1932, contemporary period, the north of Belgium. Josepha van Rijsewijk is born in a Flemish village, dreary yet agreeable. Her parents come from a long line of confectioners originating in the Netherlands. They prepare dragées. These small, cylindrical sweets, traditionally offered at christenings, are made of chocolate or almond and coated with a hard candy shell.
At the age of eighteen, Josepha drops out of school and leaves the family home.
She has found a job in a confectionery located on Chaussée de Wavre, in Brussels. Soon, she introduces the family dragées into the store's inventory. Thirty years later, she takes over the business and moves into the apartment adjacent to the shop. Placid, fond of her profession, Josepha retains a clientele appreciative of quality.
Time goes by.
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| Her parents come from a long line of confectioners. |
Here is Josepha at the age of seventy-two. She reads romance novels all day long in her kitchen. Tiny bells tied to the confectionery door announce the arrival of customers. Upstairs lives Vincent Rompuy. Around forty, unemployed, he does Josepha's housework once a week, for a small fee. Actually, he switches on the vacuum cleaner and browses through a magazine while the machine is running, barely tidying up the place. Josepha pretends not to notice the precarious arrangement.
One autumn, due to a nasty cold, she remains in bed for two weeks. The timing is bad: it is October and christenings occur one after another in that part of the world. Confronted with a closed door where they had got their supply for decades, the clientele make do with the supermarket's offerings. Back to work without having fully recovered, Josepha ends up passing away, bent over the counter next to a bag of chocolate dragées. Having no children, she leaves everything to Vincent Rompuy, who organizes a basic funeral. The last thing to do is to empty the apartment. After checking the place out and taking the money spotted in a cookie jar, he calls a professional.
This is where we meet Olivier Lescault, native of Brussels, married, and young father of five. His wife, Celeste, refurbishes and sells used furniture. The family is close, even if they have frequent difficulties making ends meet. For this reason, even though it's late, Olivier agrees to clear out the apartment the night that Rompuy calls—the latter wishes to terminate the lease without delay.
Olivier glances through the kitchen, then inspects the bedroom. The home furnishings and contents are worthless. He has no time to lose, but, feeling tired, he sits on the bed for a brief moment. That is when the two paintings hanging on the wall catch his eye. The connoisseur stares at the compositions carefully, their faded yet warm tones, the harmony, the serenity emerging from the sober scenes: a woman slicing bread, a back alley. They look like good Vermeer copies—not the most famous pictures, but definitely old. Olivier contemplates getting a nice amount of money for them.
Meanwhile, Rompuy is running out of patience. Unquestionably, the old hag could not have owned anything interesting. Olivier empties the place. It is late when he finally gets home, but the art lover in him, who is never fatigued, opens his encyclopedia at the letter V. He sighs. He was wrong. The pictures look like Vermeers, but neither corresponds to any painting made by the artist. Still, they are not any less gorgeous. A sudden urge causes Olivier to remove a bit of dust packed in a corner. Underneath it, he recognizes the great Master's signature. Considerably bewildered, Olivier realizes that these are unknown Vermeers, despite a significant anomaly: the compositions look to be a hundred years old at most, and not three centuries.
During the following days, Olivier Lescault's discovery stirs up passions. Art critics, curators, and journalists debate with each other. The verdict is unanimous: the pieces are authentic. They are placed on the market. Olivier and Celeste, now having a gigantic fortune, leave for a well-deserved vacation with their children.
***
1632, late Renaissance, Holland. Johannes Vermeer is born in a quiet and luminous town called Delft. He dies forty-three years later after a tumultuous life, leaving behind his widow, their eleven children, and forty-two masterworks. Alone and left without resources to raise the family, Catharina Vermeer sells some of the canvases. Unfortunately for her, they will not garner the fabulous earnings that we know for another two hundred years. The widow also gives paintings to the storekeepers the couple incurred debts to. This is how two pieces are presented to the baker Cornelis van Rijsewijk, who hangs them on his wall. The compositions pass into van Rijsewijk culture and become an emotional heritage, conscientiously handed down from one generation to another of bakers, pastry chefs, then confectioners.
The van Rijsewijks have no idea of the monetary treasure they possess. Nevertheless, they care about the paintings enough to one day cover them with a coat of homemade, transparent sugar, protecting them in a unique and efficient way from the ravages of time.
Based on events not yet known
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