Chapter 18
Eighteen
Romy watched Isabelle’s face as she recounted the story and knew that this man to whom she was speaking was someone close to her, yet also someone she hadn’t confided in, for whatever reason.
When Isabelle finished and Carlos said, ‘I see,’ Romy thought she could hear a subtext, not of reproach, but of something close to it, only sadder.
Whatever it was, it rattled Isabelle, because she blurted out, ‘Did Cazenave tell you why he was selling the letter?’
‘I have no idea.’ There was now an obvious professional coolness in Carlos’s voice. ‘Liana didn’t say.’
Isabelle looked helplessly at Romy, as if she’d know what to say or do next.
And it was strange, because somehow she did.
The initial shock of Carlos’s revelation had ebbed, leaving clarity in its wake.
‘Carlos,’ Romy said, ‘could you please tell us exactly when the meeting with the expert is happening this afternoon?’
‘I’m not sure,’ he said.
‘Could you find out, please?’ Romy asked. ‘It’s very important.’
‘Okay. Wait a moment.’
Romy broke the small silence that followed. ‘So Carlos works at an antiques auction house?’ she asked Isabelle.
Isabelle looked drained. ‘Not exactly. He’s a freelance assessor for several of them. He does a lot of work for the Toulouse one, though.’
‘And what’s his speciality?’ Romy probed.
Isabelle shot her an unreadable look. ‘His particular expertise is 1950s to 1970s. But he knows quite a lot about vintage generally.’ Her tone was flat, but Romy could tell it held an emotion she was trying to hide.
She didn’t ask the obvious question of why Isabelle hadn’t consulted him about the letter.
Instead, she was about to say something innocuous when Isabelle said, quietly, ‘It’s complicated between me and Carlos, you see.
’ She might have been about to say something else, but at that moment a woman’s clipped voice came over the phone speaker.
‘Bonjour, Madame Bernard. My name is Diop, Liana Diop. I’m the manager here. Carlos has told me of your concerns. But can you please explain them to me?’
Isabelle repeated the story as rapidly as she could, and Romy could tell she was struggling to keep her voice under control.
When Isabelle finished, there was a short pause before Liana Diop said, evenly, ‘He didn’t say why he wanted to sell the letter and I didn’t ask. Sellers don’t have to give reasons.’
‘Oh, right.’ Isabelle sounded deflated.
‘He said he’d done his research and knew we had a strong track record in selling correspondence from other major figures of the time, which was why he’d come to us,’ Liana said, a hint of pride creeping into her even tone.
‘But he seemed to think we could tell him on the spot what it was worth and start the process at once. He wasn’t pleased when we told him it would take time.
He said he had to get back to Paris and couldn’t wait longer than a day at most.’
‘But what about provenance? How did he explain how he had the letter?’ Isabelle’s fists were clenched, her voice tight.
‘He said he found it just a couple of days ago in a job lot in provincial vide-grenier,’ Liana said, using the term ‘attic-emptier’, the French equivalent of a ‘garage sale’ or ‘car boot sale’. ‘He said he recognised its importance at once and knew he had to have an idea of how much it was worth.’
Romy’s eyes widened. This seemed so unlike the man she’d respected. What could have happened to make him behave in this way?
‘He’s a liar,’ Isabelle burst out. ‘I found the letter and I showed it to him. I had the misfortune of forgetting to put it back in its envelope and left it at his home, and the bastard stole it.’
‘That’s quite an accusation,’ said Liana, but despite her words, her voice stayed neutral. ‘Can you prove it? I mean, perhaps you could have given it to him, as he is an expert on Fontaine.’
‘I did not give it to him,’ Isabelle ground out. ‘He’s taken it without my permission.’
‘I am afraid it would be his word against yours,’ said Liana, ‘especially if he knows the provenance of the letter, and it sounds like you told him all of that.’ There was a touch of irony in her voice now and it made Romy wince, but before Isabelle could say anything, Liana went on, ‘When you first opened the envelope and discovered what the letter said, did you tell anyone else? The person you bought it from, perhaps? Or a friend?’ The way she said ‘friend’ made it clear she was referring to Carlos.
‘No. Nobody, not at that time,’ Isabelle said, sounding defensive and embarrassed. ‘I—I was a bit overwhelmed. Only after I came to Paris did I speak of it, to Romy.’
Liana didn’t comment on that, instead saying, ‘Did you take any pictures of it when you first bought the box? Showing clearly the stand where you’d bought it?’
‘No. Why would I have done that?’ Isabelle flashed out. ‘I had no idea the letter was in the box until later, when I got home. I took photos then. They’re on my phone. And they have a timestamp. I can send them to you if you like.’
‘Please do,’ said Liana. ‘Look, Madame Bernard, the meeting with our expert and Monsieur Cazenave is to be at 15h this afternoon’—the French term for 3 pm—‘so if you can find your way here by then, perhaps there might be a way to resolve this situation. Now I’m sorry, but I must go.’
‘Wait—you’re in Toulouse, and it’s nearly eleven o’clock,’ Isabelle half-shouted. ‘Even if we get the fastest train or break every speed limit on the autoroute, how on earth are we—’
But Liana Diop had ended the call.
‘Don’t worry,’ Romy said gently, as Isabelle slumped into a chair. ‘There’s still the plane. I’ll look up flights. There should be lots of them, and it’s only an hour and a half to Toulouse.’
‘It’s no use,’ Isabelle said. ‘It might be only an hour and a half flying but you have to find a flight that isn’t full and there’s all the hassle of getting to the airport from here, and then there’s possible delays or cancellations, and then at the other end you have to repeat the whole procedure.
All up it would easily take more than four hours, and that’s if there are no delays. Certainly no faster than the train.’
Romy looked at her, chewing her lip. An idea had begun formulating in her mind while she was listening to Carlos and Liana, but she wasn’t sure if it would work, and she didn’t want to raise Isabelle’s hopes. ‘Can you wait a moment?’ she asked and went into the kitchen to make a call.
Alex’s phone rang a few times before he finally answered. When she explained what had happened and asked if he thought his pilot friend Youssef might be able to help them get to Toulouse quickly, he said, ‘I’ll call him. I won’t be long.’
In less than a minute his name flashed up on the screen. ‘So?’ she asked eagerly before he could speak.
‘Yes. Youssef is flying his plane to Zaragoza today and says he can easily make a quick stop in Toulouse. He can take you both. But you need to get to Le Bourget right now.’ Le Bourget, the oldest airport in Paris, no longer hosted scheduled commercial flights but had instead become Europe’s busiest hub for light aircraft and business jet transport.
‘Fantastic!’ Romy hesitated. ‘But I’m thinking—well, Professor Cazenave knows me and Isabelle by sight, but he doesn’t know you.’ And she quickly explained her plan to him.
He listened in silence. ‘It could work—wait.’ She could hear him talking softly to someone, then he came back on the phone. ‘Okay. Go straight to Le Bourget. We will meet you there.’