Jeffrey made his way down Mount Street from the printer’s, barely able to see above the boxes stacked in his arms. He kicked at the shop door until Alexander emerged from the back to usher him in.
“Thank you, thank you. Another trip and I do believe my back would have sought refuge in traction.”
“Don’t even joke like that.” Jeffrey dropped the load and looked around the shop. Engraved invitations in matching envelopes were stacked like ivory mountains on two Empire side tables. “Those are ready to go?”
“Nine hundred,” Alexander replied with tired satisfaction. “Your four are all that remain.”
“I bet you’ll be glad to see the last of this.”
“On the contrary, I’ve quite enjoyed the effort.” Alexander gave a weary smile. “Several times I’ve caught myself wondering why this aspect of godly service was not granted more attention.”
“That service is fun?”
Alexander shook his head. “No, that it is fulfilling.” He bent over one of Jeffrey’s boxes, slit the tape with a practiced motion, and held one of the cards up to the light. “Marvelous,” he declared. “Simply marvelous quality, wouldn’t you say?”
The invitation was a large folded card of textured ivory with gilt edging. On the cover was a splendid color photograph of the chalice. Alexander opened the invitation and read in dramatic tones, “Patrons of the Religious Heritage of Poland request the honour of your presence at a gala banquet on Saturday, the twenty-fifth of February, in the Main Ballroom of the Ritz Hotel, Piccadilly, London W1.” He tapped out the smaller type with the edge of his pen. “Black tie, R.S.V.P., et cetera, et cetera.”
He separated the reply card, read off, “Kindly reserve so many places for the gala banquet hosted by the Patrons of the Religious Heritage of Poland. Enclosed is our cheque for so much at two hundred and fifty pounds per reservation.”
He replaced the card. “I think our response will be very good indeed. Just today I received word that some royalty expect to attend.”
“That’s great.”
“Minor royalty, mind you. But their presence will certainly add a nice touch to the program, don’t you think?”
Jeffrey followed him into the back office, where every seat but one was covered in a deluge of papers and forms. “The Brits sure love their royals.”
The sound of the doorbell brought a moan from Alexander. He raised his head from the pile of documents, printouts, address lists, and menu forms, and threw his assistant a harried look. “For the next three weeks, until this gala is behind us, you shall have to deal with all but the emergencies. Except for your trip to East Germany, of course, which I am beginning to regret.”
Jeffrey looked to the corner mirror that afforded a view of the shop’s front door. “It’s Sydney Greenfield.”
“Not an emergency by any stretch of the imagination,” Alexander replied, dropping his head back to his work. “He’s all yours.”
Sydney Greenfield owned no shop of his own, yet managed to eke an income from offering the goods of others to buyers in and around London. Jeffrey had not seen him since hearing news of his changed fortunes. As he walked toward the entrance, he observed that Sydney had replaced his shiny broadcloth for an elegant outfit whose hand-tailored lines did much to mask his girth. Sydney entered with his usual panache, yet looked oddly unbalanced without his sidekick, a little parrot of a man known to the world simply as Ty.
Jeffrey shook hands and led Sydney to a pair of eighteenth-century walnut armchairs. Once his guest was seated and had been offered coffee, Jeffrey asked, “Where’s Ty?”
“Down with a case of the throat, poor man.” Greenfield sipped from the delicate porcelain with his little finger cocked at a ridiculous angle. He waved a careless hand toward the back of the shop. “Might have a buyer for that little item there in the corner. That is, if the price is right.”
The piece in question was a French side cabinet made in Paris around 1855, the interior lined in fragrant cedar and the exterior in highly polished ebony. What made this cabinet so extraordinary was the high-quality boulle, or brass and tortoise shell inlay, that adorned the facade. The pair of front doors were bound with shining hinges and corners and keyholes, their central panels decorated with shimmering maidens playing lyres. The top and central pillar featured trios of angels fashioned of such gentle hues as to vanish and reappear with the passage of light.
“That’s a rather pricey item,” Jeffrey warned.
“I’m sure it is, lad,” Greenfield replied easily. “But if the article was going into the home of an old and trusted associate, I imagine you might be willing to lop off a nought or two.”
Jeffrey lifted his eyebrows. “Andrew told me you were on to something big.”
“Oh yes.” Greenfield showed vast pleasure. “It’s amazing how many people are out there with more money than taste.”
“He was wondering if you’d actually crossed the line.”
“Andrew’s a fine man, one of the few I’d take such a question from without getting my hair up. I haven’t, lad, and that’s the truth. On my honor, I haven’t.” He drained his cup, held it aloft for a refill. “No need to, as a matter of fact.”
“People will buy your creations knowing they’re rubbish?”
“Pay good money for them in the process,” he replied. “You see, lad, I’ve spent donkey’s years dealing with people who’ve scrabbled all their lives for the filthy lucre, as it were. Never had time to learn taste, they didn’t. So here they are, finally striding along the top of the muck heap, and some bloke comes by and offers them a pretty bauble for their living room at sixty thousand quid. They go right through the ruddy roof, they do.”
“I’m with you,” Jeffrey said.
“ ’Course you are. Always knew you for a sharp lad. So up I pop with a pretty little dresser or chaise lounge or what have you, maybe not quite so pretty but not bad all the same.”
“And the price is half the other.”
“Not even, lad. Not even. Both are old, though, you see. Both have that scent of class to them.”
“After a fashion.”
Greenfield waved at the words as though swatting flies. “Details, lad. Mere details, in their eyes at least, and that’s where it counts. Dealers in the genuine articles and people in the know aren’t likely to be invited into homes of such as these, you see. So they look from one item to the other, and most times decide they’d just as soon have what I’m selling and pocket the extra.”
Jeffrey thought it over, decided, “Smart. Very smart idea.”
“I agree,” Alexander called from his alcove.
“Thank you both. I take that as high praise, indeed, coming from professionals such as your good selves.” Greenfield set down his cup, glanced around the shop, went on, “Mind you, if I’d been given the choice, I’d much rather spend my days surrounded by such beauties.”
Alexander emerged to walk over and shake Sydney’s hand. “You are always welcome here. Always.”
“You’re a real gentleman, you are, Mr. Kantor. And I’ve said the same to anyone who listens.”
Alexander accepted the compliment with a solemn nod. “We don’t always have a choice as to which cards life deals us, though, do we?”
“No, Mr. Kantor, we don’t. And more’s the pity.”
“Of course, if you are as successful as it sounds, you might have an opportunity to fill your own life with the genuine articles.”
“Just what I’m hoping to do,” Greenfield replied, eyeing the cabinet.
Alexander smiled briefly. “You yourself are certainly one of those able to appreciate works of art for what they are.”
“Kind of you to say so, Mr. Kantor. I try to be.”
“Well, if anything in this shop ever takes your fancy, I believe we could make you a special offer of twenty percent off our price.” Frosty gray eyes twinkled. “Don’t you think that would be appropriate, Jeffrey?”
“A special dealer’s discount,” Jeffrey agreed.
Greenfield looked from one to the other and said gravely, “I’m touched, gentlemen. I truly am.”
“Now, you’ll have to excuse me. I am literally over my head in preparations for this gala.”
“Of course, of course.” Greenfield stood and shook the proffered hand, hesitated, then pointed toward the glass-sided Art Deco display case where the chalice stood in solitary splendor. “I hope you gentlemen won’t mind me saying this, but it seems passing strange that you’d leave that article on display in your shop like this.”
“What makes you say that? Our security is exemplary.” Alexander had already turned and retreated to his alcove. “Besides, everything here is heavily insured.”
“Maybe so, but this isn’t your own goods, now, is it?” Greenfield walked over to the cabinet. “It’s one thing to run a risk with something that’s here to be sold. Holding a priceless item you’re supposed to return is another kettle of fish, far as I see it.”
“We’ve never had any trouble before,” Jeffrey said.
“But these ads and the invitations you’ve done with the chalice in all its glory,” Greenfield objected. “You’re announcing to all the world you’ve got this medieval artifact here in your shop. Sounds dodgy to me.”
Jeffrey turned to where Alexander stood by the alcove’s entrance. “Maybe we should arrange for a night security guard.”
“No good, lad,” Greenfield replied. “You’d just be erasing all doubt that the chalice is here. What I’d suggest is, lay it low in a vault. Myself, I use Barclay’s up by Charing Cross. Best security in the business, by my vote. They know how to deal with works such as these.”
“Coutts is our bank,” Jeffrey said doubtfully.
“We’re not talking about banking business, now, are we? This is security. Offer it to the biggest museums, they do. Make a professional job of it. They’ll rent you guards, armored security display cases for the event, cart it over in an armored car, bring it back, no muss, no fuss.”
“Another problem.” Alexander wiped a weary brow. “Just when I need it least.”
“Handling it that way would be a load off our mind,” Jeffrey pointed out.
“What you’ve got here is priceless, irreplaceable,” Greenfield said, bending down for a closer look. “An incredible risk. If you allow, I’ll have them come by to collect this beauty and put it in storage until your gala evening. Armored car would take it both ways, set you up with a portable alarm system, display case, guards for the evening. Just say the word.”
“Maybe we ought to move it,” Jeffrey agreed.
“See to it, then,” Alexander complied.
“That’s the spirit,” Greenfield straightened. “Be a pleasure to help out gentlemen like yourselves, take part in a worthy deed. I’ll just go have a word with the men in charge and get back to you.”
Once Jeffrey had ushered Greenfield out of the shop, he returned to Alexander. “Did you mean what you said, about regretting this East Germany trip?”
Alexander did not raise his head from the sheaf of papers. “You must admit, it does come at a rather inopportune time.”
“Do you want me to put it off?”
“No, of course not. I simply wish for the impossible, to have you go and at the same time have you stay and help.”
“I suppose I could call and put them off.”
“No, you cannot,” Alexander replied firmly. “Business like this simply cannot be postponed. You are building what may prove to be lifelong business relationships.”
“I’ll be back as soon as I can.”
“Take whatever time is required,” Alexander said. “I’ll muddle on along here quite adequately, I assure you.”
“Is there anything I can do to help out now?”
“There is, as a matter of fact.” Alexander hefted a ream of faxed pages. “I’ve received these menu suggestions from the Ritz, but I have so much going on I can’t seem to decide on anything. Could you and Katya possibly meet with the banqueting manager and take care of it for me?”
“Any chance we could ask for samples?”
But Alexander was already buried once more in his work. “Just no heavy sauces, that’s all I ask. I would rather our guests go home inspired than bloated.”
Jeffrey reached for his coat. “No problem.”
“Oh, and chocolate. We must have some chocolate for dessert. I’ve already been forewarned that one of our honored honorables throws quite a tiff unless indulged with a chocolate finale.”
Jeffrey walked over to where Katya waited in the Ritz Hotel’s marbled foyer, watching the bustling scene with bright eyes. He told her, “Even the bellhops in this place sound as if they’ve graduated from Cambridge.”
“I’ve spotted two film stars in the past five minutes.” She gave herself an excited little hug. “I almost forgot there was a world out there beyond my exam papers, and now look at me.”
“Yes, look at you,” Jeffrey agreed. “Come on. The banqueting manager’s been held up, so we’re his guests for tea.”
The Ritz Tea Salon was in the middle of the hotel, up three stairs and through an entrance adorned with floral trellises. The chamber itself was done as a fairy queen’s garden. Little marble-topped tables dotted a pink and gold salon adorned with gilded cupids and hanging flower arrangements. Waitresses whisked about in starched crinoline and petticoats.
Tea was served in delicate porcelain and poured through a silver strainer. Tiny sandwiches and scones and muffins arrived on a three-story circular silver palaver. Clotted cream and strawberry jam in little silver bowls completed the repast.
Katya watched with wide eyes as Jeffrey poured her tea. Leaning over, she said in an awestruck whisper, “I feel as if I’m inside a box of valentine chocolates.”
Jeffrey whipped open the banqueting menus, said, “Okay, now to business. I think we should go for steak and baked potato. No, on second thought, how about a real treat—barbecued baby back ribs and coleslaw. I’m sure this crowd hasn’t ever seen anything like that before.”
Katya gave him a horrified look. “You can’t be serious.”
“ ’Course I am. Get them some bibs, sure, and we’ll need something great for starters.” He pretended to read down the page. “Here it is. A paper plate piled high with boiled shrimp.”
She reached across and plucked the menu from his hands. Katya studied the pages, a frown of concentration puckering her features. Then she brightened. “Oh, look at this. Lobster mousse on a bed of spinach and wrapped in strips of smoked salmon. Doesn’t that sound wonderful as a starter?”
“Personally, I’d rather have the shrimp,” he replied, loving her.
“Then for the main course, yes, stuffed pheasant in a sorrel and peppercorn sauce with a frou-frou of vegetables.” She smiled. “When I was a little girl, I used to think that if I ate a peppercorn I’d grow a mole.”
“What?”
She returned to the menu. “It made perfect sense to me.”
“A frou-frou of anything doesn’t sound very appetizing to my ears. I think we’d be a lot better off going with corn on the cob.”
Katya turned the page. “And what to drink?”
“We’ll just stick some wash buckets full of ice and bottles in the middle of the tables,” Jeffrey replied. “Let everybody grab whatever they like.”
She lifted her head to reply, then focused on someone behind him. “We’ve got company.”
Jeffrey swiveled in his chair and caught sight of the Count di Garibaldi, a real-estate magnate who was both a friend of Alexander’s and a long-time client. The old gentleman was bent over the hand of a ravishing young woman less than a third his age. She wore a clinging bit of nothing and a king’s ransom worth of jewelry, and had two giant Afghan hounds in tow.
Katya made innocent eyes. “She must be his niece.”
“One of many,” Jeffrey agreed, rising to his feet. When the Count had finished following the young lady’s swaying departure with frank admiration, Jeffrey waved him over.
“Jeffrey, Katya.” The Count approached them with a regal air and a genuine smile. “This is indeed a great pleasure.”
“How are you, sir?”
“Utterly splendid. And how is Alexander? Not waning, I hope.”
Jeffrey smiled. “Practicing his dance steps the last time I saw. He wants to have his jig down properly for the occasion.”
“He’s teaching you his odd brand of humor, I see.” The Count glanced at his watch. “I’m a bit early for an engagement. May I join you for a glass of sherry?”
“It would be our honor.”
“I received something quite remarkable in the mail this morning,” Count di Garibaldi said, pulling Alexander’s invitation from his coat pocket. “Of course I would be delighted to attend and offer whatever support you might require.”
“Alexander will be very happy to hear that. Thank you.”
“And this chalice. Lovely, just lovely. But do you know, what strikes me is how Italian in appearance it seems. Yet you say this is Polish?”
“It came from a Polish collection,” Jeffrey replied. “And Alexander was told it was probably made in the Cracow region.”
“Interesting. Most interesting.” The Count slipped on a pair of reading spectacles, pointed at the picture. “You see this filigree work at the base, that appears very Florentine to my eye. In fact, the whole thing appears somewhat familiar, as though I had seen it before. I don’t suppose that is possible.”
“Extremely doubtful,” Jeffrey said. “The whole collection’s been locked in a crypt for ages.”
The Count was clearly not convinced. “I don’t need to tell you that I am quite well connected in Rome, and I feel that I have . . . Well, no, I suppose I am mistaken if you say this is definitely a Polish piece.”
“It is definitely from a Polish collection,” Katya said.
“That is the whole point of this event,” Jeffrey added. “To show the beauty of Polish religious artifacts and to create a fund for their preservation.”
“Well.” The Count folded his glasses and placed them with the invitation back in his pocket. “I am so looking forward to seeing you on the evening. I am quite sure it will not only be a great success, but a splendid fete for all present.”