Anna, annoyed at her
indiscretion. “Can’t you see? It makes perfect sense. May I see the icon now?”
said Romanov, turning back to the bank’s Chairman.
Herr Bischoff placed the box in the centre
of the table. The three men in grey suits each took a pace forward. Romanov
looked up. “Under Swiss law we must have three witnesses when opening a box in
someone else’s name,” explained the old man.
Romanov nodded curtly.
Herr Bischoff proceeded to unlock the metal
box with a key he produced from his pocket, while his son leaned over and undid
a second lock with a different key. The little ceremony completed, Herr
Bischoff pushed up the lid of the box and turned it round to face his guests.
Romanov placed his hands into the box like an expectant child does with a
Christmas stocking, and drew out the icon. He stared at the beautiful painting. A small wooden rectangle that was covered in tiny pieces of
red, gold and blue making up the mosaic of a man who looked as if he had all
the worries of the world on his shoulders. The face, although sad, still
evoked a feeling of serenity. The painting Romanov held in his hand was quite
magnificent, as fine as any he had seen at the Winter Palace. No one in the
room was quite sure what would happen next as Romanov offered no opinion.
It was Anna who finally spoke.
“A masterpiece it is,” she said, “and
undoubtedly fifteenth century but as you can see it’s not St George and the
Dragon.”
Romanov nodded his agreement, still unable
to let go of the little painting. “But do you know the origin of this
particular icon?” Romanov asked.
“Yes,” Anna replied, glad to be appreciated
for the first time. “It is the Icon of St Peter, you see he holds the keys...
painted by Dionisiy in 1471, and although it is undoubtedly one of the finest
examples of his work, it is not the Tsar’s icon.”
“But does it belong to the Russian people?” asked Romanov, still hopeful of some reward for all his
trouble.
“No, Comrade Major,” said the researcher
emphatically. “It belongs to the Munich Gallery, from where it has been missing
since the day Hitler was appointed Reichschancellor.”
Herr Bischoff scribbled a note on a piece of
paper in front of him. At least one bank in Munich was going to be happy to do
business with him in the future.
Romanov reluctantly handed back the icon to
Herr Bischoff, only just managing to say, “Thank you.”
“Not at all,” said Herr Bischoff
imperturbably, replacing the icon in the box and turning his key in his lock.
His son completed the same routine with his own key and then departed with the
unclaimed treasure. Romanov rose, as he considered nothing more could be gained
from the meeting – although he believed he had discovered Goering’s alias, or
one of them.
“I wonder if I might be permitted to have a
word with you in private, Herr Romanov,” asked the elderly banker.
“Of course.”
“It is rather a delicate matter I wish to
put to you,” said Herr Bischoff, “so I thought you might prefer your associate
to leave us.”
“That won’t be necessary,” said Romanov,
unable to think of anything Bischoff might have to say that he wouldn’t later
need to discuss with Petrova.
“As you wish,” said Bischoff. “I am curious
to discover if there was any other reason behind your request to see me.”
“I don’t understand what you mean,” said
Romanov.
“I felt perhaps I knew the real reason you
had selected this bank in particular to start your enquiry.”
“I didn’t select you,” said Romanov. “You
were only one of-” he stopped himself.
“I see,” said Bischoff, himself now looking
somewhat bemused. “Then may I be permitted to ask you a few questions?”
“Yes, if you must,” said Romanov, now
impatient to get away.
“You are Alexander Petrovich Romanov?”
“You must already believe that or we would
not have proceeded this far.”
“The only son of Peter
Nicholevich
indiscretion. “Can’t you see? It makes perfect sense. May I see the icon now?”
said Romanov, turning back to the bank’s Chairman.
Herr Bischoff placed the box in the centre
of the table. The three men in grey suits each took a pace forward. Romanov
looked up. “Under Swiss law we must have three witnesses when opening a box in
someone else’s name,” explained the old man.
Romanov nodded curtly.
Herr Bischoff proceeded to unlock the metal
box with a key he produced from his pocket, while his son leaned over and undid
a second lock with a different key. The little ceremony completed, Herr
Bischoff pushed up the lid of the box and turned it round to face his guests.
Romanov placed his hands into the box like an expectant child does with a
Christmas stocking, and drew out the icon. He stared at the beautiful painting. A small wooden rectangle that was covered in tiny pieces of
red, gold and blue making up the mosaic of a man who looked as if he had all
the worries of the world on his shoulders. The face, although sad, still
evoked a feeling of serenity. The painting Romanov held in his hand was quite
magnificent, as fine as any he had seen at the Winter Palace. No one in the
room was quite sure what would happen next as Romanov offered no opinion.
It was Anna who finally spoke.
“A masterpiece it is,” she said, “and
undoubtedly fifteenth century but as you can see it’s not St George and the
Dragon.”
Romanov nodded his agreement, still unable
to let go of the little painting. “But do you know the origin of this
particular icon?” Romanov asked.
“Yes,” Anna replied, glad to be appreciated
for the first time. “It is the Icon of St Peter, you see he holds the keys...
painted by Dionisiy in 1471, and although it is undoubtedly one of the finest
examples of his work, it is not the Tsar’s icon.”
“But does it belong to the Russian people?” asked Romanov, still hopeful of some reward for all his
trouble.
“No, Comrade Major,” said the researcher
emphatically. “It belongs to the Munich Gallery, from where it has been missing
since the day Hitler was appointed Reichschancellor.”
Herr Bischoff scribbled a note on a piece of
paper in front of him. At least one bank in Munich was going to be happy to do
business with him in the future.
Romanov reluctantly handed back the icon to
Herr Bischoff, only just managing to say, “Thank you.”
“Not at all,” said Herr Bischoff
imperturbably, replacing the icon in the box and turning his key in his lock.
His son completed the same routine with his own key and then departed with the
unclaimed treasure. Romanov rose, as he considered nothing more could be gained
from the meeting – although he believed he had discovered Goering’s alias, or
one of them.
“I wonder if I might be permitted to have a
word with you in private, Herr Romanov,” asked the elderly banker.
“Of course.”
“It is rather a delicate matter I wish to
put to you,” said Herr Bischoff, “so I thought you might prefer your associate
to leave us.”
“That won’t be necessary,” said Romanov,
unable to think of anything Bischoff might have to say that he wouldn’t later
need to discuss with Petrova.
“As you wish,” said Bischoff. “I am curious
to discover if there was any other reason behind your request to see me.”
“I don’t understand what you mean,” said
Romanov.
“I felt perhaps I knew the real reason you
had selected this bank in particular to start your enquiry.”
“I didn’t select you,” said Romanov. “You
were only one of-” he stopped himself.
“I see,” said Bischoff, himself now looking
somewhat bemused. “Then may I be permitted to ask you a few questions?”
“Yes, if you must,” said Romanov, now
impatient to get away.
“You are Alexander Petrovich Romanov?”
“You must already believe that or we would
not have proceeded this far.”
“The only son of Peter
Nicholevich
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