The Lost Symphony, page 5
‘Uncle?’ croaked Davydov, tears in his eyes.
‘Yes, it is me. You look so thin. Are you unwell?’
‘I live in torment. I cannot sleep and cannot find peace.’
‘Why?’
‘Because I have failed you,’ sobbed Davydov.
‘How?’
‘I have failed to deliver the score of your Russian symphony to our beloved tsar as you requested. And now he’s dead and has been succeeded by his son.’
For a long moment there was complete silence in the chamber. Davydov interpreted this as a sign that his uncle was disappointed, perhaps even angry with him, and had withdrawn.
‘No matter, my dear Bob, as long as you still have the score, all is well,’ continued the voice. ‘You do have it still?’
‘Oh yes, I do,’ replied Davydov, relieved. ‘It is safe.’
‘Then all is well and it is not too late to make amends.’
‘It isn’t?’ said Davydov through his tears. ‘Please tell me how that could be so.’
‘I will. Now, please listen carefully. This is what I want you to do.’
6
Countess Bolkonskaya’s promise, St Petersburg: early December 1894
Instead of bringing some much-needed peace of mind and calmness into Davydov’s troubled life, the Borodin séance had the opposite effect. Despite the forgiveness, encouragement and hope that Davydov had been so desperately yearning for, he found contact with Tchaikovsky’s spirit not only disturbing, but he was filled with doubts and anxiety about what he had been requested to do.
Towards the end of the séance, after Davydov had confirmed that he still had the original score in his possession, the spirit had asked him to hand it to Countess Bolkonskaya, one of the tsarina’s closest friends, with a request to deliver it to Tsar Nicholas II. This would fulfil the promise Davydov had made at Tchaikovsky’s deathbed. The spirit reassured him that the new tsar would honour the dedication made to his father, Tsar Alexander III, who had passed away on 1 November, and deal with the symphony accordingly.
At first Davydov was elated, as this was a clear indication of the forgiveness that would absolve him from all guilt and further responsibility in the future. However, for some reason he couldn’t quite explain, elation soon turned into alarm when Borodin told him at the conclusion of the séance that Countess Bolkonskaya was a frequent visitor and well known to Borodin and the medium as someone who made regular contact with the spirit world. He insinuated that this was most opportune in the circumstances and obviously something the spirit was well aware of, as a meeting with the countess could easily be arranged to facilitate the handover of the symphony. Borodin offered to be the go-between. He would explain the situation to the countess, introduce her to Davydov and prepare the way.
This was classic Borodin, who used every available avenue to exploit his subjects and their weaknesses to advance his own position and reputation, and make money along the way. Borodin, a rapacious master manipulator, knew that knowledge was power. The séances were about just that, as these carefully orchestrated sessions were the perfect vehicle to obtain confidential and often hidden information about individuals and situations that would otherwise never have seen the light of day.
In the fascinating Davydov–Tchaikovsky situation that he had just discovered concerning the symphony, he recognised a huge opportunity to gain entry into sought-after court circles and ingratiate himself with someone close to the tsarina. If what Davydov had revealed during the séance was true and he did in fact have access to an original score of an unpublished symphony by Tchaikovsky dedicated to the tsar’s late father, then this was explosive intelligence that, if handled correctly, could be of enormous value. Borodin intended to take full advantage of this little gem and exploit the unexpected windfall to the fullest.
The necessary groundwork had already been laid in the way the séance had been conducted by Olga, and the direction it had taken. Knowing the countess was the key to this cunning plan, all Borodin had to do was bring the countess and Davydov together. Davydov would find peace of mind and the absolution he so desperately craved, and the countess, an ambitious woman who could be manipulated, would be handed something she could not have imagined in her wildest dreams: a Russian musical treasure that would make history, and she would be the one to present it to the tsar. As for Borodin and Olga, they would make sure the countess never forgot who had made it all possible, and how. She would remain forever in their debt and, if managed correctly, do their bidding in the future. With that, the door to the Imperial family would have been prised open at last.
All that remained to be done was to arrange a meeting as soon as possible while the impressions of the séance were still vivid, and make sure Davydov handed the symphony to the countess. The rest would take care of itself.
Two days later, Borodin contacted Davydov’s friend with good news: a meeting with Countess Bolkonskaya had been arranged for that evening, and she had agreed to deliver the symphony to the tsar. As a close friend and confidante of the young tsarina, she had free and regular access to the tsar himself.
When Davydov heard the news about the meeting, he almost had a panic attack and immediately drank half a bottle of vodka to calm his nerves. Plagued by indecision and doubts, he stared at the score on his desk, unable to make a final decision. It was only after his friend had reassured him and pointed out all the logical reasons for going ahead, that Davydov finally agreed to the meeting. As soon as he was alone, however, Davydov turned to morphine for courage and injected himself with a huge dose to banish the demons haunting his feverish mind.
Countess Bolkonskaya had arrived earlier and was waiting for Davydov in the séance chamber. Borodin had carefully chosen this setting for the meeting, as it would remind Davydov of the recent encounter with the spirit world and provide an opportunity to call on the medium at short notice to quickly make contact with Tchaikovsky’s spirit again, should that become necessary.
Countess Bolkonskaya, a striking woman in her thirties, had presence. Dressed all in black – she was still mourning her own recently departed husband – and wearing jewellery her friend the tsarina would have been proud to own, she radiated class and style. Since her husband’s sudden death six months earlier, she had turned to mysticism and the occult for comfort, and to attempt to make contact with his spirit for advice and support. This was how she had come across Borodin and Olga.
It had only taken one séance to turn her into a believer, and she immediately became one of Borodin’s most fervent followers, singing his praises at court. The Imperial family at the time was not immune from the spiritual searching and fascination with mysticism, the occult and all matters supernatural, sweeping across Russia. Alexandra, the newlywed tsarina – Nicholas and Alexandra had been married in the Winter Palace in St Petersburg on 26 November – in particular, was also very interested in spiritualism.
After introductions were made, a reluctant Davydov placed the precious score he had been guarding since Tchaikovsky’s death and which had so tormented his guilt-riddled soul, on the marble table for all to see.
‘May I?’ said the countess and reached for the bundle of faded pages full of vertically aligned staves and clefs braced and barred together, and with numerous musical notations and instructions in the margin, representing the musical ideas of a genius. As she quickly leafed through the pages, her eyes fell on the dedication to the late Tsar Alexander III and signed by Tchaikovsky, which she read with interest.
Convinced of the authenticity of the document, the countess put the bundle of pages back on the table and looked at Davydov, who was looking uncomfortable and fidgeting in his seat.
‘Are you sure about this?’ asked the countess. Noticing Davydov’s unease, Borodin decided to step in before Davydov had an opportunity to reply.
‘May I make a suggestion?’ he asked quietly.
‘Please, go ahead,’ said the countess.
‘Why don’t we ask the maestro himself?’ suggested Borodin, carefully watching Davydov out of the corner of his eye. ‘This would make everything clear and remove any uncertainty.’
Davydov looked at Borodin gratefully. The need for making a difficult decision had just been removed. Moments later, Olga the medium made a dramatic entrance and took a seat at the table between Davydov and the countess. Tchaikovsky’s spirit was summoned and duly appeared during the carefully choreographed séance Borodin and Olga had worked out before the meeting.
After several questions about the score, Davydov asked his late uncle’s spirit for guidance. He asked if he should hand over the symphony to the countess. After a long silence, the spirit replied: ‘The answer to your question, my beloved Bob, rests in a simple promise. If Countess Bolkonskaya is prepared to promise on the memory of her late husband to deliver my symphony to the tsar, then yes, please hand it to her now ...’
Borodin looked at the countess, the question on his face obvious.
The countess turned to Davydov, tears in her eyes. ‘I promise,’ she whispered, momentarily overcome by the gravity of the moment.
Relieved, Olga closed her eyes, tilted her head back and began to tremble, a clear signal that the séance was over.
During the years that followed the handover of the symphony, Davydov sank deeper and deeper into despair. Despite the promise made by the countess, Davydov heard nothing further about the fate of the symphony, or if it had even been delivered to the tsar as promised. Numerous attempts to contact the countess failed. Even Borodin refused to help and indicated there was nothing he could do. He claimed not to have had any further contact with Bolkonskaya.
Riddled with doubts and regrets, and finally deserted by his friend who could no longer take the violent, alcohol and morphine-fuelled outbursts and irrational behaviour, Davydov reached a point of no return. He stood on a clifftop of desperation with nowhere to go.
On the morning of 27 December 1906, aged 34, he shot himself, his suicide causing not even a ripple in the fabric of St Petersburg society. Cast aside and forgotten, he was buried in the Dem’ianovo Cemetery in the town of Klin, where he had helped to set up a museum to commemorate his famous uncle’s work and life.
7
The Letter, Paris: 7 January 2017
Jack was sitting in his favourite chair in the conservatory, writing, when Countess Kuragin walked in.
‘I thought I’d find you here,’ she said. ‘I just had an interesting call from Claude.’
‘Claude? Claude who? Enlighten me.’
‘Claude Dupree, a wonderful man. He has repaired our clocks here for years. I sent your music box over to him to see if he can, you know, do something to make it go.’
‘Of course. I remember.’
‘Well, he just called. It was all very strange.’
‘In what way?’
‘He would like to see us.’
‘Oh? Why?’
‘Apparently, he discovered something inside the music box he wants to show us. In person.’
Jack pushed his laptop aside and looked at the countess.
‘How interesting. Did he say what it was?’
‘No, I couldn’t get it out of him. But he did say the music box is now working perfectly.’
‘At least that’s something.’
The countess looked outside. ‘The weather isn’t too bad today—’
‘What’s on your mind?’ interrupted Jack. ‘I know you.’
‘I thought, why don’t we drive into Paris and pay Dupree a visit – his workshop is in Montmartre – and then we can have a nice lunch?’
‘Great idea. You have somewhere in mind?’
‘I do.’
‘Care to tell me where?’
‘No,’ said the countess, smiling. ‘It’s a surprise.’
‘How nice. Do I know the place?’
‘Oh yes, you do.’
‘Any hints?’
‘You had an unforgettable experience there not that long ago.’
‘Now you’ve made me really curious. I’ve been to a number of places in Paris the last year.’
‘I know you have, but this one made quite an impression if I remember correctly,’ said the countess, a sparkle in her eyes.
‘Great, I’m always ready for surprises. I’ve had enough of writing today anyway.’ Jack closed his laptop. ‘Just can’t seem to get my act together. Cabin fever.’
‘You need another adventure,’ teased the countess. ‘I thought last year was more than enough excitement for a few years at least.’
‘You know how it is; itchy feet.’
‘Poor boy.’
‘When do you want to leave?’
‘Say, in an hour? And wear something decent,’ said the countess.
‘Oh, that kind of place?’
‘I just don’t want you to feel out of place.’
‘Me? Never! I’m sure François will tell me where we’re going.’
‘I doubt it.’
‘We’ll see.’
‘No, he won’t.’
‘You seem very sure.’
‘I am. Do you want to know why?’ said the countess, smiling.
‘Tell me.’
‘Because I haven’t told him yet where we are lunching.’
‘Any reason you’re keeping this a secret?’
‘Yes, because the place would give it away ...’
‘Give what away?’ asked Jack.
‘The identity of the person we are having lunch with.’
‘Very cagey of you. Someone I know?’
‘Oh yes,’ said the countess, enjoying herself.
‘You’ve been planning this all along, haven’t you? You’re not setting me up; not some kind of date, I hope?’ said Jack, looking alarmed.
‘No, don’t worry. It’s all part of a promise.’
‘A promise? How intriguing. I’ll get ready.’
Because traffic was unusually light, it took them just over an hour to reach Paris, and François manoeuvred the old Bentley carefully through the narrow streets of Montmartre until he could go no further. ‘You’ll have to walk from here, I’m afraid,’ he said and parked the large car in front of a set of stairs leading up a hill.
‘No problem, it isn’t far from here,’ said the countess and got out of the car.
Located at the end of a narrow, cobblestoned alley, Dupree’s workshop reminded Jack of Jakob Finkelstein, the famous Watchmaker of Warsaw. He had come across the eccentric Finkelstein ten years earlier, and was wondering if perhaps this marked the beginning of some danger and excitement, just as that unforgettable encounter had done all those years ago.
Same clutter, same smells, same dimly lit walls covered with all kinds of clocks, thought Jack. Even the sounds were similar, the regular tick-tock of a hundred intricate mechanisms trying in vain to move in unison.
However, that’s where the similarities ended. Dupree was a man in remarkably good shape for someone well into his seventies. Tall, of athletic build with a full head of white hair and a neatly trimmed moustache, he looked more like a senior politician than a retired police officer who had once been a top detective in the Paris Police Prefecture and in charge of several sensational murder cases. After his retirement almost twenty years ago, he had decided to pursue his passion for antique clocks and, following in his father’s footsteps, became a horologist.
‘How good of you to come, Countess,’ said Dupree and ushered his visitors to the back of the workshop. ‘Lovely to see you.’
‘You made us very curious, Monsieur Dupree,’ said the countess.
‘And with good reason.’ Dupree pointed to the music box on his workbench. ‘A splendid example, one of the best I’ve seen in a long time. An antique Regina 15 ½-inch disc music box with four discs; Cuban flame mahogany. It was manufactured in Gohis, Germany, in 1885. Quite rare. Excellent quality, and it works perfectly now. Here, listen.’
Dupree activated the mechanism at the back of the music box and within moments a cheerful Russian folk song chimed through the workshop with great clarity and a pleasing tone.
‘How lovely. A little different from last time,’ observed Jack.
‘Not surprising,’ said Dupree, ‘when you consider why it didn’t work.’
‘Oh? Is that why you wanted to see us?’ asked the countess.
Dupree nodded, took off his glasses and began to polish them with a crumpled handkerchief. Delighted to have such distinguished visitors in his workshop, Dupree took his time. He didn’t have many visitors these days and besides, there was little demand for someone with his eclectic interests anymore. Times had changed.
Slowly, he put his glasses back on and looked at the countess. Then he reached for a dented tin with deep scratches sitting on the workbench, opened it and pushed it towards her. ‘Here, please have a look, Countess. This is what we found inside. It was blocking the mechanism; that’s why it didn’t work.’
The countess pointed to the tin. ‘This is yours, Jack. Better have a look and see what it is.’
Jack peered into the tin. ‘What do you think this was doing in the music box in the first place?’ he asked.
‘I think it was hidden in there. That’s the most logical explanation,’ said Dupree. ‘To open the back of the box wasn’t difficult and could easily have been done without causing damage.’
Jack reached into the tin and took out a neatly folded piece of paper the size of a handkerchief. ‘What’s this?’ he asked.
‘A letter,’ said Dupree, becoming excited. ‘But not just any letter, as you will see in a moment.’
Jack unfolded the piece of paper and looked at the neat handwriting covering both sides. The ink had faded, but the words were clearly visible, and so was the date in the top right-hand corner – Yekaterinburg, 16 July 1918.
‘How interesting,’ said Jack.
‘It’s more than that,’ said Dupree. ‘I had a close look at it and showed it to my son. I hope you don’t mind. He helped me with the repairs.’
‘Yes, it is me. You look so thin. Are you unwell?’
‘I live in torment. I cannot sleep and cannot find peace.’
‘Why?’
‘Because I have failed you,’ sobbed Davydov.
‘How?’
‘I have failed to deliver the score of your Russian symphony to our beloved tsar as you requested. And now he’s dead and has been succeeded by his son.’
For a long moment there was complete silence in the chamber. Davydov interpreted this as a sign that his uncle was disappointed, perhaps even angry with him, and had withdrawn.
‘No matter, my dear Bob, as long as you still have the score, all is well,’ continued the voice. ‘You do have it still?’
‘Oh yes, I do,’ replied Davydov, relieved. ‘It is safe.’
‘Then all is well and it is not too late to make amends.’
‘It isn’t?’ said Davydov through his tears. ‘Please tell me how that could be so.’
‘I will. Now, please listen carefully. This is what I want you to do.’
6
Countess Bolkonskaya’s promise, St Petersburg: early December 1894
Instead of bringing some much-needed peace of mind and calmness into Davydov’s troubled life, the Borodin séance had the opposite effect. Despite the forgiveness, encouragement and hope that Davydov had been so desperately yearning for, he found contact with Tchaikovsky’s spirit not only disturbing, but he was filled with doubts and anxiety about what he had been requested to do.
Towards the end of the séance, after Davydov had confirmed that he still had the original score in his possession, the spirit had asked him to hand it to Countess Bolkonskaya, one of the tsarina’s closest friends, with a request to deliver it to Tsar Nicholas II. This would fulfil the promise Davydov had made at Tchaikovsky’s deathbed. The spirit reassured him that the new tsar would honour the dedication made to his father, Tsar Alexander III, who had passed away on 1 November, and deal with the symphony accordingly.
At first Davydov was elated, as this was a clear indication of the forgiveness that would absolve him from all guilt and further responsibility in the future. However, for some reason he couldn’t quite explain, elation soon turned into alarm when Borodin told him at the conclusion of the séance that Countess Bolkonskaya was a frequent visitor and well known to Borodin and the medium as someone who made regular contact with the spirit world. He insinuated that this was most opportune in the circumstances and obviously something the spirit was well aware of, as a meeting with the countess could easily be arranged to facilitate the handover of the symphony. Borodin offered to be the go-between. He would explain the situation to the countess, introduce her to Davydov and prepare the way.
This was classic Borodin, who used every available avenue to exploit his subjects and their weaknesses to advance his own position and reputation, and make money along the way. Borodin, a rapacious master manipulator, knew that knowledge was power. The séances were about just that, as these carefully orchestrated sessions were the perfect vehicle to obtain confidential and often hidden information about individuals and situations that would otherwise never have seen the light of day.
In the fascinating Davydov–Tchaikovsky situation that he had just discovered concerning the symphony, he recognised a huge opportunity to gain entry into sought-after court circles and ingratiate himself with someone close to the tsarina. If what Davydov had revealed during the séance was true and he did in fact have access to an original score of an unpublished symphony by Tchaikovsky dedicated to the tsar’s late father, then this was explosive intelligence that, if handled correctly, could be of enormous value. Borodin intended to take full advantage of this little gem and exploit the unexpected windfall to the fullest.
The necessary groundwork had already been laid in the way the séance had been conducted by Olga, and the direction it had taken. Knowing the countess was the key to this cunning plan, all Borodin had to do was bring the countess and Davydov together. Davydov would find peace of mind and the absolution he so desperately craved, and the countess, an ambitious woman who could be manipulated, would be handed something she could not have imagined in her wildest dreams: a Russian musical treasure that would make history, and she would be the one to present it to the tsar. As for Borodin and Olga, they would make sure the countess never forgot who had made it all possible, and how. She would remain forever in their debt and, if managed correctly, do their bidding in the future. With that, the door to the Imperial family would have been prised open at last.
All that remained to be done was to arrange a meeting as soon as possible while the impressions of the séance were still vivid, and make sure Davydov handed the symphony to the countess. The rest would take care of itself.
Two days later, Borodin contacted Davydov’s friend with good news: a meeting with Countess Bolkonskaya had been arranged for that evening, and she had agreed to deliver the symphony to the tsar. As a close friend and confidante of the young tsarina, she had free and regular access to the tsar himself.
When Davydov heard the news about the meeting, he almost had a panic attack and immediately drank half a bottle of vodka to calm his nerves. Plagued by indecision and doubts, he stared at the score on his desk, unable to make a final decision. It was only after his friend had reassured him and pointed out all the logical reasons for going ahead, that Davydov finally agreed to the meeting. As soon as he was alone, however, Davydov turned to morphine for courage and injected himself with a huge dose to banish the demons haunting his feverish mind.
Countess Bolkonskaya had arrived earlier and was waiting for Davydov in the séance chamber. Borodin had carefully chosen this setting for the meeting, as it would remind Davydov of the recent encounter with the spirit world and provide an opportunity to call on the medium at short notice to quickly make contact with Tchaikovsky’s spirit again, should that become necessary.
Countess Bolkonskaya, a striking woman in her thirties, had presence. Dressed all in black – she was still mourning her own recently departed husband – and wearing jewellery her friend the tsarina would have been proud to own, she radiated class and style. Since her husband’s sudden death six months earlier, she had turned to mysticism and the occult for comfort, and to attempt to make contact with his spirit for advice and support. This was how she had come across Borodin and Olga.
It had only taken one séance to turn her into a believer, and she immediately became one of Borodin’s most fervent followers, singing his praises at court. The Imperial family at the time was not immune from the spiritual searching and fascination with mysticism, the occult and all matters supernatural, sweeping across Russia. Alexandra, the newlywed tsarina – Nicholas and Alexandra had been married in the Winter Palace in St Petersburg on 26 November – in particular, was also very interested in spiritualism.
After introductions were made, a reluctant Davydov placed the precious score he had been guarding since Tchaikovsky’s death and which had so tormented his guilt-riddled soul, on the marble table for all to see.
‘May I?’ said the countess and reached for the bundle of faded pages full of vertically aligned staves and clefs braced and barred together, and with numerous musical notations and instructions in the margin, representing the musical ideas of a genius. As she quickly leafed through the pages, her eyes fell on the dedication to the late Tsar Alexander III and signed by Tchaikovsky, which she read with interest.
Convinced of the authenticity of the document, the countess put the bundle of pages back on the table and looked at Davydov, who was looking uncomfortable and fidgeting in his seat.
‘Are you sure about this?’ asked the countess. Noticing Davydov’s unease, Borodin decided to step in before Davydov had an opportunity to reply.
‘May I make a suggestion?’ he asked quietly.
‘Please, go ahead,’ said the countess.
‘Why don’t we ask the maestro himself?’ suggested Borodin, carefully watching Davydov out of the corner of his eye. ‘This would make everything clear and remove any uncertainty.’
Davydov looked at Borodin gratefully. The need for making a difficult decision had just been removed. Moments later, Olga the medium made a dramatic entrance and took a seat at the table between Davydov and the countess. Tchaikovsky’s spirit was summoned and duly appeared during the carefully choreographed séance Borodin and Olga had worked out before the meeting.
After several questions about the score, Davydov asked his late uncle’s spirit for guidance. He asked if he should hand over the symphony to the countess. After a long silence, the spirit replied: ‘The answer to your question, my beloved Bob, rests in a simple promise. If Countess Bolkonskaya is prepared to promise on the memory of her late husband to deliver my symphony to the tsar, then yes, please hand it to her now ...’
Borodin looked at the countess, the question on his face obvious.
The countess turned to Davydov, tears in her eyes. ‘I promise,’ she whispered, momentarily overcome by the gravity of the moment.
Relieved, Olga closed her eyes, tilted her head back and began to tremble, a clear signal that the séance was over.
During the years that followed the handover of the symphony, Davydov sank deeper and deeper into despair. Despite the promise made by the countess, Davydov heard nothing further about the fate of the symphony, or if it had even been delivered to the tsar as promised. Numerous attempts to contact the countess failed. Even Borodin refused to help and indicated there was nothing he could do. He claimed not to have had any further contact with Bolkonskaya.
Riddled with doubts and regrets, and finally deserted by his friend who could no longer take the violent, alcohol and morphine-fuelled outbursts and irrational behaviour, Davydov reached a point of no return. He stood on a clifftop of desperation with nowhere to go.
On the morning of 27 December 1906, aged 34, he shot himself, his suicide causing not even a ripple in the fabric of St Petersburg society. Cast aside and forgotten, he was buried in the Dem’ianovo Cemetery in the town of Klin, where he had helped to set up a museum to commemorate his famous uncle’s work and life.
7
The Letter, Paris: 7 January 2017
Jack was sitting in his favourite chair in the conservatory, writing, when Countess Kuragin walked in.
‘I thought I’d find you here,’ she said. ‘I just had an interesting call from Claude.’
‘Claude? Claude who? Enlighten me.’
‘Claude Dupree, a wonderful man. He has repaired our clocks here for years. I sent your music box over to him to see if he can, you know, do something to make it go.’
‘Of course. I remember.’
‘Well, he just called. It was all very strange.’
‘In what way?’
‘He would like to see us.’
‘Oh? Why?’
‘Apparently, he discovered something inside the music box he wants to show us. In person.’
Jack pushed his laptop aside and looked at the countess.
‘How interesting. Did he say what it was?’
‘No, I couldn’t get it out of him. But he did say the music box is now working perfectly.’
‘At least that’s something.’
The countess looked outside. ‘The weather isn’t too bad today—’
‘What’s on your mind?’ interrupted Jack. ‘I know you.’
‘I thought, why don’t we drive into Paris and pay Dupree a visit – his workshop is in Montmartre – and then we can have a nice lunch?’
‘Great idea. You have somewhere in mind?’
‘I do.’
‘Care to tell me where?’
‘No,’ said the countess, smiling. ‘It’s a surprise.’
‘How nice. Do I know the place?’
‘Oh yes, you do.’
‘Any hints?’
‘You had an unforgettable experience there not that long ago.’
‘Now you’ve made me really curious. I’ve been to a number of places in Paris the last year.’
‘I know you have, but this one made quite an impression if I remember correctly,’ said the countess, a sparkle in her eyes.
‘Great, I’m always ready for surprises. I’ve had enough of writing today anyway.’ Jack closed his laptop. ‘Just can’t seem to get my act together. Cabin fever.’
‘You need another adventure,’ teased the countess. ‘I thought last year was more than enough excitement for a few years at least.’
‘You know how it is; itchy feet.’
‘Poor boy.’
‘When do you want to leave?’
‘Say, in an hour? And wear something decent,’ said the countess.
‘Oh, that kind of place?’
‘I just don’t want you to feel out of place.’
‘Me? Never! I’m sure François will tell me where we’re going.’
‘I doubt it.’
‘We’ll see.’
‘No, he won’t.’
‘You seem very sure.’
‘I am. Do you want to know why?’ said the countess, smiling.
‘Tell me.’
‘Because I haven’t told him yet where we are lunching.’
‘Any reason you’re keeping this a secret?’
‘Yes, because the place would give it away ...’
‘Give what away?’ asked Jack.
‘The identity of the person we are having lunch with.’
‘Very cagey of you. Someone I know?’
‘Oh yes,’ said the countess, enjoying herself.
‘You’ve been planning this all along, haven’t you? You’re not setting me up; not some kind of date, I hope?’ said Jack, looking alarmed.
‘No, don’t worry. It’s all part of a promise.’
‘A promise? How intriguing. I’ll get ready.’
Because traffic was unusually light, it took them just over an hour to reach Paris, and François manoeuvred the old Bentley carefully through the narrow streets of Montmartre until he could go no further. ‘You’ll have to walk from here, I’m afraid,’ he said and parked the large car in front of a set of stairs leading up a hill.
‘No problem, it isn’t far from here,’ said the countess and got out of the car.
Located at the end of a narrow, cobblestoned alley, Dupree’s workshop reminded Jack of Jakob Finkelstein, the famous Watchmaker of Warsaw. He had come across the eccentric Finkelstein ten years earlier, and was wondering if perhaps this marked the beginning of some danger and excitement, just as that unforgettable encounter had done all those years ago.
Same clutter, same smells, same dimly lit walls covered with all kinds of clocks, thought Jack. Even the sounds were similar, the regular tick-tock of a hundred intricate mechanisms trying in vain to move in unison.
However, that’s where the similarities ended. Dupree was a man in remarkably good shape for someone well into his seventies. Tall, of athletic build with a full head of white hair and a neatly trimmed moustache, he looked more like a senior politician than a retired police officer who had once been a top detective in the Paris Police Prefecture and in charge of several sensational murder cases. After his retirement almost twenty years ago, he had decided to pursue his passion for antique clocks and, following in his father’s footsteps, became a horologist.
‘How good of you to come, Countess,’ said Dupree and ushered his visitors to the back of the workshop. ‘Lovely to see you.’
‘You made us very curious, Monsieur Dupree,’ said the countess.
‘And with good reason.’ Dupree pointed to the music box on his workbench. ‘A splendid example, one of the best I’ve seen in a long time. An antique Regina 15 ½-inch disc music box with four discs; Cuban flame mahogany. It was manufactured in Gohis, Germany, in 1885. Quite rare. Excellent quality, and it works perfectly now. Here, listen.’
Dupree activated the mechanism at the back of the music box and within moments a cheerful Russian folk song chimed through the workshop with great clarity and a pleasing tone.
‘How lovely. A little different from last time,’ observed Jack.
‘Not surprising,’ said Dupree, ‘when you consider why it didn’t work.’
‘Oh? Is that why you wanted to see us?’ asked the countess.
Dupree nodded, took off his glasses and began to polish them with a crumpled handkerchief. Delighted to have such distinguished visitors in his workshop, Dupree took his time. He didn’t have many visitors these days and besides, there was little demand for someone with his eclectic interests anymore. Times had changed.
Slowly, he put his glasses back on and looked at the countess. Then he reached for a dented tin with deep scratches sitting on the workbench, opened it and pushed it towards her. ‘Here, please have a look, Countess. This is what we found inside. It was blocking the mechanism; that’s why it didn’t work.’
The countess pointed to the tin. ‘This is yours, Jack. Better have a look and see what it is.’
Jack peered into the tin. ‘What do you think this was doing in the music box in the first place?’ he asked.
‘I think it was hidden in there. That’s the most logical explanation,’ said Dupree. ‘To open the back of the box wasn’t difficult and could easily have been done without causing damage.’
Jack reached into the tin and took out a neatly folded piece of paper the size of a handkerchief. ‘What’s this?’ he asked.
‘A letter,’ said Dupree, becoming excited. ‘But not just any letter, as you will see in a moment.’
Jack unfolded the piece of paper and looked at the neat handwriting covering both sides. The ink had faded, but the words were clearly visible, and so was the date in the top right-hand corner – Yekaterinburg, 16 July 1918.
‘How interesting,’ said Jack.
‘It’s more than that,’ said Dupree. ‘I had a close look at it and showed it to my son. I hope you don’t mind. He helped me with the repairs.’
