The Collector's Curse

【12】Skattekammer

As we stepped into the luxurious art gallery the following morning, the air seemed to buzz with excitement. Ulrik was in one of his perfectly tailored business suits—a blueish silk blend that worked wonders on his eyes. I looked just as professional with my pencil skirt and satin blouse, a fitted jacket thrown over it.

A woman, blonde, tall, and about my age, came to welcome us. "Mr. Westergaard," she greeted Ulrik in Norwegian, "welcome to Skattekammer." She then greeted me with a polite smile and turned back to Ulrik. "I will let Mr. Hagen know you have arrived."

Following an elegant nod, she fended her way through the gallery to disappear behind a door.

I allowed my eyes to wander around us, amazed by the collection. The place itself looked like an antique shop more than it did an art gallery. The soft glow of carefully placed spotlights illuminated the artifacts of all origins that adorned the space. It wasn't just Scandinavian antiques, but items that came from all around the world, with African masks, Chinese watercolors, Pre-Columbian carvings... Each piece held a sense of mystery and history, inviting us to delve into the ancient world that once thrived on this earth.

When I came closer to a glass cabinet, I sensed Ulrik's presence following me. "Treasure Chamber is quite the appropriate name," I pointed out, admiring the fine details of a Renaissance dagger.

"I have purchased many items from Mr. Hagen's shop in the past. He has a knack for finding these things like no one else."

While the morality of acquiring such priceless artifacts was debatable, I wasn't allowed to throw a stone from my glass house. After all, I worked for a museum that was filled to the brim with ancient items that had been stolen from their culture—some centuries ago and some much more recently.

"Mr. Westergaard!" a masculine voice called.

We both turned toward it, seeing an elderly man approaching us. Despite his advanced age, his dynamic walk conveyed an active lifestyle, and his look was of refined class, almost timeless as if he'd just stepped out of another century.

Ulrik offered him a professional smile as the man joined us. "Mr. Hagen, always a pleasure to see you."

They shook hands, and the gallery's owner turned to me. "This is Miss Mila Connelly," Ulrik introduced me. "She's been cataloging my collection for the past couple of weeks. I plan on using her brilliant historian skills to evaluate the items you'll share with us today."

"A clever man you are, Mr. Westergaard." I was taken slightly off guard when he took the hand I extended, but instead of shaking it, he laid a brief kiss on the back of it like a proper gentleman. "And a man of fine tastes," he added, giving me a wink. I might have felt awkward about it, but there was no libidinous undertone to the glimmer in his eyes—only mischief. "Gustaf mentioned you, Miss Connelly, when he said he would come to see the items with Mr. Westergaard. He made it sound like you were his star pupil."

"Oh, I'm surely not. I loved following his classes, and I owe part of my passion for Viking history to him. But I'm sure he's had more prominent students than me."

"You're being too tough on yourself, unge dame," said a familiar voice from behind us.

Only one person called me a young lady like this, so I instantly knew who it was. I turned around with a broad smile. Despite the years that had passed since I last saw him, Professor Gustaf Henriksen hadn't changed much. His slightly overweight frame and neatly trimmed beard were just as I remembered, and his frameless glasses hadn't changed. With warm grins, we welcomed each other like old friends.

"Mila, my dear, it has been a long time," Professor Henriksen exclaimed, his eyes twinkling with delight.

"Professor Henriksen, it's wonderful to see you again," I replied, my heart swelling with nostalgia and gratitude.