Julius and the Mona Lisa

Julius and the mona lisa

By

Barry Hunt

Smashwords edition

Copyright © 2013 Barry Hunt

To find out more about the theft of the Mona Lisa

and the people featured in this book visit www.juliusandthemonalisa.co.uk

All rights reserved. Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the above publisher of this book.

This is a work of fiction based upon an actual event. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication/use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners.

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CHAPTER ONE

Past and Present

She’s gone! The cry rose up to the vaulted ceiling and bounced off the marbled walls. Monsieur Paupardin ran along the empty corridor of the Louvre, his short legs pumping away to carry his portly frame as fast as he could go.

She’s gone! he cried again, and a faint echo repeated his panic. He skidded round a corner and saw ahead of him the great portal leading to the Salon Carré. Gasping for air, he ran into the room and slid to a halt in front of the waiting figure.

Louis Béroud had heard the shouting in the corridor and a look of alarm crossed his face when he saw the guard. Calm yourself, Henri, he said. What is the matter? What did the photographer say?

Henri Paupardin was doubled over, his hands on his knees as he tried to speak. He stood up slowly, still puffing from the exertion of running. The – the photographer hasn’t seen her! he said at last between gasps. I must tell Monsieur Bénédite at once!

Tell him what exactly? asked Béroud impatiently.

Instead of answering, Paupardin simply pointed with a trembling finger to the empty space on the wall. His eyes were bulging in his plump face as he still fought for breath. She’s gone! he panted at last, and Béroud finally realised what Paupardin meant. He stared at the blank space between the paintings by Titian and Correggio. The four black hooks fixed into the wall seemed to stare back in mockery.

That is impossible, Béroud muttered to himself as he walked over to look more closely at the blank space in disbelief.

But it was true. Several people had noticed the painting was not there but nobody had thought anything of it. The Museum’s photographers were always removing paintings from the walls without signing them out. Nobody had thought for one moment that anyone could actually take a picture from the Louvre itself. But as Béroud stared at the empty space in front of him, he had to face the fact that it was true.

Someone had stolen the Mona Lisa!

It had been so easy. Vincenzo Perugia sat back in his chair and looked at the painting on his kitchen table. The pale face seemed to glow in the dusk of that late August evening of 1911. He stood up and took a step back to look at the painting from further away. The colours appeared to blend into one other, making the folds of her sleeve take on the rich texture of silk. The left hand rested lightly on the arm of a wooden chair and she looked straight back, as if accusing him for having wrenched her from the palatial surroundings of the Louvre to bring her to his squalid little apartment.

A loud knock at the door startled him and he hurriedly picked up the painting and wrapped it in an old table-cloth.

Who is it? he called as he pushed the painting behind a battered cabinet that stood against the opposite wall.

Open the door, came a muffled voice from the landing outside. Do not keep me waiting.

Perugia walked into the hall with a backward glance to make sure that the painting was completely hidden. He had recognised the voice, but his heart still beat a little faster as he slid back the bolt and opened the door just wide enough to peer out. The man outside pushed the door hard and Perugia stumbled back as the man stepped in.

I wasn’t expecting you, Marquis, Perugia said nervously, checking there was no one else on the landing before closing the door.

There’s been a change of plan. The Marquis walked into the kitchen and sat down at the table. I will be leaving Paris this week for England.

Perugia’s eyes opened wide and he trembled slightly as he sat down opposite his visitor. Has something gone wrong? he asked anxiously.

There is nothing wrong with the plan, said the Marquis and he smiled. In fact, quite the opposite. News of the theft has travelled the world faster than I thought and a buyer has already got in touch.

Perugia relaxed slightly, but he could never be completely comfortable in the presence of the Marquis. That’s good news, isn’t it?

The Marquis ignored the question and stared around him. His piercing black eyes swept across the dingy room and his long nose twitched as he caught the dank smell of unwashed dishes in the sink. He carefully pulled off his black leather gloves and glanced distastefully at the dirty table before laying them neatly on his lap.

I hope it is not still here. He turned his stare upon Perugia. That would be a big mistake.

Of course not, said Perugia hurriedly. It’s in the cellar at Clichy. He glanced quickly at the cabinet before adding, Nobody will find it there.

How very true, the Marquis’ voice was tinged with menace. Not even me.

Perugia went very still.

You see, continued the Marquis, carelessly flicking some imaginary dust from his trouser leg, I was at Clichy just before I came here, and I couldn’t find it there at all. You must have hidden it very well.

Did I say Clichy? Perugia was beginning to sweat. No, that’s wrong, I – I mean it will be, soon, it’s – it’s still at my studio. He looked anxiously at the Marquis. I wasn’t able to get to Clichy yesterday. Hélène came round unexpectedly and I couldn’t get away. She has only just gone. I – I couldn’t leave without making her suspicious. You do understand, don’t you?

Oh, I understand, said the Marquis carelessly.

I will take it to Clichy tomorrow, without fail.

Good, said the Marquis. Make sure you do, and hide it where I said. It would be unfortunate if anyone were to stumble across it by chance.

Nobody ever visits that house, Perugia continued quickly. It’s been empty since my cousin died and left it to me. It will not be found there.

I sincerely hope not, said the Marquis, for both our sakes.

Of course. You can rely on me.

The Marquis was still staring at Perugia. Chaudron will let you know when I have finished my business, he said icily, and only then … he paused a moment to smile to himself, can you do with it what you want.

I – I know all of this, stuttered Perugia nervously. Is that all?

Yes, said the Marquis, standing and putting on his gloves. I am glad we have cleared up this little misunderstanding. We don’t want any accidents to happen, do we?

Perugia began to lead the way out. He was still trembling slightly. He had completely understood what the Marquis meant by accidents and now wanted him to leave quickly. The Marquis paused by the door as Perugia opened it for him.

This is goodbye, then, said the Marquis. I hope we will not have to meet again. Remember, do nothing until Chaudron contacts you. He gave Perugia a long look before turning to make his way down the stairs.

Perugia closed the door and leant against it as he let out a long breath. He went back into the kitchen and pulled the painting from its hiding place. Laying it on the table, he removed the cloth and looked at it again. That smile. It was as if she had a secret. Quickly wrapping it up again, he slipped the painting back behind the cabinet and realised how foolish he had been to hold onto it even for a day. He would take it to his late cousin’s house at Clichy the very next morning. He didn’t expect to see the painting again for many months, but that smile would be hard to forget.

Over a hundred years later in a cottage in the New Forest, Josh Whittaker walked into the kitchen holding a luke-warm cup of coffee.

That smile is a real turn-off, he said, looking over Vicky’s shoulder at the picture on the table.

Vicky said nothing but continued to write on her note-pad.

She looks so smug, like she thinks she’s the most beautiful woman in the world, Josh added after a moment.

Perhaps she is. Vicky did not bother looking up.

She hasn’t even got any eyebrows! Josh said scornfully, peering at the picture.

He walked round to the other side of the kitchen table and set his mug of coffee down hard so that some of the contents spilled.

Careful! exclaimed Vicky. She took a tissue from her pocket and hastily soaked up the liquid trail that was spreading toward her print of the Mona Lisa.

Josh was silent. He hadn’t meant to spill his coffee but wasn’t sorry that he had. He was feeling the half-term blues and spoiling for an argument.

What’s so special about her anyway? he asked provocatively. I’ve never been able to see what all the fuss is about.

That’s because you are a philistine, Josh, said Vicky calmly, getting up from the table to put her wet tissue in the bin. You wouldn’t recognise a thing of beauty if it got up and punched you on the nose.

What’s that about beauty? asked Aunt Minnie as she entered the kitchen.

It’s the moaning Lisa, said Josh before Vicky could reply. Do you think it’s the most beautiful picture in the world?

Vicky smiled at her aunt as she sat back down at the table. Josh is just showing off his ignorance again. Don’t pay him any attention.

Well, said Aunt Minnie, standing behind Vicky and looking at the print, there is something about her. Did you know that Leonardo took this painting with him wherever he went? It was hanging in his room the day he died. It might even have been the very last thing he saw.

That doesn’t mean it’s any good though, does it? persisted Josh. After all, it’s just a portrait.

Just a portrait! repeated Vicky, starting to get exasperated at last.

Josh is half right, said Aunt Minnie, taking on the role of peace-keeper. It is a portrait, but, she added quickly as she saw Vicky about to protest, when you see the original perhaps it is more than just a face.

Have you seen the original? asked Josh.

Of course. It was in 1910, I think, or it could have been ‘09, but anyway, it was before it was stolen.

Stolen? said Vicky in surprise.

Yes, replied Aunt Minnie in an off-hand way. Didn’t you know?

Josh finished his coffee and went to stand next to Aunt Minnie. He looked again at the print on the table with renewed interest. Why would anyone want to steal it?

Well, of course, Aunt Minnie said, the original is different.

It’s not a very good print, I know, Vicky agreed, but it was the best I could afford.

No, you mistake me, said Aunt Minnie. I’m sure it’s a very good reproduction, but that’s not the original.

Well, we can’t see the original unless we go to Paris, can we? Vicky was starting to get exasperated again.

If only that were true. Aunt Minnie shook her head sadly, picking up Josh’s empty cup as she went over to the sink. You see, the painting now hanging in the Louvre is not the original either, it’s a forgery.

On a cold afternoon in the winter of 1913, the art-dealer, Signor Alfredo Geri, was looking across the rooftops of Florence from a dingy hotel room on the Via Panzani. He was trying, not very successfully, to hide his excitement by staring at the view of the Duomo framed by the window. The weak December light made the bedroom seem gloomy and Geri rubbed his hands together in a vain effort to get them warm.

Well, where is it? he asked at last, trying to conceal his impatience. If everything he had been told was true, then this was about to be the greatest moment of his life.

The man standing by the bed smiled slightly and then, bending down, dragged a small pine trunk from under the bed.

In there? asked Geri, and the man nodded.

Geri looked at the thin, dishevelled figure of Vincenzo Perugia and wondered yet again whether he was on a fool’s errand. Perugia could only be about thirty years old; too young to be an expert art thief and yet old enough to know better than to waste his time. Geri and his companion, Giovanni Poggi, the director of the famous Uffizi Gallery, were busy men, but the possibility that this might be the real thing had been too great a temptation to resist.

Open it, said Poggi curtly, pointing at the trunk. He was sitting on the only chair in the sparsely furnished room. Show us.

Perugia knelt down to pull the trunk toward him and unfastened the single lock, He slowly lifted the lid. Geri could not stop himself from taking a few steps forward to peer in, but was disappointed to see only a mandolin lying on top of some rumpled clothes and artist’s materials.

Is this a joke? he asked angrily.

Patience, Signor, said Perugia as he lifted out the mandolin and placed it on top of the bed. He continued to remove the other articles quickly, scattering them on the floor around him until the trunk was empty.

I am sorry, Signor Poggi, Geri felt both embarrassed and disappointed. It would seem I have brought you here for nothing. Let us go. He rounded on the shabby figure kneeling on the floor and added angrily, You should be ashamed, Signor. I do not like being made the subject of a practical joke. I thought better of you.

Wait! said Perugia, and the force of the command was enough to make Geri stop. Perugia was feeling around the edge at the front of the trunk. Suddenly he looked up and smiled. His fingers had found the small tab along the seam. Pinching it tightly, he pulled it upwards and the false bottom of the trunk lifted. Geri saw a flash of red before Perugia leaned forward and blocked his view.

Poggi had seen the same thing and now came to stand excitedly next to Geri.

Is that it? he asked apprehensively.

Perugia said nothing as he lifted out the large flat object wrapped in red silk and laid it on the bed next to the mandolin. The two older men took a step forward, but Perugia held up his hand to stop them. This was to be his moment.

Signori, he said, whisking off the red silk with a dramatic flourish, allow me to present the beautiful Giaconda.

Poggi grabbed Geri’s arm and gasped. Lying on the grubby bedspread was the lost portrait of the Mona Lisa.

Whilst Josh and Vicky argued in Aunt Minnie’s kitchen, their uncle Julius was walking back through the New Forest to his caravan, feeling pleasantly tired. He stopped for a moment to let Edith catch up and looked at the sky. Even though it was the end of October, there was still some warmth in the sunshine that filtered through the branches overhead. Rather than make tea himself, he was thinking it would be a good idea to see his niece and nephew in the cottage, and maybe his sister, Minerva, would invite them to stay for dinner.

How would you like to see Vicky and Josh? he asked, turning round and offering an outstretched hand to Edith. She was having a little difficulty pulling her long skirt through the undergrowth.

That would be swell, said Edith, taking his hand, we haven’t seen them since they started their half-term holiday.

Julius folded her arm under his and smiled. You will be able to tell them what you have learnt. I expect Josh will be interested, he’s studying the war for his History A level.

Julius had spent most of the day looking through books and explaining to Edith what he believed to have been the mistakes made in the First World War. It was good to have someone to talk to about these things, and she was an exceptional listener since everything he was telling her she was learning about for the first time.

Edith had been born on 21st September 1875 but was still, in fact, only thirty-six years old, even though it was the start of the twenty-first century. She had been a passenger on the Titanic as it sailed on its maiden voyage to New York and Julius had saved her from drowning when it collided with an iceberg by bringing her back with him to the present.

Julius was a time-shifter, as was his sister, Minerva. They were members of one of the few surviving families that had evolved a genetic ability to shift through time. Having learnt that they could be seen as devils or even exploited for this talent, the time-shifters had kept their ability from the world and only used it secretly. Julius was fascinated by the past and liked to move back in time to witness first hand the events that had shaped the world. He had met Edith when he had shifted to New York in 1910. There he had fallen in love with her and they had become engaged. When they had met, she knew nothing of his ability to move around in time, in fact she did not find out until he had whisked her from the sinking deck of the Titanic to the New Forest of a hundred years later.

Edith glanced fondly at Julius as they approached the small gypsy caravan. He was only a little taller than her and slightly built. His long hair was swept back from a high forehead and there were a few white streaks where it brushed his ears. At first she had found it difficult to believe what had happened, but she had been forced to accept it was true and had adjusted so well that she now gave it little thought. She marvelled at the modern technology of her new world, but she didn’t like it. She preferred the simple life they were able to lead in the caravan that Julius called home.

As they reached the steps that led up to the caravan door, Julius let go her arm and turned to face her. If we leave now, we’ll probably arrive in time for tea, he said eagerly.

Edith smiled. Julius was always a little excited at the prospect of seeing Vicky and Josh. It was such a shame that he had missed so much of their growing up. When their parents had been killed in a car accident, Vicky and Josh had moved to the New Forest to live with their Aunt Minnie whom they had not seen since they were very small children. They had not known then that their aunt had another brother, let alone that some members of their family could shift in time. An argument when they were babies had created a rift in the family and their father had never talked about his siblings, let alone the fact they were time-shifters. That had all changed when Julius came to find them. He had needed their help to try and save the Titanic, and they had learnt the truth at last.

I’ll only be a moment. Edith smiled as she passed Julius on the steps.

He reached out and took her hand. Take as long as you need, he said and pressed her fingers to his lips. After all, we can arrive any time we want.

Late on the morning of July 29th 1914, Vincenzo Perugia was sitting alone in a small cell in the prison just outside Florence. He stared at the blank walls and wondered what was causing the delay. It was over a month since he had been sent there for stealing the Mona Lisa from the Louvre. France may have been outraged at the shortness of the sentence he was given, but in Florence the public had thought it too severe. The Italians had been sympathetic to what he had done, and now, as he looked around his cell, he was feeling confident that his appeal to shorten the sentence further was going to succeed.

It had been a stroke of brilliance to argue in his defence that he had only taken the painting to return it to its spiritual home. Italy was where the Mona Lisa had been created and many Italians believed that it should never have left. There had been a tricky moment when it was revealed that he had offered the painting to Henry Duveen, the great London art-dealer, but incredibly the jury had chosen to believe his explanation that he had only been seeking advice on how to restore it to Italy.

He had eventually been forced to admit that he was the man who had stolen the Mona Lisa. After all, it was true, and it was by telling Geri and Poggi details only he could know that he had been able to arrange that fateful meeting with them. He was still a little bitter at having been arrested, but that had been part of the risk and was not entirely unexpected. In fact, the only thing that Perugia really couldn’t understand was why everyone concerned, the officials, the specialists and the so-called experts all believed the painting was the original when he knew for certain that it was a forgery.

At first he had been shocked when he discovered the fact for himself on the day he removed the painting from his cousin’s empty house. Then he had been angry. He had felt foolish and cheated. Perugia had to acknowledge that it was a remarkable copy; had it not been for one small detail only he knew about, he would have been fooled. However, having had the picture for two years, even though he was no expert, now he knew it was a forgery he was sure there was something different about it others would see, some indefinable quality about the original that was missing; something of the genius of Leonardo Da Vinci that no forger, however brilliant, could capture.

He had never mentioned the Marquis to the police; he had been too scared. That would have been a fatal mistake – perhaps literally. Perugia shuddered as he remembered how the Marquis had unexpectedly called round the day after the theft. He had not seen him since and nor did he want to. Even so, he still felt a grudging admiration for the man. Until he had tried himself, he had not realised just how hard it was to dispose of the Mona Lisa.

Suddenly Perugia’s thoughts were interrupted by the sound of approaching footsteps from the corridor outside. He stood up in anticipation and looked around the cell for what he hoped would be the last time. With a heavy metal clank the door was unlocked and swung open to reveal the guard. Perugia looked at him hopefully. The guard waited a moment and then he gave a broad grin and nodded. Perugia walked through the door for the last time, a big smile spread across his face. As he took his first steps to freedom, it occurred to him that somewhere in the world outside in a place none of them knew, the real Mona Lisa was smiling too.

Back at the cottage in the New Forest, Vicky stared at Aunt Minnie. For a moment she thought she must have misheard. How could the Mona Lisa be a forgery? But before Vicky could say anything, the back door opened and Edith walked in, followed by Julius.

Are we too late for tea? asked Julius. I tried to time it right.

I’ll put the kettle on, said Josh grinning. He was glad to see his uncle Julius. It had been over two months since they had returned from trying to save the Titanic and what with settling into his new school, Josh had seen little of him during the ensuing weeks.

How do you know it’s a forgery? asked Vicky, standing up to get another chair for Edith.

How what is a forgery? said Edith, nodding her thanks to Vicky.

What do you think of the Mona Lisa? cut in Josh before Vicky could say anything.

Why, it’s very beautiful I suppose, said Edith and Vicky looked triumphantly at Josh. However, I must admit it’s not entirely to my taste; I prefer paintings of flowers and landscapes rather than people.

Now it was Josh’s turn to smirk at Vicky. She glared back as he started to fill the kettle.

Why do you ask? said Julius.

I am doing a project on Leonardo da Vinci as part of my Art A level, Vicky pointed to her notes on the table, and I was studying the Mona Lisa, but Aunt Minnie says it’s a forgery.

That’s right dear, it is, said Aunt Minnie.

Who cares? interrupted Josh. It’s not even of a real person.

Oh, Lisa Gherardini was real enough, said Aunt Minnie, though some people do still think that the painting is from Leonardo’s imagination.

Who was she then? asked Josh.

We don’t know much about her, Aunt Minnie began to explain. She is supposed to have married Francesco del Giacondo when she was sixteen, that’s why the painting is sometimes called ‘La Giaconda’.

Giaconda! exclaimed Josh in surprise. But that’s your middle name, Vicky.

Is it? said Aunt Minnie. I didn’t know that.

It was mum’s idea, admitted Vicky, blushing slightly. When I asked her why, she told me that she had named me after the most beautiful woman in the world. The Mona Lisa was mum’s favourite painting. That’s why I decided to study Leonardo da Vinci.

You never told me that, said Josh.

Do you wonder why? Vicky shot back angrily.

I never knew it was mum’s favourite painting, said Josh, suddenly feeling guilty. I wouldn’t have said any of that if I had known.

There was an awkward silence as Josh stared at the floor and Vicky looked out of the window, blinking back the tears that were starting to fill her eyes.

Who was Lisa Gherardini? asked Edith in an attempt to smooth things over. I mean, why did Leonardo paint her?

It was probably a commission, said Aunt Minnie. It looks as if she was just in her twenties when Leonardo started the portrait, but he never completed it. He took it with him wherever he went and continued working on it for years.

Vicky turned to face Aunt Minnie. You still haven’t explained what you meant about it being a forgery.

Exactly that, my dear, said Aunt Minnie. The painting hanging in the Louvre today is not the original one Leonardo painted.

Then what happened to the original? asked Vicky. Where is it?

Aunt Minnie glanced at Julius and then looked away. She seemed to be embarrassed.

Well? persisted Vicky.

Aunt Minnie hesitated and then said quietly, Leonatus has the original.

Leonatus! gasped Josh.

None of them had mentioned Leonatus since they had returned from the Titanic. He, his brother, Holofernes, and their sister, Lucrecia, were another family of time-shifters who had tried to prevent them from saving the ship. In doing so they had almost killed both Julius and Vicky. It was mere luck that they had both escaped and the mention of his name now stirred up bad memories. There was a long pause before Vicky spoke again.

What is Leonatus doing with it?

It’s a complicated story, said Aunt Minnie, and I think it can wait for another day.

You can’t just say something like that and then not tell us! exclaimed Josh.

How do you know all of this? asked Vicky.

For a moment Aunt Minnie seemed flustered and Vicky had the feeling she had said the wrong thing. Julius looked at his sister and gave her an awkward smile.

I think you ought to tell them, he said. If I know Vicky, she won’t let it rest until she finds out.

Aunt Minnie turned away and Vicky noticed that her cheeks were slightly flushed. It’s something I would really rather forget, she began, but if you must know, Holofernes told me.

Holofernes! cried Josh.

We knew each other quite well once, said Aunt Minnie, standing up and taking two cups off the draining board so that she had her back to them.

Minerva was going to marry Holofernes, whispered Julius dramatically but loudly enough for everyone to hear.

It was a long time ago and before I found out what he and his family were really like, said Aunt Minnie quickly. She still had her back to them as she wiped the cups vigorously with a tea-towel.

But - Holofernes! repeated Josh.

He was different then, or so I thought. Aunt Minnie turned round with a cup in each hand. He could be quite charming when he wanted. Anyway, that’s all in the past now.

But why should Holofernes tell you that? asked Vicky.

I can’t really say, my dear, said Aunt Minnie as she went to the draining board to find some saucers. I was an art student at the time and I suppose he might have been trying to impress me.

And were you impressed? asked Edith whose curiosity had now been aroused.

Certainly not! said Aunt Minnie, shocked at the suggestion. I have always thought that great art should be there for everyone to see, not locked away for just a few. I thought it was scandalous that Leonatus should have the painting, in fact I still do.

You’re absolutely right! exclaimed Vicky.

Oh don’t get started again, Josh