‘So how is Zofia? I can’t think when I last thought of her. Does she still live in that little flat in Warsaw?’
Charlie smiled sadly. ‘That was indeed where I met her, but I’m afraid to say that I heard the other day that she had died. I was coming to see you on another matter, but thought you might prefer to hear the news from someone that had recently spoken to her. Rather than a social worker or police officer, I mean. Or worse yet, a letter through the post.’
‘So, she is dead then.’ He took a bite of the cake and smiled. ‘This is very good, you know. Try some.’ Taking another bite, he smiled as Charlie followed suit and made an appreciative noise.
‘Are you shocked that I am not sadder? You young people think death is such an awful thing, but at my age it is our constant companion. Besides which, I never much cared for her when I knew her. She was always wittering about politics. Life was hard enough without outsiders taking our jobs from us and people like her taking their side.’
Charlie nodded in agreement and continued to make small talk, commenting on the fact that Philip’s English was so good he couldn't even hear an accent.
‘Time smooths out most things. Plus, some people cling onto their accents, as though it is all they have left of the old country. If they loved the motherland so much, why leave?’ Philip lifted his palms and shrugged. The perfect immigrant.
Charlie thought about that; did time smooth things out or did it just help you forget about them? The more the two men chatted, the more convinced Charlie was that he was in the presence of a Nazi sympathiser and that this was the nature of the brothers’ fall out. Charlie blessed his tall blonde physique. It had no doubt helped him through the front door. Did their grandfather know about Filip’s political persuasions? Did he care?
‘But enough of these things,’ said Philip, wiping crumbs from his lips. ‘What can I do for you?’
‘Right, the thing is, I collect Russian folk art and I was in Warsaw where I met your sister-in-law. She told me that she had a matryoshka set she wanted to sell.’
Charlie paused as Philip nodded his head. ‘Did she still have that doll set then? It was my brother's you know.’
‘So she said. Well, I told her I didn't want it as it wasn't complete, but you know what her flat is like. If I'm honest, I felt a bit sorry for her.’
‘She married the wrong brother and no mistake. Not that she was ever my type. No vision. Still, as you say, it’s very sad.’ Charlie offered him another slice of cake, which he happily accepted, and poured them both another cup of tea.
‘The thing is, as I was leaving she said that the last she knew was that you had the outer doll. That your grandfather had split them between the two of you?’
‘And you want to know if I still have it? Forty years later. And now you've tracked me down? Boy, you must want it really badly.’
Charlie put his cup back on its saucer. ‘What can I say? You see through me. It's worth more if it's complete.’
Philip roared with laughter, or at least his tired, wheezy lungs tried. Coughing, he struggled for breath and dabbed his eyes on his shirt cuff. ‘You have to get out of bed early to catch me out.’
Charlie nodded. This was all part of the game. Let the punter think they had the upper hand. ‘Fair enough. It's not like you still have it after all this time, but I’m happy to pay for any information you can give me as to where it went?’
‘If I could tell you where it is right now, what would it be worth?’
Charlie relaxed. This push and pull was all part of the game. Either he knew something or he didn't. Charlie could wait. Asking what the information was worth was a clear sign that if he had the doll, he was prepared to sell it.
‘Depends on how decent the lead is. If you tell me you sold it in Covent Garden in the sixties, I'd give you £20. If you tell me you threw it in the bin, I'd give you £50. If you told me you gave it to Oxfam last month, I'd offer you £100.’
‘Why £50 if it's in the bin?’
‘Because then I'll stop wasting my time. And that's worth something to me, and I'd be grateful to you.’
‘And if I can tell you its exact location?’
Charlie tried to sit still. ‘I don't know, £150?’ He sipped his tea and tried not to wince as he burnt his tongue.
Philip chuckled to himself. ‘I think you've overplayed your hand, young man. Have a look in the back of the dresser behind you. On the left-hand side.’
Charlie got out of his chair and dug around the in the dresser. Moving stacks of tableware, canteens and decanters aside, he could make something out at the back. There, right in the back corner, was a large wooden doll. The light was poor, but it looked like the same artwork as the matryoshka set he had back in Cambridge. He went to pick it up and his hands nearly shook as he realised it was heavy. Far heavier than an empty wooden case should be. Moving items aside, he gently pulled it forward and then placed it on the coffee table between the two men.
‘There it is then.’
‘You owe me £150.’
Charlie laughed and opened his wallet, handing over a few notes and making sure Philip saw the rest of the stack.
‘It is heavy, yes? You noticed that?’
Charlie just nodded. He
