فصل 17

17

There’s nobody in the office. He launches himself through the door, the old fluorescent bulbs stuttering into life overhead, and makes straight for his office. Once inside, he rummages through the piles of files and folders on his desk, not caring as the papers spew out across the floor, until he finds what he is looking for. Then he flicks on his desk lamp, and lays the photocopied article in front of him, smoothing it with his palms.

Let me be wrong, he mutters. Just let me have got this wrong.

The wall of the Glass House is only partly visible, as the image of the painting has been enlarged to fill the A4 space. But the painting is unmistakably The Girl You Left Behind. And to the right of her, the floor-to-ceiling window that Liv had shown him, the view that extended out towards Tilbury.

He scans the extract of text.

Halston designed this room so that its occupants would be woken by the morning sun. I originally set out to put some kind of screening system up for summer daylight hours, he says. But actually you find that if youre woken naturally, youre less tired. So I never bothered putting them in.

Just off the master bedroom is a Japanese style

It ends, cut short by the photocopy. Paul stares at it for a moment, then turns on his computer and types DAVID HALSTON into a search engine. His fingers thrum on the desk as he waits for it to load.

Tributes were paid yesterday to the modernist architect David Halston, who has died suddenly in Lisbon at the age of 38. Initial reports suggest his death was as a result of undiagnosed heart failure. Local police are not said to be treating his death as suspicious.

His wife of four years, Olivia Halston, 26, who was with him at the time, is being comforted by family members. A member of the British consulate in Lisbon appealed for the family to be allowed to grieve in private.

Halstons death cuts short a stellar career, notable for its innovative use of glass, and fellow architects yesterday lined up to pay tribute to the

Paul lowers himself slowly into his chair. He flicks through the rest of the paperwork, then re-reads the letter from the lawyers of the Lefèvre family.

a clear-cut case, which is unlikely to be time-barred given the circumstances — stolen from an hotel in St Péronne circa 1917, shortly after the artists wife was taken prisoner by the occupying German forces —

We hope that TARP can bring this case to a swift and satisfactory conclusion. There is some leeway in the budget for compensation to the current owners, but it is unlikely to be anything near the estimated auction value.

He would put money on it that she has no idea who the painting is by. He hears her voice, shy and oddly proprietorial Shes my favourite thing in this house. Actually, shes my favourite thing in the whole world.

Paul lets his head drop into his hands. He stays there until the office phone starts ringing.

The sun rises across the flatlands east of London, flooding the bedroom a pale gold. The walls glow briefly, the almost phosphorescent light bouncing off the white surfaces so that on another occasion Liv might have groaned, screwed her eyes shut and buried her head under her duvet. But she lies very still in the oversized bed, a large pillow behind her neck, and stares out at the morning, her eyes fixed blankly on the sky.

Shed got it all wrong.

She keeps seeing his face, hearing his scrupulously polite dismissal of her. Do you mind if I head off?

She has lain there for almost two hours, her mobile phone in her hand, wondering whether to text him a small message.

Are we okay? You seemed suddenly —

Sorry if I talked too much about David. Its hard for me to remember that not everyone —

Really lovely to see you last night. Hope your work eases up soon. If youre free on Sunday Id —

What did I do wrong?

She sends none of them. She traces and retraces the stages of the conversation, going over each phrase, each sentence, meticulously, like an archaeologist sifting through bones. Was it at this point that he had changed his mind? Was there something she had done? Some sexual foible she hadnt been aware of? Was it just being in the Glass House? A house that, while it had no longer held any of his belongings, was so palpably David that it might as well have had his image shot through it like lettering through a stick of rock? Each time she considers these potential blunders, her stomach clenches with anxiety.

I liked him, she thinks. I really liked him.

Then, knowing sleep will not come, she climbs out of bed and pads downstairs to the kitchen. Her eyes are gritty with tiredness, the rest of her just hollowed out. She brews coffee and is sitting at the kitchen table, blowing on it, when the front door opens.

Forgot my security card. Cant get into the care home without it at this time. Sorry – I was going to creep in so that I wouldnt disturb you. Mo stops and peers past her, as if looking for someone. So — What? Did you eat him?

He went home.

Mo reaches into the cupboard and starts fishing around in her spare jacket pocket. She finds her security card and pockets it.

Youre going to have to get past this, you know. Four years is too long to not –

I didnt want him to leave. Liv swallows. He bolted.

Mo laughs and stops abruptly as she realizes that Liv is serious.

He actually ran out of the bedroom. She doesnt care that shes making herself sound tragic she couldnt feel any worse than she does already.

Before or after you jumped his bones?

Liv sips her coffee. Guess.

Oh, ouch. Was it that bad?

No, it was great. Well, I thought it was. Admittedly I havent had much to go by recently.

Mo gazes around her, as if looking for clues. You put your pictures of David away, right?

Of course I did.

And you didnt, like, say Davids name at the crucial moment?

No. She remembers the way Paul had held her. I told him he had changed the way I felt about myself.

Mo shakes her head sadly. Aw Liv. Bad hand. Youve just been dealt a Toxic Bachelor.

What?

Hes the perfect man. Hes straightforward, caring, attentive. He comes on super-strong until he realizes you like him too. And then he runs a mile. Kryptonite to a certain kind of needy, vulnerable woman. That would be you. Mo frowns. You do surprise me, though. I honestly didnt think he was the type.

Liv glances down at her mug. Then she says, with just a hint of defensiveness, Its possible I might have talked about David a bit. When I was showing him the painting.

Mos eyes widen, then lift to the heavens.

Well, I thought I could just be straightforward about everything. He knows where Im coming from. I thought he was okay with it.

She can hear her voice chippy. He said he was.

Mo stands and goes to the breadbin. She reaches in for a slice, folds it in half and takes a bite. Liv – you cant be straightforward about other men. No man wants to hear about how fantastic the one before was, even if he is dead. You might as well just do a whole spiel on Enormous Penises I Have Known.

I cant pretend David isnt part of my past.

No, but he doesnt have to be your whole present too. As Liv glares at her, Mo says, Honestly? Its like youre on a loop. I feel like even when youre not talking about him youre thinking about talking about him.

That might have been true even a few weeks ago. But not now. Liv wants to move on. She had wanted to move on with Paul. Well. It doesnt really matter, does it? I blew it. I dont think hell be coming back. She sips her coffee. It burns her tongue. It was stupid of me to get my hopes up.

Mo puts a hand on her shoulder. Men are weird. Its not like it wasnt obvious that you were a mess. Oh, shit – the time. Look, you go out for one of your insane runs. Ill be back at three oclock and Ill call in sick to the restaurant and we can swear a lot and think up medieval punishments for fuckwit men who blow hot and cold. Ive got some modelling clay upstairs that I use for voodoo dolls. Can you get some cocktail sticks ready? Or some skewers? Im all out.

Mo grabs the spare key, salutes her with the folded bread, and is gone before Liv can respond.

In the previous five years TARP has returned more than two hundred and forty works of art to owners, or descendants of owners, who had believed they might never see them again. Paul has heard stories of wartime brutality more appalling than anything he encountered while working in the NYPD they are repeated with a clarity of recall that suggests they might have happened yesterday, rather than sixty years ago. He has seen pain, borne like a precious inheritance through the ages and writ large on the faces of those left behind.

Hearing the stories of horror and betrayal, of families murdered and displaced by the Second World War, as if those crimes were committed yesterday, and knowing that those victims still lived with the injustices every day, he has relished being part of some small degree of recompense.

He has never had to deal with anything like this.

Shit, says Greg. Thats tough.

They are out walking Gregs dogs, two hyperactive terriers. The morning is unseasonably cold and Paul wishes he had worn an extra jumper.

I couldnt believe it. The actual painting. Staring me in the face.

What did you say?

Paul pulls his scarf up around his neck. I didnt say anything. I couldnt think what to say. I just — left.

You ran?

I needed time to think about it.

Pirate, the smaller of Gregs dogs, has shot across the heath like a guided missile. The two men stop to watch, waiting to determine his eventual target.

Please dont let it be a cat, please dont let it be a cat. Oh, its okay. Its Ginger. In the far distance Pirate hurls himself joyously at a springer spaniel and the two dogs chase each other manically in ever-widening circles in the long grass. And this was when? Last night?

Two nights ago. I know I should ring her. I just cant work out what Im going to say.

I guess Give me your damn painting isnt your best line. Greg calls his older dog to heel, and lifts his hand to his brow, trying to track Pirates progress. Bro, I think you may have to accept that Fate has just blown this particular date out of the water.

Paul shoves his hands deep in his pockets. I liked her.

Greg glances sideways at him. What? As in really liked her?

Yeah. She — she got under my skin.

His brother studies his face. Okay. Well, this has just gotten interesting — Pirate. Here! Oh, man. Theres the Vizsla. I hate that dog. Did you speak to your boss about it?

Yeah. Because Janey would definitely want to talk to me about some other woman. No. I just checked with our lawyer about the strength of the case. He seems to think we would win.

Theres no time bar on these cases, Paul, Sean had said, barely looking up from his papers. You know that.

So what are you going to do? Greg clips his dog back on to the lead and stands there, waiting.

Not a lot I can do. The picture has to go back to its rightful owners. Im not sure how well shes going to take that.

She might be okay. You never know. Greg strides over the grass towards where Pirate is running around, yapping dementedly at the sky, warning it to come no closer. Hey, if shes broke and theres proper money involved, you may actually be doing her a favour. He starts to run and his last words fly over his shoulder on the breeze. And she might feel the same way about you and just not give a shit about anything else. Youve got to keep in mind, bro, that ultimately, its just a painting.

Paul stares at his brothers back. Its never just a painting, he thinks.

The weekend stretches, is weighed down by silence. Mo comes and goes. Her new verdict on Paul Divorced Toxic Bachelor. Worst variety of species. She makes Liv a little clay model of him, and urges her to stick things in it.

Liv has to admit that Mini Pauls hair is alarmingly accurate. You think this will give him stomach ache?

I cant guarantee it. But itll make you feel better.

Liv picks up a cocktail stick and tentatively gives Mini Paul a belly button, then feels immediately guilty and smoothes it over with her thumb. She cant quite reconcile this version of Paul with what she knows, but she is smart enough to grasp that some things are not worth dwelling on, so she has taken Mos advice and run until she has given herself shin splints. She has cleaned the Glass House from top to bottom. She has binned the shoes with butterflies. She has checked her phone four times, then turned it off, hating herself for caring.

Thats feeble. You havent even broken his toes. You want me to have a go for you? says Mo, inspecting the little model on Monday morning.

No. Its fine. Really.

Youre too soft. Tell you what, when I get home well ball him up and turn him into an ashtray. When Liv returns to the kitchen Mo has stuck fifteen matches into the top of his head.

Two pieces of work come in on Monday. One, some catalogue copy for a direct-marketing company, is littered with grammatical and spelling errors. By six oclock Liv has altered so much of it that she has pretty much written the whole thing. The word rate is terrible. She doesnt care. She is so relieved to be working instead of thinking that she might well write Forbex Solutions a whole extra catalogue for free.

The doorbell rings. Mo will have left her keys at work. She unfolds herself from the desk, stretches, and heads for the entryphone.

You left them on the side.

Its Paul.

She freezes. Oh. Hi.

Can I come up?

You really dont have to. I –

Please? We need to talk.

There is no time to check her face or brush her hair. She stands, one finger on the door button, hesitating. She depresses it, then moves back, like someone bracing themselves for an explosion.

The lift rattles its way up, and she feels her stomach constrict as the sound grows louder. And then there he is, gazing straight at her through the railings of the lift. He is wearing a soft brown jacket and his eyes are uncharacteristically wary. He looks exhausted.

Hey.

He steps out of the lift, and waits in the hallway. She stands, her arms folded defensively.

Hello.

Can I — come in?

She steps back. Do you want a drink? I mean — are you stopping?

He catches the edge in her voice. That would be great, thank you.

She walks through the house to the kitchen, her back rigid, and he follows. As she makes two mugs of tea, she is conscious of his eyes on her. When she hands one to him he is rubbing meditatively at his temple. When he catches her eye he seems almost apologetic. Headache.

Liv glances up at the little modelling-clay figure on the fridge and flushes with guilt. As she passes she deliberately knocks it down the back of the fridge.

Paul places his mug on the table. Okay. This is really difficult. I would have come over sooner but I had my son and I needed to think what I was going to do. Look, Im just going to come out and explain the whole thing. But I think maybe you should sit down first.

She stares at him. Oh, God. Youre married.

Im not married. That would — almost be simpler. Please, Liv. Just sit.

She remains standing. He pulls a letter from his jacket and hands it to her.

Whats this?

Just read it. And then Ill do my best to explain.

TARP Suite 6, 115 Grantham Street London W1

15 October 2006

Dear Mrs Halston

We act for an organization called the Trace and Return Partnership, created to return works of art to those who suffered losses due to looting or the forced sale of personal artefacts during wartime.

We understand that you are the owner of a painting by the French artist Édouard Lefèvre, entitled The Girl You Left Behind. We have received written confirmation from descendants of Mr Lefèvre that this was a work in the personal possession of the artists wife and the subject of a forced or coercive sale. The claimants, who are also of French nationality, wish to have the work returned to the artists family, and under the Geneva Convention and the terms of the Hague Convention for the Protection of Cultural Property in the Event of Armed Conflict, we wish to inform you that we will be pursuing such a claim on their behalf.

In many cases such works can be restored to their rightful owners with the minimum legal intervention. We therefore invite you to contact us to arrange a meeting between yourselves and representatives of the Lefèvre family in order that we may commence this process.

We appreciate that such notice may come as something of a shock. But we would remind you that there is a strong legal precedent for the return of works of art obtained as the result of wartime transgressions, and I would add that there may also be some discretionary funding to compensate for your loss.

We hope very much that, as with other works of this nature, the satisfaction of knowing a work is finally being returned to its rightful owners will grant those affected some additional satisfaction.

Please do not hesitate to contact us if you wish to discuss this further.

Paul McCafferty

Janey Dickinson

Directors, TARP

She stares at the name at the bottom of the page and the room recedes. She re-reads the words, thinking this must be a joke. No, this is another Paul McCafferty, an entirely different Paul McCafferty. There must be hundreds of them. Its a common enough name. And then she remembers the peculiar way he had looked at the painting three days earlier, the way he had been unable to meet her eye afterwards. She sits down heavily in her chair.

Is this some kind of a joke?

I wish it was.

What the hell is TARP?

We trace missing works of art and oversee their restoration to their original owners.

We? She stares at the letter. What — what does this have to do with me?

The Girl You Left Behind is the subject of a restitution request. The painting is by an artist called Édouard Lefèvre. His family want it back.

But — this is ridiculous. Ive had it for years. Years. The best part of a decade.

He reaches into his pocket and pulls out another letter, with a photocopied image. This came to the office a couple of weeks ago. It was sitting in my in-tray. I was busy with other stuff so I didnt put the two things together. Then, when you invited me up the other night, I recognized it immediately.

She scans it, glances at the photocopied page. Her own painting stares back at her from the coloured page, its colours muddied through reproduction. The Architectural Digest.

Yeah. I think that was it.

They came here to do a piece on the Glass House when we were first married. Her hand lifts to her mouth. David thought it would be good publicity for his practice.

The Lefèvre family have been conducting an audit into all Édouard Lefèvres works, and during the course of it they discovered several were missing. One is The Girl You Left Behind. There is no documented history for it after 1917. Can you tell me where you got it?

This is crazy. It was — David bought it from an American woman. In Barcelona.

A gallery owner? Have you got a receipt for it?

Of sorts. But its not worth anything. She was going to throw it away. It was out on the street.

Paul runs a hand over his face. Do you know who this woman was?

Liv shakes her head. It was years ago.

Liv, you have to remember. This is important.

She explodes I cant remember! You cant come in here and tell me I have to justify ownership of my own painting just because someone somewhere has decided it once belonged to them a million years ago! I mean, what is this? She walks around the kitchen table. I – I cant get my head round it.

Paul rests his face in his hands. He lifts his head and looks at her. Liv, Im really sorry. This is the worst case Ive ever dealt with.

Case?

This is what I do. I look for stolen works of art and I return them to their owners.

She hears the strange implacability in his voice. But this isnt stolen. David bought it, fair and square. And then he gave it to me. Its mine.

It was stolen, Liv. Nearly a hundred years ago, yes, but it was stolen. Look, the good news is that theyre willing to offer some financial compensation.

Compensation? You think this is about money?

Im just saying –

She stands, lifts her hand to her brow. You know what, Paul? I think youd better leave.

I know the painting means a lot to you but you have to understand –

Really. Id like you to go now.

They stare at each other. She feels radioactive. She is not sure she has ever been so angry.

Look, Ill try to think of a way we can settle this to suit –

Goodbye, Paul.

She follows him out. When she slams the door behind him it reverberates so loudly that she can feel the whole warehouse shake below her.