by Alexie Aaron
“Yes, there is proof.” Angie walked over and took the tube from me. She drew out the manuscript and handed it to Maurice. “Here, you remember this.”
“Oh my lord, I had forgotten. This was your love letter back and forth.”
“Look closer.”
Maurice pulled the light down and began to flip the pages.
“‘Spring Water Music.’ Look at all the dates of your messages. See the little hearts instead of whole notes,” he pointed out to me. “Love was in the air. This is going to kill Bentley.”
“We only have conjecture that Bentley hired Bruno. I think he hired Bruno to throw suspicion on Ivan Bendonovich who until today was considered missing under mysterious circumstances.” I sat back down.
“If Bentley knows about Ivan. Ivan will be in danger. How do you know about Ivan, and I don’t know about him?” He looked sharply at Michael. “Probably a wise move on your part.” He pushed the intercom, and Mrs. Roberts answered. “Good you’re still here. Could you please bring in four glasses, and since we have an American better crack some ice. Thank you.” He sat down and opened his drawer and pulled out the largest bottle of scotch I have ever seen. “This was a prize I won for one of my charts. I was saving it. I can’t remember for what. But I think now is a good time.”
Mrs. Roberts came in with the glassware and ice.
“Thank you, very much. It’s well past your going home. Just lock the outside door on your way out. One more thing. Take my credit card and buy yourself some red shoes, just like this American lady.”
The prim Mrs. Roberts looked at my feet and smiled. She looked at me, and I told her where I bought them. She left us to our drink.
“So is the Met involved in this?”
“I think you have an interview with Chief Superintendent Browning tomorrow. “I swirled the amber liquid around, ice tinkling. “We wanted to talk to you first. You won’t mention…”
He waved his hand. “No, not unless asked. I suppose I’d better get a barrister.”
“Maybe, that is if Ivan or Donald’s families decide to sue you,” I told him. “The Met would probably lessen the fraud charges if you cooperate.”
“I had planned on dying before all this came out. Damn this fine constitution of mine. If I right every wrong and help them catch Bentley, I would still only be looking forward to public humiliation until I die. Not too bad,” he said wryly.
“You could move to Florida, live in Boca Raton. You would blend right in,” I suggested.
“No thank you, the people there are too pretentious, and they dress funny. I think maybe the Isle of Wight. I have some money there. Maybe, I’ll seduce my secretary – she’s twice divorced - and live in sin there. Cornwall is out, too many gossips.”
Michael stood up. “I better be getting Angela home. You and I sir have some talking to do.”
“It would seem so.” Maurice said sadly. He pushed himself up and seemed to fade a bit. “One’s past has a habit of cropping up doesn’t it?” He looked hard into Michael’s eyes.
“We’ll talk Maurice.” He helped Angie up and waited for me to join them. “But right now I have the women to see to.”
He held the door for me, and as I left the building I couldn’t shake the feeling that I had missed something.
Chapter Twenty
I watched Father Michael for a while as he slept. His color had improved and they had taken him off oxygen. He lay there with tousled hair. Hmmm, a good start for a poem. He wasn’t a poem though. Not enough angst, no outward deformities, just very good looks. I wondered if he had ever been slighted because he was too pleasant to look at, too intelligent or too good-natured.
He did tell me he had difficulty singing. Hard thing for the priesthood, where a good voice endeared you to the old ladies of the parish. I recently had attended a Roman Catholic memorial service and was captivated by the Irish accent of the priest, and when he sang with that tenor voice, iced with Galway, I found myself crying for the beauty of it. I didn’t think I could reproduce that sound with any instrument.
Father Michael stirred and caught me staring at him. He smiled and fell back into his slumber. I waited until his breathing was deep before I left him. I walked a short distance to a cabstand. I always use the regular cabs when I am in London. My daughter warned me of the shady practices of some minicab drivers. They gave cab driving a bad name. I handed the driver the address and he smiled, must be a fair piece of driving. I hugged my purse to me and tried not to worry about the cost. I feared I would have to dip into the emergency money that I always carried hidden in the bowels of my purse. I always found comfort in having some extra cash in the local currency around when I traveled, as not every place was credit card friendly. Sometimes I would arrive home from a trip abroad and find a tidy stock of foreign currency that I hadn’t changed over hidden in my purse weeks after the trip.
I reached into my purse to reassure myself that I indeed had my cash reserve. As I tucked the bills back in my wallet my hand bumped against something hard and cold. I opened my purse a found the Swiss Army knife that I had bought from the hostel. I didn’t remember bringing it with me, must have done so unconsciously. I’m not sure I felt any safer with it.
In Florida, the black belt who taught my children karate stressed the dangers of facing an attacker with a knife. He didn’t sugar coat anything. He said, “If you think someone is going to kill you. They are.” I decided not to open the blade, as it might alarm the cab driver. I looked out of the window. We had left the city proper and were winding our way through an area of manicured lawns and driveways that ran through shaded canopies of trees. It was into one such driveway that we pulled.
I smiled at the surprise. Paisley Price gave you the first impression that she was just a notch under middle class, but Noelle warned me that Paz was just performing. The house came into view. It was built with muted rose-colored stone on the ground floor. As the building grew upward a soft gray took over. Large polished windows reflected the clean front garden of the house, and I could see at least four chimneys in the front wing alone.
The cab pulled up, and as I handed him the fare someone had opened my door. I stepped out and once I regained my full height I stared into the eyes of a very amused Peter.
“Welcome to Rosewood Manor, Ms. Fin-Lathen.”
“Thank you, Peter, I must say Paisley hides her wealth well.”
“Paz is going through the poor little rich girl syndrome. It doesn’t help that she’s a distant royal to boot. I on the other hand being more distant from the crown can enjoy being a guest in such a home.”
“Penniless musician?”
“Not quite penniless, but money doesn’t buy you talent. And if your born with talent and don’t put in the necessary work, you have nothing.”
“Very wise words. You are a delight for the eye and the ear, Peter.” I smiled and we went inside.
“The ladies are in the music room. Noelle has found she can pluck out a tune on the harp. My aunt thinks it’s a classical piece. I know it’s ‘Fake Plastic Trees’ by Radiohead.”
We walked into a foyer dominated by a beautiful staircase that held court in the center of the room. It was at least twelve feet across with beautiful stone steps with carpet imbedded in the treads. It rose to a landing that was all windows. On each side another staircase continued up to the second floor. I nearly lost my balance as I craned my neck around following the stairs. Above me was a dazzling chandelier hanging from a ceiling that reflected the light.
“This is a dream, very expensive without being garish.”
“Very well put, but your daughter said it better. She said, ‘Sure glad I don’t have to dust it.’” Peter laughed. “Come this way, I’m sure my aunt Caroline would rather give you the tour.”
We walked along a hall that must have been recently paneled because the lightness of the bleached oak. There were recessed lit glass cabinets that held various collections. My favorite was of Hard Rock Café pins, though I didn’t see one from Tel A
viv. I had quite a few of those because when my ex first started flying to Israel that was the only place he would eat. I’ve never been in a Hard Rock Cafe, but I have souvenir pins from almost every part of the world that Luke had visited.
Peter guided me to a set of double doors that opened into the music room. If your hobby is cooking you probably fantasize about the ultimate in kitchens, and gardeners constantly change the layout of their yards to bring about the garden of their dreams. Musicians are much the same. Reality gives the majority of us corners to set up our music stands and dark closets to hold the battered cases of our instruments. Some are lucky enough to actually have a room dedicated to practice, usually an empty bedroom so small in space that it only allowed small ensembles to sit elbow to elbow let alone any room for an audience.
Peter opened the double doors allowing them to swing noiselessly inward. It took maximum control to not let my jaw drop as I beheld a chamber that eclipsed any dream music room I had previously built in my mind. A grand piano dominated the room. It sat on a highly polished wood floor that reflected the grandeur of the Steinway. Windows covered the back wall, although presently the room was shaded from the outdoor light by delicate lace curtains. Scattered about were string instruments on stands and behind lit cases. To either side of me were more lit display cases that held several string instruments. I whirled around and took in the wall of the doors we had just walked through. Large glass cabinets covered the remaining wall space with woodwind and brass instruments. There were so many of them I didn’t even know the names for. The very old antiques shared space with the new.
“I knew this would take her breath away. Hello, Mom. Yoo hoo! There are humans in the room,” Noelle’s voice woke me from my trance.
I turned around and focused on the center of the room which held a cozy group of couches and chairs. My daughter sat at a harp and was playing with the strings. Paz sat beside her plucking one every now and then causing Noelle to slap her hand away in disgust. Two very thin blond women smiled at me from their chairs.
“I’m sorry, but I think I’m overwhelmed. My little brain cells can’t take in all this, process overload.”
Peter tenderly took my elbow and guided me to the group.
“Cin Fin-Lathen, may I present, my aunt Caroline, your hostess.”
Paisley’s double popped up and walked over. There was so much spring in her step that I thought she was going to make a tumbling run.
“Hullo, Cin! We have been enthralled with tales of your exploits. You have a very loyal fan club. Come, sit down and let me continue the introductions. Thank you, Peter,” she said dismissing him.
Peter continued to stand there.
“Off with you. Girls only till dinner. You can come back and impress us then. I believe William and your father are out back in the garden. Don’t roll your eyes. Go get a book and mope somewhere else.”
Peter turned on his heel walked into the hall and gracefully turned to face us. He took a door handle in each hand and gazed intently at Noelle as he slowly closed them.
“Honestly, you would think that he has never seen a girl before. Your daughter has caught his eye I believe.”
“Right from the moment she walked off the train.” I shook my head. “I don’t know why she doesn’t melt when he looks at her. I do.”
“My nephew is so British, I blame my sister in-law. My brother is a bonehead. He’s only comfortable with his head under the bonnet of a car. Well, let me introduce you to Peter’s mother. Come along.”
“Liz, this is Cin. Liz is a cultural liaison for the Canadian Embassy.”
I walked over and grasped her hand.
“Nice to meet you. You have a wonderful son.”
She smiled. “You wouldn’t think so normally. I think he is going through a David Niven phase at the moment. You see this wonderful suave young man, I see a child who can’t eat cereal without wearing most of it - little O’s all over his face. Your daughter Noelle is beautiful but so serious.”
“I think she’s serious because I’m not. Balance, we must have balance.”
“Don’t you love it when they talk about you and your sitting not three feet from them,” Paz commented dryly to Noelle.
“Used to it. So Mom, what do you think of the house?”
“It’s better than any I have ever seen, ever read about and I have only seen a few rooms. I love the use of light woods, and I better stop now; I’m weak-kneed and drooling.”
I sat down in a chair that faced the girls. Paz was wearing the outfit Angie gave her. Noelle had taken off her jacket and the light blue blouse was open at the neck and the sleeves were rolled up. Both girls were stocking footed. I noticed some shoes kicked in the corner.
“I wish I could take credit for the decorating, but it is our oldest daughter Sunshine that guided my hand,” Caroline said proudly.
“How many children do you have?”
“Paisley didn’t tell you? We have six children, four girls and two boys. Sunshine or Sunny as she prefers is an interior decorator. The twins Starlight and Moonbeam are presently at Cambridge. My oldest son Wit or Whitman is in the Royal Air force and his little brother Proper (Paisley’s twin) is in Iceland. We don’t know why exactly, but that was the last postcard we received from him.”
“All those children, two sets of twins came out of that tiny body. I don’t know whether to be amazed or ill. I have two children. Noelle was the easiest pregnancy and hardest birth - I gained and kept the thirty pounds. And Alexander, Alex, who kicked the dickens out of me for months, he was the easiest. Though those thirty pounds have been hard to shift as well.”
“Damn difficult to lose weight,” Liz added. I travel up and down the scale a bit myself. I didn’t have the problem before Peter though. Oh, Peter is the middle child. He’s a multitalented musician. He was playing the piano by four, but his real love is the cello. He also plays guitar in one of those, bloody hell...they were rock groups in our day. Alternative... noise anyway, if it has to do with music, he enjoys it.”
“My son Alex has a, get this - an emo-alternative rock band - that I fear may take too much time away from his studies.”
“It is tough raising boys. Peter’s older brother David is in a relationship with a Japanese stockbroker; he’s a bartender and an artist. And our youngest Paul is yet to be determined. He hasn’t left the video games long enough to have learned to speak. Smart boy as far a schoolwork but doesn’t have anything to say. I really wish I had a girl.”
“You can have me, Aunt Liz,” Paz said as she crawled into her lap.
“Paisley, there isn’t enough alcohol I could ingest in a day for me to take you on. What are you doing nowadays besides hanging around Noelle?”
“I am working on my Masters of English Lit at Exeter University, same as Noelle. We are presently helping Cin here out in Cornwall. Mom, you should see this place. Beautiful, very beautiful.”
“I noticed you brought home a souvenir. Nice looking lad. More settled than most of your blokes.”
“Aah!” Paz put her hands over her ears. “Don’t ruin him for me by liking him.” She popped off Liz’s lap and knelt at my feet. “Adopt me. Give me a real name.”
“Paisley is a real name, honestly you’re so dramatic,” Caroline said with a sigh.
“Hullo, let’s list the members of this mad house again. Sunshine, Starlight, Moonbeam, Wit, Paisley and Proper. What were you on?”
“Wit doesn’t count, his name is Whitman, like your father.”
“But you call him Wit.” Paisley got up and went to the door. “Imagine if we were presented at a ball or something equally as stuffy.” Paisley pushed out her chin and deepened her voice, “Presenting, Lord and Lady Whitman Price and their children Sunshine, Starlight, blah blah blah. We would be laughed out of the room.”
Caroline smiled. Her eyes danced and she giggled. Soon she was laughing hysterically. “That was the point of it all. You’re the first of my children to get it. I grew up in such a stuffy
world; why not bring some humor into it? I knew you were bright Paz, now you’ve just proved it.”
“Oh no, Paz, your and my mother are going to get along all too well,” Noelle warned. “Sorry to change the subject, but how did things go?”
“Not as we supposed, better maybe. It seems there is a stronger candidate in the running.” I didn’t want to elaborate so I changed the subject, hoping Noelle would get the hint. “I stopped by the hospital and they took the oxygen off Father Michael. He was sleeping comfortably when I left.”
“Mom, Aunt Liz, you have to see this priest. He’s the most handsome man I have ever seen. He’s tall, dark, and has the most beautiful eyes, dark thick hair that gives you impure thoughts. I imagine the Catholic women he comes in contact with have to go to confession quite frequently.”
“Deep southern accent, and he’s a Jesuit, the guys that wear those black dresses. I nearly fell off the cliff we were climbing when he turned and looked back at me and smiled.” Noelle fell back into the couch in a phony swoon.
We all laughed and made very bad comments. Yes, if I was going to hell I would have good company.
~
Noelle showed me to my room so I could clean up before dinner. She promised she would come back later, and we would try to navigate our way to the living room for drinks before dinner. Caroline assured me they wouldn’t be dressing for this meal. Pants were fine. I suspected my hostess made this concession due to our limited traveling wardrobe.
I found my clothes had been unpacked, and some genie ironed my black slacks and laid out my green V-necked sweater. I had to remind myself I wasn’t a governess in a gothic novel. I was the guest, the one who would have to be witty at cocktails and amusing during dinner, instead of sitting demurely in the corner. I had never thought that I would be playing this role. Before I could build up a good panic Noelle and Paz showed up at my door. They invaded my room wanting to know what really happened over at Maurice Sherborn's office. I quickly told them, and they sat there thoughtfully.
