A Person of Interest

Katherine was becoming increasingly annoyed at the man sitting on his own at the table by the entrance. Every time she looked in his direction he was staring at her, staring brazenly, then looking down at his table, then staring again. She tried to ignore him, avoided his gaze, but still she could feel his eyes on her. She finished her coffee, slung her bag over her shoulder and made her way to the door. She would have to pass by his table, so she decided she would say something. She would not be intimidated by his rudeness.

“Don’t you know it’s rude to stare?” she said as she drew near his table.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “I should have asked permission.”

“What, permission to stare?” What effrontery!

“No, to draw your portrait,” he said, holding up the drawing. It was her likeness alright and quite flattering. “So what do you think? Do you like it?”

“It’s very good,” she said uncertainly.

“Do you want it?”

“That depends. How much?”

“Oh, no charge. You didn’t ask me to do it.” He stood up and placed it in her hands. He was taller than she’d expected.

“Well, okay, sure,” she said, now looking closely at her portrait. “Will you sign it for me?”

“Certainly. Please have a seat.”

“I won’t stay,” she said, “I have to get back to work.” She sat and watched the artist sign his work. “Don’t you want to give your name?”

“There it is,” he said.

“It says A Person,” she frowned.

“This is my name,” he assured her. “Axl Person,” giving it the correct pronunciation, as in Pairson. “It’s a Danish name.”

That accounts for the European accent I couldn’t quite place, she thought. “Well, thank you Axl. You sure you don’t want some payment?”

“If you really want to pay me you can buy me dinner.”

What to make of this Danish artist? Talented, not bad looking, charming, smooth. An elaborate pickup? A ruse? “I’d rather just pay you.”

“No, I won’t accept money,” he said. “If you change your mind about dinner, call me on this number. I’m staying in Auckland for another week.” He handed her a business card.

Axl Person. Artist. Nørrebro, Copenhagen. A phone number and a hand written mobile number.

Katherine returned from her lunch at the gallery café slightly late for her meeting with her colleague. Jules, ever punctual was waiting in her office with case files on her desk. “Sorry I’m late,” Katherine said. “I met a guy at the gallery café and he gave me this.” She laid the portrait on the desk.

“Wow! It’s beautiful,” Jules remarked. “He’s really captured you. Were you posing for him?”

“No, I didn’t even know he was doing it. He just started sketching me while I was having lunch.”

“And?” Jules sensed gossip-worthy news.

“I offered to pay for the portrait but he said, ‘Buy me dinner if you want to pay.’”

“What’s he like? Old? Young? Good looking? Fat and bald?”

“Youngish, lean and a good head of hair and yes, good looking, quite handsome.”

“So, you going to do it? You going to take him out for dinner?”

“No, I don’t think so.”

“Don’t tell me you blew him off. Kat, you’re a divorcee, a free agent. He sounds like a good catch.”

“I’m not in the market to be picked up by strange men.”

“Where’s your sense of adventure? I’ll bet he gave you his number.”

Katherine took the card out of her bag. “His name is Axl Person. He’s a Dane.”

“There you go. All is not lost,” Jules declared. “Give him a call. Not straight away, like. Give it a couple of days.”

“I don’t know, Katherine demurred. “He’s probably married. I don’t know anything about him.”

“Go find out. Well, think about it anyway. You know I’ll babysit Jason.”

“Alright, enough.” Katherine put the portrait back into her bag. “Have you got the Huang file there?”

“Yes, it seems our elusive Mr Huang has set up shop in Wellington, still running his accredited employer work visa scam. One of us needs to go to Wellington and interview some of his victims with this aid worker / interpreter. The jobs they were promised didn’t eventuate and they’re just stranded there, living in cramped, squalid conditions, with no work and no money, after paying Huang his $20,000 fee. I thought you’d be the one to go. You could stay on and take some leave, visit your dad with Jason.”

“Okay, I’m willing to go and I was planning to take Jason to visit his grandfather in the school holidays. I’ll have to get it approved though.”

“Already approved. I talked to the boss about it. You can go next week.”

This is what Katherine liked most about her job: investigating, helping victims, helping to put bad guys away, helping to get justice. There was so much injustice in the world. Her job routinely exposed her to some of the worst aspects of society. It was a good job and she was a conscientious employee. And it paid well. It needed to. There was the mortgage to pay. In the division of matrimonial property, she’d kept the house and bought her husband out. She had considered selling up and buying a townhouse closer to the city but decided she liked her brick and tile suburban bungalow, even though it contained some unpleasant memories. She liked the area, the unpretentious middle class suburb, and she liked the school. Childcare was another significant expense, less so since Jason had started school. That was a sacrifice she’d had to live with: so much time away from her boy.

She drove to work each day from the Te Atatū Peninsula, along the northwest motorway, past the mangroves, into the CBD. It was not an onerous commute but most days she had to drive with the glare of the morning sun in her eyes and then the afternoon sun on the return journey. Te Atatū: The Dawn. The drive had been getting slower with the increasing commuter traffic. No point in stressing about it. You just use the time to mentally prepare for the day’s work: review, process, plan, anticipate. A lot of it was problem solving. That was the routine. But these last few days other thoughts were intruding. That person, that Danish artist kept pushing his way unbidden into her head. The portrait at home was a constant reminder. She had pinned it on a wall in her bedroom, like a poster. Then she considered whether she would get it framed and whether she would actually hang it. She would not hang it in the living room anyway, she’d decided. That would look too narcissistic.

It was three days after meeting him that Katherine was at the gallery café again, this time with Jules, and Jules asked her, “Have you phoned him yet?”

“Who? Axl? No I haven’t, but it has been on my mind. I feel I do owe him for the portrait.”

And call she did. “It’s Katherine,” she said. “You did my portrait in the café.”

“Oh yes, I’m so glad you called.”

“I’ve decided to pay up. If you’d like to meet me for dinner at Homeland at the Viaduct. How about Saturday, seven o’clock?”

“Yes, great. It’s near where I’m staying. It’s a date.”

“See you there.” Katherine signed off and immediately began second guessing herself. At least it wasn’t a Tinder date. Women had been raped, murdered even.

*

What to wear on this balmy summer evening. The black halter neck dress. Hasn’t had an outing for a while. Neckline a bit low. A bit of cleavage. Not too vampish? And the black pearls. And the grey pashmina.

Axl was at the bar enjoying an aperitif when Katherine arrived. He had his back to her, his light sandy hair swished back in a floppy wave. She could see his face in the bar mirror between the bottles and hear his deep voice as he was chatting with another man about sailing and she took the opportunity to observe him briefly. She heard him say, “Yes, I have a yacht in Denmark, just a small one.” She sat down next to him and said, “Hello sailor.” A light hearted greeting to break the ice and calm her nerves. First date in years. But O God, that sounded a bit slutty. Not what I intended at all. The other guy’s expression confirms it.

“Ah, Katherine, Good evening. So good to see you again,” said Axl, lightly touching her arm. “This is Paul.” Paul’s demeanour was more polite when he was introduced. “What will you have to drink?” Axl asked.

“A gin and tonic, thanks.”

“Dinner’s on you,” he said, “so I’ll take care of the drinks.”

Yes, his date is paying. Now Paul looked impressed as they took their leave of him.

This is nice,” Axl remarked as the maître d’ ushered them to their table. “Nice view of the harbour and so many yachts. The City of Sails, they say.” They sat facing each other at a small, round table. “And you look nice, I must say, really lovely.”

“Thank you. You scrub up pretty well yourself.” He was wearing a charcoal suit and a slate blue shirt, no tie. He’d been wearing a T-shirt and shorts at the café.

“I scrub up well,” he repeated with a smile. “I like this expression.”

“Your English is very good,” Katherine remarked.

“We all speak good English in Denmark. All except the very old and the very young.”

“So, Axl Person, is that really your name or is it like a stage name.” Mm, that sounded too assertive, too suspicious. Tone it down.

“It’s my real name, I assure you. It’s not so unusual in Denmark. It’s a patronymic name, derived from the name of a father or ancestor. The son of Per. It’s like Peterson, the son of Peter. It can be s-o-n or s-e-n.”

“So is Per your father’s name?”

“No, his name was Jens, but my grandfather was Per Person. And the name goes back to an ancestor called Per. It’s like the English name Peter. It means Rock.”

“The Rock. And Axl?”

“Also a family name, on my mother’s side.”

“The only other Axl I know of is Axl Rose.”

“Oh yes, of Guns and Roses.”

“Quite a cool name.”

“At school they called me Axolotl, because I was so nerdy. Not so cool,” he shrugged.

Charming, sophisticated, self-effacing. Genuine or just a façade? Reserve judgement. I’ll get to the important questions later.

“Enough about me,” Axl said. I didn’t even know your name till you called me. Tell me something about you.”

“I’m a barrister and I work here in Auckland.”

“A barrister. Now is that one who works in a café or in the courts?”

“I’m a lawyer, not a barista, and yes I work in the court from time to time but mostly in an office. Our offices are near the gallery and I like to go there whenever there’s a new exhibition and to the café occasionally for lunch.”

“Yes, I took you for an art lover.”

That almost sounded like I took you for a lover. What am I thinking?

“I have a six-year-old son and a cat and I used to have a husband.” There, I’ve said it.

“Separated?”

“Divorced.”

“I see we have some things in common,” Axl observed. “A love of art, and I too am divorced and have a daughter. She lives with my ex-wife. No cat, so I live alone.”

At least now I don’t have to ask. Is he really a divorcee? Why would it matter? We’re just having dinner and he’s just passing through.

She asked about his daughter and he said little more than, “Her name is Sofia, she’s seven years old and she plays the violin.” Then he asked, “Do you have any other family here?”

I’ve seen this sort of modus operandi before: ask lots of questions, tell me about…, show interest, get you talking about yourself. Often from people who want something from you. Don’t be cynical. He’s just making conversations. 

“Not in Auckland. My father lives in Wellington and there’s some extended family there. And a brother in Australia.”

A waitress hovered and asked Axl if they were ready to order.

“Not yet.”

“We’d better look at the menu.”

“I do like your New Zealand lamb.”

“So do I but I think I’ll have fish of the day. Fish of the day. Snapper. Yes that’ll be fine. And a lamb loin,” Katherine ordered.

“And a bottle of Chardonnay,” Axl added. “Chardonnay okay?”

“Yes, fine.”

“What is this feijoa kasundi?” Axl said, pointing at the lamb dish on the menu.

“Feijoas are a lovely fruit, very common in New Zealand and quite under-rated. Made into a spicy kasundi sauce, to make it sound exotic. It must be preserved because it’s not the season for fresh feijoas.”

“Sounds good.”

The wine arrived promptly. Axl tasted and approved. The waiter poured their glasses. Katherine finished her gin and tonic before starting on the wine. “So, what brought you to New Zealand?” she asked Axl. “Business or pleasure?”

“Both. I have wanted for many years to visit this country,” he said, “and it has not disappointed.”

“What’s the attraction?” It wasn’t quite the cliched ‘What do you think of New Zealand?’

“It is just such a beautiful country, very scenic, especially the South Island. And such great wines, especially the white wines are world class.” He sipped his glass of chardonnay. “I’m also interested in some New Zealand artists. I’m going to attend an auction in Wellington next week and I’ll visit the Te Papa Museum while I’m there.”

“What did you think of the exhibition at the gallery?” Katherine asked.

“Oh, the ‘Romancing the Collection’ exhibition. Interesting. Such a mix of historical and contemporary art, and a mix of excellence and mediocrity. I particularly liked the Lindauer and Goldie portraits of Māori subjects. Really marvellous.”

And so they chatted till their meals arrived, about art and music. They shared a love of art and classical music. And about Auckland. “I enjoy just sitting and people watching when I come to a new country or a new city,” Axl said. “I’m surprised there are so many Asians in Auckland and also a lot of Polynesians, walking around in their flip flops.”

“We call them jandals here.”

“Jandals?”

“The flip flops.”

 “Okay. The Pacific Islanders look a little different from the Māoris and so many are overweight. Poor people in developed countries tend to be overweight – not like in poor countries, where poor people are underweight.”

“I can see you’ve travelled a lot,” Katherine said, which moved the conversation on easily to travel. Axl was well travelled, Katherine less so. She had been to Italy with her husband to visit her in-laws and to France, but no, not to Denmark.

“This is very hygge,” Axl remarked.

“Which is Danish for what?”

“There is no exact translation, but like cosy and convivial.”

“Yes, very hygge,” Katherine agreed.

The chardonnay went down smoothly and easily with the lamb and the snapper, the entire bottle. At home, Katherine would make a bottle last over three or four meals, but now she had consumed half a bottle, on top of the G and T, and was feeling a bit tiddly.

“Why me?” she asked. “Why did you want to draw me?”

“You have a natural aesthetic beauty, which I found appealing. Good bone structure, lovely tanned skin tone,” Axl said, touching her cheek. “I’d actually like to paint you.”

“I don’t have a sun tan,” she said. “This is my natural skin colour, thanks to my Māori blood. One eighth Māori.”

He responded with one of his nodding ‘noted with interest’ gestures.

“Do you want to look at the dessert menu?” Katherine asked. Which he declined. “I don’t usually either,” she said.

Axl suggested walking back to his hotel for an after dinner nightcap but Katherine demurred in favour of a stroll around the viaduct while she waited for her Uber. Don’t push your luck, mate. I’m not going to your hotel room and I’m not drinking any more alcohol. The lights of the city and the gibbous moon shimmered psychedelically on the water. “Not in these heels,” she said, “and anyway I promised my babysitter it would not be a late night. Thank you for a lovely evening. (Hic) We’re quits now. Debt paid in full.”

“Thank you,” Axl said. “It has been a pleasure. I have your number now. May I call you again?”

“Yes, you may.” No harm in that.

“May I also give you a good night kiss?”

“Is that part of the payment?”

“No, but it would be a bonus.”

“Very well, you may.”

And he was a good kisser. Light and sensuous. Not too grasping or lingering. No probing tongue.

*

“So, how did it go?” Jules asked as soon as Katherine walked in the door.

“Nice dinner and a very pleasant evening,” she said airily.  “He was a perfect gentleman.”

“Did he kiss you?”

“Just a little good night kiss.”

“Are you going to see him again?”

“I don’t think so. He’s not staying around. Anyway, I’m not sure he’s my type. I think he might be a bit of a playboy.”

“You could have stayed out later you know.”

“It felt like it was long enough and I’m feeling pretty tired,” Katherine said, flopping on the couch. “How was Jason?”

“Fine. He went to bed about eight o’clock. No fuss.”

“He’s got your number, hasn’t he.”

“Yeah, but really I think it’s just a one night stand.”

 “What if he wanted to take it further?”

“Really Jules, this is all just hypothetical. There’s no point speculating.”

“We’ll see,” Jules said. “I’ll take myself off home now.”

“Thanks for looking after Jase.”

“You’re welcome. Anytime. You should get out more,” said Jules, and as she was leaving, “You’d be such a catch you know.”

*

“We’re going to fly to Wellington to visit Pop,” Katherine announced to a delighted Jason. Her father picked them up from the airport, in his flash new car, a Tesla. “We boomers have to do what we can,” he said, “to make up for wrecking the world for your generation.” Jason took that at face value and approved of his choice of car. Katherine knew her dad scoffed at the claims of man-made climate change and liked to make such ironic statements. It was only a short drive to his home in Miramar, where they spent the rest of the day. Jason was doted on and treated to a trip to nearby Weta Workshop the next day, while his mother went to town on business.

It was no great surprise when Axl phoned but the nature of the call was rather unexpected. “I wish to engage your legal services,” he said. “to prosecute an art forger who sold a painting with my name on it at the auction.”

“It might be easier to get a Wellington lawyer,” Katherine said. “I could recommend someone.”

“But you know I like to combine business and pleasure. It would be nice to see you again. You could visit your father and your son could stay with his grandfather. It’s the school holidays.”

“Actually I’m in Wellington now, as it happens. I’m in the middle of something at the moment. I’ll ring you back later and I’ll text you my email address so you can send me some details about what happened.” She would need to see if it was genuine and if the case had merit. And she would need to consult with Jules and rejig some scheduling if she decided to take it on.

The email arrived promptly in Katherine’s inbox. She didn’t forward it to Jules with all the endearments but summed it up as a prima facie case of fraud. “An artist sold a painting at auction in Wellington, a portrait bearing Axl Person’s signature and catalogued as his work but Axl says it’s not. It’s a copy of a painting he did some years ago and sold to a private buyer in Switzerland. Axl confronted the forger, who was present at the auction, and threatened to sue him for fraud. The forger, an artist called Simsic, claimed that the proprietors of Webb’s Auction House had perpetrated the fraud, not himself. He admitted that he had painted the portrait in question, talented artist that he is, but he never claimed that it was the work of Axl Person. He had signed it anonymously as A Person, just as he had signed other works as An Artist. He was therefore prepared to admit to the lesser charge of breach of copyright, but not fraud. The fraud had been committed by Webb’s auction house, knowingly or otherwise, he claimed.”

“Sounds like a specious argument,” Jules replied by return email.

“Yes, and a weak defence,” Katherine said. “Axl says Simsic copied his signature exactly, so it’s not an anonymous appellation. A graphologist could give an expert opinion on it but that probably wouldn’t even be necessary. Axl also has the names of the buyers of the original and the copy.”

“Sounds pretty straightforward,” Jules agreed. “You should take it on. It’s fate.” Jules had a tendency to dramatize.

“It’s business,” Katherine said.

*

Axl met Katherine in the lobby of the Museum Apartment Hotel and greeted her with a kiss on the cheek. He looked as casual and relaxed as he had in Auckland and his hair was still wet from a swim in the hotel pool. “Let’s get a coffee here in the hotel café,” he suggested. “There’s only instant in the rooms. Good flight? Everything okay? So good to see you again.”

“So let’s go to my room,” Axl said, as soon as Katherine finished her flat white, “and I’ll show you the photos on my laptop.”

“This sounds suspiciously like a prelude to a seduction. Come up to my room and see my photos,” she repeated theatrically.

“Would you rather I brought my computer down here to the café?”

“No no. I was just kidding,” she laughed. Axl’s momentary consternation dissolved into a smile.

“A room with a view,” Katherine commented, standing at the window of Axl’s top floor room.

“Yes, I always like a view of the sea,” he said, as he placed two the two chairs side by side at the desk, next to the king size bed, and opened his laptop. “Here’s a photo of the original painting.”

Katherine looked closely at the screen. “It’s a beautiful portrait and a beautiful subject. Who is she?”

“It’s my wife, my ex-wife,” he said. “And here’s the forgery.”

“They look just the same to me,” Katherine said, examining the two images side by side on the screen.”

“It’s a good copy, but you could probably see the difference if you looked at the actual paintings. So what do you think?”

“Well if you want to sue the forger, I can file a charging document with the court.”

“Then what happens?”

“The document will be disclosed to the defendant and he’ll be summoned to court for a case review. If he chooses to defend the charge he’ll file a statement of defence, or his lawyer will.”

“And what would be the likely result?

“He would almost certainly be convicted of fraud and given a substantial fine. Fraud is regarded as a serious offence, potentially punishable by a sentence of imprisonment. Compensation could be awarded to you. The amount would be negotiated. The buyer of the copy would be reimbursed and compensated. I’ve handled cases of financial fraud before but never art fraud. I’d need to look at precedents and consult with our partners.”

“What do I need to do?”

“Let’s wait and see how the defendant responds. I don’t see that he has any defence but if he pleads not guilty, it will go to trial. If that’s the case it would be helpful to get the copy back from the buyer as an exhibit and a photo and an affidavit from the owner of the original.”

“I can do that,” Axl said. “So, Counsellor, let’s proceed.”

“Fine. I won’t need to stay in Wellington in the meantime. I would just have to return if there was a trial.”

“Okay, but you don’t have to hurry back, do you?”

“No, actually I have other business to take care of while I’m here.”

“Good. I’ve booked a table for us at the Dockside restaurant for dinner. My treat this time. No, my shout. This is what you kiwis say. I will shout you dinner.” He actually shouted it, for a laugh, and Katherine did laugh. Then in serious businesslike demeanour he said, “Of course I will pay for dinner. I have engaged your professional services and I am paying your expenses.”

“I’ll let my father know I won’t be home for dinner.”

“You could also let him know you won’t be home tonight. You can stay here you know.”

“No, I couldn’t possibly do that. He would be horrified and I don’t want to abandon my son here.”

*

Dinner at the Dockside really was dockside and al fresco. “I like being close to the water,” Axl said. “And we Danes like to dine outdoors whenever the weather is good before the cold gloom of the winter sets in.”

“And now I think I should sample some New Zealand seafood. And more New Zealand wine of course. A white wine. That was very fine Chardonnay we had last time but I’d like to try something different.”

They both studied the wine list. “How about the Sauvignon Blanc? It says it’s ‘agreeably herbaceous’.”

“Too grassy,” was Katherine’s opinion.

“How about the Riesling?”

“Too sweet.”

“I’ll defer to your experience with New Zealand wines.”

“I think the Pinot Gris would go well with the fish.”

Axl read the wine menu notes. “Inviting red apple, pear and ginger spice notes combine in this juicy, lively and approachable Pinot Gris, which has texture, complexity and a smooth finish. Sounds nice, but what do they mean by approachable?”

“I don’t know but I guess we won’t have to sneak up on it.” Katherine was more relaxed and jokey, Axl noted. They ordered the same meals: a starter of tempura oysters to share and fish of the day with makrut lime and nori crust, which on the day, was hapuka. “Makrut – something exotic again?” Axl wondered.

“It’s just Kaffir lime leaves,” Katherine said. “Kaffir is an offensive term in some cultures.”

“I like that you are so knowledgeable,” Axl remarked.

“Cooking is something of a hobby for me,” she said.

“I look forward to sampling your culinary arts.” There was a pause in the conversation while Axl waited expectantly for a response but there was none forthcoming. He topped up their glasses and again the wine flowed freely.

“Tell me about your ex-husband,” Axl said.

“He lives in Italy now,” Katherine said flatly, “with his new partner. He’s completely out of my life and our son’s life. I’d rather not talk about him.”

A sudden chill in the air invaded the balmy evening and a few spits of rain began to fall. With a whir of machinery, a retractable roof slid into place over the diners. “Nice touch,” Axl commented. “You know you could still stay the night,” he said, hopefully. “It’s not too late to change your mind. You can charge your time at your professional rate, every six minutes.”

“You make me feel like a prostitute,” Katherine chided.

“I’m only joking about paying, but I would gladly do it and not necessarily for sex, just for your company.”

“Anyway, I’m sure there are plenty of high end escorts available if you did feel so inclined,” Katherine suggested.

“I’d rather just spend more time with you.”

“I suppose I should feel flattered but I will be going home tonight, I mean to my father’s place. I’ll do the business tomorrow and I want to bring Jason into town on Friday.”

“Tell me about your father,” Axl ventured.

 “He’s an accountant, or was an accountant. He retired a few years ago and sold the business he’d built up. It was just after my mother died. She’d been very involved in the business too, until she got sick. Dad just completely lost interest in the business after Mum passed away. I’ve been trying to get him to move to Auckland but he’s very independent and stubborn. He has his circle of friends here and he belongs to a Wellington yacht club.”

“Ah, so he’s also a sailor.”

 “Yes, he’s a very capable sailor, but he’s getting on in years and I worry about him going out on his own into Cook Strait and into the Marlborough Sounds. The Strait can be quite treacherous. I keep telling him the sailing is better around Auckland.”

“I’d like to meet your father,” Axl said. “I think we would have much in common.”

“Perhaps, but in the meantime you can meet my son, on Friday, if you’d like to meet up for lunch.” We’ll see how that goes.

*

They met at a café, at the waterfront as per usual. It was a fine summer’s day with the bright sunlight flashing off the rippling water of the harbour. Axl was sitting at an outside table, wearing sunglasses and a white Panama hat, looking every bit the European tourist. After his first experience with the skin burning rays of the harsh New Zealand sun he made a point of wearing a hat outdoors on days like this. He stood up when Katherine arrived and greeted her with a peck on the cheek, then bent down and shook Jason’s hand with a manly greeting and asked him about the Weta Workshop. Jason enthused about The Lord of the Rings, Gollum, the orcs and Gwaihir, the great eagle.

“Ah yes,” Axl said. “I saw Gandalf riding the great eagle at the airport. Now, shall we look at the lunch menu?” All three conferred over the menu and ordered food, coffee and hot chocolate. “I think it’s funny that people call this pastry Danish. In Denmark we call it wienerbrød – Viennese bread.

“So it’s actually Austrian?”

“Yes, originally.”

“So what have you been up to these last few days?” Katherine asked Axl.

“I’ve been a tourist in Wellington” he said. “I like this town. It’s got character and culture and it’s quite compact compared to Auckland, which is so sprawling.”

 “Did you get to Te Papa?”

“Yes, I don’t care much for the architecture of the building, but there are some very interesting exhibits. I especially like the Māori art.”

“I like the war stuff,” Jason said.

“Me too,” Axl said. “The Gallipoli stuff. The models are so life like and larger than life and each one has a story.”

The table next to them was vacated while they were eating their lunch and a few sparrows moved in to peck at the scraps. One enterprising bird drew a sachet of sugar from the container on the table, then tore it open and pecked up the spilled crystals, until a waitress came to clear the table.  Axl held out a piece of his Danish pastry in his fingers and presently a sparrow snatched it away. Then he placed a piece on his palm and laid his hand flat on the edge of the table. A sparrow landed close by and eventually summoned the courage to take the morsel from his hand. The moment it went for the bait Axl snapped his hand shut and held the captive bird, which cheeped frantically. Jason was enthralled. The power of life and death was in that large hand that could easily have crushed the bird. Axl held it for a moment and then tossed it into the air and it fluttered away. Jason tried it for himself but he couldn’t quite master the motionless hand. “That bird has probably warned the others not to come near our table now,” Axl said. “He’s probably been tweeting about us.”

His easy rapport with Jason brought a smile to Katherine’s face. A bit of showmanship, a bit of humour, and not talking down to the child. Jason got up and started looking around the wharf. “Don’t go so close to the edge,” Katherine said anxiously.

“How did the business go yesterday?” Axl asked.

“Fine. I filed the charging document with the court, so now we’ll just wait and see what happens. Simsic will probably be advised by legal counsel to drop the pretence and change his plea to guilty of fraud.”

*

That left a free weekend for some family time, including a trip to Zealandia, which Katherine had promised Jason. He was excited at the prospect of getting up close to the native birds in the wild and the tuataras.

“Will Axl be coming with us?” Jason asked.

“Well, we can invite him, if you like,” Katherine said, uncertainly. “What do you think Dad?”

“Ah, the artist and bird catcher. Yes, why not? We can show our visitor one of our local attractions worth seeing.” Jason was so enamoured with this newcomer that Katherine’s father thought it might be wise to meet him and check him out. There are men who think the way to the affections of a solo mother is through her children. He had always been wary of his daughter’s suitors and his doubts about her husband had proved to be well-founded.

*

Katherine introduced her father as ‘my dad’ and he introduced himself as James when they picked up Axl from his hotel. James was a stocky, grey-haired man in his sixties or seventies, with a very firm handshake. His face bore Katherine’s features in aged, masculine form and the same genetic tan. The Tesla glided quietly from downtown to Karori through the tunnel to the Zealandia car park and visitors’ centre. Katherine had come prepared with a day pack with a water bottle and a bag of trail mix for the perpetually hungry Jason, and a bottle of sun block, which she applied to Jason’s face while he squirmed impatiently to get going on the trek. All wore hats to shield against the sun. Jason led the way through the information centre and went bounding onto the Valley View Track, with Katherine, James and Axl following “Whoa, not so fast Jason,” Katherine said. “Slow down and go quietly or you’ll scare the birds away.” They were not far along the track when a kākā landed on the path in front of them and lumbered along, unperturbed, to a fallen rotting log and dug out a huhu grub with its powerful curved beak. Katherine restrained Jason from trying to approach close enough to touch it.

“Wow! Such a big parrot,” Axl whispered.

“Wait till you see the takahē,” Katherine said. “They were nearly extinct but they’re thriving here with the predator proof fence.” Further along the track a black and orange bird with red wattles landed on a nearby branch. “Oh my!” said Katherine, still in hushed tones. “I’ve never seen a saddleback before. I thought they were extinct.”

The air grew warm and steamy as the sun ascended the hills and ate up the morning mist that had been hanging over the valley and the lake. Jason took off his jacket and Katherine folded it up and stuffed it into her backpack with her own. She applied sun block to his arms, some on herself and passed the bottle around. The hikers continued along the uphill track to the tuatara research area, where they took a rest and a toilet stop and spent some time observing the prehistoric reptiles, the little dinosaurs, as Jason would have it.

Further along the track they took a longer stop at the kākā feeding station, a platform where the parrots stepped onto a bar which lifted the cover over pieces of fruit. Smaller birds, too light to trip the mechanism, darted in when the kākā opened the way. A rosella joined the bird picnic, its plumage as vibrantly colourful as birds in Jason’s colouring book.  The hikers too fed on fruit and nuts of the trail mix as they watched the show at close range. They spotted more tuatara on the return track, basking in the sun close to the perimeter fence and some even outside of the enclosure. When Jason began to lag from tiredness, Axl hoisted him onto his shoulders and carried him, much to the boy’s delight. He was practically elevated to the domain of the birds.

By the time they returned to the visitors’ centre, Jason had proudly sited and ticked off every bird on the brochure, and the tuatara. Axl bought him a life sized stuffed tuatara, as long as his arm, at the gift shop.  “Now let’s have some lunch in the café,” he said. “My shout.” Conversation on the café deck flowed more freely away from the constraints of quietness among the birdlife. “What an amazing place,” Axl said to his hosts. “Thank you for bringing me here. It’s like a Jurassic Park only minutes from the city. We have nothing like it in Denmark. We have just an indoor zoo under glass domes in Randers with tropical plants and exotic animals and bad smells. Nothing like the sweet smelling New Zealand bush.”

James found Axl to be an agreeable person, an urbane Scandi-European, not one of your dodgy south or east Europeans, obviously a man of means, and a sailor, like himself. “Katherine tells me you do some sailing back in Denmark,” he said. “What sort of boat do you have?”

“Nothing too flash,” Axl said. “It’s a Bénétau, 25 feet.

“A Bénéteau. Nice. Where do you do your sailing in Europe?”

“Oh, just around Sjaelland and over to Sweden, which is not far, and to some of our islands. I sailed in the Mediterranean once, but not in my little boat. It was on a super yacht called the Serene, owned by Mohammed bin Salman, the Crown Prince of Saudi Arabia.”

Katherine and James glanced at each other. “A friend of yours?” James asked.

“A customer. I sold him a few paintings, paintings by other artists: Christopher Wool, Rudolf Stingel and a Picasso. I was just the middle man. Can you believe he has the Salvator Mundi on his yacht?”

“You’re kidding!” Katherine was incredulous. “Leonardo da Vinci’s Salvator Mundi, the Saviour of the World. That’s like, that’s the most expensive painting in the world.”

“Yes, the picture of Jesus. He bought it through Sotheby’s for $US 450 million. Way overpriced if you ask me. It had been quite badly damaged and inexpertly restored. But it is a DaVinci. The super rich will pay such high prices for rare paintings, as investments and for pride of ownership. At least he didn’t lock it away in a bank vault.”

“Katherine tells me you are also a sailor, James. What kind of boat do you have?”

“It’s a 27-foot Albin Vega.”

“Oh yes, I know the Albin Vega,” Axl said. “It’s a Swedish design.”

“Yeah, a fibreglass sloop. Getting a bit old now but still quite sturdy and serviceable, just like her skipper, ha ha.”

“How long are you planning to stay in Wellington?” James asked.

“I’m not sure. I need to go to Australia sometime soon. It depends on what happens with the court case.”

“Actually I’m planning to take the boat out while Katherine and Jason are here, just out into the harbour and around Somes Island. Why don’t you join us.”

“That’s a kind offer. Yes, I’d love to join you. When are you thinking of going?”

Sometime in the next week. It depends on the weather conditions.”

*

There was a spell of fresh westerlies with strong gusts, as often occurs in Wellington, followed by a brief window of more settled conditions, midweek. “Wednesday should be a good day, weatherwise,” James told Katherine, “and not so many weekend sailors about.” Arrangements were made but Katherine cancelled on the Tuesday when she received a call from the aid worker concerning a potential witness in the Huang case, who was going to return to China.

“I really have to see this man before he leaves the country,” Katherine told Axl. “but why don’t you go ahead and go sailing for the day with Dad and Jason. Make it a boys’ day out. I’m sure Jason will be in good hands with two good sailors. He’d be so disappointed if we called it off.”

‘The boys’ boarded the boat at Evan’s Bay marina, where it was berthed. The Awatea, a gesture to James’ Māori grandmother.

“Does the name have a meaning?” Axl asked.

“Yeah, it means Daylight.” James gave Axl a quick orientation and prepared the gear for sailing. Axl had to stoop in the cabin as the ceiling was too low to allow for his height. It quickly became evident that Axl knew his way around a yacht as they prepped the boat for sailing. Together they prepared the main sail on the boom and the gib on the fore deck and attached the halyards. When they had motored out of the marina into the light northerly breeze, James manned the tiller while Axl hoisted the sails and manned the mainsheet and together they began tacking out of the bay into the harbour. As the sails filled with wind the boat surged ahead, northeast on the port tack and northwest on the starboard tack, zigzagging its way toward Somes Island. A launch that set out from Clyde Quay diverted its course from the yacht in accordance with the ‘motor gives way to sail’ road rule. Two jet skis passed them at reckless speed, their young riders whooping excitedly. “Motor bikes on water,” James muttered.

Jason liked to sit on the prow of the boat, right up front, nestled into the guard rail. “Safe enough with us keeping an eye on him,” James said. Up on the foredeck, the boy was safely out of the way of the swing of the boom and out from under the feet of the crew. It was also an opportunity for a bit of one to one conversation while he was out of earshot. James held the tiller and kept watch ahead at their course and at Jason. Then he looked Axl in the eye and said, “So, Axl, what are you intentions with my daughter?”

There it was: the classic line: What are your intentions…? No beating around the bush. “Katherine’s my lawyer and I’m her client,” Axl said. “It’s a professional relationship and we have a friendship of sorts. I’m not what you would call a boyfriend, although, to be honest, I wish there was more to it than that, but she doesn’t seem to want a serious relationship.”

“You can’t blame her for being cautious. She suffered a lot of emotional abuse in her marriage and she’s a wounded soul.”

“I guessed as much but she won’t talk about it.”

“Just give her time. She may come round, but don’t push it.”

“Good to know you’re on my side.”

“Don’t read too much into it. This is not an endorsement. I just want Katherine to be happy and for Jason to have a good father in his life. My opinion may not count for much anyway.”

 James switched to tour guide mode as they approached Somes Island. “The island is a wildlife conservation reserve,” James said. “Predator free, like Zealandia.”

“I guess you don’t have to fence off an island,” Axl said.

“It’s got quite an interesting history. It was a quarantine station and during the war it was a military defence position and an internment camp for enemy alien internees.”

“During World War Two?”

“One and Two. For Germans and Japanese. And one Dane, the only woman detainee, a Dr Hjelmar von Danneville, in 1917, suspected of being a spy. She dressed as a man, masqueraded as a man. A Danish transgender, world famous in Wellington. Fun fact of local history,” James chuckled.

“Fun fact, indeed,” Axl agreed and also had a laugh. “Crazy Danes, eh.”

As they rounded the northeast of the island, the wharf came into view and Axl asked if it was possible to go ashore. “The wharf is for the ferry,” James said. “We could dock there but we’d have to moor offshore, so one of us would have to swim to the island as I don’t have a tender with the boat. So we’ll just cruise around and head back.” He looked into the sky, at the gathering clouds and said, “I think it’ll start blowing soon. You know Wellington’s the windiest city in the world.”

“So I’ve heard. The wind is getting up a bit,” Axl observed, as they sailed away from the island, “and the sea’s getting quite choppy.”

“Yeah, the wind can blow up quite quickly out here,” James said. “Nothing to worry about though. We just need to start gibing our way back.”

Axl let out some of the tension in the mainsheet as they sailed downwind. The boat was pitching in the chop and just as James called out to Jason to come back onto the deck and into the cabin, a strong gust of wind heeled the boat over sharply and the boy slipped under the railing into the water. Axl leapt to the side and, in one swift movement, grabbed him by his lifejacket as he slid alongside the hull just below the gunwale and pulled him back onboard. Jason coughed and spluttered and clung to Axl. James took him into the cabin to get him out of his wet clothes, dry him off, and wrap him up. Axl moved to the stern and manned the tiller. Jason shivered with cold and fright but soon warmed up and calmed down. “Axl saved me,” he said.

“Yeah, it’s a good thing he grabbed you,” James said, “but we would have stopped and picked you up anyway. We wouldn’t have left you out there. All part of the adventure, eh.”

Not long after the sailors arrived safely back in the marina the wind escalated to a strong breeze and continued to blow into the next day. Then the rain set in. Axl stayed back in the hotel, spending time in the gym and the pool and catching up on reading. He phoned Katherine, who assured him all was going well, and accepted his invitation for dinner in town after she’d had a day at home. She’d never dined out so often but it was apparently quite usual for Axl.

*

“I hear you had quite an adventure out in the harbour,” Katherine said, over predinner drinks. “Jason tells me you saved his life.”

“I fished him out of the water,” Axl laughed, “but he was not in any real danger. We made sure he was wearing a lifejacket.”

“Well, I’m glad you were there. I wouldn’t want him going out on the boat just with my father. Dad said you were good crew and good company.”

“Yeah, we hit it off pretty well and had a few laughs. I really enjoyed the day. How did you get on with your business?”

“Good. I really struck gold with the witness I interviewed. I’m sure I’ve got enough evidence to bring a prosecution against our suspect.”

“So, you feel like staying on tonight?” Axl asked after dinner.

“Not overnight, if that’s what you mean, but I’ll stay a while.”

“You must see the view from the balcony of my room over the harbour with all the lights. It’s quite magical.”

They took the lift to Axl’s room on the top floor, and as they stood together on the balcony he put his arm around Katherine’s waist and kissed her, first on the cheek, then on the lips, a lingering kiss that was perhaps posing a question. They had consumed a bottle of wine together again over dinner and Axl had a part bottle of Akvavit on the coffee table. They had a shot glass each and sat together on the couch. He touched the screen of his phone with his long fingers to command streamed music to emanate from a cylindrical blue tooth speaker on the desk – something classical – Beethoven – symphony number five. It was all very mellow and hygge. He kissed her again and caressed and touched her body in places that aroused sensations it had almost forgotten. His warm breath whispered into her ear, “Now may I make love to you?”

“You may,” she said.

They stood facing each other and disrobed deliberately, unhurriedly, not at all like the frantic tearing at clothes as in cinematic scenes of lovers’ trysts. “Beautiful,” he said, in appreciation of her naked body. It was the colour of a creamy flat white coffee, though it was neither flat nor white. He led her by the hand to the king bed and there was a certain inevitability of all that followed: the kisses on her body, where his touch had so aroused, and now her touch on his, the complete comingling embrace, while the symphony continued playing in the background – the third movement – soaring legato themes, building, ascending to a storming crescendo – all to the rhythms of the flesh. In the throes of passion he professed his love for her. She could not speak for gasping.

Katherine roused herself from the repose of afterglow, dressed and called an Uber. When her phone signalled its arrival, she kissed Axl good night, descended the building in the lift and exited to the waiting car. She let herself quietly into her father’s home without waking the sleepers and was soon peacefully asleep herself.

*

Her peace was shattered in the morning when she received a call from the Wellington CIB regarding the Simsic case. They requested that she attend a meeting with the serious fraud investigator who had been liaising with Interpol. “There must be more to this case than we realised,” she told her father over breakfast, and to her son she said, “Sorry, Jase, I’ve got to go back into town for some work stuff. Shouldn’t be too long.”

At the Central Police Station in Victoria Street, Katherine met with Detective Chief Inspector Elliot of the Criminal Investigation Branch. Fairly high up the chain of command. It must be quite serious. DCI Elliot began the interview with, “Ms Gordon, I understand Axl Person is a client of yours.”

“Yes,” Katherine said. “He’s suing a forger, over a painting.”

“A Mr Simsic.”

“That’s right.”

“Do you know where Axl Person is staying?”

“Yes, he’s staying at the Museum Apartment Hotel here in Wellington.”

“Are you sure that’s where he’s staying?”

“Yes, I visited him there myself. What’s this about? I thought it was about Simsic.”

“We are aware of Mr Simsic’s activities but Mr Person is also a person of interest,” DCI Elliot said, chuckling at the pun.

“His name is pronounced Pairson,” Katherine said tersely.

“Whatever. He must have registered under a false name because we’ve contacted a number of hotels, including the Museum Apartment and they don’t have that name on their register. Presumably he’s also travelling with a false passport.”

This wasn’t making sense and Katherine wondered for a moment whether she should have told them where Axl was staying. “Why are you looking for Axl?”

“We need to prosecute an extradition order to return him to Denmark.”

“What? Why?”

“To stand trial for fraud.”

“No, there must be some mistake. Simsic is the fraudster. Axl is the litigant bringing a lawsuit against Simsic.”

“In the case at hand, yes, but Mr Person is also wanted on wire fraud charges in Denmark, Germany, and the UK. People he’s swindled all over Europe are baying for his blood. He’s an art dealer, as you probably know, but he’s also a conman. He’s made millions by selling the same painting to multiple buyers and not delivering – paintings he doesn’t actually own. He sold the same painting by uh (Elliot checked the printout on his desk.) by Rudolf Stingel, to three different buyers and never delivered. He’s also used paintings he doesn’t own as collateral for huge loans, which he’s defaulted on repaying.

DCI Elliot flicked through the pages of the file and continued: “Person’s profile says he’s charming, plausible, convincing. One of his victims says: ‘Person is a handsome, charming conman. He charmed my pants off.’”

Is that a smirk? Is he smirking? Does he suspect I’m romantically involved with Axl?

“So, what happens now?” Katherine asked.

“One of our officers will be escorting him on a flight back to Denmark. Simsic can be tried here with your evidence. We won’t need Person as a witness. We’ll be contacting you again soon. We’ll keep you informed.”

Katherine left the office and immediately phoned Axl. “You can expect a visit from the police,” she told him.

“What do they want?”

“They want to arrest you and deport you back to Denmark to face fraud charges. I’ve just come from the CIB. They’ve told me the whole story.”

“I see. Thanks for the call. I can’t talk now. Can you meet me in half an hour, at the waterfront café we went to?”

Katherine walked to the waterfront and paced up and down, stood gazing out over the water, where gulls were wheeling and screeching. That phrase: ‘charmed my pants off’ reverberated in her head and ousted that other phrase which had been like a mantra for the past few years: ‘Won’t get fooled again’. Yes, he charmed my pants off. She sat at a table to wait for Axl. Am I aiding and abetting a fugitive from the law here? He betrays people. Why should I be feeling any conflict over this?

Axl arrived, sat down and placed his hand on Katherine’s. She withdrew her hand and in a voice reminiscent of a hostile bureaucrat she said, “Did you just change your accommodation?” She’d been annoyed that first time she’d spoken to him. She was now clearly more than annoyed.

“Yes I did and I’ll have to leave the country soon,” he said. “Why don’t you come with me – you and Jason? We could start a new life together.”

“What, leave my home and my job for a life on the run with a thief and a conman? No thanks. You know they’ll catch up with you eventually.”

“It’s true, I am a thief, but I stole from very rich people – people who don’t know a good painting from a bad painting. This is what I know. I know art. Those people are still rich. Their lifestyle won’t change.”

“You’re not Robin Hood. You’re stealing from the rich to help yourself.”

“And maybe to help you. You would never have to worry about money.”

“I’m not tempted by riches.”

“Perhaps by love?” he said hopefully.

“No, not now – not now that I know who you are – what you are.” They were in the same spot, at the same table as a few days ago but this was not the same laid back person sitting opposite her and not the same person who had been her lover last night. He was intense and glancing around furtively. “Don’t worry,” Katherine said. “I didn’t tell the police I was meeting you here. Where are you staying now?”

“If you’re not coming with me, it’s better you don’t know where I’m staying and where I’m going. I’ve been careless here. I should have let the Simsic business go but I couldn’t have that forgery out there. I have to protect my integrity and my identity as an artist. That forgery will come back to Webb’s. I want you to make sure they destroy it.”

“How can you claim integrity with everything you’ve done? Could you not have been content with being an honest artist?”

“Well, I guess integrity is a relative term,” he said.

“Not for me. It’s an absolute.”

A woman at a nearby table laughed suddenly at something her companion said. Axl sighed and gazed for a moment at the sea. Rain laden clouds glowered darkly on the horizon.  “I guess this is good bye then,” he said. “I’m sad for what could have been.”

Katherine stood to leave and said, “I’m sad for what you could have been,” then walked away without looking back.

Back at work Katherine confided in Jules. “That’s the whole sad story,” she said. “Now I’d rather just forget about the whole ridiculous affair.”

Her pencil portrait on the wall next to her bed remained as a forlorn reminder, till finally she shredded the thing to try to expunge the memory. She immersed herself in her work and Axl gradually faded from her consciousness. Jules, obligingly, never spoke of him, for a few months at least, until she forwarded a piece of news to her about a certain fugitive who was apprehended in Port Vila, Vanuatu. Axl Person was extradited to the USA, where he was convicted of “the largest art fraud in American history,” sentenced to seven years in prison and ordered to pay $68.7 million in fraud restitution.

“Well, he got what was coming to him,” Katherine said, matter-of-factly, “just as I said he would. He’ll be proud to be known for committing the largest art fraud. He was a master deceiver and it was his greed and his pride that was his undoing.”

“Pride comes before a fall,” Jules remarked. “Sorry Kat. That sounds a bit trite.”

“It’s all right. It’s true, it’s so true.”