3 The Braque Connection (20 page)

Chapter SIXTEEN

The intensity of the aggressive body language this close to me was becoming overwhelming. Manny was still interrogating the now terrified delivery man. Phillip was quietly standing by, his body language mirroring Manny’s. Vinnie and Colin were whispering to each other, careful to not be heard. But I didn’t need to hear their words. Their nonverbal cues were speaking loud and clear. They were planning and their plans involved violence.

No one took notice when I turned away from the commotion by my front door. I cleared the last of the dishes from the coffee tables in the living area and took it to the kitchen. I had to repack the dishwasher. Vinnie’s system of organising the dishes in the dishwasher was not completely unacceptable, but mine was better.

“Genevieve, I’m really sorry.” Francine plucked a balloon down by the hanging tinsel and reached for the kitchen scissors. She pointed it at the door. “That bastard destroyed everything.”

She cut the knot of the balloon and held onto the tinsel while the balloon deflated. It was a huge relief that she wasn’t resorting to the disturbing habit of popping the balloons. I closed the dishwasher door, straightened and leaned against the kitchen counter. There had been more to her apology than commenting on Kubanov’s negative character traits.

“What did he destroy?” I asked.

She grabbed more hanging tinsel and jerked another balloon down. “This. I wanted your party to be special, and now he’s gone and destroyed it.”

I closed my eyes, realising the full extent of her comment. In my friendship with her, I often found myself at a loss for what to say or how to react. I searched for the best approach. “This is my second birthday party.”

She looked up, confused. “You already had a party today? With whom?”

“No, not today.” It wasn’t easy saying this. “This is the second birthday party I’ve had in my whole life.”

Francine lost her grip on the deflating balloon, ignoring it as it swirled around the kitchen. Her mouth was slack. “You cannot be serious. Oh my God, you are serious.”

“The first party was for my fifth birthday. My parents had taken me to new doctors to fix me. These doctors told them to force me into a normal childhood, starting with social functions. They decided a birthday party would be a good start.” I surprised myself by telling her this. “There were too many people, too many stimuli, and I had a meltdown, much to my parents’ humiliation. The people invited had been carefully chosen to witness my parents’ success, beautiful home and child. One autistic behaviour and I had destroyed their illusion of the perfect life. It was my first and last birthday party. As an adult I had never had the need nor seen the sense in it.”

Her
masseter
muscles tightened her jaw, her movements stiff. “Your parents are horrible people.”

“No. They are just ignorant. When people don’t understand something, they are usually judgemental and unintentionally cruel.”

“You can’t say anything to justify their behaviour.” She jerked down another balloon and cut the knot. “I still say they’re idiots. Horrible idiots.”

I sighed heavily. Colin and Vinnie joined us in the kitchen, listening with interest. From a sociological point of view, I understood the significance and importance of tonight. But making myself understood on an emotional level was taxing. “What I’m trying to say, quite unsuccessfully, is that this is the first time in my life someone has voluntarily wanted to celebrate my birthday with me. Nothing Kubanov does or sends will take away the value of what you have done for me.”

Her eyes filled with tears. “Ooh. That is… ooh, I need to hug you.”

I leaned back against the counter. There had been too much physical contact already. Francine’s shoulders sagged, but then she smiled. “I’ll hug you in my mind, but I’ll hug Vin for real. I just need to hug someone.”

She spun around and threw her arms around Vinnie. He indulged her with the forbearance observed in siblings. He patted her back with a small smile before pulling her arms away from his body. “Go cuddle the old man if you’re looking for a little somethin’-somethin’.”

Francine stepped back, her eyes lively with anticipation. Colin gave a tired laugh and put his hand on Francine’s arm to stop her. “I don’t think you should do that. Millard is volatile just now.”

“We all are.” Vinnie folded his arms, widening his stance. He was going to make a statement that he was not willing to negotiate on. “Jen-girl, we’re staying here.”

“I know.” I had accepted it while packing the dishwasher.

“I think that is our cue to leave,” Phillip said from the living area. The delivery man had left and Manny was nodding in agreement with Phillip.

Ten minutes later, only Colin, Vinnie and I remained in my flat. There had been threats and promises about safety, phone calls, protection and consequences. It had all been well intended, but was more stressful than comforting. It was a relief to have fewer people in my space.

Colin and Vinnie tried, but weren’t able to dissuade me from restoring my apartment to its original state, so Vinnie helped. Colin tried to help, but I begged him not to. I had to fix everything after he had touched it, which was counter-productive. He disappeared into my bedroom while we finished up. It didn’t take very long before everything was in its designated place and I was showered and standing next to my bed.

“Aren’t you getting in?” Colin looked up from the book he was reading. “Don’t over-think it, Jenny. Let’s just sleep. Tomorrow we’ll take this new forgery to my friend and see what he’s discovered about the others.”

He was right. I was micro-analysing his presence in my bedroom. I climbed in bed stiffly and had trouble getting comfortable. We had shared this bed often, but never to sleep. “I don’t know how to do this.”

“Close your eyes, breathe deeply and sleep.”

I turned around to find him lying on his side looking at me. His book was on the bedside table, the lamp on his side off.

“You need a switch that you can flip to stop analysing everything.”

I smiled. “That would definitely help.”

“I make you a deal. Tonight we sleep. Tomorrow you can tell me all the reasons why I should not have slept here.”

“That doesn’t make sense. It’s rationalising something after the fact. Totally unproductive.”

“But if it will make you go to sleep, then it is a good idea.” He lifted one eyebrow. “Unless you want to have wild, loud sex?”

I pushed deeper into the pillows, frowning. “Vinnie is sleeping in the next room. If you continue this trivial talk, you can sleep in your old room or one of the sofas. Or even better, you can sleep in your own bed next door.”

He laughed softly, but the flash of disappointment did not escape my notice. I twisted to switch off the lamp and turned back. It was strange, but nice to lie on my side facing Colin. I didn’t know if I would be able to sleep with another person in my bed, but at least I did have a complex case to think over if sleep evaded me.

It didn’t. I woke up the next morning, immediately aware of arms surrounding me. For a moment, my mind recalled being drugged and abducted, followed by confusion and mild panic.

“It’s me, Jenny. Relax.” Colin’s voice was lazy and gravelly from sleep. His arm tightened slightly around my waist and I relaxed against his back. “In case you don’t know, this position is called spooning. I like to spoon. We should spoon for a few more minutes.”

“What time is it?”

“Time to spoon.”

I slapped his arm. “Colin.”

“Half past seven.”

“Oh God, we should get up.” Even on Saturdays, I always got up at six. This break in my routine was most upsetting. I wrestled with his arm for a few seconds until he let me go. I stood next to the bed, looking at him. “What time are we meeting with your friend?”

“At nine.” He stretched his arms above his head. His hair was mussed and he looked at ease. Blinking in surprise, I realised that I too felt relaxed and had slept well despite sharing my bed. “Did you sleep well?”

“Hmm?” I shook my head. Was this what other people did? Asking after each other’s rest? “I slept well, thank you. I’m going to have a shower.”

An hour later we were in Colin’s SUV, driving through the city.

“What is the purpose of these forgeries?” I asked. “And don’t answer. It is a rhetorical question.”

“I assumed so.” Colin slowed down for a red light and glanced at me. “What do you think?”

“Something you said about cubism last night made me think. Is Kubanov focussed on Braque or on the style? Does it have to do with Braque’s history, his connection to Picasso, to the war or is it cubism itself triggering Kubanov’s obsession?”

“What makes you think it’s cubism?”

“Those words that I emailed to myself.” I leaned my head back against the headrest and closed my eyes. “In the second email I sent to myself, I put down ‘hexahedron’, which is a cube, and ‘halo die’. I still don’t know about the halo, but a die is the singular of dice.”

“Few people use the word die. Most people use dice as the singular for card games and gambling.”

“Could I, in my intoxicated state, have emailed those terms to myself to point to cubes?” I heard Colin’s quick intake of breath. “I don’t know what it means, but maybe I should check all the clients on Rousseau & Rousseau’s list who have cubist paintings insured. Oh, I don’t know. I can’t see how that would be helpful.”

“Hey, don’t discard that idea. You might be on to something.”

I looked at him. “You think so?”

“When cubism emerged in Europe, it was met with harsh criticism and disapproval. Picasso and Braque were reputed to have started cubism as a response against the realism in impressionism. They wanted to depict the irrationality of the human experience. At first, the critics and art snobs didn’t take well to life being shown in angular shapes. The more these two guys developed it, the further away from realism it moved, until some paintings didn’t resemble the original object or figure at all. For some it was an offence to aesthetic beauty. They didn’t approve of this unorthodox representation of life. Kubanov is insane enough to have a similar opinion.”

“Or maybe I am just desperately looking for links where there are none.”

“I think we should look into that.” He parked the SUV in a side street. “But we’ll do that later. Right now we are meeting with the Brinius couple.”

I followed him to the main street, filled with high-end stores. We entered an old building and went up to the second floor. Colin stopped in front of a large wooden door and knocked out a rhythm. The door opened wide to reveal a spacious office with high ceilings, elegantly furnished. The woman standing in the door was exceptionally beautiful with a carriage that spoke of class and very likely old money.

“Isaac Watts, you are as handsome as ever.” She was talking to Colin, using one of his poet aliases, the one who was a gallery owner.

“And you are as breathtaking as ever.” Even though Colin had adopted a British accent similar to Manny’s, his tone and body language spoke of respect and affection. “Not a day older than the last time I saw you.”

“Stop flirting with my wife and come inside, you scoundrel.”

I looked around the petite woman and saw a man guiding his wheelchair to the front door. His suntanned face was filled with good humour. He was one of those people who hadn’t allowed his physical limitations to stop his enjoyment of life. It was clear in the many laughter lines and the deep emotions on his face when he looked at his wife.

“And who is this lovely creature you brought with you?”

“Michael and Victoria, please meet Doctor Genevieve Lenard.” Colin held out his hand towards the couple. “Jenny, these are my good friends, Michael and Victoria Brinius.”

“Come in, come in.” Michael held out his hand. “Doctor Lenard, it is a pleasure to meet you.”

I shook his hand briefly, then Victoria’s. “Please call me Genevieve.”

“Are you English?” Victoria asked as she closed the door behind us.

“No, but I prefer the English pronunciation of my name.”

“I have another painting for you.” Colin lifted the forgery from my apartment, following Michael as he rolled his chair towards a door to the right. “What have you got for us?”

“Oh, my God, Isaac, you will pee in your pants when we show you.” Victoria walked faster to catch up to Michael and rested her hand on his shoulder. Her speech was not as elegant as her bearing, which made her more approachable. Her voice raised slightly in pitch with her excitement. “I couldn’t believe when Michael showed me. I’ve never seen anything like this.”

We entered a large room, set up as an art studio. A long wooden workbench along the side wall was covered in bottles, paints, cloths, brushes and numerous other paraphernalia. I stopped and focussed on my breathing. It was beyond my comprehension how anyone could be productive in such chaos. Intellectually I understood that certain personality types felt safer surrounded by disorder. I didn’t. To my thinking, a cluttered environment was a sign of an undisciplined mind.

“Oh, don’t mind the mess, Genevieve.” Michael stopped his chair in front of three easels set up next to the other. “I can never get Victoria to put anything in its place. Then she fights with me when she loses something. At least she hasn’t misplaced me yet.”