A Promenade in Parc Munkácsy

By Alexander York

Alexander York’s plot revolves around a stolen prized Munkácsy Mihály painting, with all the leading characters involved in the saga for entirely different reasons. One wants possession of it, one apprehends it and one – who actually had no part – takes the blame.
Obsessed by the artistic spirit of the painting, they all realise they have taken on a venture beyond their grasp. Sir Edward finally realises this as he loses his mind over a desire he must fulfil. Can he afford to abandon his societal position for what he really wants?
Will the less fortunate Ruby Rouge surrender her love for the painting and move on from Sir Edward and her peaked singing career? Finally, after being left with no choice, good faith takes her to “Munkácsy territory” in Ukraine.
The once privileged Percy Lloyd, a champagne socialist and small-time criminal, discovers he is Europe’s most wanted man and needs a friend to bail him out. But there is one thing he must do before getting free from the Munkácsy affair, or so he hopes.
The story swings from a Camford graduating ceremony to industrial Newcastle, then to art galleries in Paris and Budapest before rounding off in a Munkácsy exhibition in Talanok Castle, Ukraine, with its Shakespearian atmosphere.
Eventually the painting returns to the same home as before. But what is no longer the same is all those involved. This prized illicit booty has changed their lives, some for better, some for worse. Who will succeed beyond this particular promenade?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Austin Macauley Publishers
• Release date: Jul 29, 2022
• ISBN: 9781528982368

Alexander York

Alexander York, originally from England, born in Newcastle, lived in York and ‘Camford’, now lives in Budapest. He likes to travel around the Central European region and write cultural articles for the English reading Budapest Times paper as well as for Ukraine online portals. With an additional love for mystery and comedy, this atmospheric story comes with inspirations from his travelling observances as well as with inspiration from the Agatha Christie stories and Pink Panther films which rounds off with a serious and conclusive note.

Book preview

About the Author

Alexander York, originally from England, born in Newcastle, lived in York and ‘Camford’, now lives in Budapest. He likes to travel around the Central European region and write cultural articles for the English reading Budapest Times paper as well as for Ukraine online portals.

>With an additional love for mystery and comedy, this atmospheric story comes with inspirations from his travelling observances as well as with inspiration from the Agatha Christie stories and Pink Panther films which rounds off with a serious and conclusive note.

Dedication

To my wife, Eszter, and children, Judy, Suzie and Vincent, in the hope I have been a good husband and father – as well as written something worthwhile.

Copyright Information ©

Alexander York 2022

The right of Alexander York to be identified as author of this work has been asserted by the author in accordance with section 77 and 78 of the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without the prior permission of the publishers.

Any person who commits any unauthorised act in relation to this publication may be liable to criminal prosecution and civil claims for damages.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, locales, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

A CIP catalogue record for this title is available from the British Library.

ISBN 9781528982344 (Paperback)

ISBN 9781528982351 (Hardback)

ISBN 9781528982368 (ePub e-book)

www.austinmacauley.com

First Published 2022

Austin Macauley Publishers Ltd®

1 Canada Square

Canary Wharf

London

E14 5AA

Acknowledgement

>Special thanks and love to Jaroszlava Hartman, Liliya, Sasha Hembik for friendship and support.

As well as to Mike Dankanych from Uzhkorod and other great friends around Ukraine.

A special thank you to Poszterfotó KFT for helping me with the front and back cover sleeve preposterous.

I would like to make a special thank you to Mr Pakh Imre, from the Munkácsy Mihály Foundation, Budapest, for allowing me to use the ‘Promenade in Parc Monceau’ image.

Finally, much love and grateful thanks to Eszter, my wife, and to my family for always being there in the past few years with my writing endeavours no matter what.

All characters in the story are fictitious. Any likeness with live individuals is of coincidence only and not personal. All care and respect go to all persons, places mentioned and local cultures within the story and the author wishes not to cause any offence.

Finally as a tribute to Talanok Castle/ Ukraine and its staff, the Ukrainian and Hungarian police, authorities, border guards, custom and security officials, all train services involved, and a note of caution to everyone else. This story comes with an individual who smuggles himself, and a stolen painting, by using a false passport, a disguise and an open, transferable train ticket, across an international border crossing.

Under no circumstances do I, Alexander York, who has safely and legally crossed the Hungarian/ Ukrainian borders many times, with respect for this procedure, consent, advise or recommend these courses of illegal and high risk actions. Any attempts to commit these mentioned crimes are serious offenses which will be met with impending consequences by local and international law.

The arrest of Ruby Rouge, as she re-enters an EU border crossing zone, is based on guess work on my behalf.

The original ‘Promenade in Parc Monceau’ painting which is the main focus throughout this story remains under safe guard. Either on public displays worldwide or undercover in confines elsewhere. This painting was never stolen in real life and remains protected and in the best of conditions at all times.

Garden Wall

Chapter 1

A Graduate from So Far

To be an Oxbridger must be a wonderful thing, an elderly lady from the college domestic staff unit remarked wistfully to her friend. As both were casually chatting and smoking during a lunch break hour, while standing by in dusty blue overalls, observing the prestigious Camford graduation and ceremony with its high ovations, from a top floor window close by, taking place on the exquisitely patterned chess board Benet House Lawn in the centre of town, on a fine summer day during the late 1960s.

Yes indeed, to be a Camford graduate is a wonderful thing, regardless of the subject matter. In which Edward Barratt was gleefully clutching in his hand on this memorable day, clearly carried the prestigious Camford hallmarks for all to see. With his highly prized engineering degree, this unlikely scholar, from a far off working-class background, had the world at his feet. As his parents watching nearby were immensely proud of their fortunate son, who they lived for and diligently groomed despite not having any honours themselves. A better future awaited them all.

Camford itself needs no introduction. Its formidable reputation proceeds everywhere with its impressive history and famed academic excellence. So, naturally, for those who stay the course, this is a joyful time. Camford, also renowned for its architecture, alongside with punting on the River Cam, is splendid place for students and visitors alike.

On this memorable day, the sun shone profusely and was far too hot to wear graduate gowns. The ceremony was buzzing as there were scholars from all continents joyful celebrating as they had achieved so much at this stage of their lives.

This was clearly pay-off time for the Barratt family as the now educated but still slightly bewildered Edward stood by gazing at all around him with wonder, as well as paranoia, as tricks with his mind continued to play. This time suggesting there could still be a dispute over his achievement awards and with his general presence there. As someone within college circles may send in the police and fraud squad to investigate him, confiscate all papers and issue a court summons instead. As the Duchess of Norwich sensed something was not right; whilst giving him a reassuring smile and handshake before stumbling when handing him his degree. As the anxious graduate inadvertently snatched the honour roll from the lady sooner than expected before quickly walking off with it just in case she too would change her mind about him and demand not only lot to be withdrawn, but for him to be sent back to the tower block wilderness of where he once belonged. But no one apprehended him as this was really his day and moment of triumph.

Beyond the Camford niceties, life prior to the Oxbridge finale can be very tough and demanding as expectations remain higher than most other places. But not so for the singular Edward Barratt who was clearly a flier and got through his degree without too much fuss. Throughout his time, he was always on better terms with actual academia and the college staff rather than with fellow students, who he found rather tame and not so dedicated as he was. Although he won a scholarship, he still sensed he was lowest of the low, which made him more determined to see this through. This was a characteristic trait which followed and ruled him throughout his career as he lived for work and spent much of his life on the road, at the cost of having few friends or family, which was another matter altogether.

As bottles popped, champagne flowed for a considerable time afterwards. Finally, graduate girls slowly began to approach this still shy and reserved Geordie who was yet to really bloom. But before he and anyone knew it, Barratt finally overcame his reclusive state, abandoned his inhibitions and with much cheer threw his graduation hat high into the air in unison with all others and finally took to the jollities of the day which carried on for a considerable time afterwards.

Despite how wonderful all this was, a radiant Barratt sensed it was soon time to go. As the stirring chorus of a recent Gene Pitney song ‘Backstage I am Lonely’ flashed through his mind as well as put him back in his place.

When I am on stage…I am a star.

I am someone now…I have come from so far…¹

As this touching song line clearly sums up how he felt about that particular day as Barratt was at the top, at least for now. But after the graduating extravaganza, he then sensed, ‘the only real sin is stupidity as one should be allowed to be a free spirit and follow one’s star, regardless of privileges or background,’ as he still referred to his roots which were for him a lifeline, which prompted some in particular from early times to reject him.

A commoner who got lucky, some would say as the comparison between Camford colleges and council estates are as opposing as night and day, hence his social struggles. But it was generally common sense and good guidance which saw him through and was always grateful to those who showed him the way. After various excessive promiscuous parties fuelled by drink and drugs, Barratt, now the free spirit and like the Genie, now able to leave the lamp, soon left the town as it was clear that life awaited him elsewhere.

Before taking up regular employment, the now liberated Barratt and a few immediate friends went island hopping around the Mediterranean, a commendable way to relax and wind down after such academic pressures. But once again, it was Barratt by himself again. Not that he minded because he was very happy to make friends with the local people, perhaps better friends. As the more earthy, humbler atmosphere with these laid back islanders were similar to life back home. This was something his fellow travellers did not take to at all as they were more interested in other indulgences which only came to light when the sun went down. As for the rest of the time they were either drunk, asleep, sunburnt or a combination of all three.

A short time later and without saying ‘goodbye’, Barratt left all behind and returned sooner than expected to England. As he had surpassed this ‘packaged abandon’ lifestyle which came to a sudden end. A radiant and mature post graduate with much high self-esteem was clearly on the rise.

Tanned, far slimmer and cleaned up, the sober and confidant Barratt returned to Newcastle for a brief spell to visit family who lived on a council estate in North Shields, close to the wind-swept chill of Whitley Bay, carved out of the North Sea Coast, from where to observe the comings and goings of the ferries to and from Norway and elsewhere on the ocean waves. Although his family were glad to see him, it was not going to be acceptable to spend too much time there.

Barratt’s father worked on the docks with a workforce responsible for loading and unloading cargo from ships from around the world, though he never sailed anywhere. His mother was a waitress and housemaid and both grandfathers were coal miners.

"It’s great to see you, but you must get on with your life now bonny-lad², announced his righteous father in a fair but austere, commanding way. You had some fun, that’s great. But now it’s time to get serious now, don’t throw it all away. OK?"

Barratt freely accepted what was said and indistinctively knew not to get ‘too comfortable’. His family, rough around the edges, were good at heart and had to be in order to get by. They were almost at retirement age and only wished their privileged boy to succeed.

We are proud of you Edward. Now it’s time to get a decent job, announced his calmer, softer spoken mother.

Yes, of course, stuttered a muted young Barratt, putting up no defence. I am ready.

Don’t waste your time worrying about us, we will manage, snapped his hard-working and weary father. We only want to hear about your success. Come back when you have something good to tell us and not before OK? And don’t let us down. If you do, don’t ever think of coming back here. As we will never let you back here again, you hear me?

On hearing this, the slightly shaken Barratt slumped momentarily in spirits, but could not say anything as he knew his father was right. Then his good-willed mentor continued but in lighter terms and less tension.

"But you are a good boy, you have done so well so far, you won’t mess up. The real reason for saying this comes from all our struggles, we are knackered³. We don’t want you to labour for now’t⁴. So, what we are saying is come back and visit us when you’ve got something. Your bedroom is there if you ever return. Here is your big chance, do it now!"

Barratt gazed at both his parents, his father forthright and his mother softer, and he realised he did indeed have to forge ahead. Now approaching his mid-twenties, it was really time to move on, leave this behind, take control of his life and make the family proud of him.

It’s hard for us to see you go, but now it’s time, announced his long-faced mother, trying to avoid sentiment and reaching for a smoke. Do as you are told. Now go!

Yes, of course…I understand, announced a dazed Edward. Let me get my things.

Moments later, Barratt came down the stairs with a small bag of personal possessions as he then announced, I’m ready.

Anything more to eat or drink dear? asked his mother.

Naaa! Stop indulging him, interrupted his father. Come on lad, your life awaits. Let’s get you to the train station right away.

Edward Barratt hugged his mother and said their goodbyes before she ended with, Now don’t forget us, your background, your friends. This is what also made you. But you can do far better than us. Now get going, good luck!

Without saying anything more, Barratt then took a last look at the bleak council estate. He really knew he could do far better than this. Although filled with pleasant memories, this place was so run-down and needed much restoration. Life for his family continued to be tough right to the end, but at least they were in-it-together and had survived better than most.

Barratt instinctively knew his parents were right as it really was a case of ‘now-or-never’. It would be most unfair to make any more demands on them.

Father and son fondly chatted as the bus drove through a busy Newcastle city centre to the train station. With a brief moment of affection, both gave a fond farewell hug before Barratt made his way to the London bound train platform. Although a bit daunted, he was also very upbeat and had a distinct glow of confidence with him. Really, he was most excited and was looking so forward to this new venture.

You are a good boy Edward. You can do better than us. Take care now, echoed his high principled and spirited father’s words in his mind. You don’t need us anymore. We taught you everything we know. Only return with a story, or don’t come back at all. Got it?

Got it, called out a radiant and determined Edward to himself, with further respect to his family as the train finally pulled out from Newcastle altogether in the direction of Durham and York. With what money he had, he knew he had to move fast. But with his Camford papers, this matter would not take long as the job agencies eagerly awaited him.

After a few days of walking the streets of London. the presentable Mr Barratt was so spoilt with job offers. He soon ‘made it’ and all was ‘on the up’. He did not return home until two years later, with his fiancée Linda, a nurse, who, like him, also came from the Northumberland region as they met in a Soho nightclub. Although not as educated as Edward, this did not matter. Whoever is to share this life with me must understand my roots, declared Barratt as he was so enamoured by his background which clearly meant everything to him.

Linda did and was perfect for Edward. Although proud of her origin too, Linda sensed a newfound lease of life as prosperity awaited her too. But no matter how far they were both to go, they would surely return home, one day.

Barratt’s welcoming parents were delighted with their son’s news. Now all their efforts had paid off. But life was no longer the same, his father and mother looked far older than expected. Barratt wanted to take them into care, they declined the offer but insisted on installing a telephone for them and to contribute to some house improvements, which Edward financed with much pleasure. Then both families attended a simple but splendid church wedding, commemorating Edward and Linda which rounded off with nearby hotel reception for all former friends, neighbours and relatives. A brief honeymoon to the Lake District followed before an ambitious Edward returned with a radiant Linda to London.

It was now the early ’70s. Barratt was happily in full flow with his profession. Linda was the cheerful wife hoping to have a child, alas, this never happened.

Although a new and exciting relationship with the phone flourished between Barratt, his family and in-laws. All was suddenly cut short by their quick and sudden deaths of both his parents. Barratt now in his mid-thirties saddened by this returns home and pays respects as he threw their ashes in the River Tyne that passes by the docks, where his father had laboured for many years. Eventually, the ashes drifted outwards into the North Sea. Many years went by before he returned to his home town again.

Sometime later, he also tragically lost Linda in a car accident in the early 1980s. Although there were still mementoes of her around his present-day estate. But after such dreadful misfortune, he clearly knew what it was to grieve over a lost loved one. But stoically he chose never to talk about this nor Linda too often as this was an idyllic marriage and unlikely to occur again. Barratt remained a widower right up to retirement time, some twenty years later.

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1. Rewritten chorus song lines as inspired by singers Gene Pitney and Marc Almond (Backstage I’m Lonely).↩︎

2. Bonny-lad: Geordie slang meaning a good boy.↩︎

3. Knackered: meaning tired.↩︎

4. No’wt: Geordie slang, meaning with nothing.↩︎

Chapter 2

Wheels Keep Turning

The Millennium has passed not long before an elysian May. The blossoms and blooms within Camford college grounds are always a sight, a wonder as well as a glorious time.

Although at the top of his beloved car profession and with a recent knighthood for high industrious excellence, a well-travelled, partially tanned, reasonably fit and well-tailored Sir Edward Barratt found himself in his late-fifties, mentally exhausted and, due to circumstances beyond his control, was eventually forced into early retirement. Despite this, he was most fortunate as he had financial freedom as well as many fond memories of those busy days.

Although still very able and brilliant, Barratt finally felt fatigued with life on the road with airports, hotels and conference halls all over the world and finally yearned for ‘something else’ either less demanding or something completely new and not yet known to him. Although he still really enjoyed ‘the chase’ and ‘clinching the best deals’, finally enough was enough. He mastered it all. As a new lease of life, without excessive travel, such as retirement, would clearly have other compensations, such as joining a local town conservative party, providing this was not going to be too dull or sedate for someone so robust as Sir Edward Barratt.

As Sir Edward carried two sides to his personality. When at business conferences, he was tough, brilliant and excelling at all times. This was him at his professional best, alongside with his expertise for car manufacturing and general mechanics. But when it came to informal occasions, it was well known Sir Edward often slumped without much thought into ‘abandon mode’ as a way of switching off from high-pressure routines as he really went out of his way to enjoy himself after work hours and would reveal all kinds of other things. Although entertaining enough, as well as shocking, one always came away remembering him for much time to come.

I came from nothing and made my way, so can you, was Sir Edward’s most familiar, strong sweeping trademark statement. But he appreciated that not everyone was as fortunate as him.

Unlike many successful people in situations similar to his, most forget about ‘early days’, but not Sir Edward. He remembered ‘everything’ to precise detail, often referred to it and often identified with those who felt the same way and made their way from nothing to the top despite his insecurities, which still came from time to time.

However, this is one good thing about being penniless, boasted Sir Edward at social events. One does not have to worry about possessions and burglars. Anyone daft enough to steal from ‘us’ would walk away with no’wt, so why bother? We only closed the windows to stop the wind blowing over what few things we had around the house.

Although this was hard-hitting stuff for the more bourgeois set to take in, the knowledge and occasional wit and wisdom he acquired saw him through very well.

So why are you a conservative? some would say.

Well, socialism, it’s a bubble, simple as that. My livelihood would surely burst. Yes…I may as well say it out loud…I am a true-blue; conservative and an avid royalist, as Sir Edward often stated in a loud booming voice with emotional pride. Besides I need their support and they need mine. Besides, what good are wheels if they don’t keep on turning?

But he was not completely blinkered by the biases of Tory politics. I was sorry for the coal miners and the pit closures during the 1980s. Although done in the name of progress, Mrs Thatcher did hit her own people down and those communities very hard back then.

Despite his origins, Sir Edward had almost lost his Geordie accent due to much time elsewhere, but not entirely as this ‘proud identity’ still remained somewhere with him often enough albeit faint at times, which was still fairly easy for British outsiders to distinguish this. Especially after drinking beer, then the latent Geordie growl would appear and intensify much to the delight of some and horror of others.

"Are you argyin’⁵ the toss with me laddy⁶?" Sir Edward would ask staff and friends. Certainly, this would be far from being understood for a refined Oxbridge ear. But most people knew and understood Sir Edward Barratt as he spoke, either with or without the influence as well as the combination of Geordie dialect and beer. Some found this distinguished accent charming, others winced. But at the end of the day, the bosses were pleased with him, so why does this matter? Needless to say, for those who know about Newcastle life and culture, Sir Edward Barratt loved the singer ‘Sting’, Jimmy Nail and Dennis Pattison, the true Geordie working-class greats.

Remarkably, he liked Oscar Wilde, who often contradicts much about him. As it was him who famously said: All industries are the roots to all ugliness, or something like that as many in passing often pointed out.

Well, that is most unfair, howled Sir Edward Barratt with much strong protest. Had he known me, I am sure Oscar would think otherwise, he said reassuringly.

"Besides industrial sites never were meant to be elegant or fanciful. They are meant to be practical, solid purposeful units which provide for all of us, including for the likes of him. It’s all very well being the great poseur and putting us industrialists down. But where he would be without factories to print his books? I will tell you…Nowhere! The same applies to Shakespeare too as well as all the others.

So, the likes of him should be giving thanks to the likes of me and grateful to all those many hard-working, undermined factory workers who continue to turn-the-handles year after year for their benefits, with minimal appreciation from the artistes and the public in general.

But it was clear to many, it was surely ‘Oscar’ who would inspire Sir Edward to be witty and charming. When Sir Edward Barratt was in good form, he really became clever and lyrical, perhaps subconsciously thanks to him. As when it came to rounding off business meetings which went well, it was often well known he would go into a theatrical mode. Remarkably for an industrialist, one of his favourite Oscar Wilde lines which also came into frequent play was, The button-hole is the link between art and nature, which assuringly explains why there was often a flower, a pin and a brooch somewhere within possession every time he wore a jacket or blazer, which really made him stand out from almost everyone in his line of work. But most likely, it was a present with a touch of sad sentiment from his late wife whom he cherished.

As well as frequently quoting the very well-known Wilde lines relating to frying-pans and fires, gutters and stars, glass-houses and stones, he was forever declaring his own genius and educating his critics to anyone who listened to him.

But despite his brilliance and his great successes, there was something deeply missing, something yet to come out and be understood and accepted. This other side, in sharp contrast to his engineer persona, would become more apparent later as there was a hidden conflict with a larger than life showman lurking within him and was yet to be allowed to burst out. Even so at a strategic moment, he would occasionally let himself down by making some clumsy social gaffes due to overindulging with drink and awkward word association dyslexia, such as reiterating memorable classics, such as the Agatha Christie’s ‘Death on the Nile’ story and confusing this with ‘Night Boat to Cairo’ and so forth.

So, any real chances of being someone on the stage, or the great singing or literary star, or the master of grand party speeches, rather than with friends, colleagues and at karaoke bars, was almost nil. With all this in mind and when retirement finally came, something had to give way, regardless of the outcome.

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5. Argyin’ the toss. Newcastle/ Geordie slang means to be in dispute.↩︎

6. Laddy: slang, meaning young boy/man.↩︎

Chapter 3

Jó Barát/Good Friend

Prior to the Millennium, during the mid-1990s, not so long after the fall of communism and a short while before retiring, Barratt took to one last big assignment. As this sortie took him to Hungary, to the Csepel Művek complex, once again to work with anything relating to cars, mechanics and sales as a large industrial site with docklands facing the River Danube in a far lesser frequented and a very working-class district of Budapest eagerly awaited him. He immediately liked what he saw and settled in as the gritty Csepel atmosphere was like a trip to ‘memory lane’ relating to his family and childhood times, all within few kilometres to the south of the city and very much away in contrast from the main tourist trails.

On arrival,