The Grandfather Clock (16 page)

“
I wanted to get a good
look at it,” she said in English.

“
It’s okay,” I said. “Soon
so many people will know about this, we won’t have to be secretive.
But I don’t know the value of that thing and I don’t know who to
trust.”

“
We will put it in the
safe at the Malmaison. We will use our internal resources. I
believe the gun belongs at the Malmaison, within the family
property. It is a French National Treasure. Regardless of who may
claim ownership, it belongs here.”

I’d seen that term before. “French
National Treasure.” It was a nice way of saying it was important,
and France should own it.

“
I think we should meet
with Dr. Desjardins again,” I said. Marianne was hurt by the
comment and the notion that I didn’t trust her professional
opinion. But she had read me correctly. I didn’t want her to get
outmaneuvered by a system of museums and government that I didn’t
understand.

“
If we put in the safe, we
tell no one that it’s there,” she said. She wasn’t going to address
the fact that I hadn’t told her about the placard in the
muzzle.

I took a deep breath. I wanted to ease
any sign of mistrust. “I’m sorry,” I said. “I didn’t mean to doubt
you. It’s a lot to process.”

“
I understand,” she closed
the box and put it on the coffee table. “Late night?”

“
It was late. I didn’t
want to wake you. I went to a book signing at Shakespeare, and then
dinner with an American friend. He’s a fashion
photographer.”

“
I’m glad to hear you’re
getting comfortable with Paris.”

“
I really do like it here.
Thank you again for taking me into your home.”

“
Claudette was right about
you. You are a good good man.”

“
Trying to be.”

Marianne put on her coat and said she
was meeting a friend for brunch. I took a shower and lay down on
the couch. I looked at the wooden box. I didn’t want to put it in a
museum that used funding from the French government. I didn’t
understand the risks.

I was startled when I heard Celeste’s
door open.

“
Celeste?” I called. I
didn’t want to catch her off guard.

A young man emerged, with dirty jeans,
a black sweater and disheveled hair. He offered me a sheepish wave
and left quickly. Moments later Celeste strode out in a sheer black
nightgown and leaned against the hall doorway.

“
He was supposed to leave
in the night, but we fell asleep.”

I looked at her, unsure of why she was
telling me this.

“
I wanted to see you last
night,” she said.

“
A friend of mine, he
invited me to a book signing at the English bookstore.”

She rubbed her eyes and I realized
that that she was tearing up.

“
And Klara,” she
said.

“
Klara had invited me over
yesterday afternoon and I asked her to go with me.”

I wasn’t sure why I was explaining
myself, but I felt sorry for Celeste. She looked so vulnerable,
standing there practically naked and crying. Her harsh exterior was
entirely gone.

“
But you stayed there with
her.”

“
We were out late and I
didn’t want to...”

“
It’s okay.” She attempted
to smile. “You don’t need to answer to me. I just thought... you
know. It’s my fault. Don’t worry about it.”

I was frustrated. I shook my head.
“I’m sorry. I don’t understand.”

“
Men never do,” she said,
and walked out of the room.

I waited until I knew she was in the
bath before I moved. I changed my clothes. I fastened the box shut
and set out. Near the Arc de Triomphe was a sporting goods store. I
purchased six things with cash: a pair of K-Swiss tennis shoes, two
cans of tennis balls, a racket, a slim black tennis bag, a dumbbell
bar, and a small combination lock. When I returned mid afternoon,
the apartment was empty.

That evening, Marianne saw the racket
and commented. I told her that I had found some courts and was
hitting against a wall. I said I needed to get some exercise. She
didn’t bat an eye.

When she drove us to the Malmaison the
next morning, I brought the gun box. I had fashioned the lock so
that it couldn’t be opened without the combination. Of course, it
was a simple wooden box that could be opened with a hammer or a
screwdriver. I explained that I didn’t want anyone with access to
the safe to be stealing peeks or touching it.

When we arrived, she walked me to a
large wall safe in a locked room that contained items that rotated
in and out of display. There were old lamps, sculptures, paintings,
Christmas-themed items, and a vast collection of glassware. She
opened the safe. Inside were envelopes, a metal moneybox, several
jewelry boxes, and a stack of documents. She made a six-inch wide
slot that reached the back of the safe and pushed the gun box
inside. She pulled a small black book from inside the safe and
turned to a page with a form. On it she wrote the date, our names,
and the word, “Tromblon.” We both signed it.

The Château de Malmaison was now in
possession of the world’s most securely protected dumbbell
bar.

7

I worried about my decision to deceive
Marianne. It left an uneasy pit in my stomach. I took a walk in the
garden and called Vince. I told him that I worried that if I gave
up possession of the gun, I would never have it again. I feared
that I would never uncover its past without having it in my hands.
If I had put it in the safe before Desjardins noticed the placard,
I might have never found that key piece of evidence. Vince agreed
with my move, but I wasn’t sure if he was just telling me what I
wanted to hear.

My fourth week in Paris was a busy
one. After our conversation on Sunday, relations between Celeste
and I returned to normal. I couldn’t tell if she was putting on an
act, or if she was really doing fine. Our string of weeknight
family dinners was something I hadn’t experienced since childhood.
Marianne cooked and I helped. Celeste and I cleaned.

On Tuesday afternoon, I did as I
promised. I called Klara.

“
Bonjour!” she answered in
song.

“
I told you that I would
call on Tuesday. It is Tuesday. How are you, my dear?”

“
I’m well.” I could hear
the smile in her voice. Then her tone changed. “I haven’t heard
from Celeste. I think she knows.”

“
She knows.”

“
Is she okay?”

“
She was upset. I’m not
sure why. A man was leaving her room when I got there. But she’s
been fine since.”

“
That’s Celeste. She
doesn’t understand how people see her. She can be cold, but then
she gets upset if she pushes someone away.”

“
I guess so.”

“
Deep down, she is
insecure.”

“
You should call her. Make
plans. Don’t include me.”

“
Good idea. When can I see
you, Michael?”

“
Tonight? Want to have
dinner?”

“
I never have plans on a
school night.”

I arrived at Klara’s apartment just
before five o’clock. I liked the French habit of knocking off work
at four. With a setting as tempting as Paris, it was a good thing
we had a ninety-minute lunch, and holidays all over the calendar.
There was simply too much to see to spend every day at
work.

I knocked on Klara’s door.

“
Are we going to play
tennis?” she asked in response to my sweatshirt, tennis shoes and
bag.

“
Oh. No,” I said. “This is
the tromblon.”

“
Oh, a tennis bag? Clever.
Are you going to dress like John McEnroe from now on?” She was
laughing hard now.

“
Please,” I said shaking
my head.

“
We could think of other
hobbies to go with it. We could say you are a cellist, or a golfer!
We could get your some plaid pants and those spiky
shoes.”

“
The box was too bulky. It
stood out. This was the best I could come up with. It’s a good way
to hide it in plain sight, especially when I leave it at the
apartment.” I did not want to tell her about the dumbbell in the
safe.

“
Well don’t ever leave it
here,” she said. “I don’t need some million Euro relic laying
around.”

“
I will find a place for
it. I’m meeting with some Americans with Bank USA. I’m just having
a hard time knowing who to trust,” I confided.

“
When I think of
trustworthy, I always think of big American banks,” she
deadpanned.

“
Hey,” I said, “I
understand American banks. I used to work for one.”

“
You can trust Marianne,
Michael,” she said, turning serious. “I’ve known her
forever.”

“
That’s why I’m here,” I
sighed, falling into her sofa.

That next morning brought the first
snow since I had arrived. A thin blanket of white dusted
everything, and for a few hours Paris was gleaming. By late
morning, everything was wet, and all that remained was gray slush
that I struggled to avoid as I made my way to the second floor Bank
USA office near the Trocadero. I’d expected something more obvious
from one of the world’s largest banks, but the office was small and
low key. Sam’s friend Jay and a senior officer named Martin Brandt
greeted me. We walked down the road to a cafe.

Jay was about my age, and I knew his
type. He was moving up through the ranks, outpost to outpost. He
compulsively gave me his résumé as we walked. “First I was in
Charlotte. What a dump. Then they sent me to Minneapolis,
surprisingly cool. But nothing beats this, even with
snow.”

Martin Brandt had his protégé. “One
more stop, maybe a stint in New York and you’ll be over a region,”
he said. “Who knows where you’ll end up.”

Maybe prison, I thought. Bank USA was
a punching bag in the international media lately. Blamed for things
they did and didn’t do. In the midst of it all, they were busy
handing out multimillion-dollar bonuses and naming football
stadiums.

Small French café tables weren’t
designed for three American men over six feet tall. Brandt wasn’t
fat, but he sat down like he was in a grade school desk. Salt
shakers fell as we received annoyed glances from the wait staff. He
ordered a diet Coke and twice asked for more ice.

“
Sam tells me that you’re
new to Paris, doing some museum work. But you were with Globe
Bank?”

“
Yes. I came here under
unusual circumstances,” I said, trying to hold back a
little.

“
How so?” Brandt asked
with a ‘don’t waste my time’ attitude.

“
I’ll tell you what I
can,” I said, to Brandt’s mild approval. “Back home I came across
an item hidden in my family’s antique clock. An item that was
interesting enough to get the attention of a lesser known museum
outside of Paris, the Chateau Malmaison.”

“
Napoleon lived there,”
Jay said to Martin Brandt.

“
So I get here, not really
sure if the item was authentic. If we could learn more about it,
the museum could use its discovery to gain attention and raise
money.” I got the feeling that Brandt was the sort of banker who
walked into the Louvre, looked at the Mona Lisa and walked
out.

“What is it?” Jay asked.

“I don’t want to get into that. But a
similar item sold for over six million dollars at
auction.”

Now I had Martin Brandt’s attention.
“Six million?”

“Yes,” I said.

“Have it appraised at once,” he
said.

“I can’t,” I said. “We don’t know how
my family got it, or who may claim to own it.”

“You think it’s stolen,” Brandt
said.

“Mr. Brandt, have you ever had to
handle a client whose fortune might have been made in a nefarious
way?”

He laughed. “Is there any other
way?”

“Yes, but some, even your bank can’t
touch.”

“Terrorists. Drug dealers,
maybe.”

“This isn’t Medellín, Mr. Brandt.
Think back.”

A light of recognition crossed his
eyes. Then he lowered his voice, “You are not going to get far
trafficking stolen Nazi art these days.”

“It isn’t art,” I said, matching his
low tone. “And we know the original owner isn’t going to come
forth.”

Brandt leaned back in his chair. “So
why are we meeting?”

“American man, cleaning out his
grandmother’s old keepsakes, makes a startling discovery. A
valuable artifact missing since it was stolen by the Nazis. He
returns it to its rightful home in Paris.”

“
I’m intrigued,” Brandt
said.

“
I don’t think we have the
resources to research and protect this item. It is a huge
opportunity for your bank, an American icon, to support this story
in closing a chapter in the history pages of World War
Two.”