The papers setting out the proposed agreement are enclosed. If you are willing to consider this proposal, please deliver them to your solicitors or attorneys to review. If your counselors wire me their banking instructions, my firm will send them a sufficient retainer to assure there is no cost to your family for accommodating this request.
Whatever your decision, the current holder of the painting and I would be honored if we could meet with you and members of your family to return what has been absent far too long.
THIRTY-ONE
Kate and Chris were standing in front of Michael Hirsch’s office on the Passeig de Gracia in Barcelona within the week.
It was a warm morning. The broad street was buzzing with cars and motor bikes. Carefully dressed men and women strolled lazily into pastry shops or drank their morning coffee at outdoor cafes. Doors to the apartments above the ground-floor shops were open to welcome the morning sun. White linen curtains touched the tops of the red geraniums spilling casually out of their window boxes onto wrought-iron railings.
The building was nondescript, three or four gray brick stories. The sign in front read
Assegurances and Seguros
, advertising Michael Hirsch’s insurance company
.
Directly across the street, though, was an odd-looking building that caught Kate’s eye. It was the kind of building she loved to stumble upon with Peter, down a blind alley in Venice or on the Left Bank, to be photographed, studied and remembered, but this morning she thought only of the urgency of the meeting.
“I know how tough this is for you,” Kate said to Chris with gratitude. “But I really do feel the investment of time and good will we’re about to make will return remarkable dividends.” Her encouragement was as much to mask her anxiety as to buoy Chris.
For all of her concern about the meeting, though, it was hard for Kate to take her eyes off the odd-looking building that had captured her attention.
The face of the building looked as if it had been made of leather. The façade was decorated with dozens of ceramic plates that reflected the morning light and glass that looked more like eyes than windows. And a roof filled with all sorts of tiles resembling the scales of a fish, or perhaps a lizard. To its side, what was almost a turret was topped with a garlic bulb and a cross. The building was a glittering sand castle in the middle of a bustling part of the city.
The meeting was scheduled for eleven. They were ten minutes early, so Kate stood at a kiosk fingering a book about the building and Antoni Gaudi, its architect. To her surprise, Marta Hirsch bounded up the stairs of the Metro and grasped her hand like they were old friends.
“Miss Brewster. Nice to see you again under better circumstances. I presume this is Mr. Franklin.” Marta was dressed in a taupe suede skirt and a cream blouse. She had large gold hoop earrings. Kate was relieved by Marta’s seeming openness. She too had dressed simply, in a blue skirt and beige top.
“It seems as though I read something new about your firm and Mr. Reed every day in the
International Herald Tribune
.”
Nothing unites adversaries so much as a common enemy. But Kate had no idea whether the papers of reconciliation had softened Marta. She held back from saying anything more.
Marta led Kate and Chris into the building. The elevator was an old-fashioned carriage, with ornate brass carvings around the ceiling and a wrought-iron gate that clanged so harshly against the hasp that when Marta pulled it shut the noise startled Kate.
The door opened to a pale yellow hallway. They followed Marta to her right. She knocked on the door of a medium-sized office midway down the corridor.
Marta was greeted warmly, with both a small kiss on her cheeks and a hug from her father. The image made Kate think of her own father. He’d be about Hirsch’s age if the air in his lungs hadn’t turned to molasses.
She wished she could take a picture of the man. He was about Ed Roth’s height, but where Ed was wiry, Hirsch carried his weight in his upper chest and belly. What hair he had was white and cut close to his head. The top of his head was bald. He was dressed in a gray suit, white shirt, and red plaid tie. He wore tortoise shell glasses and a small pin in his lapel Kate couldn’t identify.
He extended his hand. “Miss Brewster, Michael Hirsch. It is my pleasure.” His English was accented, his voice a mellow baritone.
Hirsch motioned the three of them into his office. His desk was uncluttered, a green blotter on a brown leather mat, two silver picture frames, a phone, a couple of silver pens, Kate’s document in the middle of the blotter. The credenza behind the desk was stacked with piles of papers.
“Mr. Franklin, I’m pleased to make your acquaintance,” Hirsch said. “Won’t you sit down?”
There were three chairs in front of his desk; Kate took the one in the middle. Marta moved hers so she was no more than three feet to Kate’s left. The proximity made Kate a bit uncomfortable. She shifted slightly to the right edge of her chair, but not enough to have the gesture noticed. A woman appeared at the door and asked if the guests would like coffee. Kate turned toward Hirsch as he began to speak.
“Miss Brewster, naturally I was intrigued by your letter. I had our lawyers review your papers. We and, I might add, they, are most appreciative of the fact you took responsibility for their fees.” He touched the top of the pile of papers. “They are available should we need them, but I thought it appropriate we spend some time together first.”
Kate nodded.
“Marta and Eric told me about the difficulties in your first meeting. I interpret your proposal as a signal we will be more candid with each other. Am I correct in that assumption?”
Kate nodded again.
“Let us begin, then, by your telling us about how you came across this painting. I know the point at which my family’s interest was interrupted, but I’m fascinated to know both why and how you encountered it.”
Kate was grateful after so much anticipation both that the meeting was underway and that Hirsch chose his words about the confiscation of the painting with such delicacy and seeming lack of accusation or confrontation. She explained her position at Drake and the potential of the Majik deal. Chris leaned forward in his seat.
“And the unpleasantries your company is experiencing at the moment and Mr. Reed’s termination—is what we are about to discuss in any way linked to those matters? If that is the case, I would like my attorneys to hear whatever it is you are about to say on that point.” Kate assured Hirsch that wouldn’t be necessary. She sipped her coffee and grimaced.
Hirsch spoke up. “Our coffee may be a little stronger than what you’re accustomed to.” He buzzed his secretary and asked her to bring in some water.
Marta spoke up. “May I ask you how you determined the value of the painting? Your papers valued it at eleven million dollars. Our research suggests it is worth far more than that.” Chris fell to the back of his chair as though thrown by the G force of Marta’s question. Kate tensed so her reaction wouldn’t be so obvious. She included that number in the papers she sent to Hirsch knowing full well if there were litigation they would point to the amount for which it now was being insured as the base amount of their claim.
Hirsch turned to his daughter. “In time, Marta. In time.” They spoke in rapid Spanish. After a brief exchange, she left the room, closing the door behind her.
“Marta will be back shortly. I told her I’d like to spend a few minutes understanding how the painting found its way to you and then asked her to speak with our attorneys to let them know they can tend to other business rather than remain on call for us.”
Hirsch went to the window, opening the blinds to allow in additional light. Kate sat at eye-level to the roof of the house across the street she was examining when she was met by Marta. He noticed the attraction.
“I see the Casa Batllo has found another admirer. No one is immune to its allure. Mr. Gaudi has done it again.” Hirsch had the gentle kindness of a favorite uncle showing off an old pocket watch to his adoring nephews and nieces.
“It’s really quite remarkable. Do you ever get bored looking at it just across the street from your office?” Kate said.
“No, not really. It reminds me of the battles we must fight every day. Besides, each day the sunlight plays off the roof and the façade in a different way. The genius of Gaudi was his ability to create a new experience every time I look over there. We once helped to insure the building, by the way.”
“What battles? What does it represent?” Kate was genuinely curious.
“Why, it’s St. George and the Dragon, of course. It’s in all the guides. I presumed you knew the story.”
“No. I haven’t had much time to learn about the city, but that is an extraordinary coincidence.”
It was Hirsch’s turn to look confused. “How do you mean that?”
“My husband’s company.” Kate paused. She didn’t know whether or how to describe what Peter did. Or had done. “It is named Ascalon.” The use of the present tense would suffice, for now.
Hirsch looked at his friend across the street. “Of course, St. George’s lance. May I ask how he came to choose that name?”
“He’s a history buff. He read somewhere that was the name Winston Churchill gave the aircraft he flew in the First World War. He loved the reference and had to dig into its origins.”
“Perhaps, then, it is not a coincidence. It’s possible my friend St. George led you to me. We must talk about that when we have time. And when our meeting is completed you must tour the building and buy your husband one of the many books describing it. It will be one of the souvenirs you can bring him of this trip.”
The door opened. Hirsch’s secretary placed four bottles of water on coasters on his desk. Kate was relieved it wasn’t Marta returning to join them. She wanted a few more moments alone with her father.
The interruption brought Hirsch back to the desk. He sipped his coffee and then returned to the question of the painting. “Miss Brewster, tell me, how did you make the connection between the painting and my family? I am enormously curious, as our children have spent years searching everything that was taken from us when we were forced to leave Austria.”
“I presume Marta gave you the receipt I found in Basel. When I learned Mr. Hirsch was from Linz, I simply felt compelled to visit. It was in Linz that I learned of Marta.” Hirsch didn’t need to know of Drake’s internal squabbles.
“And then of course you and Mr. Reed met Marta and my nephew.”
Kate reddened. “I feel terrible about that meeting. I wish I could find the right words.....”
Hirsch smiled and cut her off. “Well, you didn’t give either Marta or Eric much time to digest what you told them. And they were quite offended by Mr. Reed. Or shall I say the former Mr. Reed.” Both smiled. “I’ve had the benefit of reading your papers, so I have the luxury of not questioning your motives quite so severely.”
“Again, I apologize. Let me assure...” Kate wondered if she would ever stop being on the defensive. By this point in the meeting, Andrew Butler would have made his atonement and moved on.
Hirsch rescued her from her consternation. “What’s done is done. We are here now to discuss our common interests. Let us not be distracted by something we can’t change.”
Marta reentered the room without knocking. She brusquely took her seat next to Kate. She brushed her skirt and sat stiffly in her chair.
“Well, you already know how I found Marta. And like Marta, who showed me the picture of your father and grandfather, I visited your family’s textile plant.” Kate reached into her briefcase. She turned toward Marta. “When you were there, did you notice the tiles on the floor in what had been the foyer?”
Marta seemed surprised by the question. “The room was filled with construction materials during my visit.”
“I found one other intriguing piece of evidence regarding your family.” Kate unfolded the rubbing and put it in the center of his desk. It was an italicized capital
H,
with vines running through it and a rose attached to the top right side. Marta and her father both moved in to see the image more closely. Marta reached for it. Her father slid it closer to him. Marta had no choice but to respect his wish to hold onto it.
Hirsch put the rubbing in both of his hands. He leaned back in his chair. He felt the edges of the paper with his thumbs. He moved his right hand gently over the design and then reached into his desk. He shuffled some papers at the bottom of a drawer and carefully removed an old black-and-white speckled notebook.
He gently opened each of its pages. From one, he took out a piece of paper that was brittle with age and deeply creased. Carefully, he set it next to the rubbing. It was the mirror image of what she had given him.
Hirsch was quiet for the longest time, as if he were remembering what it was like to be a young boy in his family. “I used to do the same thing as a child.”
THIRTY-TWO
“I think of my grandfather’s plant all the time. It was such a wondrous place. Marta told me it now is little more than a warehouse facility. What a shame. I remember the sounds of the machinery, the smell of the oil. To this day I love to walk through the factories we insure. It’s the most satisfying part of my job because in some small way each one reminds me of Hirsch Textiles.”
Hirsch sat forward in his chair. His charm and grace drew Kate to the edge of his desk. “The rubbing reminds me of the times I would hide under the desk at the entrance and wouldn’t let my parents or brother or sister find me. It was directly in front of the
H
. When no one was looking I’d sneak a piece of paper and make a rubbing. I made dozens of them. They were all over my room.” Hirsch was talking quickly. “My parents let me take one when we left, the one you see. I’ve had no reason to return to Linz over the years, but I’m so happy to know my
H
is still there.”
Marta reached into a green leather folder she’d put on the edge of her father’s desk and then placed a copy of the receipt from the Galerie Marc on her father’s desk. “We’re here to talk about the painting, Father. Not about the floor of the textile factory.”