Stolen History - The Patron
London 2022
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The next few days were a flurry of activity. Cai and Nadia spent most of their time at the Lair, as they began to call it, cleaning and exploring. Cai immersed herself in the journals and books, taking notes and trying to make sense of the seemingly endless cross-referencing and connections. Nadia was bound and determined to figure out the mechanics of the anachronistic technology. Naturally, she kept detailed notes on things that needed to be repaired, reconfigured, or just plain removed. A small pile of vacuum tubes, connectors, and gears began to grow in the corner of the room as she worked.
The more Cai read, the more engrossed she became in her family history. While her great-grandfather had certainly been a thief - and a very accomplished one, at that - he had also worked furiously against the Nazi threat, even before the war had come to England. He had recognized the danger of the fascist parties across the globe, including the ones in America and throughout Europe, and had targeted them for many of his capers. There was also a curiously large amount of references to archaeology, usually in the context of valuable artifacts and artwork. While he seemed to have little regard for the cultural value of the objects, he recognized the significance they held for people who wanted to exert control over others, in addition to their financial potential.
In between their work and research, Nadia dragged Cai out to Bond Street and Kensington, Knightsbridge, and Harrods. Cai has a sneaking suspicion that her friend just wanted to play dress up for a few days. She didn’t mind. Ultimately, they each picked up two dresses. Nadia leaned into her North African heritage with a pair of Imane Ayissi pieces, one saffron and gold number in Moroccan silk with Berber designs, and one midnight indigo beaded dress that reminded her of a night sky.
Cai was much more subdued in her choices: an elegant Erdem column dress in a soft, dove-grey shade, and a black velvet Roland Mouret panel gown with sheer silk organza panels at the sleeves and neckline. Nadia insisted that they at least look at complementing jewelry for their newfound outfits. They had to look like they belonged, after all. After some intense negotiation, Cai convinced her excited friend that they could likely find more than enough choices in her grandmother’s collection, and promised Nadia first choice of whatever they discovered.
The day of the gala, Cai was nervous. She could not quite put her finger on why, exactly, but the whole thing felt surreal and weird to her. Nadia, on the other hand, was absolutely buzzing with excitement. She was as comfortable in these kinds of social situations as Cai was in the deep rainforest. Cai preferred the forest. But she knew the importance of being there, particularly since her grandmother had apparently set the whole thing up long before she died. Nadia had set up hair and makeup appointments for them, but Cai made her cancel them.
“We’re not getting married, Nads. And we are more than capable of doing it ourselves.”
Nadia pouted. “You’re no fun. How often do we get to go to Orisha Tower and rub elbows with the oligarchs?”
“Hopefully, this is the only time. I know you love these things, but they make me feel gross. So much performative excess.”
“Fine, but at least let me do your hair. You always end up looking like you just arrived from the field.”
“Thanks, Nads. I appreciate the support.”
“It is my responsibility to make you look good, remember? And I take my job very seriously.”
Haversleigh had arranged for them to be picked up at The Lane in a sleek, classic Rolls-Royce limousine. Wilson Quinn was there to help the women into the car, as usual.
“You both look lovely this evening,” he said formally. “Lady Campbell would be most impressed.
Cai shot him a mischievous grin. “Are you saying you think I clean up good, Wilson?”
The butler raised an eyebrow slightly. “I would never, Miss Williams.”
Cai giggled and slid into the car. Nadia playfully swiped at her knee. “Don't tease the poor man. He’s had to put up with you enough as it is!”
“Oh, I know,” Cai said, leaning back in the soft, cream-colored leather seats and running her hands over the supple texture. “Damn, this is nice.”
“See? You can appreciate luxury!” Nadia’s eyes lit up, and she reached over to the small bar setup to pull out a bottle of champagne. “Pre-game?”
“Might as well!”
Nadia popped the cork on the bottle, and Cai held out two glasses. The bubbly was poured, and the women clinked the crystal together.
“To a real girl's night out in a real city,” said Nadia with a wink.
“Hey! That night in Cairo was a real girls’ night,” Cai protested, laughing.
“Nuh uh,” said Nadia, raising her finger. “You do not get to call it a girls’ night when being chased by street thugs after lifting a fake artifact from some jackass you met at a club!”
“Well, I didn’t know it was a fake until we got it back to the library!”
“We were supposed to be out having fun!”
“I was having fun! And then that Danish douche-nozzle started bragging about his ‘eighteenth dynasty’ statue in his family’s penthouse.”
“And so we had to go there to see it…”
“We had to go there to see it! I couldn’t stand the idea of some trust fund Chad having a piece like that.”
“Remind me again where the street thugs came from?” Nadia was enjoying this way too much, smiling and raising her eyebrows mockingly.
“Look, the point is, it started as a girls’ night…”
“And ended as a chase through the streets of the Garden City in Cairo, only to be rescued by one charming Percival Cirelli who happened to be driving by on his way to his family’s bakery in Zamalek.”
“He was a nice boy, wasn’t he?”
“Don’t change the subject, missy. But yes. And too bad he wasn’t a few years older.”
“Okay, fine. I surrender. Yes, it is nice to finally have a night out. And no grand theft tonight.”
Nadia’s eyes narrowed. “You promise? Pinky swear?”
Cai held out her little finger. “Pinky swear.”
They locked fingers and shook, giggling again and sipping their champagne. Nadia picked up the bottle and looked at the label. “Moët & Chandon, 1921. Grand Vintage. Brut.” She took an exaggerated sip and then swished it around in her mouth. With an affected French accent, she drawled, “I am getting zee flavors of abundance, cherie! Like moonlight on Les Champs-Élysées. Like… ques que sais… voulez-vous coucher avec moi ce soir…” The two broke into peals of laughter, and Cai snorted in a most uncivilized fashion, which only made them laugh harder. By the time they had reached Orisha Tower, they had to take a few minutes to fix their hair and makeup and smooth out their dresses.
Cai took her friend’s hand. “Thank you, Nads. You always know how to make me feel more relaxed.”
Nadia winked at her and smiled. “You know I’m just using you to get into the good parties, right?”
“Oh, I know. Let’s go drink their expensive stuff and make fun of their accents.”
Algernon Haversleigh was waiting for them in the lobby when they arrived. He was smartly dressed, as usual, in a classic tuxedo, and carried an umbrella with a finely carved wooden handle. His warm smile welcomed them in, and he took their hands in his as they entered through the glass doors.
“Oh, don’t you two look stunning,” he said. “Simply lovely. Cai, your grandmother would be so proud.”
They each gave him kisses on each cheek and then took his arm on either side.
“Thank you, Algy,” said Cai. “So let’s go meet this mysterious benefactor, shall we?”
They walked from the lobby to the escalator that rose up above the white and black marble into a yawning cavern of an atrium. The decor was a mix of tech-chic and Yoruban mystic, the purple hue of the Orisha logo infused into nearly every design, complemented by gold, green, and red. When they reached the landing, the floor opened up into a gallery of artwork with paintings and sculptures scattered around, all by African artists.
They could hear the music coming from the banquet hall, and they began to pass other attendees. The couture was as diverse as the people themselves, from runway-model-ready to the truly bizarre; everyone had dressed to impress. Cai felt almost simple in her black velvet and subtle platinum-and-diamond necklace. She was perfectly happy with simple. The fewer eyes on her, the better, as far as she was concerned.
The hall was an explosion of afro-inspired jazz and color, with high-resolution videos projected on the walls and ceiling of savannah landscapes and rainforest animals, morphing into others. Orisha’s artificial intelligence generator was second to none, and they were showing off. A server walked by with a tray of champagne flutes, and the trio each grabbed one.
“Welcome to Orisha Tower,” said Haversleigh, raising his glass. They all toasted and drank. “It may be a bit before I can get our man aside, but I will let you know once I do. In the meantime, go explore! The exhibit is supposed to be something to behold!”
“I’m sure,” said Cai wryly.
The banquet hall had been set up as an exhibit, with glass cases housing the collection spread out over the impressive twenty-five thousand square feet. Sections were set up based on regions of the continent, and cocktail tables, chairs, and a few seated rounds were interspersed throughout the room. On the stage was a live band made up of traditional musicians, and a podium from which the emcee made announcements periodically. Well-coiffed servers continued nonstop, carrying drinks and hors d'oeuvres as quickly as guests could devour them.
Cai grabbed a small napkin of something that looked like a dumpling and popped it in her mouth. Flavor exploded, a mix of spice and sweetness, with a following of savory. It was rich and delicious, and she must have made a sound because Nadia raised an eyebrow.
“What was that?”
“I have no idea, but you need to try it.”
They walked over to the first set of cases to look at the display. A placard indicated that the items were from the Dogon people of Mali. There were stunning masks, an astrological chart mapped out on animal skin, and numerous pieces of jewelry. Cai noticed that every piece had a detailed card indicating the item’s origin, as well as a note about the ethical practices used in obtaining it. In most cases, the items had been gifts of thanks from the Dogon people directly either to Afolabi Balogun himself or to the Orisha Foundation.
“Seems pretty legit,” whispered Nadia, leaning into Cai. “Nothing looted, no colonial profiteering.”
Cai shrugged non-committedly. “So it would seem.” They moved on to the next set of displays, this one from Berber and Tuareg communities. Nadia was entranced with the intricate silver jewelry, many adorned with coral and brightly colored enamel. Motifs of fish and birds danced around the bracelets and necklaces, and many pieces had rows and rows of coins hanging from them.
“Oh, I love these. These are my people!” She bent in closer to examine one particularly large piece that draped over a mannequin head. “Oooo… fascinating!”
“What is it?”
“So apparently, this one was in the possession of the Musée du Quai Branly - Jacques Chirac in Paris. And Orisha was able to convince them to transfer it here!”
“For a sizeable donation, I’d wager,” said Cai with a sarcastic tone.
“Actually, no,” said Nadia. “It says here that there were ‘serious discussions’ with tribal elders, members of the Berber community, and the French Ministry of Culture. They agreed that this piece was better suited for a place of honor here for the duration of one year, and then would be returned to Morocco.”
“Hmmf.” Cai sniffed dismissively. She wasn’t about to give up her opinion of corporations holding on to artifacts so easily.
Nadia didn’t seem to notice. “Maybe I can get something like this made for my wedding,” she mused.
Cai turned to face her. “Something you want to tell me?”
Nadia laughed. “No. Just dreaming. I’d have to find someone first. Speaking of which…” She looked around with an exaggerated gaze, raising her hand to her brow as if scanning the horizon. Cai laughed and rolled her eyes.
“C’mon, you.” She took her friend's arm and they moved to the next exhibit. A server passed them, and they placed their empty glasses on his tray.
Nadia stopped and looked around. “I need to use the ladies’ room. Meet you over by the Yoruba area?”
“You’re leaving me?”
“You want to come with?”
“No. Yoruba it is.”
“Fine. Back in a bit. See if you can score something stronger than champagne!”
“Lush.”
“Bitch.” Nadia laughed and headed off through the crowd of people, leaving Cai alone.
She gazed around the room at the well-dressed and obviously wealthy guests and slowly shook her head. “Nope.” She made for a side exit and found herself in a stairwell. A plaque on the wall said PERMANENT COLLECTION with an arrow pointing up the tiled stairs. Cai hesitated, then ascended the steps, her heels echoing off the marble. The door to the next level opened into a dark room, much smaller than the ballroom below. As she took a step inside, soft lighting clicked on, revealing a gallery filled with paintings, display cases, and more glass boxes housing artifacts. The floor was a deep hardwood, and the walls a muted green. Soft brown leather chairs and couches were placed around the space, and there was even a teak table for meals or gatherings. A set of notebooks and writing utensils was haphazardly strewn across it.
Cai moved around the room, admiring the collection. Unlike the exhibition downstairs that was focused on Africa, these pieces spanned the globe. A ceremonial knife from Peru. A buffalo hide, adorned with beads and turquoise from the Wyoming Arapaho people. Her eyes widened when she saw a bronze drum on a pedestal in the corner.
“That’s a favorite of mine,” said a voice from behind her. Cai whirled around with a yelp. A man in a finely tailored tuxedo, black waistcoat over a white vest and bowtie, stood in the doorway, leaning casually. He had a glass in one hand with what looked like Scotch, and his other in his pocket. Cai recognized him immediately.
“You’re Gerrit van der Bijl,” she said lamely.
“I am. And you are in my private collection room. Display. Place? I am never sure what to call it, actually.”
“This is a Dong Son drum,” Cai said, pointing back to the piece on the pedestal. “Vietnam. Third century.”
“Second, actually. A gift from my dear friend Phan, who had it in his family for centuries.”
“A hell of a gift,” said Cai.
“Indeed. I built the hospital in the village where his family grew up. I guess it saved some lives.”
“How philanthropic of you.” Cai crossed her arms, leveling a gaze at the billionaire.
He shrugged. He was handsome enough, she supposed. In his late fifties with his blonde hair fading to grey, a salt-and-pepper beard that was immaculately groomed, and startlingly lovely blue-green eyes. He smiled. “What brings you to my private sanctum?”
“Too much downstairs. I’m not a fan of big crowds. I didn't realize it was private. I’m sorry. I’ll go.” She moved to leave, and he held up his hands.
“Don't worry about it, really. Believe it or not, I’m not big on crowds either. It’s part of the job, sure, but I’d rather sit around in a room like this with a good drink and read than pretend to care about whatever is going on in the socialite circles.”
“I really should get back to my friend,” Cai said.
“Haversleigh is with her,” said van der Bijl. Cai jumped. “Besides, you and I have business to discuss, Miss Williams.
