to ask him, as he had already fled the premises.”
“Well, let me fill you in. Goering got it from the Gestapo, who stole it, along with other belongings of certain families.”
“I have heard that opinion expressed.”
“Well, your grandfather should have been charged with, first, grand theft, and then with receiving stolen goods.”
“Be that as it may...”
“So you are asking the return of stolen property that you had given to someone else?”
“That is an uncharitable view.”
“Well, speaking as an attorney, I can tell you that you have no legal basis whatever for any claim on the necklace.”
“It seems such a small thing to ask.”
“How small? What value do you put on the necklace?”
“I concede that it is valuable.”
“How valuable. Go on, tell me.”
“I had it appraised once and was told it might bring a million dollars at auction.”
“And who told you that?”
“An auction house.”
“Which auction house?”
“It doesn’t matter. Perhaps I should tell you that the necklace is a copy of the one you are thinking of.”
“Is that why you whipped up that little piece of forgery about Carrie’s grandfather having the necklace made in 1946?”
“I’m sure I don’t know what you mean. I am not a forger.”
“Well, if the document isn’t a forgery, it means that Carrie’s grandfather ordered the copy made in 1946, and it eventually ended up as a bequest to Carrie?”
“Well, ah...”
“Oh, no, that story would make a liar of you, wouldn’t it? If the document wasn’t a forgery, you didn’t give the necklace to Carrie as a wedding present.”
“Now, listen...”
“No, Mr. Biggers, you listen. You have burned your bridges in every possible direction. Now stop bothering me, and give yourself up to the police.” Stone hung up.
“Him again?” Gala asked.
“The son of a bitch won’t leave me alone.”
38
On his first morning in Paris, Paul Eckstein was awakened by the doorbell in his beautiful suite at the Arrington. “Entrez!” he shouted, waking his wife. He pulled a sheet over her naked body as the room service waiter pushed his cart into the bedroom.
“Bonjour, M’sieur,” the man said.
“Just put the table on her side of the bed,” Eckstein said. “We’ll serve ourselves.”
The waiter did so, then departed.
“Breakfast is getting cold,” he whispered in his wife’s ear.
She rolled onto her back. “We’re in Paris, is that right?”
“That’s right.”
“I wanted to be sure I wasn’t dreaming.” She plumped up her pillows, took the lid off a plate, and handed him his eggs Benedict. “You’re going to gain weight while we’re here,” she said.
“I plan to,” Paul replied, digging in.
She served herself, as well. “And what is your plan for today?”
“I’m going to see if I can arrange a lunch with Randol Cohn-Blume, and if so, I’m going to stop on the way at Charvet and buy a few things.”
“Then perhaps I’ll stop by Chanel and meet you for lunch.”
“I think you’d better make your own arrangements for lunch. Randol is more talkative when fewer people are present.”
“Oh, all right.”
The phone rang. “With any luck that will be Randol. I left him a message last night.” He picked up the phone. “Hello?”
“Paul, is that you?”
“It is, Randol. How in the world are you?”
“I’m quite well, thank you. What brings you to Paris?”
“I came in search of knowledge, and I would like to discuss that with you over lunch.”
“I am available.”
“Brasserie Lipp at one?” He knew that was the man’s favorite restaurant.
“Lipp at one. I shall look forward to it.”
“As shall I.” Both men hung up.
“That sounded very cordial,” Lara said.
“It was, and will remain so, as long as Randol believes himself to be well compensated for his advice.”
Paul visited Charvet, selected some neckties and splurged on a cashmere dressing gown, all of which he had delivered to the Arrington. Lipp was abuzz, as usual, and Randol was already seated at his usual table. The two men shook hands, then embraced, then took their places.
“I took the liberty of ordering your wine,” Randol said as the waiter poured them glasses of a chilled Meursault.
“Thank you, Randol, your grasp of enology was always better than mine.” They clinked glasses and sipped.
“You’re having the choucroute, of course.”
“Of course.”
Randol caught a waiter’s eye and held up two fingers. “You’re looking very well, Paul, prosperous, even.”
“I can’t complain — well, I could complain, but it wouldn’t do any good.” The two men laughed at the little joke.
“And what knowledge do you seek in Paris?”
Paul decided to be oblique; it might save him money in the end. “Tell me,” he said, “was your father still working in 1946?”
“Indeed, yes. He worked until 1959, when the firm was acquired, and then for another five years under the new management.”
“Was he engaged in original work, still, or mostly in copying his old designs?”
“Both, I should imagine. Pickings had been lean during the war years, of course, except for pieces ordered by the Germans. What interests you about that period?”
“A client of mine, a prominent New York attorney, is the executor of a rather interesting estate, and he has engaged me to appraise the jewelry, among other things.”
“I see. Are there some pieces from Blume included?”
“Only one. It comes with a receipt from 1946, for a copy of a piece designed in 1899.”
“Ah, that would be near the beginning of my father’s long career. He would have been working under his uncle, François, at that time. What was the piece, and who ordered it?”
“It was a diamond-and-ruby choker, ordered by a Viennese, Ferdinand Bloch-Bauer, as a wedding gift for his wife.”
“Ah, of course, the piece in the Klimt painting. A great loss, that.”
“Loss? How so?”
“Well, it disappeared around the end of the war. Hermann Goering had appropriated it, and it never turned up after he was arrested by the Allies.”
“Yes, that is sad. The receipt mentions that the copy was made from the original designs. Do those still exist?”
“Well, as you know, Blume was acquired by Aubergonois et Fis, in 1964. Most of the value of their purchase, apart from some loose stones, was in the Blume designs.”
Paul’s heart leapt. “Are they still in business?”
“No, they went under in ’89.”
Paul’s heart sank. “Ah. Any idea what happened to the designs?”
“I could investigate that for you. They could have ended up in an incinerator.”
“Well, if you have the time, my client would be happy to see them.”