فصل 25

25

There are people outside the court. A small crowd is milling in front of the main steps. At first she thinks it must be a group of sightseers – but Henry reaches for her arm as she steps out of the taxi. Oh, Christ. Keep your head down, he says.

What?

As her foot meets the pavement, the air is filled with blinding flashes. She is briefly paralysed. Then Henrys arm is propelling her forward, past the jostling mens elbows, her own name shouted in her ear. Someone thrusts a piece of paper into her free hand and she can hear Henrys voice, the faint tone of panic as the crowd seems to close around her. She is surrounded by a jumble of jackets, and the dark, fathomless reflection of huge lenses. Stand back, everybody, please. Stand back. She glimpses the flash of brass on a policemans uniform, shuts her eyes and feels herself shoved sideways, Henrys grip tightening on her arm.

Then they are in the silent courts, heading through Security, and she is on the other side, blinking at him in shock.

What the hell was that? She is breathing hard.

Henry smoothes his hair, and turns to peer out through the doors. The newspapers. Im afraid the case seems to have attracted an awful lot of attention.

She straightens her jacket, then looks round, just in time to see Paul striding in through the Security. He is wearing a pale blue shirt and dark trousers and looks utterly unruffled. Nobody has bothered him. As their eyes meet she gives him a look of mute fury. His stride slows, just a fraction, but his expression does not alter. He glances behind him, his papers tucked under his arm, and continues in the direction of Court Two.

It is then that she sees the piece of paper in her hand. She unfolds it carefully.

The possession of that which the Germans took is a CRIME. End the suffering of the Jewish people. Return what is rightfully theirs. Bring justice before it is TOO LATE.

Whats that? Henry peers over her shoulder.

Why did they give me this? The claimants arent even Jewish! she exclaims.

I did warn you that wartime looting is a very inflammatory subject. Im afraid you may find all sorts of interest groups latching on to it, whether theyre directly affected or not.

But this is ridiculous. We didnt steal the damn painting. Its been ours for over a decade!

Come on, Liv. Lets head over to Court Two. Ill get someone to fetch you some water.

The press area is packed. She sees the reporters, wedged in beside each other, muttering and joking, flipping through the days newspapers before the judge arrives a herd of predators, relaxed but intent, watching for their prey. She wants to stand up and shout at them. This is a game to you, isnt it? Just tomorrows fish-and-chip paper. Her heart is racing.

Each side is weighed down with fat files of documentation, lists of expert witnesses, statements on obscure legal points of French law. Henry, jokingly, has said that Liv now knows so much about specialist litigation that he might offer her a job afterwards. I may need it, she says grimly.

All rise.

Here we go. Henry touches her elbow, gives her a reassuring smile.

The Lefèvres, two elderly men, are already seated along the bench with Sean Flaherty, watching the proceedings in silence as their barrister, Christopher Jenks, outlines their case. She stares at them, taking in their dour expressions, the way they cross their arms over their chests, as if predisposed to dissatisfaction. Maurice and André Lefèvre are the trustees of the remaining works and legacy of Édouard Lefèvre, he explains to the court. Their interest, he says, is in safeguarding his work, and protecting his legacy for the future.

And lining their pockets, she mutters. Henry shakes his head.

Jenks strolls up and down the courtroom, only occasionally referring to notes, his comments directed at the judge. As Lefèvres popularity had increased in recent years, his descendants had conducted an audit of his remaining works, which uncovered references to a portrait entitled The Girl You Left Behind, which had once been in the possession of the artists wife, Sophie Lefèvre.

A photograph and some written journals have turned up the fact that the painting hung in full view in the hotel known as Le Coq Rouge in St Péronne, a town occupied by the Germans during the First World War.

The Kommandant in charge of the town, one Friedrich Hencken, is recorded as having admired the work on several occasions. Le Coq Rouge was requisitioned by the Germans for their personal use. Sophie Lefèvre had been vocal in her resistance to their occupation.

Sophie Lefèvre had been arrested and removed from St Péronne in early 1917. At around the same time, the painting had disappeared.

These, Jenks claims, are suggestive enough of coercion, of a tainted acquisition of a much-loved painting. But this, he says emphatically, is not the only suggestion that the painting was obtained illegally.

Evidence just obtained records its appearance during the Second World War in Germany, at Berchtesgaden, at a storage facility known as the Collection Point, used for stolen and looted works of art that had fallen into German possession. He says the words stolen and looted works of art twice, as if to emphasize his point. Here, Jenks says, the painting mysteriously arrived in the possession of an American journalist, Louanne Baker, who spent a day at the Collection Point and wrote about it for an American newspaper. Her reports of the time mention that she received a gift or memento from the event. She kept the painting at her home, a fact confirmed by her family, until it was sold ten years ago to David Halston, who, in turn, gave it as a wedding present to his wife.

She listens to the history of her painting read aloud in court and finds it hard to associate her portrait, the little painting that has hung serenely on her bedroom wall, with such trauma, such globally significant events.

She glances at the press bench. The reporters appear rapt, as does the judge. She thinks, absently, that if her whole future did not depend on this, she would probably be rapt too. Along the bench, Paul is leaning back, his arms crossed combatively.

Liv lets her gaze travel sideways, and he looks straight back at her. She flushes slightly, turns away. She wonders if he will be here for every day of the case, and if it is possible to kill a man in a packed courtroom.

Christopher Jenks is standing before them. Your Honour, it is deeply unfortunate that Mrs Halston has unwittingly been drawn into a series of historic wrongs, but wrongs they are. It is our contention that this painting has been stolen twice once from the home of Sophie Lefèvre, and then, during the Second World War, from her descendants by its illegal gifting from the Collection Point, during a period in Europe so chaotic that the misdemeanour went unrecorded, and, until now, undiscovered.

But the law, both under the Geneva Convention and current restitution legislation, says that these wrongs must be put right. It is our case that this painting should be restored to its rightful owners, the Lefèvre family. Thank you.

Henrys face, beside her, is expressionless.

Liv gazes towards the corner of the room where a printed image of The Girl You Left Behind, reproduced to actual size, sits on a small stand. Flaherty had asked for the painting to be placed in protective holding while its fate was decided, but Henry had told her that she was under no obligation to agree to that.

Still, it is unnerving to see The Girl here, out of place, her gaze somehow seeming to mock the proceedings before her. At home, Liv finds herself walking into the bedroom simply to look at her, the intensity of her gaze heightened by the possibility that soon she will never be able to look at her again.

The afternoon stretches. The air in the courtroom slows and expands with the central heating. Christopher Jenks takes apart their attempt to time-bar the claim with the forensic efficiency of a bored surgeon dissecting a frog. Occasionally she looks up to hear phrases like transfer of title and incomplete provenance. The judge coughs and examines his notes. Paul murmurs to the woman director from his company. Whenever he does, she smiles, showing perfect, tiny white teeth.

Now Christopher Jenks begins to read

15 January 1917

Today they took Sophie Lefèvre. Such a sight you never saw. She was minding her own business down in the cellars of Le Coq Rouge when two Germans came across the square and dragged her up the steps and hauled her out, as if she were a criminal. Her sister begged and cried, as did the orphaned child of Liliane Béthune, a whole crowd rose up and protested, but they simply brushed them aside like flies. Two elderly people were actually knocked to the floor in the commotion. I swear, mon Dieu, if there are to be just rewards in our next life the Germans will pay dearly.

They carted the girl off in a cattle truck. The mayor tried to stop them, but he is a feeble character, these days, weakened by the death of his daughter, and too prone to lying down with the Boche. They fail to take him seriously. When the vehicle finally disappeared he walked into the bar of Le Coq Rouge and announced with great pomposity that he would take it up at the highest possible level. None of us listened. Her poor sister, Hélène, wept, her head on the counter, her brother Aurélien ran off, like a scalded dog, and the child that Sophie had seen fit to take in – the child of Liliane Béthune – stood in the corner like a little pale ghost.

Eh, Hélène will look after you, I told her. I bent down and pressed a coin into her hand, but she looked at it as if she didnt know what it was. When she stared at me her eyes were like saucers. You must not fear, child. Hélène is a good woman. She will take care of you.

I know there was some commotion with Sophie Lefèvres brother before she left, but my ears are not good, and in the noise and chaos I missed the heart of it. Still, I fear she has been ill-used by the Germans. I knew that once they decided to take over Le Coq Rouge the girl was done for, but she never would listen to me. She must have offended them in some way she always was the more impetuous one. I cannot condemn her for it I suspect if the Germans were in my house I would offend them too.

Yes, I had my differences with Sophie Lefèvre, but my heart is heavy tonight. To see her shoved on to that cattle truck as if she were already a carcass, to imagine her future … These are dark days. To think I should have lived to see such sights. Some nights it is hard not to believe our little town is become a place of madness.

In his low, sonorous voice, Christopher Jenks ends his reading. The courtroom is still, only the sound of the stenographer audible in the silence. Overhead a fan whirs lazily, failing to displace the air.

I knew that once they decided to take over Le Coq Rouge the girl was done for. Ladies and gentlemen, I think this diary entry tells us pretty conclusively that any relationship Sophie Lefèvre had with the Germans in St Péronne was not a particularly happy one.

He strolls through the courtroom like someone taking the air on a beachfront, casually studying the photocopied pages.

But this is not the only reference. The same local resident, Vivienne Louvier, has proven to be a remarkable documenter of life in the little town. And if we go back several months, she writes the following

The Germans are taking their meals at Le Coq Rouge. They have the Bessette sisters cooking them food so rich that the smell drifts around the square and drives us all half mad with longing. I told Sophie Bessette – or Lefèvre as she now is – in the boulangerie that her father would not have stood for it, but she says there is nothing she can do.

He lifts his head. Nothing she can do. The Germans have invaded the artists wifes hotel, forced her to cook for them. She has the enemy actually in her home, and she is utterly powerless. All compelling stuff. But this is not the only evidence. A search of the Lefèvre archive unearthed a letter written by Sophie Lefèvre to her husband. It apparently never reached him, but I believe that will prove irrelevant.

He holds up the paper, as if struggling to see it in the light.

Herr Kommandant is not as foolish as Beckenbauer but unnerves me more. He stares at your portrait of me and I want to tell him he has no right. That painting, above all others, belongs to you and me. Do you know the most peculiar thing, Édouard? He actually admires your work. He knows of it, knows that of the Matisse School, of Weber and Purrmann. How strange it has been to find myself defending your superior brushwork to a German Kommandant!

But I refuse to take it down, no matter what Hélène says. It reminds me of you, and of a time when we were happy together. It reminds me that humankind is capable of love and beauty as well as destruction.

I pray for your safe and swift return, my dearest.

Yours ever, Sophie

That painting, above all others, belongs to you and me.

Jenks lets that hang in the air. So, this letter, found long after her death, tells us that the painting meant an awful lot to the artists wife. It also tells us pretty conclusively that a German Kommandant had his eye on it. Not only that, but that he had a good idea of the market as a whole. He was, if you like, an aficionado. He rolls out the word, emphasizing each syllable, as if it were the first time he had used it.

And here, the looting of the First World War would seem to be a precursor to that of the Second. Here we have educated German officers, knowing what they want, knowing what may hold value, and earmarking it –

Objection. Angela Silver, Livs QC, is on her feet. There is a vast difference between somebody admiring a painting and having knowledge of the artist, and actually taking it. My learned friend has not provided any evidence whatsoever that the Kommandant took the painting, simply that he admired it, and that he ate his meals in the hotel where Madame Lefèvre lived. All of these things are circumstantial.

The judge mutters, Sustained.

Christopher Jenks wipes his brow. I am simply attempting to paint a picture, if you like, of life within the town of St Péronne in 1916. Its impossible to understand how a painting might be taken into somebodys custody without understanding the climate of the time, and how the Germans had carte blanche to requisition, or take what they liked, from any house that they chose.

Objection. Angela Silver studies her notes. Irrelevant. There is no evidence to suggest that this painting was requisitioned.

Sustained. Keep to the point, Mr Jenks.

Merely trying, again, to … paint a picture, my lord.

Leave the painting to Lefèvre, if you will, Mr Jenks. There is a low murmur of laughter around the courtroom.

I mean to demonstrate that there were many valuable items requisitioned by German troops that went unrecorded, just as they were not paid for, as promised by the German leaders of the time. I mention the general climate for such behaviour because it is our contention that The Girl You Left Behind was one such item.

He stares at your portrait of me and I want to tell him he has no right. Well, it is our case, Your Honour, that Kommandant Friedrich Hencken felt he had every right indeed. And that this painting did not leave German possession for another thirty years.

Paul looks at Liv. She looks away.

She concentrates on the image of Sophie Lefèvre. Fools, she seems to say, her impenetrable gaze appearing to take in every person there.

Yes, thinks Liv. Yes, we are.

They adjourn at half past three. Angela Silver is eating a sandwich in her chambers. Her wig lies on the table beside her, and a mug of tea stands on her desk. Henry sits opposite.

They tell her that the first day had gone as they had expected. But the tang of tension hangs in the atmosphere, like salt in the air miles from the coast. Liv shuffles her photocopied pile of translations as Henry turns to Angela.

Liv, didnt you say that when you spoke to Sophies nephew, he mentioned something about her being disgraced? I wondered whether it would be worth pursuing that line.

I dont understand, she says. They are both looking at her expectantly.

Silver finishes her mouthful before she speaks. Well, if she was disgraced, doesnt that suggest her relationship with the Kommandant might have been consensual? The thing is, if we can prove that it was, if we can suggest that she was having an extra-marital affair with a German soldier, we can also claim the portrait might have been a gift. It wouldnt be beyond the realms of possibility that someone in the throes of a love affair would give her lover a portrait of herself.

But Sophie wouldnt, Liv says.

We dont know that, says Henry. You told me that after her disappearance the family never spoke of her again. Surely if she was blameless, they would have wanted to remember her. Instead she seems to be cloaked in some sort of shame.

I dont think she could have had a consensual relationship with the Kommandant. Look at this postcard. Liv reopens her file. You are my lodestar in this world of madness. Thats three months before she is supposed to have had this collaboration. It hardly sounds like a husband and wife who dont love each other, does it?

Thats certainly a husband who loves his wife, yes, says Henry. But we have no idea whether she returned that love. She could have been madly in love with a German soldier at this time. She could have been lonely or misguided. Just because she loved her husband, it doesnt mean she wasnt capable of falling in love with someone else once hed gone away.

Liv pushes her hair back from her face. It feels horrible, she says, like blackening her name.

Her name is already blackened. Her family dont have a decent word to say about her.

I dont want to use her nephews words against her, she says. Hes the only one who seems to care about her. Im just – Im just not convinced weve got the full story.

The full story is unimportant. Angela Silver screws up her sandwich box and throws it neatly into the wastepaper bin. Look, Mrs Halston, if you can prove that she and the Kommandant had an affair it will wholly improve your chances of retaining the painting. As long as the other side can suggest the painting was stolen, or obtained coercively, it weakens your case. She wipes her hands, and replaces the wig on her head. This is hardball. And you can bet the other side are playing that way. Ultimately, its about this how badly do you want to keep this painting?

Liv sits at the table, her own sandwich untouched as the two lawyers get up to leave. She stares at the notes in front of her. She cannot tarnish Sophies memory. But she cannot let her painting go. More importantly, she cannot let Paul win. Ill take another look, she says.