A Matter of Honor

“My father,” said Adam. “But as I explained to M. Neffe, he died last month and left me the gift in his will.”

“I would be happy to accept what you say,” said M. Roget, “if I might be allowed sight of a copy of the death certificate and of the will itself.”

Adam smiled at his own foresight and once more searched in his trench coat before removing a large brown envelope with the words “Holbrooke, Holbrooke and Gascoigne” printed in heavy black letters across the top. He took out copies of his father’s death certificate, the will and a letter marked “To Whom It May Concern” and passed them to M. Roget, who read all three documents slowly, then handed them to his senior partner, who after he had read them whispered in his chairman’s ear.

“Would you object to us phoning M. Holbrooke in your presence?” asked M. Roget.

“No,” said Adam simply. “But I must warn you that he is rather curmudgeonly.”

“Curmudgeonly?” said the banker. “A word I am not familiar with, but I think I can sense its meaning.” He turned and spoke to M. Neffe, who swiftly left the room, only to return a minute later with a copy of the English Society Register, 1966.

Adam was impressed by the bank’s thoroughness as M. Roget checked that the number and address on the letterhead corresponded with the number and address in the yearbook. “I don’t think it will be necessary to call M. Holbrooke,” said M. Roget, “but we have encountered one small problem, M. Scott.”

“And what is that?” asked Adam, nervously.

“M. Rosenbaum’s position is somewhat overdrawn, and the bank’s rule is that an account must be cleared before any box can be opened.”

Adam’s pulse raced, as he assumed that he hadn’t brought enough money to cover this eventuality.

“The account is only 120 francs in debit,” continued M. Roget, “which is the charge for housing the box over the past two years since M. Rosenbaum’s deposit ran out.”

Adam breathed a sigh of relief. He took out his wallet and signed a traveler’s check and handed it over.

“And finally,” said M. Roget, “we will need you to sign a form of indemnity for the bank.”

M. Roget passed over a long form containing clause after clause in tightly printed French, at which Adam only glanced before passing it over to Heidi. She studied each clause carefully. M. Roget used the time to explain to Adam that it was a standard disclaimer clearing the bank of any liability concerning what might be in the box and Adam’s legal claim to it.

Heidi looked up and nodded her agreement.

Adam signed on the dotted line with a flourish.

“Excellent,” said the banker. “All we have to do now is go and retrieve your box.”

“I suppose it could be empty,” said Adam once the two of them were left alone again.

“And it could be jam-packed with gold doubloons, you old pessimist,” said Heidi.

When both men returned a few minutes later, M. Neffe was carrying a flat metal box about one foot by nine inches, and some three inches deep.

Adam was disappointed by its modest size but didn’t show his feelings. M. Roget proceeded to undo the top lock with the bank’s key and then handed Adam a small faded envelope with signatures scrawled across the waxed seal. “Whatever is in the box belongs to you, M. Scott. When you have finished, perhaps you would be kind enough to let us know. Until then we shall remain outside in the corridor.”

Both men left the room.

“Come on,” said Heidi, “I can’t wait.” Adam opened the envelope and a key fell out. He fumbled with the lock, which clicked, and then at last he pushed up the lid. Inside the box was a small flat package wrapped in muslin and tied tightly with string. The knots took some untying, and then finally an impatient Adam tore off the string before slowly rem

oving the muslin. They both stared at the masterpiece in disbelief.

The simple beauty of the golds, reds, and blues left them both speechless. Neither of them had expected the icon to be so breathtaking. Saint George towered over the dragon, a massive sword in hand on the point of plunging it into the heart of the beast. The fire that belched from the dragon’s jaw was a deep red and made a startling contrast to the gold cloak that seemed to envelop the saint.

“It’s magnificent,” said Heidi, eventually finding her voice.

Adam continued to hold the tiny painting in his hand.

“Say something,” said Heidi.

“I wish my father had seen it; perhaps it would have changed his whole life.”

“Don’t forget he wanted it to change yours,” said Heidi.