Les Baigneuses (Three Bathers) by Jennie Hart

~ a story inspired by the pictures of Pablo Picasso

The bay was still and calm with barely a ripple. Natasha, in a pink swimsuit, dozed and dreamed. Her auburn hair was swept back, her head resting on her arm.

Olga’s dark curls were caught by a slight air movement as she stood up and did a little dance of pleasure, moving gracefully. Olga was a dancer and now she ran into the lapping water bored by inactivity.

Only Freya looked pensive as she sat upright on the fine sand, twisting her thick hair around her fingers. She gazed over to the headland at the pale light house. She saw the small yacht with its white sail and recognised it as Pablo’s, their artist friend. Her sister Olga had intrigued the famous Picasso.

Olga and Natasha splashed and played in the sea but Freya got up, gave them a wave and pointed up the beach toward the lighthouse. She started walking and went on until the beach gradually, the beach became deserted. It felt remote and slightly unfriendly but she liked that; it removed that mundane feeling where nothing ever happens. Gulls screeched and the sun, hidden by accumulating clouds, caused dark shadows. She moved from the shoreline and walked in the shade of the cliffs.

There was a promontory before the headland and the shore became more rocky. Freya heard strong voices coming from beyond the outcrop, so, guardedly, she slowed down allowing herself to be shieded by the rocks. Looking ahead she saw two men, one of them supporting the other as he balanced on the cliff face. This man then leaped down on to the beach below and they both set off at a pace in her direction. Freya edged into a recess and remained silent and unseen whilst they rushed past and climbed up a steep path cut in the cliff. Both men were dark but one was younger with cropped hair.

They disappeared over the top and Freya crept along to investigate the cliff face. Were they searching for eggs? She knew gulls made their nests here on ledges and in hollows. She pulled herself up the cliff until her head was level with a shallow cavity concealed by straggling shrubs. She flattened down the vegetation and peered into the depression to see a wide package tied with string. Her heart beat fast as she pulled the rectangular shape towards her. She balanced it on her shoulder and chest.as she descended the cliff, her feet finding crevices. Then she jumped down.

 At the same time, reflecting the light, a small object amongst the rocks caught her eye. It was a gold cigarette lighter. She knew how they worked because her father had bought the new popular ‘Wonderlite’, but his was not gold. She had marvelled at its flint and its magical flame. This one was beautiful and worked easily. .An instant fire warmed her fingertips. It was engraved with the initials MA so it might be possible to find its owner who had certainly lost something of value. She put the lighter in the side pocket of her beach wear.

The heavy package was at least a metre wide and heavy. She laid it on the rocks and removed the wrapping and an inner layer of silk fabric. She was stunned to find a magnificent painting with the unmistakeable signature of Pablo Luiz Picasso. It was ‘The Harlequin with a Glass’. Picasso had painted himself as the harlequin in a café in Montmartre called the ‘Lapin Agile’ (the ‘Nimble Rabbit’), and this painting celebrated his move out of the Blue Period. Freya had seen the painting before, in the apartment of the Annenberg family here in Dinard. They had recently bought it from Picasso. It was already a recognised masterpiece.

Freya and her sisters had been flattered when Picasso made sketches of them as they relaxed on the beach. He planned to use the sketches later when he returned to his atelier in Paris where he would paint on canvas. He preferred to enjoy the company of his friends on the warm summer days in Dinard and at the same time sketch ideas for his later compositions. Pablo had taken a particular interest in Olga and had invited her to sail on his yacht now resting in the bay.

But now Freya had a violent pain in her head. She opened her eyes and remembered being dragged along the beach. She was on the floor of a dirty hold, surrounded by tools and oily machinery, her arms dragged behind her back and wrists and feet tied. Her head felt hot and her whole body ached.  Panic overcame her as she tried to move. She raised her head and saw a swathe of light through an open door. An engine droned, the air was briny and she knew she was on a boat with an outboard motor. She could hear male voices that were familiar and she strained to listen. They were planning to dispose of her, to shoot her and to throw her body overboard. They were arguing.

 Freya found she could sit up. She had pulled on light trousers over her swimsuit and as she struggled to loosen the tight bindings on her wrists she felt the shape of the exquisite lighter in her pocket. Her fingers were free and she manoeuvred her hands to extricate the lighter, trapping it into a position to operate it. She pressed on the remarkable flint and felt the heat near her skin. She moved the flame to the rope binding her wrists. She wanted to cry out as the fire singed and burned her, but immediately, the thin rope caught fire. In a few seconds her hands were loose and ignoring the burns, she retrieved the dropped lighter and freed her ankles.

Her heart beating, she picked up a heavy metal spanner and crept to the open door. She could see the two men who had ben on the beach. The young man held a gun and at that instant he fired it and the other man fell. In terror, Freya hurled the spanner to the far end of the boat and the man with the gun leapt across the body in the direction of the crash. She flew across the deck and dived into the water. It was deep and cold, but in the horror of her situation, she swam frantically. It was still light and she could see she was near the light-house.  

Then Freya thought of the yacht. Maybe Pablo would Pablo be there? The sky was dark and she could see lights around the bay and scattered on the water. She ploughed on taking gigantic breaths  but could hear the drone of the terrible boat behind her. She pushed urgently on towards Pablo’s anchored yacht, its lights glinting. Another ten metres and she would be near. The motor launch got nearer, its engine rhythm filling her ears as it came alongside. She saw the man pointing his gun at her. She swam faster, her lungs bursting with effort and there was a shot. She gulped water in extreme fear, and then heard a splash. The gun man was struggling in the water.

Pablo was standing with his deck-hand who held a rifle. He threw a lifebelt into the water and Freya clung to it as Pablo powerfully lifted her up and on to the deck. Standing behind him were her terrified sisters who rushed forward calling her name. A steam launch docked alongside the flailing figure in the water and hauled him on board. Pablo said the criminal would not be badly injured; his man had only shot him in the leg.

 Freya’s sisters knew the story that Pablo told Freya; the painting belonged to the Annenberg’s who had recently bought it from Picasso. Moses Annenberg had hung it in his summer apartment, not in a bank vault; he wanted to enjoy it. Last night, the butler had been strangled by thieves who broke in and took the Harlequin. The family only discovered the tragedy today when they returned from a visit to St Malo.

Pablo had been notified of the theft and murder. He told the gendarmes of a motor launch docked near the lighthouse, still an unfamiliar sight in France. He offered to sail by and investigate. On the beach he met Olga and Natasha, distressed that their sister had not returned. He brought them on board and was about to sail to the headland to look for Freya and then over to the launch to search for the thieves. He hadn’t known Freya’s disappearance had any connection with the theft.

Freya told how she had found ‘The Harlequin’ and supposed it would now be on the launch. She told them of the lighter that allowed her escape. Pablo said the MA suggested it belonged to Moses Annenberg. Few people had gold lighters. It was the likely reason the thieves returned to the beach to look for it and found Freya instead.

The small cave in the cliff face wasn’t far from the lighthouse and it was possible one of the thieves swam out to the boat to pilot it nearer to the shore. They must have taken Freya on board whilst they decided what to do with her. More importantly, they needed to conceal the canvas without getting it wet. It would have been dangerous to take the painting to the boat immediately after the theft as it would have meant bringing the boat to the shore late at night. Motor launches were uncommon and this would have alerted the coastguard. Waiting until dusk the next day was essential because other small boats, active around the bay would distract attention from theirs.

Freya and her sisters relaxed. The gendarmes on the steam launch held up ‘The Harlequin’ recovered from the boat, for Pablo and the girls to see.  Pablo smiled; “Mais oui, ‘Au Lapin Agile’!”

 He kissed the sisters in turn but gave a lingering embrace to Olga Kokhlova.