Сергей Редькин – Hide-and-Seek (страница 6)

James widened his eyes and nodded. Suddenly he looked as if he just remembered something important.

“Hey, didn’t his mother work for your family?” he asked. As a frequent guest at Maple Grove House, he knew most of our staff. When we were kids, we would sneak into the kitchen to steal something that had been “forbidden before dinner.” James would always tag along and enjoy the fruits of our raids, which we would happily devour, hiding somewhere in the park.

“Yeah, he sort of reminded me about that,” I said.

“He did? That’s strange.”

“Why?”

“Well, I would think he’d try to avoid the subject, but it’s been years, and I suppose it doesn’t matter anymore.”

“What subject?”

“Oh, that incident with his mother. Don’t you remember? She was fired. She was accused of something. Stealing, was it?”

“What? I don’t remember her being fired.”

“Well, it was just before… you know, Charlie’s disappearance,” James said, scratching his beard and releasing some questionable particles from its depths. “So it wasn’t that important to remember I imagine.”

“Still, it’s interesting why he never mentioned that,” I said mostly to myself, thinking out loud.

“Anyway, how have you been? Do you still date that girl I saw you with last time?” James asked, changing the subject for which I was thankful.

We talked all the way to my stop, reminiscing about our university days, discussing our families, James’s tense relationship with his mother—who kept him around but refused to give him control of the estate—and dissecting my poor choices in women. Although I couldn’t stop thinking about Jared, I made a deliberate effort to keep him out of our conversation. James, never a particularly inquisitive person, didn’t ask me any more questions about my meeting.

When it was time for me to get off the train—James’s stop was the next one—we agreed to catch up in the City the following week. I promptly forgot about that promise as soon as I stepped off the train.

Chapter 7

Our former footman-turned-maintenance person, Benjamin “Benny” Hudson, was waiting for me on the platform ready to drive me to the house. He was a short, heavy-set, spectacled man in his sixties with a very friendly wrinkled face. It was almost midnight when I saw the dark silhouette of our family nest with only two lit windows on the second floor – the guest room I was going to stay in.

Maple Grove House was a red brick Georgian style stately country house that had three floors. It was of simple rectangular form, with harmonious symmetry, sash windows and a central doorway. There were some smaller buildings behind the house – former stables, a carriage room, and a few cottages where the servants used to live. The house was set in grounds of almost five hundred acres, which also included a stream and a closed pig farm, but most of which was covered by the park with old fields of maples and oaks. There was a big old maple tree in a round clearing, right in front of the house that Charlie and I used to call The Giant. Its girth was more than two meters, and it was a great spot for hiding. When I was about five, my grandmother Anna told me that there was a large talking cat living in the tree that could tell fairy tales. I tried to find it on numerous occasions, hiding in various locations in order not to spook him. Later I learned that it had been a hoax created by Anna to make sure I’d spend more time in the fresh air.

Harry appeared at the main door as soon as our car pulled up.

“I expect your trip was pleasant, sir,” he said stepping out from the darkness of the hall.

“It was good, Harry,” I said, trying to sound cheery. “How have you been? Still in shape, I see.”

“Life has been kind to me, sir. Thank you. No luggage?”

I only had the bag with Charlie’s shirt with me. “It was a spur of the moment kind of thing.”

Before we stepped into the house, Benny turned on some lights in the hall and I couldn’t help but notice the bareness of the once opulent entryway. The slightly lighter squares on the brick walls and wooden panels indicated where the pictures were when the house was full of life.

“Would you like something to eat, sir?” Harry asked. “I’m sure we can even find some refreshments.”

“I’d have a glass of single malt if you can manage to find that.”

“Certainly, sir,” Harry said as we were walking through the hall. “Would you like me to serve it in the library, sir?”

“Oh gosh, does it still have furniture?”

“Well, we keep a few chairs and the table there, just in case.”

“Good man,” I said, contemplating where I should go. “Let’s see the old place. Why not?”

Harry and Benny went downstairs to the kitchen, and I continued to the library. I needed a few moments on my own before proceeding with the plan I didn’t have yet. I was hoping that the magic power of whiskey would show me the way and relax me a bit. Besides, I still had a bit of Ching left. I thought I could give my weary brain one more boost for another hour.

I looked at the empty bookshelves that used to be filled with the leather backs of hundreds of folios collected by my predecessors. Some of those had to be sold at closed auctions to keep the family afloat. No one had to know that the collection was getting smaller.

I noticed our old taxidermy fox still standing by the fireplace. James’s father, Richard Harding, had given it to my father as a gift about thirty years ago. It had a secret compartment inside, just big enough to hide a bottle of whisky—something Richard often did because his wife, Margaret, was rather strict about alcohol. We used to stash presents and snacks in it. Now, it seemed nobody had any use for this old bit of fur, and it was destined to be devoured by moths.

Looking around, I wondered if speaking loudly in here would produce an echo. I didn’t test my theory and instead went straight to the red leather armchairs still positioned by the fireplace and sat down. I tried to recall the conclusion of my conversation with Jared back at the pub.

***

“We looked everywhere,” I said to Jared. “I believe there was no stone left unturned in the search for my little brother.”

“Right,” Jared said and chewed on his upper lip.

The pause was getting a bit too long, and the silence was calling either for another round or for the meeting to be adjourned.

“Well, thank you for giving the shirt back,” I said finally.

“You bet.” Jared stood up and pressed a few buttons on his phone.

I also stood up and felt that I’d had just about the right amount of alcohol. I waved to Hugh to come and give us the check. He understood me but gestured that there was no need.

“Don’t worry about that,” Jared said. “My treat.”

“Thank you,” I said.

Jared waved to Hugh, and we walked out of the bar. It was chilly, but I found it refreshing and congratulated myself for wearing the jacket. Jared’s car, a big black SUV, was parked right outside and Freddy was standing near it, ready to open the passenger door.

“Do you need a ride?” Jared asked. “Freddy will take you anywhere you want.”

I felt that I’d had enough of Jared and his people for one evening. “I’m good.”

“Cool,” Jared said and turned to Freddy. “I’ll walk to the office, Freddy.”

Freddy nodded, walked around the car, and got in.

“Listen Alex,” Jared started. “I didn’t mean to stir up the past with all those questions back there. I was fascinated with your family once and I guess I got carried away with my nostalgia a bit.”

“No worries,” I said, feeling surprised at this sudden correctness.

“Good,” he said. “I’ll have my people contact you about the proposal in a day or two.”

“Thank you, Jared,” I said and felt that it would be better not to push my luck by asking if I’d got it.

***

I was deep in my thoughts when Harry appeared with my drink on a tray.

“Cheers,” I said taking the drink and getting the first sip. “Wow, how can we possibly still have this in the house, Harry?”

It was The Balvenie, the Scotch my family had been buying since the distillery began production all the way back in the nineteenth century. All the men in my family had preferred it to any other whisky. I was certain we had emptied our cellar when we moved to France.

“I kept a few bottles, just in case, sir,” Harry said.

“Good man.”

Suddenly, I felt at home and at ease enough to take my business a step further.

“So, the foxy is still here, huh?” I asked and pointed to the thing with my index finger because other fingers were busy holding the glass.

“It is, sir,” he said. “Would you like us to put it down in the basement?”

“Nah, keep it here where it belongs,” I said taking a sip. “I say, Harry, do you remember the old pirate chest we kept in the attic?”

“I do, sir. We moved it together with all the other old furniture to the cellars.”

“I’d like to take a look at it if it’s not too much trouble.”

“No trouble at all, sir. I’ll have Benny fetch the keys and open the basement for you. Would you like me to accompany you?”

“No need. Benny’ll do just fine. I’ll just finish my drink and meet him in the hall in, say, ten minutes.”