The Piano Maker (15 page)

There were no fewer than eleven, most with head offices in England or the United States, and she began telephoning them one after the other. To make the calls she went to the telephone exchange on Sherbrooke, and she spaced her visits to allow for the various time zones across Canada. Some companies required three and four calls before she finally found the right person.

“In the late autumn of 1917,” she would say. “Or maybe winter. On a ship from England to Halifax and onward from there by rail.”

She would listen, and say, “Yes. Perhaps nine hundred cubic feet of fine-grained instrument stock. Winter oak, fruit-tree veneers, and northern spruce. And a roll of detailed placement drawings for harps and soundboards and chamber shapes.”

In this methodical way, phone call by phone call, she found out that her wood had in fact arrived at the rail
siding of the Cobourg Piano and Organ Company in December 1917. And that a payment of 2,750 Canadian dollars had been made to a bank account in Toronto.

“An account in whose name?” she asked the manager.

“I don’t think I’m at liberty to say, ma’am. On the whole it was a well-organized transaction, and it all went exactly as planned. Quite a feat, considering the times. I mean, the war and all.”

That night she told Claire what she’d found out.

“He stole it!” said Claire. And then, fiercely: “He lied to you. My God. What a beastly thing to do. How could he?”

“I don’t know. But I’m going to ask him. I’ll find him, and we’re going to get our money.”

Monsieur de Fougère’s office found Nathan within days, and she wrote him a letter saying that if there was ever another opportunity like Marseille, she would now like to work with him.

Just five weeks later, one evening after dinner, the doorbell rang. She was in the kitchen, cleaning up, and because she knew that Claire was in her room studying, she took off the apron and went to the door. She turned on the outside light and opened up, and there he stood in a coat with the collar turned up against the snow. He grinned and took off his hat.

“It’s been a long time, Helen,” he said, and he turned and waved to a waiting taxi. The driver put the car in gear and moved off.

WHEN HE
’
D HUNG UP
his coat, she led the way to the kitchen, closed the door behind him, and asked him to sit. There was something different about him, but at the moment she did not care to find out what it was. She took a deep breath.

“Nathan,” she said, “you owe us four thousand six hundred dollars. Two thousand seven hundred and fifty plus inflation. I worked it out with the help of my bank manager.”

He stared at her. “What?”

“You heard me.”

“It’s nice to see you too, Helen.”

“Yes. That ship never sank. It was the HMS
Labrador
, and it docked safely in Halifax in the winter of 1917.”

“What on earth are you talking about?” His face had turned red. “Is that why you wrote to me?”

“Just listen, Nathan. The Cobourg Piano and Organ Company. Mr. John Morland, manager. I spoke with him.”

“Helen—”

“You stole from us, Nathan. You lied to us. Knowing full well that I was scraping for money and supporting Claire all these years.
Friends
, you said the day when you came with the trucks and picked up the wood. Shame on you, Nathan. I want that money now, all of it, or I’ll report the incident. Monsieur de Fougère has become something of a
real
friend to us. He is well connected in government circles, and he’ll help me go to the right places.”

She watched the changes in his face, all the colour drained now and then a flicker of something in the eyes – acceptance, she thought. She watched him rub his hands over his forehead. There was grey in his hair now, but the main difference from years ago was in his face and in his posture, in the way he held his head or his shoulders. Guilt? A hint of failure? Could it be? The bold Nathan Homewood suddenly not so sure of himself?

“Are you going to say something, Nathan? An explanation, perhaps. A reason? Not that it’ll change anything.”

“No. I’m just …”

“Yes? Just what?”

“Nothing. You’re right, Helen. I was going to tell you tonight.”

“Oh, how sweet. Of course you were. Do you know how weak that sounds? Were you going to say you’re sorry and that you don’t know what came over you? Is that it?”

“Yes. Something like that. I was angry, Helen. When I heard that Pierre had died, I had hopes. That sounds so trite now.”

“Hopes for what?”

“For you, of course. For us. He’d been dead three years, for God’s sake. I was angry and disappointed and – no, don’t say anything, I
was
, and it’s the only excuse I have. And let’s not even talk about the French-Canadian artillery captain. What was that all about? There were rumours among the men.”

“Rumours,” she said. “Were there now. Nathan, you remember how that day by the river, when I told you about Pierre, I also told you how I felt about you? Well, nothing ever changed, and we made a deal in France. We shook hands. Friends, we said.”

“Yes, we did.”

“What you did was shameful.”

“All right, all right. Enough. Stop saying it.” He looked towards the sink. “Do you think I could have a glass of water?”

She made no move to get up. The word that came to her about him now was
humbled
, and she pressed on.

“I want the money in my bank account within the week, Nathan.”

“That won’t be possible. I don’t have that much at the moment. I can give you a few hundred now and the rest over time.”

“Over how much time?”

“I can’t say. A year or two.”

“No. Not good enough. You’ll just have to find a way.”

“
Find a way
. It’s not so easy any more. Money is drying up and people are going broke. I have prospects, but there are difficulties.”

“I don’t care about your difficulties. We need our money and I want it now.”

“Or else what?” He stood up and reached into his trouser pockets and turned them inside out.

“Oh, stop the theatrics. I haven’t told anyone yet, but when I do, Monsieur de Fougère will help me go to the right places. If you don’t have the money, then bloody well borrow it. Or sell something.”

He stuffed his pockets back into his pants and sat down. “Listen, Helen, please listen—”

“I
am
listening,” she snapped. “I’m not sure why, but go ahead.”

“All right. Let me tell you how I’m planning to make it up to you. How good is your Vietnamese? You once said you took lessons in Haiphong.”

“It’s quite good, in fact. I have two Vietnamese piano students. Foreign students are the only ones with any money now. Why do you ask?”

“Because there’s some temple art in Can Tho I’ve been trying to buy. Help me and you can probably have two thousand right there.”

“Two thousand dollars?”

“Yes.”

“Guilt money, Nathan? Were the two hundred pounds for Marseille also guilt money? Is that why it felt so strange?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

She got up, filled a glass with water at the sink, and set it before him.

“Help you how?” she said. “Do what?”

“Help me talk to them.”

“I know where Can Tho is. It’s not far from Saigon. But
temple art
– who would be in a position to sell temple art?”

“The district chief and a French colonial administrator, that’s who. The actual site is a day trip into the bush. Fantastic gold carvings of the Buddha and disciples. A grouping of nine or ten figures this high. All for just one thousand dollars. It’s a terrific opportunity. I can sell it for five times that much. They have some goodwill money from me already, but these are delicate situations, and suddenly something changed. But it’s fixable.”

He tried a smile but it failed.

“Work with me, Helen. Like you said in your letter. Did you mean that, or was that just a ploy to bring me here?”

“It was both. Just like I am beginning to see that you have two motives also. To ease your conscience and to enlist my help. But tell me your plan.”

“I can give you a few hundred in cash, not this minute but in a day or two, and until the full amount is paid off, I’ll cover your expenses and then share my net profits from my deals with you. Fifty-fifty. After that, I’ll pay you twenty-five per cent, and we’ll sort out expenses case by case.”

She sat still, studying this new side of him. “What’s the matter, Nathan? What’s gone wrong?”

He waved a hand. “Nothing. But like I said, money is getting tight. You must know that. I’m lucky I still have good contacts with a few curators at the big museums. I’ve
just seen one in New York. I know what they are looking for, and I know people in the field. Together you and I could do very well. The things I learned with the EAS.”

“The EAS?”

“The Egypt Antiquities Service. I looked after logistics for them. In the evenings we’d be sitting in lounge tents by the pyramids, with our feet up, drinking gin-tonics and tipping our cigarette ashes into golden burial dishes for babies’ umbilical cords. For seven years I worked with them, and now I know about field help and transportation and all sorts of things. Most of all, I know what these things will fetch.”

Colour was back in his face, and the old Nathan was coming alive. “The money to be made in antiquities, Helen.
The money!
Never mind two thousand – how about
five
thousand in a single deal? Together we can do it. Your language skills, your looks. Good, cultured French opens all sorts of doors. And people trust a man when he is with a woman like you. They trust her and it rubs off and they think he must be a good man if she’s with him. Would you like to know a few examples of what’s out there? Can Tho, for example—”

“Too far. I couldn’t go there just now. Claire still needs me here. I couldn’t go away for more than a few days.”

“Claire – how is little Claire?”

“Claire is not so little any more. She’s seventeen, and she is very well. I told her what you did and she is disgusted with you. She’s a bright young woman and she’s
very strict with me. To protect me from myself, I think. She’s at St. Gabrielle’s now, in her last year.”

“And then?”

“Maybe nursing. But she hasn’t decided yet. Or hasn’t told me.”

“All right. If you can’t get away for more than a few days, we could start with something that pays less but is close by. A weekend trip. I happen to know of an opportunity in Quebec City. An Indian agent, but very French. He doesn’t trust the English any more than they would trust him, which is a common story here in Canada. So you can see my problem. It’s perfect for you, Helen.”

He was watching her, and she did not bother to hide her interest. A short trip to begin with. Test him and see how she felt about it. And then gradually more.
Five thousand dollars in a single deal!
You could buy a three-bedroom brick house in Montreal with that. It would pay for all of Claire’s education.

“But how can I ever trust you again, Nathan?”

“Trust me? With what, exactly? You’re not putting anything in. I’m even paying your expenses. It all hinges on my connections, my information, my deal. What’s there to trust?”

“Maybe. And it’s all legal?”

“Completely so. I’ll make the arrangements.”

“And how much money will I get for the Quebec deal?”

“My museum contact will pay me the equivalent of thirteen hundred dollars, and I am paying just three hundred.”

“The
equivalent
. In which currency?”

“In pounds, Helen. Your share, if you can help me clinch the deal, will be five hundred dollars.”

“Five hundred,” she said. It was hard not to smile. “Which museum is that? And what are we buying?”

“A ceremonial mask, and the museum is in England. If you don’t mind, let me first see how well you can handle yourself in these situations. Clinch this deal for us and I’ll tell you more. Fair enough?”

“All right. What would I have to do?”

“Nothing that doesn’t come naturally. Just be yourself. You are my agency associate, my conscience. Dazzle him. Let him see that you trust me, and he will too.”

It was a key moment and she was fully aware of it. Yes or no? He was right: what did she have to lose? Sitting in the Westmount kitchen, late evening, with the stove clock ticking and the house so still, and with his hints of outrageous money and the freedom from worry it would bring, she was suddenly ready to give Nathan Homewood and his big ideas another chance.

He must have felt the change in her mood, because his old confident smile was now back in full and he said, “Do you think I could perhaps have some coffee and maybe a piece of bread with something on it? All I’ve eaten since New York is one lousy hot dog on the train.”

“In a minute. Earlier you said you could give me a few hundred dollars now.”

“You’ve become relentless, dear Helen. Yes, I can. I’ll
give you three hundred and fifty when I see you at the railroad station. And that’s not part of the Quebec deal.”

“Three hundred fifty in cash?”

“It’s all cash. Always and every time. And Helen?”

“What?”

“Thank you.”

She was startled at the formality of that, even strangely moved.

“Would you sign a piece of paper as to what we talked about, Nathan? Agree to your debt and spell out how you’ll pay it off? Make it a legal document?”

He opened his hands. “Yes, I would.”

IN THE MORNING
over breakfast she told Claire, and Claire was shocked. “
Mother!
You are going to do
what
with that man? After what he’s done to us. Don’t you have any pride? Any dignity?”

“I do have both, Claire. You know very well that I do, and more than some and no less than you. But I also have common sense, and I’m being realistic. Helping him earn money seems to be the quickest way for us to get ours back.”

“He stole from us. He lied.”

“Yes, he did. He admits all that.”

“And? What’s his excuse?”

“Does it matter? He says he was angry with me. He had hopes after your father died. He found out about Xavier and he was jealous.”