Chapter 6

“Another appraisal job, Dad,” commented Frances.

“I expect so,” he agreed. “Wait till I get these loose stones back in their bag, and we can have a look at the final shelf.”

When Frances went to pull out the flat parcels, she found them very light, so she took out the first, and opened it out. It contained a drawing on very old paper; in fact the apparent paper seemed to her to be parchment: animal skin. It was a drawing of a man being martyred. She admired the penmanship, but didn’t fancy the scene.

“Some old drawing. Have you seen one like this before, Dad?”

He peered at the picture but shook his head. “No. Means nothing to me. Charles?”

Charles stopped his database entries to have a look at the drawing.

“Nice work. Looks vaguely familiar. I am sure I have seen one like it somewhere.”

He went back to his notebook computer, and Frances opened the next package. She uttered a sigh.

“Dammit. Another one much the same. I hope there are no more.”

Charles asked, “Can I have a look?” As he examined the artwork, and the style of drawing, the penny dropped into his memory bank. There was the beginnings of a look of incredulity on his face. He stared longer at the picture, switched to the other one, then muttered, “It can’t be, surely?”

“What can’t be, Charles?” asked Paul. You sound gobsmacked, old boy!”

Charles took hold of himself and said slowly and carefully, enunciating the words with clarity, “These two look like drawings of the martyrdom of Saint Sebastian.”

Paul responded non-committally, “Yes, I suppose it could be, whoever he was. What of it?”

“One turned up not that long ago, and sold for a tidy sum at auction, because of the artist.”

“Oh. Who was the artist?”

“Leonardo da Vinci, Paul.”

“Wow! So these are copies of that picture?”

“In a way, but not exactly copies. Leonardo wrote that he had done eight sketches of the martyrdom of Saint Sebastian, in preparation for a later painting of the same scene. Only three of these drawings are known to exist at this time, all of them in major collections.”

“You are suggesting these are others of the same set; not later copies?”

“That is what I am seriously thinking, if we can get them authenticated.”

“Great. They should be worth a bob or two, then!”

“Indeed, sir. That last one sold for something like fifteen million US dollars!”

“Wow!, again,” Paul came out with, in his surprise. “That is a pretty penny indeed, if these two are real. Charles, if you are that knowledgeable about art; over there in that cupboard is shelf after shelf of artwork. Do you have any eye for a fake?”

“I am afraid not, sir ... sorry, Paul. Even the experts sometimes get it wrong, you know, so I wouldn’t like to hazard a guess from my limited knowledge.”

“I would agree with your opinion, but please cast your eye over them for a first approximation. We must get them shipped to our warehouse, then we can have them looked at by different appraisers before coming to any final conclusions. If some are identified as reported stolen, I would be happy to offer them back to the owners. If there is an insurance company involved, then I think we can expect a fat finder’s fee for their return. That is perfectly legal, isn’t it, Charles?”

“It is, Paul. They were merely found on your premises, and returned, so quite acceptable as your finds in law; so you should expect a reward from the insurers, or from the owners if they were not insured.

The bags of loose gems are another matter entirely. As they are not in any settings, as far as I could gather from your quick examination, they are therefore unidentifiable and thus can only be viewed as abandoned property, just like the cash in this safe. Only the largest individual gemstones have ever been described in enough detail as to be identifiable, and usually named. Mostly it is the settings which provide the identity of gemstones.

On another point: I would never think of putting counterfeit money in a safe; it would be pointless when you remember that this basement was thought secure enough for all the drug paraphernalia to just sit in cupboards.”

“Paraphernalia? What a peculiar word! I know its meaning, Charles, but where does it come from? You are more learned than me, so you might know,” Paul proposed.

“Latin and legal to begin with, Paul. It originally meant the possessions of a married woman over and above the dowry she brings to a marriage. These possessions are whatever was given to her by her husband, before or during marriage, and she has complete control of them; unlike her dowry, which belongs to her husband when they marry. It is very medieval law, Paul, and so outdated, only of historical interest. Nowadays, it simply means extra equipment or articles required for an activity.”

“It is a wonderful word anyway, Charles. Thank you for that illumination.”

Frances asked her father, “Dad, you’ll need something sturdy to carry these bags of gems; not these flimsy zip-lok plastic bags.”

“Oh, yes. Have you a plastic carrier bag or some such?”

“I really think something better than that can be found. Give me a minute to run upstairs. Charles, have a look in the cupboard with the artwork while I am gone. Dad is not alone in valuing your opinion.”

Frances quickly climbed the concrete steps to the ground floor, and found Jessica waiting, with sheets of paper in her hands. “Here’s the wine inventory, Frances.”

“Oh, thanks. I’ll get it in a minute. I need a half-decent bag to hold important stuff.”

Jessica remarked, “There is a canvas shopping bag on one of these hooks inside the cupboard, Frances. I don’t know whose it is.”

“Oh, damn, yes, I remember. Prudence got it from Traidcraft; expensive but strong. That would do. We can buy her a replacement.” She unhooked the bag, and held out a hand to Jessica. Jessica realised what she wanted, and handed over the wine inventory sheets.

“Thanks, Jessica. I am in a rush, dear. Speak to you later.”

She hurried back down the stairs, and handed the bag to her father.

“There, Dad. That should do the job; and here’s a printout of our inventory of the wine cellar, which you may want to have a look at before you leave. Officially, it all belongs to you, with this building.”

“Oh, all right. Thanks. I’ll see you about the wine later. This stuff is more of a priority. Charles, what are we taking with us? Just the gemstones?”

“Take the presumed Leonardos as well, Paul. We need to have them properly examined, for there is no indication, to my mind, that these works were ever on the stolen lists. That means they belong to you now. Everything else here can wait.” He turned to Frances. “As for these ledgers, can we leave it to you and your husband to get them into the hands of the police, quietly? Very quietly! No public acknowledgement of where they came from.”

“Yep. We have a good contact we can use, Charles.”

The two men packed the stuff in the boot of the Bentley, then returned for the evening meal. Charles had seen Frances before, when she was younger, and thought nothing about her having less than perfect looks. Being familiar to him, she was just Frances LeBrun, but his eyes grew wide when he found several other girls of similar inferior visage sitting round the table, plus a more mature woman and a teenage girl both of clearly middle-eastern cast.

Only one of the English girls had reasonable looks, to his mind, and she looked particularly happy for some unknown reason.

He was even more surprised to find that the two serving staff, teenage twins, were better-looking than their employers. Frances performed the introductions, starting with her father and Charles, then went round the table: “Freda Robertson, Erika Robertson, Prudence Robertson, Fiona Prentiss, Mrs nobody, Miss nobody, and our husband, Reginald Robertson.”

Charles was confused. People named nobody, and ‘our’ husband?

He turned to Paul LeBrun for help, his face a picture of confusion. Paul shrugged. “Ask Frances.”

Charles begged Frances, “Please help me out here, Frances.”

She smiled sweetly. “The ‘nobodies’ are escaping an abusive husband and father, so they don’t exist as far as anyone else is concerned. If asked, you didn’t see them, O.K.?”

“That makes sense, but the rest?”

“Reginald has married four of us, through a Commitment Ceremony, so not a legal marriage but just as valid for us. Fiona is preparing to join us shortly. We are all happy to be married to Reginald. Isn’t that so, ladies?”

The other Mrs Robertsons beamed, and voiced their agreement, so Charles could see it was a genuine marriage as far as they were concerned. He asked Paul, “You are happy with your daughter being part of this ... ménage?”

“Charles, look at them! They are all happy; what more could you ask for? Reginald is a fine young man, and I have offered him a job once he graduates; In fact, all of them can have jobs with the firm when they graduate. Their brains and ability is what matters, not their looks, surely?”

Charles had the grace to blush. He admitted, “I apologise, ladies, for what I was thinking. Reginald, do you love these ladies?”

Reginald looked at him directly, and stated, “With all my heart, Mr Frye. They are wonderful girls and loving wives. I could not be happier.”

Charles looked back to Frances and the other ladies, saying, “If Reginald loves you, ladies, nothing else matters. You have my blessing.”

Frances told him, “How nice, Charles. You can come back, any time, and be welcome. Freda is studying law, so she may want to pick your brains.”

“Which if you is Freda, again, so I know you?” Freda raised her hand and beamed at him when he responded, “I will be delighted to assist you in any way I can, Freda. I used to be a criminal barrister before Paul gave me my job as company lawyer, so I have a range of legal knowledge I can help you with. You just have to ask.”

“Thank you, sir. I probably will. My husband is very helpful, but he is no lawyer!”

Paul explained, “Reginald is a bit of a polymath, Charles, so he covers a lot of subjects that the girls are studying, and he tutors them. He wants them all to get good degrees.”

“I am impressed, young man: husband AND tutor, indeed.”

Reginald asked him, “Can you advise us, sir, on the formal legality of what has been found in this building?”

“Certainly,” Charles declared. “In English law, immovables – land and buildings – are Real Property, and movables are Personal Property, so all the things we are talking about are personal property. That legal term is subdivided, so that items you can physically hold are known as Chose in Possession. These can be transferred from person to person, and in the case of a building, the Chose in Possession contents are part of the transaction. Thus, whatever moveables you find in a building that you now legally own by purchase is deemed to have been transferred to you, with some exceptions such as stolen property that is identifiable as such. You have a legal obligation to hand such property over to the authorities or back to the true owner. That is the gist of the story.”

Reginald was happy with that explanation.

“Thanks, Mr Frye. That is a clear exposition of the position, and helps immensely. So Mr LeBrun, or his company, whichever paid for the building, is the rightful owner of that personal property. We will be happy to pass it over to him, for we are grateful to have the use of this building to call home.”

Mr LeBrun told him, “As far as I am concerned, Reginald, you and your family are welcome to use it throughout your university years. I have no plans for its disposal in the short term. Charles, can you confirm my ownership?”

“Yes, sir, I mean, Paul. You in person are the owner of record, not the company. The fact that the company loaned you a large sum of money just prior to that purchase is neither here nor there, unless you are unable to pay off the loan. The building would be an asset against that loan.

Of course, if the discovered gemstones can be sold, sufficient to pay off your loan, that would make your title all the more secure for the future.”

“Charles, your criminal lawyer experience is paying off already, old boy. I think a bonus payment will be in order at the end of the financial year.”

Charles accepted this generosity with aplomb, then spoke to Frances again. “Mrs Robertson – sorry, Frances – are you okay with this police contact you have? Is he reliable and trustworthy, as far as your family is concerned? I just want to be certain you won’t need my services to get you out of jail.”

“Charles, the Sergeant has proved extremely helpful, and circumspect with it. He knows what questions to ask, and what NOT to ask. You keep asking me about this, but Reginald is the one who deals with the Sergeant. He can give you the assurance you seek.”

“Reginald? Can you say that with certainty?”

Reg told him, “We work cooperatively together, Mr Frye. He accepts us as students with knowledge, and having certain valuable family contacts that are of benefit to him; that is why he tolerates our occasional foibles. Handing over these ledgers of a criminal operation will be perfect for him, even though they are years out of date. Many of the individuals mentioned within will be still around and available to be arrested, assuming enough evidence is findable through the ledgers. The police probably have other evidence in their files that will dovetail in and make the case complete.”

“You are probably right in that. The police tend to collect evidence that doesn’t work properly at the time, but years later allows them to convict a crook, such as clothes of a victim later examinable for DNA or other new testing. Never underestimate our police forces.”

Reg was curious about another matter. “Mr Frye, once the company – or rather, Mr LeBrun personally, in legal terms – gets to see what this collection of artwork is like, what will you suggest happens about those items that appear genuine, without provenance, or any known evidence of being stolen?”

“We may use the company to instigate the research, but what ends up as genuine, and without evidence of crime, will be Paul’s to do what he likes with. Those items which are revealed as stolen, will be returned through an intermediary, after a negotiation with the appropriate insurance company. That way, this building will not feature in the arrangements. The fakes; we will hand these over to the police to deal with, as found items of little or no residual value to us. They may hand them over to one of the top galleries to use as examples of forged works, or to an institution such as a university, as a teaching aid.”

Paul LeBrun added, “Regarding the gemstones, Charles, I am proposing to allocate a percentage to Frances and her new family, as a reward for discovering them and passing them over. I think a ten per cent reward is justified, if you agree; but we shall see what sort of value comes out of it.”

Frances declared, “Daddy, you don’t have to do that! Reg has got some money of his own now, so we are not in dire need of finance.”

“I understand, Frances, but I want to do this, if only for my own peace of mind. All right?”

“Yes, Dad. I love you, Dad.”

“And I love you too. You are still my little girl, even though you are a married woman now.”

Frances hugged him, and wished him a safe journey.

The two men headed home in their repacked car, with a promise to come back with a van for the artworks.

Once they were away, Fiona and Prudence collared Reg. Fiona wanted to go over her findings, and Prudence could back her up where needed.

“Reg, my stepmother was not liked at the pharmacy where she worked. Her husband, according to Dora, committed suicide abroad: some middle eastern country, and was cremated or buried there, whichever it was; I can’t remember. The pharmacist afterwards recorded the disappearance of a drug that could kill, and suspects Dora of killing her first husband. He and Dora did not get on, according to the shop staff. Cremation abroad means any evidence has been destroyed, and burial almost as good, due to high ambient temperatures which should soon decompose a body.

What I am worried about is this: is my Dad at risk of the same thing, and if so, what do we do about it?”

Reg looked serious, and took thought.

Eventually he suggested, “Why don’t you invite him here, and you can explain that you happened to be in the same chemist’s shop, and the subject of Dora came up. Tell him what the lady told you, and say ‘I just thought I should pass it on, and leave you to do anything or do nothing; whatever suits you.’

You leave it up to him to ignore it, or bring it up with her. Tell him you don’t want to interfere in his life; you just want him to be informed about this story. Leave it at that; don’t sound pushy, just helpful.”

Fiona peered at his face accusingly. “I thought you didn’t know about dealing with people; socialising and suchlike?”

Reg insisted, “Over the last few months I have been regularly exposed to how people act toward each other, as well as being expertly trained in this endeavour by my wives, Fiona. I have learned to observe the interactions of people, and apply logic to many difficulties that people experience. It has been interesting, learning about how and why people act as they do. I learned a lot about myself in the process.”

“Okay, I’ll take your advice, but you don’t mind if I run it past Frances, for a second opinion?”

“Please do. I will be happy either way, whether she agrees with my assessment or not. I value her opinion.”

“You do love her immensely; I can see that, Reg. I hope I deserve the same devotion eventually.”

When the post arrived next day, Reg was infuriated to receive a letter from his bank’s headquarters, telling him that he needed their advice to apply his finances to better effect. The letter implied that he would be stupid to turn them down.

In his annoyance, he asked Erika for her father’s phone number. She gave it to him, a question on her face, but he simply dialled the number and got through.

“Mr Platts, it is Reginald Robertson, your son-in-law. May I ask your advice?”

“Of course, my boy. What’s your problem?”

Reg explained about telling his local bank branch that he didn’t want to avail himself of their investment advice, yet now the bank’s HQ was badgering him with the same question. Reg asked him, “Should I respond to the letter, or just transfer my account to another bank?”

Algy Platts gave out a short guffaw. “These ‘suits’ in high places ignore their local branch staff input, and try to go for the jugular. Treat them accordingly, and give them as good as you get. Instruct your branch manager that you want your account transferred to, say, Barclays, because of an insulting letter from his HQ, and you want the transfer done as soon as you get time to call in and officially authorise it. Don’t actually do anything, just wait for a few hours, and see what happens.”

“I see,” said Reg, who clearly didn’t see at all. “What do you expect will happen?”

“Well, inside the banking group, your branch manager will tell a top guy at the HQ that they are losing a large sum of cash to another bank, through the stupidity and cupidity of someone at their headquarters sending a pushy letter when the client had made clear he did not want such advice.

“At the very least, the guy who sent the letter will get a rocket. Your branch manager will be pushed hard to get you to cancel your instructions, but he will have to do it to your advantage, methinks.

24 hours maximum, Reginald. I guarantee it. Just wait.”

“Very well, sir. I will phone him right away.”

After consulting the phone book, Reg rang the bank branch and asked for the manager.

“Who shall I say is calling, sir?”

“Reginald Robertson.”

In seconds he got through.

“Mr Robertson, sir. What can I do for you?”

“You will recall I declined your offer of investment advice, telling you I had my own adviser and that we were contemplating my options?”

“Indeed, sir. I was disappointed, but the matter was up to you.”

“Correct. You were quite wise in that matter. However, your headquarters sent me a letter which arrived this morning, almost demanding that I allow them to manage my investments.”

“You got a letter from HQ?”

“I did, and as a direct result of that insulting insensitivity, I have decided to remove my funds entirely to another bank. It is my money, not the bank’s money, so I will take it elsewhere as I refuse to be treated like that.”

“But ... but ... I apologise for that error, Mr Robertson. You of course have complete control over your assets. Is there some way you can reconsider?”

“I am too annoyed at this time to want to do anything except get away from such stupidity among the bank’s senior management. How do I arrange the transfer?”

“You have to sign a transfer form, Mr Robertson, before we are authorised to complete the transaction. Have you decided as to which bank you wish to transfer your assets?”

“Not yet. I am too incensed. I’ll get back to you later, once I have calmed down. I have to get to the university at the moment, so probably later today; maybe tomorrow morning.”

“Leave it with me, please, Mr Robertson. I will put matters in train for you.”

Reg rang off, satisfied with his efforts so far. Now he DID have to get himself and his wives to the university. He would update them on the bank question at lunch break.

He fumed all morning, and paid less attention than usual to the lectures.

As he spoke to his ladies over lunch, his phone rang, and he answered.

“Mr Robertson, This is Fred Thomas, your branch bank manager. I have spoken to a senior officer of the bank, and they wish to both offer their apologies for the way you were treated, and if you will relent on removing your account from us, I am authorised to add one hundred pounds to your account, by way of recompense for the unwarranted letter you received.”

“Mr Thomas, I am glad to hear that there has been a rethink at the bank headquarters. I trust that there will be a policy change so that no-one else is browbeaten by letter. I would suggest that, instead, two hundred pounds of compensation would more probably persuade me to leave my account with you. I am still fuming about it, you see. Would you agree with that proposal?”

“I will speak to my superiors on that, to get it authorised, but I see no problem there, as you will clearly be mollified by such a sum.”

“Very well. On that basis, you can cancel the transfer to another bank, Mr Thomas, and I hope we can proceed on better terms for the future.”

His wives had been half listening to the phone call, so Reg explained the full import of the bank’s climbdown. Prudence exclaimed, “So they are going to pay you for NOT taking your account to another bank?”

“Yup,” Reg said with feeling. “Erika’s dad gave me some good advice, ladies. I think she deserves some special loving tonight.”

“Sounds fair,” Frances agreed. “I’ll speak with the two scheduled girls, and sort something out to allow for Erika’s presence.” She paused to switch subjects. “Talking of dads; Freda, have you heard anything from your father about that lawyer that the police want to know about?”

“Not yet, dear. I’ll give him a ring this evening, to see where he has got to with that enquiry.

Reg, are listening to what I have just said?”

Reg indicated his acknowledgement of his hearing ability. His attention was temporarily diverted by thoughts of the next lecture he had to attend. The first afternoon lecture was on the early history of music. This puzzled him as it was a physics class!

The class proved worthwhile attending.

The lecturer started by discussing the waves involved with acoustics, pointing to the energy potential in waves of all kinds. He pointed out that while waves transfer energy in general, in the case of certain materials and shapes, this energy is partly expressed as sound, often in distinct notes or musical tones. He told them, “In the case of music, the acoustic waves convey notes of specific pitch which we hear in our ears as musical notes. Music, to us, is a pattern of acoustic tones whose combination conveys a harmonic sound that is pleasing to the human ear, and the human mind that absorbs it.

Such sounds can be made by formal musical instruments, but are also possible with a horizontal metal plate on a stand; the plate vibrated by a violin bow. Positioned as it is, horizontally, the plate can also show a visual representation of the note by having a thin layer of fine sand on top. The sand responds to the vibration of the plate, and a pattern develops corresponding to the note being generated. Each note causes a different shape to appear on the plate as the sand particles rearrange themselves accordingly. This is a useful depiction of the frequency of sounds, and you can see the complications which develop as the notes change in pitch.”

He stopped to run a video of that exact performance happening. Most of the students had already seen it, and nodded their understanding. The others marvelled. He resumed his talk.

“That tells you that each note has a vibration level, and as the wave involved decreases in wavelength, the peaks of each wave become taller, so the pitch of the note alters, becoming higher. So sound waves in music are a reflection of the acoustic wave forms being generated.

Now, the generation of sounds can be performed vocally through the larynx in your throat, or by a physical action such as banging a stick on another stick. When it comes to the history of music, we have to admit we have no idea where the first music came from. Did an early human hum to a rhythm, or bang a hollow log in a pattern; or merely clap his or her hands rhythmically? Another possibility is in noticing the echoes in a deep cave. If you call out a sound – a musical note – certain places with a cave can enhance the note, providing additional echoes to make the sound more interesting, as was discovered by Iegor Reznikoff of the University of Paris, a music ethnographer investigating the caves of Arcy-sur-Cure, where 30,000-year old cave paintings were found. The echoes were most interesting at exactly the same spots where Neanderthal cave paintings are located, more than a kilometre from the entrance.

Any of these examples can be termed music at a basic level. The requirement is to introduce a pattern of some kind, that the composer or listener recognises to be a pleasant effect.

The earliest manufactured musical instrument known so far is the bone flute, from tens of thousands of years ago. One was found in Slovenia, but the remarkable thing is, it was found among other artefacts which were recognisably Neanderthal. This suggests, but only suggests and does not prove, similar to the cave examples, that Neanderthals could create music and not just us modern humans – homo sapiens. There is a possibility that the Neanderthals, found the flute, lost by a sapiens, and collected it out of curiosity as an interesting bauble. We just do not know for certain. In a similar way, why do your cave paintings at the spots where the echoes are most interesting? Logic steers us to a positive solution in both cases.

To return to the human voice; vocal music would gradually develop into what is now called Folk Music, but is basically sound patterns made with the voice, combined with words which may convey a meaning but primarily enable the tune to be memorised more easily. You will probably have noted that folk music involves much repetition of the notes or phrases, with only the words varying but still matching the beat of the tune. The music at an early time may have been combined with handclaps to establish the beat, or rhythm of the song, replaced later by a drum beat.

Talking of beats, the origin of the drum most likely arose from an animal hide stretched tightly on a frame to dry. Someone noticed that if the hide was struck gently with a stick, it produced a deep sound, similar to a hollow log being struck. Two ideas arise from that observation: one, that a deep sound travels far, so you can use it to convey a message, provided the recipient knows what the combination of beats represent. One simple repetition may mean ‘all is fine’, but a double beat, repeated, could mean ‘come home, there is a problem’. You can ring the changes on beats to convey whatever message the tribe will recognise if everyone is aware of the meaning of specific sounds. There you have an original email messaging system!

The other way is if you stretch the hide over a pot or a hole in a hollow tree. You can make the sound louder, sharper, and thus more effective at a distance by this means; and using a stick to hit it in a rhythm, you can create music to amuse your fellow tribesmen. Either way, you have created something useful to the tribe, and it is likely to be added to the tribal knowledgebase.

From the above, it is easy to understand how such knowledge will become part of the tribe’s inheritance through generations to come. Later, the music would become more elaborate.