Chapter 12

 
Giovanni finished picking at his meal, a meaty stew with a sprinkling of carrots and potatoes. He sipped his coffee and reached the bottom of the cup, his clarity renewed by the surge of caffeine. Giovanni set the cup down and was taken by a new idea. He opened his briefcase and sorted through the notes he had brought from London.

Within his notes were the names the Count had mentioned while telling his story of the Meyerstein family in Paris. There was, of course, Henri and Carmella Meyerstein. And their children, Daniel and Elise. But another, which Giovanni had jotted down but not given more thought, was Henri and Carmella’s niece, Clara, who lived upstairs in the same building. He had not searched the ITS database for Clara’s name.

Giovanni looked at his watch and realized he had less than two hours before the ITS would close for the day. He called the taxi driver but did not get an answer. Giovanni paid his bill and asked the waitress if another taxi could take him back to the ITS. As Giovanni struggled with his shaky German and became more panicked, a man waiting to pay his bill overheard the situation and generously offered to give Giovanni a ride to the ITS.

When they arrived at the entrance, Giovanni thanked the man and walked the long pathway flanked by hedges. He entered the building and asked to see Johannes, explaining that he wanted to use the remainder of his research time.

Johannes greeted him. “I have your photocopies and your disc.”

“Thank you,” Giovanni said, “but could you hold onto them for now? I forgot about Clara Meyerstein, the niece. May I continue searching the records?”

“Of course, but you need to be back here fifteen minutes before we close.” Johannes looked at a clock on the wall. “You have just over an hour.”

“Then I must hurry.”

Johannes nodded and escorted Giovanni to the room with lockers where he could store his coat and briefcase. Giovanni then returned to the same computer that he had used earlier. He entered the name Clara Meyerstein and waited for the result. He closed his eyes and said a silent prayer that at least one member of the family had survived the Holocaust.

Various Meyerstein names began to appear on the screen. Then the specific target of his search—Clara. He requested the file and waited for Johannes to return. As it was late in the day, only one other terminal was still in use. The middle-aged woman looked up from her research and aimed a disapproving glare as Giovanni drummed his fingers on the desktop. He realized his nervous behavior and ceased immediately.

Minutes later, Johannes returned with the file and then left. Giovanni opened the file and carefully turned the pages, placing each face down on the table as he studied the next.

“Oh my God,” he blurted out, drawing the attention of the remaining researcher, who followed the rules and kept her mouth shut but the stern look on her face spoke volumes. Giovanni smiled sheepishly and held up one hand in a gesture of apology.

He selected the option for a photocopy of the document and submitted his request. Then he left the Reading Room and waited in the hallway, fearing his excitement might cause further disruption to the lady doing research.

A short while later, Johannes approached with the photocopy.

“Johannes,” Giovanni called out. “Clara Meyerstein was released from Auschwitz. She survived the War. I want to find her. How do I do that?”

Johannes handed him the photocopy. “You realize, of course, this does not necessarily mean she is alive today.”

“I realize that, but it is a possibility, however remote. I have to know, because if she is alive, the painting belongs to her.”

Johannes nodded. “I will bring you the name and contact information of an investigator who specializes in this type of work. It will be up to you if you wish to retain her services.”

“Yes, please,” Giovanni urged.

“Will that complete your research?” Johannes asked.

Giovanni indicated the photocopy. “Yes, but I need extra copies of this one as well. And I don’t mean to trouble you further, but a copy on disc, too.”

“No trouble at all.” Johannes smiled. “I will return shortly with your materials and a receipt.”

In the lobby, Giovanni sat on the leather sofa and waited. No longer tired and hungry, he was like a child unable to sit still. Johannes returned and Giovanni signed the credit card slip. He was given the disc and his additional photocopies, as well as a business card for the researcher that Johannes recommended he contact. Her name was Jana Vogler, and she was based in Berlin.

Giovanni tucked everything into his briefcase.

“Mr. Fabrizzi,” Johannes said. “One last thing.”

“Please, call me Gio.”

“Yes, Gio. Jana Vogler is very good at what she does. I won’t pretend that success is guaranteed, but I do hope that you will use her to find Clara Meyerstein.”

“I will. I’m committed.”

“Do you mind if Jana Vogler contacts me with any news of your success?”

“No, of course not.”

Johannes pursed his lips and rubbed his smooth chin. “Please don’t interpret this the wrong way,” he said. “I won’t make excuses for the acts of my countrymen. As I explained, I hope to understand this history. But it would be wonderful for all concerned, I believe, if you were to find Clara still alive, and you returned the art stolen from her family.”

“I completely agree,” Giovanni said. “Thank you so much for all your excellent help. I will do my very best to find her.”

They shook hands and Johannes excused himself. Outside the entrance, Giovanni called the taxi driver and the car arrived within minutes.

“To your hotel?” the driver asked.

Giovanni hopped in the backseat and closed the door. “Not yet. First, take me to the nicest restaurant in town. In fact, if you’re available, I would be happy to invite you to join me. I have great news to celebrate.”

 
* * *

 
Giovanni was so excited about his mission to find Clara Meyerstein, he talked almost nonstop during the meal with the driver, Helmut. Giovanni did not divulge details about the Count, other than to say that he had a historian friend in London who had known the Meyerstein family during the Occupation of Paris.

As they enjoyed dinner, Helmut would nod and ask a question occasionally, when given the chance each time Giovanni paused to eat his food. After Giovanni had exhausted his words and realized he was repeating himself, he also realized that he knew nothing about Helmut. Giovanni thought to have better manners and shifted the conversation to Helmut and his life, details of which he was happy to share. He lived with his mother, he explained, had a girlfriend, and enjoyed meeting people from all over the world who came to Bad Arolsen, either to partake in the baths or to search the ITS archives.

Giovanni offered to buy a second bottle of wine but Helmut politely declined, insisting that he needed to get home to check on his aged mother. Giovanni paid the bill, left a generous tip, and when they arrived back at the hotel, Helmut thanked him heartily for the meal and conversation.

When Giovanni asked what he owed, Helmut was adamant about not taking any more money from him. After all, the fine dinner easily exceeded the cost of a short taxi ride. Giovanni insisted but Helmut stood his ground. Giovanni conceded, they shook hands, and Helmut wished him luck in finding Clara.

Giovanni took out his key and entered his hotel room. He was tired but in the best possible way. He sat at the small desk and looked longingly at the queen-sized bed that beckoned him. He was truly ready for sleep. The day’s excitement had caught up with him in the solitary moment of reflection. It reminded Giovanni of the last time he and Arabella had gone out to dinner and the theater with friends in London. He thought of her and how them traveling together would have made him happy, no matter what he accomplished on the trip.

He opened one of the outer pockets of his rolling suitcase where he stored notes on the developing investigation. The notion struck him as odd, that he had become an investigator. He was a detective asking difficult questions, which a month earlier, he could not have imagined he would be asking.

Giovanni took out the notebook in which he had been recording his discoveries. The latter pages contained abundant notes he had taken while searching the ITS archives. He turned to the first pages and studied the names, phone numbers, and addresses that he had written down from his father’s address book.

He pulled out his mobile phone and stepped onto the small balcony that overlooked a bright patch of cornflowers and the hotel’s parking lot. He had already noted the country code for Switzerland, checked his watch, and saw that it was close to nine o’clock.

The call he was determined to make would change the course of his investigation, and knowing that it would made him nervous. Once he started down the next path, there would be no turning back. He gathered his courage and placed the call to Zurich.

A man answered in German. Giovanni was more surprised that anyone picked up the phone. He struggled to speak German the best he could on the spot.

“Hello. Is that Max?” Giovanni asked.

“Who is this?” The man did not sound pleased.

“Is this Max?”

“Who is calling?”

Giovanni forged ahead even though he might soon regret doing so.

“I’m sorry to call so late,” he said. “This is Giovanni, Federico’s son.”

The only sound was the hiss of the phone line.

“Max, are you there? It’s Giovanni Fabrizzi, your nephew.”

 “Giovanni?” There was a long pause. “My God. I never expected to hear from you.”

“I know,” Giovanni said. “I’m sorry to call you so suddenly. I have to tell you, Federico died a couple of years ago and things became very difficult for me. I just separated from my wife. I don’t want to burden you with these things, it’s just that, well, I decided to take a trip, and now I really want to see you, more than anything. Would that be possible?”

“Where are you, Giovanni?”

“I’m in Germany, near Munich. I could visit you in Zurich. I would be happy to meet you anywhere for lunch or dinner. Whatever you like.”

Again there was a long pause. Giovanni pondered what would come next.

“Tell me,” Max said, less abrasive. “You say your father died?”

“Yes. I’m sorry to be telling you now, but recently I found his old address book and your name was in there.”

“Did your father say anything about me before he passed away?”

“No,” Giovanni replied. “But I’m so glad to have found you.”

“Yes, of course. It’s just such a surprise.”

“Would it be all right if I call you tomorrow evening? I’d like to set up a time for us to meet.”

“I suppose.” Max seemed to express little enthusiasm for the idea.

“Wonderful,” Giovanni said. “I will speak with you tomorrow, and thank you so much, Max. Auf wiedersehen.”

The line went dead without Max even saying good-bye. Still, Giovanni thought his luck had been excellent. He had found both the Touissants and his Uncle Max still alive. And there was a reasonable chance that Clara Meyerstein would also be alive, somewhere in the world.

It was just too bad, he thought, that he was alone and could not tell his amazing news to anyone else. If only his communication with the Count were telepathic, he could share all that he had discovered. Well, perhaps their connection was telepathic. He would never know for sure, but up to that point anyway, it had only occurred in close proximity. When he called out to the Count and received no response, he considered the absurdity of the idea and had to chuckle out loud. But while no one in the physical world would believe the painting could speak to Giovanni, it certainly was real to him. It was as actual and verifiable as the records in the ITS archives. Giovanni yearned to tell his son Maurizio what had happened.

Though unsure of what he would say, Giovanni dialed Maurizio at this home in Florence. He was pleased that his call was answered by the second ring.

“Papa,” Maurizio said. “I’ve been so worried. Why haven’t you called?”

“Everything is fine, don’t worry. I’m in a small town near Munich, and I’ve been having a great time. How are you?”

“I’m fine, but what are you doing there?”

Giovanni bent the truth some. “Catching up with friends. You know, looking up the past, the good old days. It’s been fascinating really, all I’ve learned. And next, I am off to Zurich.”

“Zurich?” Maurizio was alarmed. “Papa, don’t you think this vacation of yours, I mean, don’t you think you’ve been away long enough?”

“Don’t be silly, Mau. I’ve had a wonderful time. In fact, I’m rather excited to tell you about it, but I’m not quite sure where to start.”

“You should come to Florence,” Maurizio said. “Then you can tell me all about your trip. Really, Papa, I think that would be best. We have plenty of room for you. And you know so many people here. Why not get a flight tomorrow?”

“Oh my, I would love to, Mau, but I must not stay away from the Brueghel too long. You know how it is. But as I promised, when we are both done with our current projects, I will be glad to visit.”

“Sure, sure,” Maurizio said. “Papa, I want you to be honest with me.”

“Honest?” Giovanni wanted to be, particularly about the Count and how his latest story had turned out to be true. But Giovanni was still apprehensive after the last time he was completely honest with his son.

“Yes,” Maurizio said. “Are you sad about Arabella? Or is it a kind of… I don’t know.” Maurizio struggled for the right words. “Is it a manageable sadness?”

His son’s sincere concern touched Giovanni, and he choked up slightly. He held the phone away and cleared his throat, then continued, “Well said, Mau. It is manageable. And hearing your voice is a big help.”

“When are you going home?”

“Oh, maybe in a day or two.”

“You don’t know?” Maurizio asked.

“I don’t have my return ticket to London yet. Tomorrow, I’ll take a train to Zurich.”

“This is not like you.”

“Well, son, I don’t feel like who I used to be. But anyway, I’m sure to be back in London in two or three days. We’ll talk then.”

After their good-byes, Giovanni plugged his mobile phone into its charger and went into the bathroom to wash and get ready for bed. As warm water filled the basin, he said a quiet prayer. He wished that when his journey was over, he could tell his son everything and have him accept it. And while he was at it, Giovanni made another prayer. He visualized telling Maurizio and Arabella both of what had transpired and then having them nod in understanding and wrap their arms around him.