The Chrysalis (17 page)

Lillian's unprecedented coarseness stunned Mara even more. She had not planned for this.

Lillian pivoted. “I'm going to get the guards.”

Jolted into action, Mara cried out, “Wait, Lillian, please. Wait. Give me a chance. I know I'm not supposed to be here. I know I'm breaking the rules. But I have a reason.”

Lillian halted. Mara decided to take a gamble with the truth. She knew it was her only chance.

“Lillian, Beazley's didn't buy
The Chrysalis
from Boettcher.”

“Of course we did,” Lillian said, her back still to Mara.

“No, you didn't. Beazley's bought it from someone named Kurt Strasser.” Mara waited for a reaction; she still needed to gauge Lillian's complicity.

“Who the hell is Kurt Strasser?” Lillian turned and glared at Mara. Mara usually found Lillian hard to read, but now she seemed sincere. Mara remained silent, hoping Lillian would grow uncomfortable and reveal something more. “I asked you, who is Kurt Strasser?” she insisted.

“He was a conspirator of the Nazis.”

Lillian jeered. “Mara, stop acting like some kind of heroine. You saw the documents yourself. We purchased
The Chrysalis
from Boettcher.” She shook her head. “You're speaking nonsense. I did that provenance myself. Many times over.”

Mara was scared to go much further, but she could not turn back. Her safety depended on it. “You were given false documents to do the provenance all those years ago. And so was I, to put together our case.”

“I don't believe it.” Arms crossed, posture reassembled, Lillian assumed her usual unflappable façade.

“Don't believe me. Believe the documents.” Mara reached down into her briefcase. She was loath to part with them, but she knew that she had no choice.

Lillian took the papers from Mara. She held them up to the light, turning them this way and that, and scrutinized them through her pince-nez for what seemed like hours. Mara stood by.

“Where did you get these?” Lillian finally asked, with what Mara thought was a bit less ire.

“Does it matter?”

“Haven't I taught you anything? Haven't I taught you the importance of the origin of things?” Now Mara was sure that Lillian's voice cracked.

Mara conceded, “Michael's safe. They came from his great-uncle Edward.”

Lillian did not answer, just shuffled over to a chair and lowered herself down. She crumpled like an old tissue. Lines like fissures appeared on her brow and around her eyes, and for the first time, she looked all of her eighty-odd years. “I can't believe it,” she said aloud, though not necessarily to Mara.

Mara didn't know what to say or do. Her instinct told her to try to comfort Lillian, to soothe the anguish that Mara guessed she was feeling, that Mara felt herself. But she was torn. She wasn't sure she wanted to elicit a shared indignation. Lillian could end Mara's plans if she chose a different pathway to retribution. If she even chose retribution at all.

So, kneeling next to Lillian's chair, hand on her hand, she settled on an empathetic statement of the truth. “I know. We've both been deceived.”

“How could I have been so blind?” Lillian stared off into the distance, flicking away Mara's hand like an irritating fly.

“Lillian, don't be so hard on yourself. I mean, the forged bill of sale you were given to prepare that first provenance looked perfect; it looks exactly like the original except for the seller's name. Why would you have questioned it?” Mara hoped that, at the very least, she could help Lillian understand that she was not to blame.

Lillian disagreed. “Mara, you don't understand. It's not just that. I was having a relationship with Michael's great-uncle, Edward Roarke, at the time I first prepared the provenance. I was an easy mark.”

Mara laughed at the similarity of their situations. Lillian shot Mara a shocked look at her seeming insensitivity, but Mara quickly explained. “Lillian, so was I. Having an affair with Michael, that is.” She paused to let her revelation sink in.

When she caught Lillian's eye, they both exploded into laughter, irrepressible due to their nervous shock.

“Well, I guess we're quite a pair of fools, aren't we?” Lillian exclaimed, wiping away her tears. “They certainly pulled the wool over our doting eyes with no trouble.” She sighed. “Although I'm a bigger ninny than you.”

“Oh, I don't know, Lillian. I bet I can give you a run for that title.”

“Well, if you knew the whole story, I don't think you would say so. I think you'd just cede victory to me.”

“What ‘whole story'?”

“I don't suppose there's any harm in telling you now. I mentioned to you that I was working at Beazley's in 1944, right?”

“Yes.”

“Once I got here, they started me off doing provenance work, not that there was a provenance department per se at that time. It consisted of me and Mr. Weadock, who was in his sixties and crotchety, poring through moldy books in the basement.”

Mara thought the grouchiness must come with the territory, but she didn't want to divert Lillian by sharing.

“Anyway, I'd been here about a month when I first met Edward. He approached me while I was working in the old Beazley's library, a pretty haphazard place. I don't know if you've seen any pictures of him, but he was quite handsome—dashing, really. And very charming.”

“Actually, Lillian, I don't know anything about Edward.”

“Michael never told you about him?”

Mara shook her head. “The few times I've asked Michael about his uncle, he's been cagey. Michael mentioned that Edward used to work at Beazley's but was vague about what exactly he did.”

“Edward wasn't a founder of Beazley's—that was the British Beazley family—but he was one of the original, key employees here in America. He ultimately became a codirector for several years before his death.”

“I never knew.” Mara began to process that piece of the puzzle.

Lillian resumed. “Anyway, my relationship with Edward began slowly. There were coincidental meetings in the library or hallways. There was the odd lunch or cup of coffee. Then suddenly it accelerated into a full-blown romance, if such a thing were possible in wartime. He absolutely swept me off my feet with dinners, shows, and weekend trips. I had visions dancing in my head.”

Mara had trouble imagining Lillian sailing along in the arms of love. “Why wasn't Edward at the war? He must have been the right age.”

“The military wouldn't take him. He'd had polio as a child and had a noticeable limp. Plus, at thirty, he was a bit on the old side, although he seemed to have a number of friends in the war.

“In any event, going behind Mr. Weadock's back, he presented me with an opportunity to prepare my first provenance from start to finish. It was for
The Chrysalis.
Of course, I leaped at the prospect. With Mr. Weadock in charge, it might have taken years for such a chance. He really never saw me as anything more than a glorified secretary. Edward started me off with the bill of sale from Boettcher to Beazley's, but I had to fill in the rest, the older history.

“Sometime after this, our affair tailed off, almost imperceptibly at first, then with resounding, painful clarity. I begged to understand and pleaded with him to change his mind. Edward declined, offering up the excuse of a stern talking-to by his boss at the time, one of the British Beazley heirs apparent. Something was said about not dipping your quill in the company inkwell or some such nonsense. I believed him, even stood by his decision, but I was crushed.”

“Did you stop speaking to him?”

“No. We remained very close, after some time had passed. Because of, rather than in spite of, our affair, I think. The fact that neither of us married made it easier. I continued doing provenances for him, of course, and he became my biggest supporter at Beazley's, really the driving force behind the decision to create a truly substantial provenance department with me at the helm. I was indebted to him, particularly at a time when women had few such chances and when no other museum or auction house had yet set up a provenance department. So I toiled to build the department that he envisioned, trying all the while to live up to his expectations, keeping our past relationship and my lingering feelings for him secret.” Tears forced Lillian to stop.

Mara didn't know what else to say, but she was unable to bear the quiet. “And you succeeded,” she blurted out.

Though Lillian sat stock-still, her voice reverberated throughout the room. “Yes. I succeeded. By forgoing other things: marriage, children. Beazley's became my family, and the Provenance Department turned into my home.” Mara thought how her track at Severin had paralleled Lillian's path, at least before
The Chrysalis
forced her to swerve off course.

Lillian sank back into her memories. “Now I see I've been a pawn in Edward's game all along. I wonder how many provenances he laundered through me. How many of these Strasser paintings I wrongly verified. How many other auction houses have sold these Strasser paintings, too.” Mara guessed at the number Beazley's had palmed off based on the Strasser bills of sale she had found in Michael's safe but didn't dare tally it for her just yet.

“How does Philip factor into this?”

“Well, he and Edward were very chummy. In fact, Edward groomed Philip to be his successor. From those e-mails, it's obvious that he knows all about
The Chrysalis
con, but to what extent he's involved I don't know.” Lillian shook her head in disgust. “And to think of how Michael befriended me on the strength of his uncle's name, with all those lunches and afternoon teas. He's no better than Edward.”

Mara began to toy with the idea of enlisting Lillian in her cause. Lillian would be an invaluable ally, but Mara wasn't sure if she would abandon Beazley's, her home. There was nothing left to lose, though, Mara told herself. “Then would you consider helping me?”

“Helping you with what?” Lillian peered out through the cloud of her musings.

“To find out all we can about Kurt Strasser, so we can understand what Edward and Michael were up to and discover what happened to the other paintings.”

Lillian was silent for a long moment. She rose from her chair and ran her fingers along the cabinets and rows of books, almost as if she were saying a long goodbye. “How could I do that? After I gave up so much and worked so hard to build all this.” She motioned around the room. “I'd be sacrificing it all, maybe even Beazley's itself. Please don't ask me to do that.”

The delicate threads holding Mara together unraveled. “Don't ask you to help! Lillian, do you think you're the only one at risk? I've trespassed into your library without authorization, broken into Michael's safe and stolen papers out of it. I've violated countless codes of ethical conduct for lawyers and innumerable criminal statutes. I've put myself at risk of disbarment, indictment, and God only knows what else. And, when all this is over with, I've probably ruined my career. I've done it all for the sake of righting the wrong that your precious Beazley's committed, that Michael and Edward perpetrated, through you. So don't you dare tell me not to ask for your help.”

The women stared at each other, for a split second that felt more like an eternity to Mara. Lillian broke the impasse first. “Shhh, Mara. Lower your voice. I don't want those guards in here.”

Mara dropped down into the chair Lillian had vacated, with the same defeated slump, and felt every bit as ancient and weathered as Lillian had looked. She could not hold back the tears any longer. “I'm sorry, Lillian. I'm way out of line. This situation is not your fault, and I'm not angry with you. I'm angry with Michael. And at Edward.”

“I know, Mara. I know. I'm the one who's sorry.”

“What for? I'm in way over my head here, and I'm asking you to jump into the deep end with me. What the hell am I doing?” Mara shook her head, surprised at her outburst. But she was steadfast in her conviction that she must right the wrong, even if she had to do it alone, even if she risked everything.

Lillian whispered, “I'll help you.”

“What?”

Lillian repeated herself, her voice growing louder and stronger. “I said I'll help you.”

“Really?” Mara was astonished.

“Really. But I have a few conditions.”

“Anything.” Mara meant it—anything not to be in this quagmire by herself.

“I don't want my name associated with this should it come out. For obvious reasons, I don't want it known that I prepared the provenances using the false bills of sale, particularly the first provenance. But that's not all. You can never mention my help in resolving this.”

“Why?” Mara understood why Lillian didn't want her part in the initial provenance fraud to be known, but why didn't she want her name associated with the rectification?

“If the scandal doesn't devastate Beazley's altogether, if it doesn't utterly decimate my department's reputation, somebody's going to have to put the pieces back together again. I want to be that person. And I can't do that if my name's embroiled in this debacle.”

Mara was wary. She craved Lillian's help but couldn't see how to keep her assistance under such tight wraps. “So, if we go public with this, I'll have to present it as the results of my research, my investigation? All illegal, of course.”

Lillian responded quickly. “Yes and no. If asked, I'll explain you had open access to Beazley's files for the
Baum
case, so your perusal and usage of that information was authorized to that extent. But I can't help you with Michael's safe. Or with any breaches of your ethical duties. Or with Severin's reaction, obviously.”

“I didn't think you'd be able to help me out with those last ones. So, if we go this route, your reputation will be as intact as possible. You'd be Beazley's white knight?”