Jude Watson: A King's Ransom

“Espresso?” The saleswoman materialized seemingly out of nowhere. Amy realized that the full-length mirror on the wall was actually a door.

If she were Amy Cahill, she would blush and shake her head no, just because she didn’t want to cause any bother. She imagined what Natalie Kabra would do.

“Tea. Darjeeling,” she said in a curt tone.

“Oh, not Darjeeling, sis,” Dan said. “That’s just so middle class.”

“Lapsang souchong?” the saleswoman asked.

“I just adored his last collection,” Dan said.

The woman’s tight smile dimmed. “That’s a tea ,” she said through pursed lips. For the first time, her icy gaze traveled over their bulging backpacks and settled on their hiking shoes.

“Of course it is,” Amy said. “My brother and I are on holiday,” she added carelessly. “We came straight from boarding school and we’re heading to our chalet, but Mummy has arranged some parties, and we thought we’d pick up a few things.”

The woman appraised them coolly. It was clear that she didn’t believe Amy at all. “Perhaps you’ll be more comfortable in a department store.”

Amy didn’t reply. She remembered that about Ian and Natalie – they never reacted to something they didn’t want to acknowledge. They just pretended the person hadn’t said it at all. She handed the saleswoman a credit card. “Why don’t you take this? We don’t want to waste time. Just set up an account.”

The saleswoman bit her lip. “I’ll only be a moment,” she said curtly. When she returned, she must have checked out the credit limit of the card, because she was wearing a wide smile.

“Please follow me,” she said graciously. “My name is Greta.”

Greta led them into a private room with plush sofas and a wall of mirrors. An empty rack lined the other wall. She disappeared again, then reappeared with an armload of clothes. Amy gulped. So this was how rich people shopped. They didn’t even have to lift a hanger. They just had things brought to them.

For the next half hour, Amy and Dan almost drowned in silks, featherweight cashmeres, and supple leather shoes. Amy was overwhelmed, but she knew she needed to be efficient. Within thirty minutes they walked out of the store in new, impeccably tailored cashmere jackets, Dan in black and Amy in camel. Underneath she wore a green dress with heeled boots. Dan balked at the ties but chose a black sweater that Amy deemed Ian-worthy. The last thing Amy asked of Greta, now their best friend, was to call up a private car and driver.

“Do you know how much this purse cost?” she whispered to Dan as they sat in the backseat on the way to the auction house. She pointed to the large leather satchel on the floor. “More than a year at a fancy private school!”

“‘Everyone needs a statement bag,’” Dan said, mimicking the saleswoman’s accent.

Amy directed the driver to pull the limo up in front of the auction house. It was a white building that looked like a large manor house.

“It’s too bad we couldn’t get any images of the interior,” Dan said.

The people going inside the heavy brass doors looked so … important. So self-assured.

I don’t belong here, Amy thought.

A voice rose in her head. Nellie’s voice. C’mon, kiddo. You can do it. You’re rocking the fancy threads. Work it.

Amy smiled, but she felt her heart constrict. She missed Nellie so much.

The clothes helped. Even the ridiculously large purse the saleswoman had insisted she needed. She saw similar purses on the arms of the chic women walking through the doors.

She tried not to wobble in her heels as they walked into the lobby of the auction house. It was a double-height room with ornate moldings and a gleaming floor. Ahead was a grand curving staircase and to their right was a pair of double doors. A petite woman in a black suit and many strands of large pearls welcomed them in German, but when they answered she switched to flawless English. “Welcome. I am Frau Gertler. The auction will begin in ten minutes.” She handed them a catalog. If she wondered what two teenagers were doing at an auction for Old Masters prints and paintings she gave no sign.

Dan moved closer to the woman. “I wonder if I might have a second catalog,” he said. “Papa will be joining us. By the way, those are fabulous pearls. Mummy has a set just like them, but hers are slightly larger.”

Amy nudged him. He was taking this Ian Kabra impersonation way too far. They had to blend in, not call attention to themselves.

“Thank you,” Frau Gertler said, and leaned over to grab another small stack of catalogs.

The double doors to the auction room opened, and they glimpsed a large room with rows of gilt chairs. An empty easel sat on an elevated platform. People were filing in and sitting down.

Amy’s eyes moved around the lobby. She saw now that many doors were tucked away in alcoves and underneath the stairs. Too many. Then she noted one that was marked BUROS. She knew that was German for offices . She nudged Dan and pointed to it with her chin.

A group of people walked in and were greeted by the chic woman in the black suit. While she was occupied, they pretended to stroll and admire the moldings. They backed up against the door marked BUROS.

“There’s a slot for a key card,” Amy murmured. “So I don’t think you can work your lock-picking magic.”

“That’s okay,” Dan said. “I have a key.”

“How did you get that?”

“‘Fabulous pearls. Mummy has a set just like them,’” he mimicked himself as he looked up at the moldings. Dan’s face was set in a look of concentration Amy recognized. “I knew …” She sneaked a look and saw that behind his back Dan was trying to slide the card through the slot. “… if she leaned over … for the rest of the catalogs that I could … slip it out… .”

Amy leaned back. “About a fraction to the left and up an inch,” she muttered.

Dan found the slot and slid the card in. The door opened a crack. With one last glance at the activity in the lobby, they quickly slid inside.

The door clicked shut behind them softly. Amy let out a breath.

“When did you turn into such a criminal? I didn’t even see you move!”

“There’s a fine line between criminality and genius,” Dan said. “That’s what Lightfinger Larry used to say.”

The hallway was carpeted in severe gray. Steel-framed art marched down one wall. The offices on their left all had glass walls. They could hear the murmur of voices from behind a door to the right. Amy put a finger to her lips. They tiptoed down the hallway, slipping past the empty offices. They were lucky that it was a Saturday. The glass walls gave them a sightline into offices that looked like living rooms, with sofas and easy chairs and paintings on the walls. Amy stopped short.

“I think that’s a Rembrandt,” she whispered, pointing at a small dark painting on the wall of the largest office. “Isn’t it amazing?”

“Sorry. Only one art heist a week for me,” Dan said.

They tiptoed past and kept on going. Finally at the end of the hallway, a door on the right was marked REKORDBURO. Amy nodded, and, after listening for a minute, they cautiously pushed it open. The office was empty.

“Whew,” Amy whispered after they closed the door behind them. “Lucky. I think this is where the records are kept.”

Unlike the elegant offices they’d glimpsed, this room was small and cluttered. A small desk with a fax machine was shoved in between a table and the door. The rest of the room was filled with filing cabinets. The old files could be right here.

“I don’t think they would have digitized their transactions from eighty years ago. But they should have dead files.”