-and-plate-glass door.
“Looks impressive,” said Adam, “even when it’s closed for lunch.”
“What were you expecting—a small branch in the country? I know you English don’t like to admit it, but this is the center of the banking world.”
“Let’s find that restaurant before our entente cordiale breaks down,” said Adam. They retraced their steps toward the fountain, and as the sun was trying to find gaps between the clouds, they chose a pavement café overlooking the lake. Both selected a cheese salad and shared a half bottle of white wine. Adam was enjoying Heidi’s company so much that he began to tell her stories of his army days. She had to stop him and point out that it was nearly two. He reluctantly called for the bill. “The time has now come to discover if the Czar’s icon really exists,” he said.
When they had returned to the entrance of the bank Adam pushed open the heavy door, took a step inside, and stared around the gloomy hall.
“Over there,” said Heidi, pointing to a woman who was seated behind a desk.
“Good morning. My name is Adam Scott. I have come to collect something that has been left to me in a will.”
The woman smiled. “Have you made an appointment with anyone in particular?” she asked, with only the slightest trace of accent.
“No,” said Adam. “I didn’t realize that I had to.”
“I’m sure it will be all right,” said the lady. She picked up a phone, dialed a single number, and held a short conversation in French. Replacing the phone, she asked them both to go to the fourth floor.
As Adam walked out of the lift, he was surprised to be met by someone of his own age.
“Good afternoon, my name is Pierre Neffe, and I am a partner of the bank,” said the young man in perfect English.
“I did warn you that I would be redundant,” whispered Heidi.
“Don’t speak too soon,” replied Adam. “We haven’t even begun to explain our problem yet.”
M. Neffe led them to a small, exquisitely furnished room.
“I could settle down here,” said Adam, taking off his coat, “without any trouble.”
“We do like to make our customers feel at home,” said M. Neffe condescendingly.
“You obviously haven’t seen my home,” said Adam. M. Neffe did not laugh.
“How can I help you?” was all the young partner offered by way of reply.
“My father,” began Adam, “died last month and left me in his will a receipt for something I think you have had in your safekeeping since 1938. It was a gift given to him by one of your customers.” Adam hesitated. “A Mr. Emmanuel Rosen baum.”
“Do you have any documentation relating to this gift?” inquired M. Neffe.
“Oh, yes,” said Adam, digging into the map pocket of his trench coat. He passed over the Roget et Cie receipt to the young banker. M. Neffe studied it and nodded. “May I be permitted to see your passport, M. Scott?”
“Certainly,” said Adam, delving back into his trench coat and passing it to M. Neffe.
“If you will excuse me for one moment.” M. Neffe rose and left them on their own.
“What do you imagine they are up to now?” said Heidi.
“Checking first if they still have the icon, and second if my receipt is authentic. Nineteen thirty-eight was rather a long time ago.”
As the minutes ticked by, Adam started to feel disappointed, then depressed, and finally began to believe it was all going to turn out to be a complete waste of time.
“You could always take one of the pictures off the wall and put it in your trench coat,” teased Heidi. “I’m sure it would fetch a good price in London. Perhaps even more than your beloved icon.”
“Too late,” said Adam as M. Neffe reappeared with another banker, whom he introduced as M. Roget.
“Good morning,” said M. Roget. “I am sorry that my father is not here to meet you, M. Scott, but he has been held up in Chicago on business.” He shook hands with both Adam and Heidi. “We have on file a letter from M. Rosenbaum giving clear instructions to the bank that the box is not to be opened by anyone other than”—he looked at the piece of paper he had brought with him—”Colonel Herald Scott, D.S.O., O.B.E., M.C.”