Crown of Stars
Page 28
“It’s really creepy.” Niamh shudders. “I don’t know how you stood for it for so long.”
“I wouldn’t have, but Sael talked me down.” Katherine still feels angry for not trusting her instincts earlier.
“So what did you tell Lucas?”
“I told him that it had nothing at all to do with him, that we had had a disagreement, and that she would be working somewhere else.”
“Sounds a bit like explaining a divorce. What did he say?”
“He asked if he could go and visit her.”
“Ouch.”
“Yeah.”
“He also asked me if I was mad.”
“Oh, that’s heartbreaking.”
“I know. I told him, ‘No, honey, I’m not mad with you.’”
“Poor guy.”
“Anyway, we’re going to find someone new. Well, Georgiana will find someone new, bless her flawless, efficient heart.”
“Still perfect and gorgeous?”
“Yup.”
“Pity.”
Lucas has finally decided to give the rosette to a particularly fetching husky whose tail is extraordinarily waggy.
“Good call, honey! Nicely done!” Katherine tells him as he returns.
They stay to watch the dress-up competition, which is won by a spaniel wearing a pink tutu and an expression of shame. Then it’s their turn. After much discussion, they’ve entered Cordelia into the “Pretty Puppy” category.
“Not that I’m competitive, but Cordy had better win something good or heads will roll. Just saying.”
“Well, I’ve checked out the competition and I think she’s the front-runner.”
This proves to be true. Although there was a moment of tension with a wirehaired terrier named Norma, it is announced that Cordelia has earned the title of “Prettiest Bitch” among the puppies.
Lucas is horrified. “They’re calling Cordy a bad word! They said the B word, Kat, they said the B word!”
Katherine and Niamh burst into laughter at this, and he looks up at them, bewildered. Katherine blushes, but speaks in a bright, practical tone, cursing her puritanical roots.
“That’s the English word for female dog. It’s okay when you use it like that. It means she’s the prettiest girl dog.” Niamh is still laughing. “Oh, shut up.”
Despite this little misunderstanding, the three are in no hurry to leave Dog World, and they explore the stands, where in a flush of victory they buy some rawhide chew sticks and a bright orange-and-black squeaky snake for their champion, a purchase Katherine almost immediately regrets. After this they amble back to watch the “Dog Most Like Its Owner” competition. A bulldog and a beefy man who could be father and son, or at the very least cousins, win. Finally, even Lucas seems a little “dogged” out, and they make their way to the falconry show.
The field where the knights earlier fought each other has now been cleared, and a series of different-sized posts have been knocked into the earth, Katherine presumes for the birds. A big and grizzled man, wearing a white shirt, a vest, and khaki pants, stands in the middle of the field.
“Welcome to the falcon show! My name is Kevin Brixton!” he booms into a microphone.
Niamh nudges Katherine. “Rugged, just my type!”
Katherine has to bite her lip to keep from laughing as Kevin launches into a long explanation about falcons and hawks, eagles and kites and owls. She allows herself to drift a little, content to watch the huge, powerful birds as they dive and soar above the heads of the crowd. Beautiful, she thinks, free.
Lucas tugs on her hand and brings her back to the present. “Look,” he breathes in ecstasy.
Five fat owls waddle around, blinking their large eyes. They are completely adorable. One is called Percy, who teeters along, squawking for treats. Percy is not a big flyer.
“It’s called a parliament of owls.” Kevin grins. “They look meaningful, but there’s not much action.”
He’s clearly trotted this joke out countless times, but the dutiful crowd laughs. People are being kind today.
“So, we need some kids and their parents up here, to help Percy fly. We’ll need a long line of you to come into the field and lie down on the grass, side by side.” He grins again. “Hard work, I know, but any volunteers?”
Children start tugging their reluctant, smiling parents to the field.
Katherine looks to Lucas. “Want to?”
Lucas shakes his head. She turns back just in time to see a large guy wearing a gray tracksuit, one of the “yobbo shites” gang, pushing his way to the front. He weaves back and forth, clearly drunk. The audience murmurs uneasily.
Kevin addresses him through his microphone. “Sir, are you a child?” The man looks up and blinks drunkenly. “Or a parent of one of the children?
“God, I hope not.” Niamh’s jaw is set in a grim line.
“Well then, this exercise is not for you.” Kevin stares hard at him.
The guy stands there, watching as more little kids and some parents come to the field and lie down. He senses the crowd is against him. Finally, with a grunt, he pushes his way back to his friends, who rib him mercilessly. No one’s sure why he wants to participate, but there’s something unsettling about it. Kevin continues with an air of calm triumph. When the line of prone bodies is long enough, Percy is encouraged to swoop over them, which he does. Everyone cheers the little owl’s efforts.
After the owls are done, the show continues with the main draw, the birds of prey demonstration. But the hoodies, as Katherine thinks of them, are not to be cowed. They whoop and raise their hands in the air every time a hawk or falcon flies over their heads.
Even Kevin is growing annoyed, though he’s trying to play it cool. “I know it’s exciting, but please let me remind you not to try and touch them.”
“Whooh!” calls out one of them. “Very fancy, tastes just like chicken!”
Kevin no longer sounds jocular. “Please don’t touch them, these are very special birds in a delicate situation, and only experts can handle them.”
“Jesus, what I wouldn’t give for those birds to have a go at them,” growls Niamh.
Spectators around them shuffle and mutter, one person even ventures a “Stop it!” which is radical for the English, who, Katherine has learned, are agonizingly mild and polite.
“Aren’t there any sort of country fair police?” Katherine has a momentarily delightful image of ham-fisted farmers riding on tractors with sirens, booting these yobbos’ butts off the premises.
Niamh shakes her head. “Probably security will be along in a minute. But it will be a shame if he has to stop the show on their account.”
Lucas is solemn. “Kat, why are those men acting like that?”
“Because they’re jerks, honey.” She speaks lightly, but she can feel the anger building within her. It’s been such a wonderful day, Lucas reaching for her hand, which he hadn’t done in ages, and now these assholes are ruining it for everyone.
“Sorry, folks, but we’re going to have to stop the show.”
The audience groans.
“Louts!” a pink-cheeked woman huffs. “They should be kicked out.”
“Kat, why are they being jerks?”
“I wish those birds would have a go at them,” Niamh says again.
“They should be taught a lesson!”
Katherine thinks of the birds. She thinks of them wheeling, dipping, and diving, feels the cold currents of air surging under their wings, sees the hard earth down below, the people so small and insignificant, the hooligans’ ugly, pale, jeering faces gazing up, their bulging eyes squinting, their yellow-toothed grins, their fumbling fingers reaching out, they have no respect, no understanding, no grace—
Someone should teach them a lesson.
Someone should teach them a lesson.
Someone should.
Someone is—
Screaming.
Someone is screaming.
Someone is screaming and screaming.
Katherine blinks. She sits, staring at the television. They’ve been running the story all evening.
Falconer Kevin Brixton is mystified. “In my twenty-four years of working with these birds, this has never happened. I mean, I can’t ‘sic’ my birds on people. That’s ludicrous.”
Eyewitness reports claim that these birds of prey, part of a country fair display, attacked a group of men who were drunk and trying to touch them, despite repeated warnings to stop, while they flew above the audience.
“He was about to cancel the rest of the demonstration.”
“I’ve never seen anything like it! All the birds suddenly dived into the crowd for them.”
“Total chaos.”
“Everything went crazy. One moment it was fine, and the next—”
Officials say ten spectators were injured, with three in critical condition, all with significant facial wounds. Their condition is not yet disclosed. It is not yet known if any of the birds will be euthanized. While most eyewitnesses and officials describe the phenomenon as a freak occurrence, triggered by agitating behavior, some are already saying that there is more to the story, including the controversial religious group Heaven’s True, an international organization with a growing membership in the UK, which has already released a statement on its website.
“It’s a sign. The Bible says, ‘Behold the fowls of the air, for they sow not, neither do they reap, nor gather into barns, yet your heavenly Father feedeth them.’ Jesus is coming.”
Sael comes down the stairs. “Want me to turn that off?”
She starts. “Sure.”
He reaches for the remote, presses a button, and there’s a blessed silence.
She turns to him. “How is he?”
“Asleep.”
She sighs. “Good.”
He walks around the couch and plumps down next to her.
She leans her head back. “Thanks for checking again, I think he’ll be okay, but . . .”
“But it was a hell of a day,” he finishes.
She shrugs. “Yeah, that’s about the size of it.”
“What really happened?”
“I honestly don’t know. One minute these drunk guys were trying to touch the birds and the handler was telling us the show was over, and the next the birds went totally beserk. It was chaos.”
“God.”
“I know.”
“How’s your friend doing?”
Katherine frowns. “I’ve called and texted, but no answer. Her husband eventually wrote back, said she was sleeping.”
“But?”
“I don’t know, it just feels wrong somehow. I’m worried about her. Maybe I should go there myself?”
“Katherine, if he says she’s sleeping, she’s sleeping. It was a traumatizing day. I’m more concerned with how you’re doing and handling everything.”
“I’m fine.” But she doesn’t look at him.
He stares at her. She’s tilted her head back and is massaging her temples, her eyes closed.
“Listen, you only have to say the word and I won’t go.” He sounds uneasy.
“Sael, I told you, I’m fine.”
“I’m not comfortable with it.”
She opens her eyes, sits up. “But you should go. You’ve been planning it for ages, and it’s important for the company, right?”
“Yes, but that doesn’t matter.”
“What?” Sael’s voice rises with barely checked frustration. “You’re more important than the company. Jesus, Katherine, why would you think otherwise?”
She doesn’t answer him for a long time. “It’s just good to hear you say it,” she replies eventually.
“That’s it, I’m not going.” Sael’s jaw is set.
“Sael, please, you should go. You’ve been working too hard on your presentation not to. And anyway, I don’t want to cancel Wales.”
His face registers confusion, then settles. “Oh yeah, you and Lucas with Matthew and what’s-his-name?”
“John.”
“Right. What’s the deal with that again?”
“We’re all going off to Wales for a week to check out some castles.”
“How is that going to work? I don’t want you running up a lot of steep, damp steps.”
She laughs.
“I’m serious!”
“I know. It’s just nice to hear you being protective.”
Sael stirs uneasily; he opens his mouth, but she places a hand upon his shoulder.
“I promise you, I’ll be extra careful. No running up damp steps,” she tells him gently. “Besides it would break Lucas’s heart if we couldn’t go. He loves John and Matthew, and I think it will help him.”
“With this whole Mrs. B thing?”
“Yeah.”
He nods, frowning.
Sael has admitted to Katherine that her instincts were right. He should have listened to her and dealt with it sooner. There’s nothing to be done now but move ahead. Still, Lucas has taken it badly. They had clearly formed a close attachment.
“Anyway, I organized it so that it overlaps with your trip. By the time you come back we’ll be home again. Safe and sound.”
Sael sighs. “Okay, but Katherine . . .”
“Yes?”
“Promise me you’ll be careful. I want you to keep me posted, let me know how everything’s going.”
She smiles, and her face lights up. “I will, I promise.”
“I don’t know what I would do if anything happened to you.” He drops his voice as he glances down at her considerable swell. “Or him.”
“Him, huh?”
“That’s right.”
“Not a girl?”
“Nope.”
“How can you tell?”
“I just have a feeling.”
Katherine laughs. She never said how it went with the ultrasound, only telling him all was well. She had mentioned early on that she wanted to keep the gender a surprise. Sael seemed happy to let her. There are few enough nice surprises in the world these days.
“Well, there’s a fifty percent chance you’re right.” She eases herself up. “I think I’ll hit the hay myself. When are you coming to bed?”
“I’ll be there soon. I just have to finish this.”
“Okay.”
She heads up the staircase.
“Katherine?”
She looks back. “What?”
But Sael doesn’t answer and she can’t decipher the myriad of emotions running over his face. There’s an endless pause before he seems to return to his normal inscrutable self.
“Sleep well,” he finally says.
A few hours later they are standing by the front door. He’s in a suit and an overcoat, and she is still in her slippers, her dressing gown barely covering her swollen stomach. How 1950s we must look, she notes with a small smile.
“Well, there’s my car.”
“I know.”
He stares at her, as if trying to memorize her features. She too feels like this is the first time they’ve really seen each other in a long while.
“Are you sure it’s okay if I go?”
“Sael, it’s only ten days.”
“I’ll be back before you know it.”
“That’s right.”
“Well, if you’re absolutely sure.”
“Go.” She gives him a little push. “We’ll be fine!”
“Okay, okay! I get the message!”
He gives her an awkward hug. They kiss, bump noses, laugh, start again to do it properly, but the car is waiting. He’s pulling his bag, heading out of the door and down the first step. He turns back just once and sees her still there in the hall, smiling faintly at him. Then he shuts the front door behind him and is gone.
Katherine stands, listens to the purr of the engine, Sael’s voice, the driver’s, and then the rumble of the car pulling away. She hears the house settling down around her, the tick of the clock, th
e hum of the fridge, the swish of other cars down the rainy streets. Then she sighs, bends a little to collect the pile of mail on the entrance hall table. Stuff that Sael didn’t get to yet.
She sits at the dining room table, absentmindedly leafing through bill after bill after bill in the stack until she comes to a thick cream envelope different from all the others. She slides her thumbnail underneath the flap, which tears neatly open with a satisfying little rip, before turning it over to see that it’s addressed to Sael. Oops. She wonders who would be writing to him. When did she last handle a real letter? There’s no return address. She finds herself taking out the pages, and idly she begins to read.
Dear Mr. de Villias,
Forgive me for writing, but I thought an old-fashioned letter might be my best chance to reach you. If I wrote you an email, you might just delete it or alert the agency without reading it, which you are fully entitled to do, and you may do the same now, but regardless of whatever action you decide to take I hope that you do finish this letter first.
Please understand that I mean you and your family no harm. I would sooner end my life than harm a hair on Lucas’s head. I would not be writing now but for the fact that I am truly concerned, even frightened, for his safety.
Many weeks ago, when you first arrived and I began working here and spending time with Lucas, he told me that he was scared of a lady who came and visited him at night. He said she would come into his room and stare at him with a mean smile, that her eyes were full of bad thoughts about him. Naturally I thought that this was a make-believe person, the fantasy of a child.
I would have told you both immediately, but he made me solemnly promise that I wouldn’t tell you or Katherine. He said that the lady would hurt you both if I said anything. I promised him, as he seemed very upset at the idea of discussing it with the two of you, but I now realize that was a mistake. I should have alerted you to this at once. I believed that because he had confided in me, an adult, who listened, he would feel better. Children sometimes take odd fancies and notions, and I believed that this was the case. However, I now have reason to know that I was wrong. As the weeks went on I began to understand why Lucas had told me to keep it a secret.
I don’t know how to tell you, other than just to write it.