Carl R Stokes

The Mona Lisas

The Mona Lisas, Carl’s second book, examines the intriguing question of whether the portrait of the Mona Lisa in the Louvre is the original. After being stolen in 1911, the portrait remained ‘lost’ for two years. Was it copied?

Private Detective Charlie Edwards was intrigued by a phone call from Lily to meet her in Lichfield Cathedral, a call that had interrupted his paper plane production. The story told by Lily, of an inheritance of an old Master and the necessity to prove its authenticity, was nothing short of fantastic.

With the help of his former boss in the police force, Peter Jenkins, Charlie establishes that the original Mona Lisa had been stolen from the Louvre in the early 20th century. Had there been any copies made of it whilst it was in the thief’s hands? If so, was the painting in the Louvre today the original?

What starts off as a quest to prove the authenticity of one painting quickly turns into a journey to find three other paintings.

Also what Charlie does not know that he is not the only person who is looking for these other paintings. The race is on ..............

The Mona Lisas is available in print and on Kindle.

Extract from The Mona Lisas…

MAURETANIA 1909

The face in the mirror smiled back at him. He was going to enjoy this evening. Eduardo knew that his looks had changed over the last ten years. Now at the age of fifty he was fostering the professorial look rather than the Don Juan image he had created since his mid twenties.

Marques Eduardo de Valfierno left his cabin and headed for the dining room.

The Mauretania was the grandest ship he had ever seen. He travelled from Argentina on a packet steamer and now travelled from New York to Europe in luxury. While the opulence and splendour of the journey would be very acceptable, the reason for travelling on this ship was purely business. Tonight he dined at the Captain’s table. In his area of the art world, contacts were his lifeblood, and tonight he would be Dracula. He knew who was at the table, how much they were worth, and their likes and dislikes. He was ready to engage, to put all the years of self-training into practice. He lived for nights like this.

Eduardo had spent his time in Buenos Aires selling obscure paintings by famous artists to wealthy collectors. The sort of private collectors that knew the painting should be in a museum but would pay top Dollar to have them in their homes. The only problem being was that the real paintings were in their rightful museums. Eduardo had only ever sold copies.

The time was right to leave South America after their last sale went wrong. He sold a painting, which had been stolen from a gallery in Spain. The gallery had very poor security and there was a national outcry. Of course the painting Eduardo sold was a copy. This was fine until the gallery recovered the painting and the story appeared in the press. His purchaser took some convincing that he had sold him the original and that the gallery had commissioned a copy to cover their blushes. The purchaser’s own vanity about his knowledge of art playing a big part in the deception.

The writing was on the wall. He had to think of his associate Yves Chaudron.

They had met by chance in a café and hit it off straight away. They both had a passion for art but were complete opposites in personality. Eduardo the extrovert and Yves the introvert. It had begun with a wager that Yves couldn’t reproduce a passable copy of one of the Masters. When he did, Eduardo sold it to tourists and their enterprise had begun.

They decided to make more copies and sell them to tourists. This was profitable for both of them and developed one day when Eduardo was approached by a man of means and asked if he could paint something a little less obvious, something he could show to dinner guests and impress them. The commission was undertaken and they moved into a whole other world. Yves took every painting as a challenge and over the years mastered the techniques of the Masters.

Now it was time to move on and for Eduardo thoughts of retiring entered his mind. He had had enough of the greedy self obsessed people he had to deal with. One final big charade. One final challenge for Yves.

Eduardo had shipped Yves off to Europe two weeks ago, with instructions to rent a studio in Montmartre, then create a portfolio of tourist studies of Paris as a cover. Eduardo would wait for the right ship with the right passengers before leaving New York.

As he entered the dining room, he lowered his glasses down the bridge of his nose and started to peer over them. His old school teacher used to do this when dissatisfied with the students. Eduardo had mastered it in the mirror together with a slight stooping of the shoulders. The effect was to make him look ten years older and more scholarly.

The introductions were made. The Wall St banker and his wife, George and Edith Adams. He thin faced, greying at the temples and looking distinctly like he would like to be elsewhere; she very pretty, blonde with an inquisitive gleam in her eyes and at least ten years his junior. They were on their way to see Europe for the first time.

The English Earl, Spencer Harcourt –Smythe was in his early forties with a mane of hair that went down to his shoulders, steely blue eyes and the look of a man that had lived life to the full and was still pushing the limits, never having to obey the rule of the ordinary man. He was on his way home after visiting American relatives.

The Austrian wine grower and his wife, Hans and Lotti Teidermar. He was in his late fifties, bald with a goatee beard. His eyebrows had grown into wings, which gave him the look of the devil, this Eduardo was sure he cultivated. She was a good four inches taller and six inches wider than he and possessing the manliest laugh of the people gathered this evening. They were returning home after visiting their American agents.

And finally the Texan oil baron and his wife, Chuck and Avril Parker. He was short and loud and trying to be the centre of attention. His clothes were expensive but he did not know how to wear them. She was attractive, quiet and elegant. They were going to mix business with pleasure in London.

Eduardo was introduced as an art expert and dealer.

Eduardo had mastered the art of taking part in one conversation and listening to the others round the table. Many think they can do this, but few are able. The usual opening topics about the weather, the ship and the service on board went round the table. Then the conversation went on to questions about what people did when not crossing the Atlantic on the Mauretania. The question went round the table in a clockwise direction, Eduardo taking in the replies, for the best part the information married up with what he knew. When it was his turn, he was asked by the banker’s wife if he had a gallery in London. His heart skipped a beat as he baited the trap.

“No madam. The paintings I deal in are not for the general public to look at through a plate glass window, they are far too valuable.”

Being a little put out by the tone of the reply, her husband stepped in with a question of his own.

“Then how do you sell these valuable paintings?”

“Sir, there are a lot of paintings in private collections that you would normally think were in museums. When the owner wants to sell them, maybe because the stock market has let him down, or he gambles a little too vigorously, he wants to sell them discreetly. I offer that service and as well as having clients who collect a certain painter’s work. So if a painting comes on the market they will ask me to authenticate it for them.”

The banker’s wife was now intrigued
“And that is what you were doing in New York?”
Eduardo could have kissed her.
“Alas my journey was to no avail as once I had offered my credentials, the owner refused to let me see the painting.”
“So you scared him off?”
“It happens sometimes”
“It must be frustrating to have a wasted journey”
“Madam, the journey on this fine ship with such fine company as I have tonight is never wasted”

With that Eduardo raised his glass and toasted the table. A perfect result. Now he had to be patient, but he knew they would come like bees to honey.

The Mona Lisas is available in print and on Kindle.