Restitution: The truth hides where you fear to look. by Chris Lofts

Author:Chris Lofts [Lofts, Chris]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: anonymous
Published: 2022-03-09T16:00:00+00:00

Charles and I faced each other across the breakfast bar. ‘The painting,’ I said, picking another splinter from my jeans. ‘Let’s begin with that.’

Charles began to speak at last, rolling up his shirt sleeves. ‘In the intervening months when the Carducci painting was being authenticated in Vienna, I was at work here, creating the forgery.’

‘Not a very good one.’

‘And that’s your professional opinion, is it?’ He took a tentative sip of his tea. ‘It had to be close but not close enough should it come under serious scrutiny.’

‘Like at the university lab?’

‘No. I said serious scrutiny. When Roland reached out to Carmen Pignatari, I asked her to humour an old friend and furnished her with the copy of the report that might have come from Berlin, but which I had written.’

‘You mean from Vienna. The report came from Vienna.’

‘No. The report from Vienna would come later, authenticating the genuine painting. You know, the report you claim to have a copy of. I gave Carmen a report that I had written and that purported to come from Berlin.’

‘You forged that report in the same way that you would forge the report from Vienna when it came later.’

‘No, that was Adèle’s idea.’

‘And did Ursula know her daughter was planning to fleece her Aunt Sarah?’

‘No. Forget Ursula. She knows nothing about it and still doesn’t as far as I’m aware.’

‘The whole scam was Adèle’s idea?’

‘A chip off the old block, some might say.’

‘More like an iceberg from a glacier and meaning Siegfried, I assu—’ Stumbling over my rucksack, I recoiled from the breakfast bar. ‘What are you doing?’

Charles turned from the counter, the letter opener in his hand. ‘I’m not going to… There are easier ways than cutting your own throat.’

The pounding in my chest didn’t diminish as he turned the tip of blade towards himself, presenting it handle first in the palm of his hand. ‘Take this for example,’ he said. ‘An SS Ehrendolch or honour dagger.’

I waved it away. ‘I’d rather not, Charles.’

‘It’s a fake.’

‘I don’t care. It looks real enough.’

‘A fake like much of the memorabilia and antiques that pass through Siegfried’s and Adèle’s hands.’ He backed off and laid it on the counter behind him. ‘All part of their nefarious trade.’

‘The Falconstones trade in moody antiques?’

‘Much of it is genuine but not all of it passes through the legitimate side of their business.’

‘How did you get involved?’

He slumped onto his elbows, sighed and looked over his glasses. ‘How many of those paintings in the hallway do you think are real?’

‘Like I would know. Come on, Charles.’

‘There is a copy of The Hay Wain by John Constable, Salisbury Cathedral by the same artist, others by Dali, Picasso, Seurat. All painted by me. The rest painted by me too, but dismissed by the art establishment for their lack of originality and thinly veiled influences.’

‘And now an Egon Schiele.’

Charles nodded and turned his attention to a hefty glass bowl overflowing with fruit.

‘That still doesn’t tell me how you became involved with the Falconstones.

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