3 The Braque Connection (19 page)

“Happy birthday, Doc.” Manny stepped forward and I leaned in further against Colin’s chest. “For the love of God, missy. At least on this occasion you can let me kiss your cheek.”

Colin gave my arms a squeeze, followed by a light push. His observation had been astute in the car. This party was for them. Had it been about me, I would’ve spent the evening blissfully alone. I didn’t attempt a smile, but stepped forward and offered my cheek to Manny. The subtle woodsy scent of his cologne reached me a moment before I felt a dry, gentle kiss.

“You’re one in a million, Doc.” His whispered words were still registering in significance when he walked back to the sofa. “Wasn’t that hard, now was it?”

“Stop harassing her, old man.” Vinnie gulped visibly and looked at Colin, disappointment and contrition replacing annoyance. “Sorry, dude.”

I laughed. The restraint I had been looking forward to observing had lasted all of one minute. “Don’t apologise, Vinnie. I wouldn’t have you any other way. You are real and I need that in my life.”

“Aw, Jen-girl.” Vinnie opened his arms. “Come here. Come hug big Vin. You know you want to.”

I laughed again. He was outrageous. Knowing I would not be able to avoid his hug, I prepared myself and allowed him to lift me off the floor in one of his strong embraces. I admired, and envied, Vinnie’s fearless approach to emotions and sharing. Thankfully, he didn’t hold onto me for too long. He put me down, his smile genuine and joyful.

“I made tiramisu, a really big one. You can have that as a starter, main course and dessert if you want. It’s your birthday.”

Tiramisu was a guilty pleasure for me, something sweet, rich and unhealthy, yet comforting. Vinnie’s tiramisu had outshone all those I’d had before. He had taken notice of my enjoyment the one time he had made it.

“Happy birthday, girlfriend.” Francine pushed Vinnie away from me. “Go get the food. We want to eat and drink.”

Vinnie left for the kitchen, shaking his head.

“Can I please hug you?” She knew how I detested being touched. I knew how much it would mean to her. All this touching and physical closeness so soon after all the hugs upon our return from England was stressful. I quickly called up Mozart’s Symphony No. 36 in C Major as mental fortification. I nodded and was rewarded with a joyful smile. Francine was twelve centimetres taller than me, wearing high heels. She had to bend her knees to wrap her arms around me. It was a quick hug, but without inhibition. She truly liked me. “I hope you enjoy your party.”

“I’m sure I will.” I was going to make every attempt to honour their effort with my enjoyment.

“Well, come on then.” She grabbed my hand and led me to the sofas.

Manny was sitting, but Phillip was quietly waiting for me. I pulled my hand out of Francine’s hold and walked to the man who had done more for me in seven years on a personal level than my parents had during my whole life. I didn’t need any prompting to hug him. He seldom showed affection, but I knew this moment would be special for him. I was right. First his eyebrows lifted in surprise as I put my arms around him, then his features went soft with affection before he gave me a solid hug. It lasted two seconds.

I sat down next to Colin on the other sofa, glad to be out of the others’ touching range. Manny and Phillip got absorbed in a conversation about the new protests that had started in the Middle East. Vinnie served the
hors d’oeuvres
in the living area, then herded us to the dining room table where we enjoyed a five-course meal. By the time the tiramisu was served, we were ready to sit more comfortably in the living area.

“Time for your gifts.” Vinnie had been the perfect host. In my home. “We put it in my old room, so I’ll go get it.”

“I don’t want gifts. You have done too much already.”

Vinnie made a rude noise and left for the room in the back. Colin got up and followed him.

“Oh, poo. Stop complaining and enjoy our gifts, Doc.” The knot of Manny’s tie was hanging halfway down his chest. I hadn’t seen him this relaxed for some time. He had even smiled when Vinnie told jokes. It hadn’t been a genuine smile, but he was trying. Vinnie and Colin came back carrying wrapped packages.

“Mine first.” Francine jumped up and grabbed a square package from Vinnie’s hands. She swung around and sat next to me. “I ordered this especially for you. Open it.”

I carefully removed the sticky tape, ignoring Francine’s impatient breathing and shifting. The gift was covered in two layers of wrapping, which I removed to fold later. The wooden box that was uncovered made me forget the paper. It was a hand-carved dark wood, the carvings breathtaking. Ancient symbols flowed into each other, forming an intricate pattern.

“All these symbols have meaning, all for something you like. There’s one for Mozart, one for coffee, even one for art. I’ll explain them all later.”

It took me three tries before I could thank her for the thoughtful gift. I was overwhelmed by her generosity and the thought she had put into something so personal. Vinnie’s gift was no less meaningful. It was a collection of poetry by my favourite Russian poets, a book I had been looking for. The gift Manny thrust at me was not something I had expected. He admitted gruffly that it had reminded him of me, and he had thought I would like it.

“Oh, Manny.” I opened one antique Russian doll to find another smaller one. They were not as colourful as the commercially produced souvenirs for tourists. “This is perfect. Where did you find this?”

“Some little shop when I was in England last month. The shopkeeper said these dolls were made by an apprentice of the guy who made the first dolls.”

“Vasily Zvyozdochkin?” Colin leaned in to take a closer look. “Wow.”

From his tone, I surmised that I was holding something of value. Manny dismissed it as little wooden figures and refused to say anything else. Phillip’s gift came as no surprise. Like every year on my birthday, he gave me an antique mosaic. This year it was a pill box. It was beautiful.

“What did you give her, Frey?”

Colin ignored him and handed me a wrapped object easy to guess. “A painting?”

“Open it.” He waited until I held the piece in my hands. “It’s Paul Klee’s Nocturnal Festivity painting.”

“Did you steal that?” Manny sat up and stretched his neck to see the painting. “Or did you forge that?”

“Manny.” Phillip’s voice was low in warning.

“I painted this for you long before this whole cubism crap started. This week I’ve been worrying that it might not be appropriate to give this to you, but then I decided that everyone and everything can go screw itself. This is yours. I painted this because it made me think of you.”

“I’m really glad you decided to give it to me.” It was an incredibly beautiful piece of work made invaluable because Colin had painted it with me in mind. “I love Klee’s work and this is… well, to my novice eye this looks exactly like the original.”

Paul Klee was also a cubist painter, his paintings more colourful than Braque’s, his style strongly resonating with me.

Colin pointed to the tree in the foreground. “Do you see it?”

I held the painting closer and studied the tree. I smiled. “My name. You put the letters of my name in the white touches on the tree.”

“What is it with you people and cubism?” Manny asked. “And before you get all huffy, my question is real. I want to know what it is that you see in all those blocks.”

“Blocks?” Colin sat up, the corner of his mouth pulled into a sneer. “Cubism is the attempt to visually describe the fourth dimension.”

“You’re shitting me.” Manny laughed. “The fourth bloody dimension. What is that?”

“It is postulated that there is an additional dimension to length, area and volume, a special dimension.” I shrugged. “There is no proof of this though.”

“And cubist artists tried to paint this?”

“They painted it,” Colin said. “There is something very right about looking at objects depicted in linear fashion.”

“Almost like
The Matrix
.” Vinnie looked unconcerned when Colin glared at him. I didn’t know what matrix he was referring to.

“Like any new art form, cubism wasn’t always received well.”

“People don’t like change,” I added.

“And they usually call it evil.” Colin turned the Klee reproduction for Manny to see. “Do you see any evil in this? It is not the same style as Braque or Picasso in the height of the cubist period, but it is also rather conceptual than perceptual.”

“So you paint what you think you see, not what you see. That sounds like most art that is not photo-type portraits.”

“You are a troglodyte,” Colin said after a shocked second. He stood up, gathered some dishes and carried it to the kitchen.

“What did he just call me?” Manny asked me.

“A prehistoric cave dweller, but I think his intention was to call you unsophisticated,” I said. Vinnie laughed, got up and helped Colin clear the coffee table.

“What do you see in these paintings, Doc?” Manny clearly had not received a satisfactory answer. I thought about this for a moment.

“This might have to do with me being non-neurotypical. The simplification of what the artists saw, whether people or objects, into geometrical components and planes appeals to me. That geometricity may or may not add up to how that complete object exists in the natural world, but that linear interpretation harmonizes with something inside of me.”

“I don’t think I can say it any better or more beautifully than that,” Colin said as he walked back to the living area. “You’ll just have to be happy with that, Millard.”

Manny didn’t acknowledge Colin’s baiting. “That makes sense, Doc. Thanks.”

Something said in the past few minutes was tugging at my consciousness. I knew that I had uncovered some key, possibly to this case, but it had yet to filter through from my subconscious.

“Jenny? Just tell him if you don’t want to.”

“Don’t want to what?” I had lost the thread of the conversation.

“Can I see your Braque painting, Doc?” Manny was standing, ready to walk to my bedroom.

“Why?” I got up. “I don’t mind showing it to you, but why do you want to see it?”

“Curious.” He was too relaxed from the dinner and laid-back conversation to take care of his body language.

“You’re lying, Manny.” I walked to my bedroom, everyone following. I took a shaky breath. My bedroom was not made to entertain a house full of guests.

“This is the third reproduction of a painting that was stolen and then showed up in Hawk’s house. The safe house forgery, the McCarthy forgery that Frey painted and yours. I’m trying to understand that mystery.”

My bedroom filled up, everyone gathering around my bed, staring at the painting above the headboard. Manny looked at it through narrowed eyes and I wondered what he was looking for. He had no expertise to draw from. Colin and Vinnie were talking about an uninteresting topic when the change in Colin’s voice caught my attention. I turned as he stopped in the middle of his sentence to step closer to the painting.

“What’s wrong?” I asked. The narrowing of his eyes and the deep frown lowering his brow were telling me something was causing him great concern. He reached out and took the painting from the wall.

“This is not the original.”

“Well, we know that, Frey. Doc has told us it is a reproduction.”

“No.” Colin shook his head and tilted the painting to the light. “This is not the original reproduction Jenny had. This is a forgery. And it looks like it was done by the same artist who did the safe house forgery.”

“For reals?” Vinnie looked as astonished as I felt.

“That means he was in my bedroom.” My voice was so strained, it hurt to speak.

“We’re sleeping here tonight.” Colin handed the painting to Phillip who was quietly holding out his hand. “Don’t even think to argue, Jenny. Vinnie will sleep in his old room, but we are both sleeping here tonight.”

The doorbell interrupted my attempt at coming up with a viable argument. If both men were staying over, Colin would want to sleep in my bed. I didn’t know if I was ready for that decision to be taken out of my hands.

“Jenny!” Colin took my upper arms in a firm, but gentle grip. I had not been paying attention to the conversation. “Are you expecting anyone?”

“No.” Reason entered before I could panic. “It wouldn’t be the thief, forger or anyone like that. All the lights are on and surely he can hear us from the hallway.”

“Doesn’t matter. Vinnie will get it.”

We left my room as swiftly as we had entered it. Vinnie was already by the front door when I followed Colin out. Francine and Phillip waited in the living area, Manny a couple of feet behind Vinnie. I had lived with fear all my life and at times rebelled against it, not always with positive results. Tonight I wasn’t going to allow a doorbell to cow me. I walked with Colin to the door just as Vinnie turned around, his face contorted in anger.

“That motherfucking bastard.” He held the delivery out to me. “He sent you flowers.”

My gasp wasn’t audible above the explosion of expletives. I wasn’t listening to Vinnie and Colin vowing pain and death, or to Manny interrogating the delivery boy. My eyes were riveted on the bunch of red daffodils. I was sure if I counted them, there would be thirty-five. A flower for each year of my life. Sent by Kubanov. He had just announced his presence, his connection to this case.