A Rather Curious Engagement (21 page)

But then, he casually dropped a bombshell. “My father, like many collectors, has special hidden compartments for his greatest treasures,” Kurt said. “Even I did not know all his hiding places on the boat until just yesterday when he told me where they were. May I?”

He returned to the trophy shelves in the bar, and began tapping on wall panels alongside them, which opened to reveal hidden cupboards.

“Secret compartments!” I cried. “Wow!” Kurt and Louis smiled in amusement, then glanced at Jeremy as if to say
And where did you find this slightly naive, wildly enthusiastic American girl?
Jeremy allowed himself a pleased but complicit Euro-smile. I ignored them, fascinated with all the compartments, which were like miniature versions of the secret doorway in the castle. I kept trying to guess the next little hideaway; it was like staring at a drawing and looking for all the hidden faces imbedded in the artwork. We found a hidden drawer beneath the mini-refrigerator under the bar; and, in the main salon, there was a false bottom in the side-table near the sofa.

When we went down below, Louis began with the linen closet, sliding the door open so that we could see it had only towels, sheets, blankets, napkins and tablecloths in it. Then we tried the master cabin, where Kurt found a drawer beneath the bed-table, and a cupboard behind the vanity mirror, and even under the wash-stand in the bathroom. But, every single cupboard was empty.

“You see,” Kurt was saying, “when Father was a younger man, and went on expeditions to dangerous places, these secret drawers kept things safely hidden, both at sea and when the boat was docked.” And, I thought, in case the police took it into their heads to board the boat and search for stolen antiquities.

“They were for father’s guests, too,” Kurt continued, “so the ladies could hide their jewelry in these secret places, when they swam or bathed or slept at night, or went ashore to shop.”

Which meant that they didn’t trust the hired help, either, I mused. Another hazard of wealth. You buy too much stuff, and then you have to be suspicious that everyone on earth—including friends and servants—wants to steal it from you.

“Well, that’s that,” Kurt said as he stood up, having examined the last hiding-place in the guest cabins. “I can tell Father that there was no sign of the Lion aboard this boat. Either he never had it—or somebody stole it off the boat—that is what Father will say.”

He looked at us now as if he’d just made a decision about something that had been hovering over the whole discussion. “I would like to make a proposition. You see, my father is unlikely to abandon his pursuit; he’s already been talking about hiring another investigator to find his Lion. When I pointed out where this has led us—to that menagerie of wrong lions—he said, ‘Why not ask that delightful girl and her young man who came to visit? She is an expert.’ ”

“Us?” I said in surprise. Kurt nodded, and turned to Jeremy now.

“I hope you do not mind, but I did some investigating of my own,” Kurt said. “It wasn’t hard; many museum people are talking about the American heiress and her English lawyer who work as a team. They say you tracked down a hidden, priceless painting that had been in your family’s possession for a long time, but which everyone else had been unable to find. And that you took great care in choosing the museum you sold it to. Everyone said that you kept your head, and conducted this fairly, taking time to verify your find, with a meticulous attention to detail.”

He had turned back to me now. “The other investigators were—clumsy—with my father’s feelings, getting him over-excited for nothing. I saw how gentle you were with him. And so I wonder if you would allow me to engage both your services to look for this little treasure? Do you think you would possibly accept such an engagement?”

I stifled a gasp. I was thrilled. Our very first commission for the firm of Nichols and Laidley. Or Laidley and Nichols. Whatever.

But Jeremy, cool hotshot lawyer that he is, said very calmly, “Well, that is an interesting proposal, I must say. But we will have to give it some thought.”

I surreptitiously pinched Jeremy’s arm to communicate my opinion on the subject. Being English, he didn’t even say “ouch.”

“It would be great if you could find out, once and for all, if the damned thing ever really existed,” Kurt said.

“In that case,” Jeremy said, “you must tell us all you know about the Beethoven Lion.”

“Ah,” Kurt said. “Not very much, I’m afraid. But I do know that most aquamanilia made during this period, though valuable to collectors, are not usually as prized as the ancient and the medieval ones. You see, the Beethoven Lion was supposed to have been made in the 1800s. In those days, it became a real vogue among the wealthy to collect aquamanilia. Only, there wasn’t enough of the real antique stuff to go around. So metalworkers began to make copies of the medieval ones—and sometimes they actually sold such copies as genuine originals, but they were outright fakes! Very ingenious what they did, even deliberately putting a false patina on them to convince buyers that they’d bought bona fide antiques.”

“But the Beethoven Lion, surely, was considered a genuine contemporary item at the time, right?” I asked.

“If it actually existed at all!” Kurt said. “My father always believed so. But many collectors and music experts began to doubt it, and the story died down. Until, very recently, a picture was published by an English travel photojournalist who claimed to come across it. That got everyone looking again. Then, supposedly, this antiques dealer got his hands on it.”

“What was the dealer’s name?” Jeremy asked. Kurt shook his head.

“ ‘Jones’ somebody. He was English. That’s all Father could recall. But I am beginning to suspect that the whole thing was a hoax, and the dealer tricked him. I’ve been unable to locate the man. He has apparently vanished into thin air.”

This wasn’t much to go on. But I found it fascinating. Yessir. Digging needed to be done. I was surprised at how happy I was to be back in the saddle again.

“What did your father pay for the Lion?” Jeremy asked.

“Now
that
he remembers!” Kurt exclaimed. “He says he paid a hundred thousand euros.” Kurt sighed. “So, if you think you might take this on, then perhaps you could tell me your fee . . .” he suggested.

To my delight, Jeremy, Louis and Kurt skillfully discussed what sort of terms we would consider if we took on this engagement. Jeremy suggested that, if we actually found the Lion, and there was a conflict about ownership, it could be sold to a museum and the proceeds would be split, just as we did with Great-Aunt Penelope’s painting; and that way, our fee would come from the sale. It was a way of our not taking a salary or any money up front, which Jeremy thought would protect us from being the kind of hired guns who’d end up worrying more about covering the client’s—er—butt—than about finding out the truth. Louis said that he could draw up proper papers to make the agreement legal, without in any way impinging on our ownership of the yacht and its other contents. Kurt actually seemed not only comfortable with this, but, somehow, relieved. I realized that he had been burdened with the task of finding out about the Lion, and he seemed cheered to have lucid company with whom he could talk about it freely. He thanked us politely, then went off and climbed into a black BMW and drove away.

“How do you like that?” Jeremy demanded, once Kurt was gone. “
He
checked
us
out!”

“But this is fantastic!” I cried. “It’s the beginning of our new enterprise.” I peered at Jeremy. “What made you agree to do it?”

“Well, it came down to this,” Jeremy said. “I knew that you’d go investigating this thing anyway. I figure if we make it official, then at least you’ll have a legitimate reason for sticking your nose where it doesn’t belong. But you have to promise me one thing.”

“What?” I asked suspiciously.

“You have to run everything you’re going to do by me first, to make sure you don’t do something that will make me, your partner in this absurd enterprise, have to pay ransom to some kidnapper or go searching for you on the shady side of the Riviera.”

“Huh!” I observed. “Could it be that you’re just as excited as I am about this? It’s because it’s got to do with Beethoven, right? That’s the part that intrigues you. Admit it!”

“Promise me what I just asked you to promise,” Jeremy said firmly.

“Oh, that, sure, okay,” I said evasively. Louis smiled.

Jeremy said wearily, “I could do with a cuppa.”

“What? Oh, tea,” I said. “Wish you’d speak English now and then. I’d love to make us some tea!” I enthused, remembering the adorable tea service on board. It had been so securely fastened to the china cupboard, which was lined with felt and had special indentations for the cups and saucers and plates to rest in securely, that the vandals didn’t bother to destroy them.

“Are you sure you know how to make tea without the bags?” Jeremy asked mockingly.

“With
my
English mother?” I said, offended. “Surely you jest, m’boy. Sit down and relax while I play house with this cute little kettle and this adorable stove. Fortunately for us, François went ahead and bought us some fresh tea and coffee. You guys go sit in the salon.”

Louis and Jeremy went off, and I put the kettle on and arranged the tea tray. But then François, the steward, came aboard, horrified that we had to prepare our own food. I couldn’t shoo him away. Being French, he was appalled to find me doing something unscheduled or
pas normal
, like showing up with guests without giving him advance instructions. He’d arrived with a shopping bag full of sandwiches, fruit and lemon, to make lunch for the crew.

“But if only you had told me you were coming, I would have gladly prepared something really special for you to eat!” he cried, in genuine distress.

“No prob,” I said, hurriedly trying to find a way to get him out of my hair. “We only want tea.” But he insisted on making it for us.

So I went into the salon and sat down next to Jeremy on the sofa. Louis’s mobile phone rang, and after he took the call, he said that he must return to the office on another matter. He apologized profusely to me for having to miss my little tea party.

After he’d gone, Jeremy said teasingly, “Why is it that we are suddenly surrounded by young French men instantly smitten with the American heiress? Thierry was nuts about you. Now Louis and François blush when you look at them. Even Kurt loves it when you ask him questions, and he’s not even French!”

“Are you implying that men like me for my money?” I demanded, “and not my beauty, charm, wit, and innate loveliness?”

“On the contrary, my dear,” Jeremy assured me. “What they like about you, money could never buy.”

François arrived, and set the tray down in front of us, with cups for three people. When he saw that Louis had gone, I said quickly, “It’s okay, I’m sure Claude will want a cup when he arrives.”

After François left us, Jeremy raised his teacup to clink with mine, and I said, “To our first ‘engagement’ . . . and the Beethoven Lion!”

But then, what could have been a perfect moment aboard our yacht, was ever-so-slightly altered. “Yoo-hoo!” came a dreadfully familiar voice, instantly breaking the spell. We both looked at each other in dismay.

“Lord, no!” Jeremy groaned.

A moment later, Rollo’s head popped around the corner with a searching look. Then he saw our expression, and he broke into a wide grin.

"Well, cheers!” Rollo cried, ambling toward us without waiting for an invitation. "What’s this—a real English tea? Splendid! Wouldn’t mind a cup myself.” And he settled himself on the other side of the sofa, sinking in with a relieved, weary
“Whuf!”

“Been looking for you all week,” he said, taking off his Panama hat and dropping it on the table. “Heard about the theft of
Penelope’s Dream
and the wreckage! Bad luck, old boy,” he said, turning to Jeremy. “Terribly sorry to hear it.”

“Everything’s fine now,” Jeremy said, tersely and gruffly. Rollo turned to me with a gimlet eye.

“Don’t wish to intrude,” he said, “but did I hear you say something about the Beethoven Lion? How extraordinary. I say, my man—” he addressed François, who had returned to see if we needed anything, “have you got any more lemon for the tea?”

I glanced up apologetically at François. “We have use for that third teacup, after all,” I told him. François observed that I had been as inconvenienced as he, and he nodded as if he’d do his best to lighten my load. He poured tea for Rollo before leaving again.

“Rollo,” Jeremy said warily, “what do you know about the Beethoven Lion?”

“Why, it’s a curious piece of aquamanilia,” Rollo said eagerly. “Prized more for its legendary aspect.” He turned to me. “Are you fond of aquamanilia, my dear?”

“I don’t really know much about it,” I admitted. It dawned on me that this sort of stuff was right up Rollo’s alley. He’d once tried to engage me in a discussion of the arcane items he collected. I wasn’t very receptive at the time; nobody was, not even his own mother, who had a sort of impatient contempt for his preoccupations. He now looked genuinely pleased to have a family member finally listening to him showing off his expertise.

“Aquamanilia were made with a complex metal-casting technique that medieval monks even wrote treatises on. It’s a real art form, but it takes the brawn and skill of a blacksmith to do it! Very complicated indeed,” Rollo explained. He paused to study—and appraise—a soft white linen napkin with navy monogram that said
Penelope’s Dream
on one side and
N&L
in smaller lettering on the reverse side. Then he set it in his lap, helped himself to the little
petits fours
cakes, and began to eat hungrily. He turned to me with a look of appreciation.

“Well, this is marvellous, sitting down to table with family,” he said. “Much, much better than eating in a restaurant or an hotel.”