Seduction

Eighteen

Theo was waiting for Jac outside the hotel just before noon the next day. Once she was settled in the car, he showed her a map with black hand-drawn lines that divided it into quadrants.

“I’ve spent the last few weeks taking it in sections, walking the cliffs up and down, looking for any opening that might lead to Lucifer’s Lair. But I’ve come up empty-handed. I don’t expect there will be an actual spot with that name. More likely it was a phrase the poet came up with himself. Still, I was hoping the shoreline’s configuration or the look of a cave would offer up a clue. But there hasn’t been anything.”

“Have you researched any older maps dating back to the Hugo years?”

“I didn’t think of that.”

“Maybe there was an area called Lucifer’s Lair, when Hugo lived here, that has since changed names. Is there a library on the island where we can find old maps?”

“No need for that.” As Theo drove, he explained. “In the late nineteen twenties my grandfather’s art collection outgrew being a hobby and turned into a side business. He bought an abandoned fire-control tower, had it renovated and set up shop. While he ran the bank with one of his brothers, he ran the gallery with his wife.”

He turned down a road and headed toward the cliffs.

“I’m not sure how much of Jersey’s history you are familiar with, but during World War II our island was invaded by and occupied by the Germans. It was, according to what I’ve been told, a dismal time for the natives. Many people quietly tried to help the Jews who lived here. Including my grandfather. He let all his clients know he’d safeguard their art and protect it from the Nazis.”

“How did he do that?”

“I’m about to show you.”

The road had dead-ended in dirt. In front of them was a seemingly endless vista of sea. To the right an outcropping of cliffs, and rising out of them, constructed of the same rock, was a tower. If not for the windows cut into its surface, it might have been another cliff.

On the front, to the right of the door, was a plaque-copper turned green-that read Gaspard Gallery.

Theo opened the door. There was no artwork in the entranceway, just a glass Art Deco desk and an aluminum chair, now empty. To the right was a staircase going up, to the left, one going down. Above she glimpsed large canvases painted with tantalizing colors. Below she saw gold frames and the reflection of glass. At the same time she smelled the odors typically associated with an art gallery that did some restoration and framing: oily paints, fresh-cut timber, shellac and the tang of turpentine. And the woodsy smell of aging paper.

All suggesting long-forgotten treasures waiting to be discovered.

“Paintings and sculpture are upstairs. Down here is our ephemera collection of old posters and maps. This is what he did to help the Jews.”

“I don’t understand.”

“To hide the artwork that the Nazis might have confiscated, my grandfather took the paintings out of their frames, covered them with maps, reframed them and hung them here, and in Wells in Wood. Quite a few more were hung in the bank. No one paid any attention to old maps of Jersey.”

Jac walked through the three rooms that made up the downstairs gallery, inspecting the maps on the wall. “And now? What’s behind these maps?”

“Nothing. After the war was over, my grandfather extracted the paintings and put them in the bank’s vault with the intention of returning every treasure to its rightful family.” He stopped beside a large flat file cabinet. “What year’s maps do we want to look at?”

“Based on the 1855 date of the letter, I’d say those created after 1850 and before 1860.”

Theo knelt down, opened one of the drawers and began pulling out the maps. He took all six and spread them out on a long oak table. There were four original hand-colored, hand-drawn maps and two that were printed.

“Did your grandfather manage to return all the paintings?”

He shook his head. “Only about half. By the time the war was over, some of the owners had moved or died-many were killed in the Holocaust. Records had been lost. There needed to be incontrovertible proof of ownership. It’s actually how I met my wife. She was an expert in art restoration and came to the island on behalf of a client, then wound up staying to take over the recovery project and…” He stopped speaking suddenly, bent over the maps and began to look at them intently. Jac wasn’t sure if something had really caught his interest or if he were just averting his gaze so she couldn’t see him.

“You’ve really had a hard time, haven’t you?” she asked.

He nodded and then did look up at her. She could see the grief in his eyes. This was only the second time he’d mentioned his wife. And other than Malachai saying it had been an accident, Jac still didn’t know how she died.

“Thank you for coming,” Theo said.

Regardless of what happened with the Druid find, Jac was glad she’d come. It felt right to be here with him-with someone who was as lost in his way as she was in hers. The strange bond she’d had with this man years ago when he was a sullen teenager was still there. She didn’t quite know who he’d become, but they’d once started to help each other. Maybe they could finish that job now.

“Okay, let’s get a look,” she said. “If we spot anything on these old maps, we can compare it to what is now on the current map.” A few minutes passed. “What is this place called Devil’s Hole?” Jac asked. “That sounds promising.”

“It’s a crater originally called the Spiral Cave. About thirty meters across and sixty meters deep. During a shipwreck in 1851 the vessel’s figurehead wound up washing inside. It was recarved by a local artist to resemble a devil, hence the name. It was my first thought when I found the letter. But sadly there’s no way Hugo could have hidden anything there. One of the caveats is the area had to be accessible by foot without too much arduous climbing. Hugo was in his early fifties at the time.”

“What do you think of this?” Jac asked after ten minutes of studying the coastline on the oldest hand-drawn map. “Do you think this area looks like a horn?”

Theo looked where she was pointing. “It might-but a single horn doesn’t suggest Lucifer, does it?”

“Not really.”

After a quarter of an hour he said, “The land hasn’t changed all that much from the map I’ve been studying, and I just don’t see anything.”

She heard frustration and didn’t blame him. “I’m not seeing anything either, but that doesn’t mean it’s not here.”

“There are just too many caves and so few of them are identified. If only he’d given Fantine directions.”

“She knew where they’d gone together. She knew where to look.” Jac stood up, stretched and walked over to the window. The sun was shining on the sea, glinting on its surface. “Do you know where Hugo lived when he was on the island?”

“The house isn’t there anymore. It’s a big apartment complex now.”

“Can you reach the sea from there?”

“In Jersey, you can reach the sea from everywhere.”

“Can we go see it? Walk from where the house would have been, down to the water? Maybe we’ll notice something.”

“I’ve done that, but of course, yes.” Theo looked at his watch. “We should go at low tide. Otherwise not all the beach will be passable and not all the cave entrances will be visible. Would you like some lunch in the meantime? There are some decent restaurants near there.”

Theo called up the stairs. A middle-aged blonde woman leaned over the balustrade. He introduced Jac to his assisant, Samantha Philemon, and told her where he was going. Then he and Jac got back in the car and headed to St. Helier and the Royal Yacht Club.

The restaurant was more than decent. Jac ordered grilled salmon and Theo ordered a hamburger. They both had ale. The food had just arrived when Jac saw Ash Gaspard walk in. He had a benign expression on his face till he noticed Theo, and then Ash frowned.

Theo saw his brother coming toward them when Ash was about ten feet away. Jac sensed him stiffen in his seat. She thought she could smell fear.

The Scent of Fear was one of the fragrances she and Robbie had worked on the longest. Except for the Fragrance of Loyalty, Fear was one of the biggest challenges. Robbie didn’t think it smelled like fear at all but instead like the air up on the roof of the maison they lived in. But that was what she was trying to re-create, she told him. She’d never been more frightened in her life than when she almost fell off that roof, high above the street. Before her brother grabbed her and pulled her back, she thought she was doomed. Robbie had saved her that day, literally. Figuratively, so many times.

“Hello, Theo,” Ash said.

Theo nodded. The friction between the two of them, which she’d sensed last night, was just as strong today.

Seeing both of them in the daylight instead of the dimly lit bar, she was struck by how much they looked alike. Ash had lighter hair and skin and looked younger. Less ravaged. Less pained. His eyes were almost the same color blue but they were more vibrant. As if he hadn’t once had the life drained out of him. They both had the same build and strong aesthetic features.

“To what do I owe the pleasure of this interruption?”

“I called the gallery, Samantha told me where you were. I need to talk to you. Can you step outside for a moment?”

“No, just sit down and tell me whatever it is. It’s impolite to leave a lady at the table. And I don’t mind Jac hearing.”

The waiter came over as Ash pulled out the chair.

“I won’t be eating,” Ash told him, “but I’d like a cup of coffee, please. Black.”

With a precise, “Yes sir,” the waiter was gone.

“I need to talk to you about the gallery.”

“Yes, fine.”

“A woman named Elizabeth Timmonson is haranguing me. Apparently she’s been in touch with you about a Renoir pastel? Is there a reason you’re not dealing with her?”

“The paperwork is complicated, Ash. This was all being done through proper channels and now…” He left off without finishing the sentence.

“If you would hire someone to replace-”

Theo interrupted. “It’s not like finding a new secretary.” His voice was harsh and raspy with pain.

It occurred to Jac that the death of Theo’s wife, who had run the recovery project, had probably left many loose ends. She stood. “I’m going to excuse myself.” She hoped that when she got back they’d be done talking about the gallery business.

Five minutes later they were still going at it.

“But this case isn’t simple at all,” Theo was saying. “The Gaspard receipt indicates a sale.”

“But Timmonson says the nephew claims his grandfather, who sold it to us in 1937, was acting under duress-”

“I know the laws, Ash, and I told you already, the letters I have prove there was no duress. In fact quite the opposite in this case. He sold us the Renoir and he turned around and bought a Dürer for a few thousand pounds more.”

“Well then, there won’t be any problem, but you have to deal with it. You can’t just let all these issues sit and wait for you to get over your mourning. We all cared about Naomi-”

“Don’t you dare even say her name.” Theo’s voice was so low that Jac wasn’t even sure she heard the right words. “You? Of all people? Aren’t you ashamed?”

Ash turned to Jac. “It was lovely to see you again, Jac. I’m sorry it wasn’t under more pleasurable conditions. Maybe while you’re here I could show you my very different version of the island than the one my brother is-”

“Will you please leave,” Theo said. “How I run my business at the gallery is not your concern.”

“There you are wrong. Everything with the Gaspard name on it affects us both. A scandal at the gallery will reflect badly on the bank, Theo. We can’t afford to have this drag out.” He pulled a piece of paper out of his pocket and handed it to his brother. “Timmonson is expecting your call. She wants to take the ferry over and sit with the files herself. Let me know when you’ve set it up. I’d like to be there at the meeting. We need to make sure this doesn’t turn into an incident. If there’s any question as to the provenance of the pastel, I just want it returned to the family regardless.”

Ash looked at Jac. “Again, I’m sorry that I interrupted your lunch.”

He stood up and, without saying good-bye to Theo, walked out.

Once he was out of sight, Theo turned to Jac. “I’m sorry too.” He picked up his glass and drank what was left of the pale ale. For a few moments he seemed lost in thought. Then he glanced at his watch. When he looked up, whatever concerns he’d had a moment ago were invisible.

“Time and tide and all that. Would you like coffee, or are you ready to hit the beach?”