She looked up at them. “Back already? Hi, Didrik!” She broke into a smile and hurried over to give him a hug.
“How did it all go?” Bente asked, joining Ellie and Hanna at the bar.
“Above expectations—we’re definitely ready for the real opening,” Ellie assured her.
“That’s great to hear,” Bente told her. “And I have news too. I’ve decided this is what I want to do—full-time.”
“Seriously?” Ellie’s hands flew to her mouth and she let out a cheer. “So you and I are going to run a wine bar together?”
Bente laughed. “I guess so.” She looked at Hanna. “But I don’t want you to give it to me. I’ll run it for you until I can afford to buy it from you.”
“Whatever you want.” Hanna smiled at Bente and Ellie. “What a dream team.” She grabbed a bottle of Champagne, moving around the bar as if she’d been a bartender all her life. Maybe it came naturally now that she owned the place. “I think this calls for bubbles!” She opened the bottle with a loud pop and foam went everywhere, much to everyone’s very vocal delight.
“By the way, I have something new for our wine list,” Bente said, looking at Didrik. “I got a fantastic email from Sylvie today, and she can let us have several cases.”
“From Château de Chênes?” he asked.
“From Château de Chênes.”
“This all sounds wonderful,” Hanna said. “But for as long as I’m the owner, I insist on coming down at least one evening a week to mix cocktails.”
“You mean after closing time?” Bente said, laughing as Hanna punched her on the arm. Bente accidentally kicked over the paper bag on the floor, and Didrik quickly picked it up. “What have you actually got in there?”
“I thought you’d never ask.” Didrik fished out a package, unwrapped it, and placed an item—a painting—on the bar.
It didn’t take Bente long to recognize the style. “That’s by Sven Steen.”
Didrik nodded. He turned the picture over, and there was Sven’s name ... or ratherDejje Steen, 1979.
“I don’t understand.”
Didrik told the story of the receipt he had found, signed by Ida Steen. And recounted his conversation with the woman in the gallery.
“And the art dealer was buying paintings by him through intermediaries right up until the eighties?” Bente’s eyes filled with tears. “So hesurvived?Theysurvived?”
“Sven must have survived, and I’m guessing the man in the painting is Mathieu,” Didrik said.
“But are you sure it’s Mathieu?”
Didrik shook his head.
“Maybe this is just how Sven imagined Mathieu would have looked.” Bente’s voice was trembling.
Didrik placed his hand on hers. “Or that’s actually Mathieu in the picture.”
She smiled, took his hand, and squeezed it. She really hoped he was right. “Maybe we should try talking to Jérôme again. If we bring some information, help prompt his memory, he might be able to recall something.”
“Sounds like a good idea.”
Bente looked back at the painting. So Sven had survived. How amazing was that?
But what had happened to Mathieu?
They called Jérôme the following day, sitting at Bente’s kitchen table. In an email exchange between Bente and Sylvie the previous evening, Sylvie had offered to go to the care home to be with Jérôme during the conversation. She thought it might be easier for him to remember if someone he knew was there, someone he associated with the vineyard.
“Hi.” Sylvie appeared on the screen. “Jérôme is here, he’s got a cup of tea and would love to speak to you.” The image flickered as she adjusted her phone so that they could see the old man. He stared into the camera, brought his face closer. It took a minute for him to figure out how to look at the screen and at them. But once he did, Bente saw that his expression was different from when they’d gone to visit him—much clearer. He suddenly looked younger to her.
They introduced themselves and his face lit up.
