Page 80 of All I Want for Christmas

‘Unfortunately yes.’

‘Me too,’ she murmured. They paused to allow a man to cycle past; his two toddlers were huddled inside a large wooden box affixed to the front: part pannier, part pram. ‘...Otto – what’s a goulash baron?’

‘It’s the term used for those who profiteered during the Great War.’

‘But I thought Denmark maintained neutrality?’

‘We did, but political neutrality doesn’t mean there were no financial gains to be made. It’s a generic term, but largely it refers to producers who made their fortunes supplying cheap tinned meat to the German troops.’

‘What’s so wrong with that?’ Helle Foss’s disgusted attitude had struck Darcy as excessive.

‘The quality of the product was shameful. It was produced for soldiers fighting on the front line and they were served intestines, cartilage, ground-down bones in gravy...Sometimes rats, too. Their welfare really didn’t matter – only the profit margins.’

‘Oh!’

‘Yes; not exactly a noble endeavour. But then again, great fortunes are rarely made prettily, and the Madsens were not the first or only ambitious family to use art and culture to whitewash their reputation. Look at Vanderbilt and the Met Opera.’ He glanced at her. ‘Neverunderestimate the importance of reputation, Darcy. The Madsens are top tier here now, but that wasn’t always the case. You can be sure Helle will not like the prospect of this portrait shining a light on the ignoble son.’

They took another left and the grand Charlottenborg Palace, home of the Royal Academy, sat before them again. They had walked around the block at speed, but Otto seemed somewhat calmer now.

‘How do you think the Academy director will take the news?’ He was still in New York, but this update on the discovery was beginning to look more like a liability that might need his personal attention.

‘Like I did. But at least I can tell him we’re not going to roll over and take it. If Max Lorensen wants a fight, then that is what he’s going to get.’

Max was, in effect, going to war with the Danish state – and yet she sensed he wouldn’t be losing sleep over it tonight. He would probably sleep soundly. Or else not sleep at all, twisting sheets with a supermodel through the twilight hours...Darcy squeezed her eyes shut, banishing the image that had immediately popped up, perfectly formed, in her mind.

He was the enemy. She’d do well to remember that.

‘Hey.’

Viggo looked up from where he was working. He was standing by the glass cabinet, replacing one of the clays. From the way he straightened stiffly at the sight of her, she knew he’d received the call, as Otto had predicted. ‘Darcy – hello.’

She walked into the room with a stilted smile. Were they to act as enemies too? When she had left here, just a few hours ago, they had been friends. Colleagues. Collaborators, putting their heads together and pooling resources. ‘So...’

‘So.’ He swallowed, looking at a loss, watching as her hand trailed idly over the leather tabletop, neither one of them knowing what to say or do. They weren’t built for big business. They were in this for the love of the subject.

She looked straight at him, seeing something in his eyes that almost looked like fear. Who exactly had called him and what had they threatened? He was an old man, quietly doing a quiet job. The consequences of his actions weren’t supposed to bleed into lawsuits against the Danish state.

‘Well, that turned into an eventful day,’ she said finally, breaking the tension with a little understatement.

He laughed with relief. ‘Indeed...I’m glad you came back. I thought perhaps I might never see you again.’

‘To be honest, I have been loitering upstairs for the past hour.’

He looked hurt. ‘You were too scared to come down here?’

‘No, not exactly,’ she admitted, knowing he would never be her enemy, whatever Otto said to the contrary. ‘I stopped in at the Madsen Heritage room on my way. I wanted to look at the photo again, the one showing the necklace, but I ended up getting distracted by another.’

‘Oh? Which one? Does it show the necklace too?’

‘No. But...’ She showed him the picture she had taken on her phone just now, of the photograph she also had seen the other day – of Gerde and Lotte Madsen in the garden. ‘That girl with them.’ She pointed to the dark-haired girl on the blanket. ‘Do you know who she is? The bio on the plaque only lists mother and daughter: Gerde and Lotte Madsen, June 1915.’

He pushed his glasses up his nose, his customary frown of concentration coming onto his face. ‘You know, I’ve looked at this photograph many times over the years, but I’ve never thought to question her identity.’

‘Why not?’

‘Because it was only the Madsens that mattered,’ he shrugged. ‘This is their gallery, their foundation. She is just a nameless child in a photograph.’

Darcy bit her lip. ‘Do you think she could be Lilja?’

---