Page 26 of A Noble Affair
His brother leaned back in his worn armchair and lifted his own glass in reply. “To our health.” This was met with an answering salute before they both sipped and relapsed into silence.
“What time does your train leave in the morning?”
Paltier answered promptly. “Seven o’clock. I wanted to get an early start as I’ll be going straight to work from there.”
“I’ve no doubt,” his sibling answered in a rallying tone. “Gus, I wouldn’t know you if you didn’t rush to get back to work. Heaven forbid you should sleep in.”
“I’ve had two weeks to sleep in, thank you very much. Work is good. One never feels as alive when one’s hands are idle.” His brother, a diligent vintner with a solid label, simply nodded in agreement. The fire snapped, and Gaston stood and reached for the iron tongs to turn the burning log.
The two brothers were unalike in appearance—Gustave was tall and slim with a stately bearing that suited him to his life’s work. Gaston was ruddier and shorter with a stocky build that kept him closer to the grapes, as he liked to joke. There was an easy understanding between them, and they looked forward to the two weeks of annual company out of their generally staid bachelor existence. Gus had never been interested in marriage; Gaston had married, had two children who had no interest in inheriting the vineyard (although they did not despise the money), and had lost his wife younger than he would have liked. He bore it all with fortitude.
Maybe it was the mellowing effects of the brandy and the fire, or the knowledge that the morrow would take him back north where he wouldn’t see his brother for another year, but Paltier opened up. “The young viscount will be holding a spring ball at the château this year.”
Gaston raised his eyebrows at that. “When was the last time? It was when the late viscount was still alive, wasn’t it?”
Paltier stared off in the distance. “It was the year before he died. We’ll have to go through storage and pull out all the glasses, cutlery, dishes—have everything washed. It hasn’t been used in twenty years.”
“Will it be a sit-down affair?”
“Yes, and the viscount mentioned he’ll take some of your red. I’ll fill out an order form and send it to you as soon as I have a better idea of the quantities. We won’t invite the entire town to the dinner, of course, but the idea is to open the gates to anyone with a purchased ticket for the dancing.”
Gaston pursed his lips. “There was something funny about that last ball, wasn’t there? Some scandal? I seem to remember the late viscount’s death was in some way related to it, and honestly I didn’t pay much attention. Penelope died that same year, you know.”
Paltier cast him a sympathetic glance and lifted his glass again. “You are correct. There was a burglary. Stolen art.”
“Ah. I seem to remember something about that. What was it?”
“It was a Manet. The self-portrait.”
Gaston whistled through his teeth. “I’m not at all surprised at his having such a painting, but how someone managed to steal it, I can’t imagine.”
“It was a strange affair.” Paltier sighed heavily. “You know, the family is used to money. They don’t count the silver.” He turned to his brother with uncharacteristic energy and pointed at him to emphasize his words. “But you can bet I do.” His brother murmured what was appropriate before Paltier continued.
“Anyway, they have a few paintings. They have a couple of Cézannes, a Van Gogh, a Monet, and then they had this Manet. The viscount’s father was quite the collector. They never thought this private collection could be at risk in such an open setting with so many people around.” He broke off vehemently. “I should have thought of it.”
His brother shook his head with a quiettsk tsk. He knew it was no use to try and persuade his brother that he put too much blame on himself. “So how did they pull it off?”
“I’m sure they took advantage of when there was a performance in the Italian Apartment because the room went dark and a light show was part of it. That would have have blinded everyone to any suspicious activity. I imagine the person slipped into the King’s Chamber and took the painting from there down a side staircase, which no one would have been using just then. The stairs lead straight to the basement where they must have escaped into the garden.”
“That’s too easy,” his brother protested. “Why, aren’t there alarms in the château? Weren’t there guards?”
“Normally, yes,” Paltier answered. “But it was during a strange period when they were doing some work down there to repair some of the stone walls and fill in the empty alcoves, and the alarm must have been cut. Or—the gardener, Pierre Maçon and his under-gardener were supposed to be watching it or some such thing. And, now, that’s what is strange. Pierre disappeared that night.”
“Oh, I do remember that,” his brother intercepted. “A friend of yours, wasn’t he?”
“He was. And I’ll never believe it.” Paltier shook his head firmly. “I don’t care that he wasn’t around to explain his disappearance. Something must have happened to him.”
Gaston sucked his teeth thoughtfully. “Doesn’t look good though.”
“No,” his brother answered simply.
“What about the under-gardener? What was the fellow’s name? What did he have to say?”
“I don’t remember his name, but he was there that night. Said he hadn’t seen anything. He was standing in front of the door when a few officers came rushing down. Said Pierre told him to keep an eye out and prevent anyone from accessing the lower levels.”
Gaston snorted. “As if any of the guests would do that. But, so then, the thief could not have left that way.”
“No. Except the under-gardener had not been in service more than a couple of months, and even he disappeared after a day. No one has seen him since.”
