Сергей Редькин – Hide-and-Seek (страница 8)

Harry and Benny kept me company during meals. I could sense that they felt a bit awkward dining with me – it wasn’t what they were used to – but they were the remnants of the past that wasn’t there anymore. The life that was gone and would never be again. So I imagine I just wanted to get that feeling back, even if it was only with the butler-custodian and the footman-maintenance man.

The subject of my brother was never mentioned and was deliberately avoided whenever our conversations neared the dreadful event of the past. Harry and Benny had loved Charlie, but they didn’t want to bring it up for fear of upsetting me. I was still wondering what had happened to my disappeared product, so I decided to ask them about it during our last meal together on Sunday.

The weather was nice, and I asked Harry to set up a table outside. Benny found some old long torches that we had used for outside dinners and set those up around our improvised dining area near The Giant. I thought that some barbequed salmon would be nice for the occasion and volunteered to make it myself despite Harry’s attempts to do everything. Salmon is a meaty fish, and since I intended to grill it, I decided that a bottle of Pinot Noir would be an appropriate match. Harry arranged that and added a dry Pinot Gris, just in case we changed our mind and went with a white. Benny turned out to be quite a skillful salad maker and made a large bowl of succulent-looking green salad with God knows how many ingredients inside. Unexpectedly, the mood was rather festive, and we were sitting at the table enjoying our food and drinks.

“I say, Harry,” I started after the fish course. “The chest that was moved to the cellar. It’s empty. I seem to remember there were some old things in it. Do you happen to know what happened to the contents?”

“I’m afraid I can’t say that I do, sir,” he said, frowning as if trying to remember. “It’s been twenty-six years and we’ve moved quite a few things around the house, sir.”

“Do you remember where my father’s chest is? Had it been moved to France? I can’t seem to remember seeing it there.”

“Mr. Deschamps, your father’s late valet, was in charge of sending Mr. Montague’s belongings. I’m sure he took care of that. Should I look into it?

“He was quite old, Mr. Deschamps, and could have forgotten to do it,” Benny said thoughtfully.

“Highly unlikely. Still sharp as a tack he was,” Harry said defensively.

I waved my hand. “No matter, really.”

Perhaps it was a sign to leave this whole business in the past and move forward. However, there was one more thing I could refresh my memory on. “Do you remember Susan the cook?” I asked.

“I certainly do.”

“Did we let her go or did she leave of her own accord?”

“Mr. Montague, your father, decided to let her go after we found out that there had been some rather valuable pictures missing from the house.”

“How come I don’t remember that?” I asked, looking through my glass.

“Your father, sir, did not want to make it public and it was decided to deal with the matter privately, even though, I must say, there was a considerable sum of money involved. In the end she had to go and take her son with her,” Harry said and finished his wine.

I looked at Harry. “Little J?”

“Right. He was a nice boy, but with a bit of a temper.”

“What happened to Susan?”

“They moved to the States and, if I’m not mistaken, she passed away a few years ago.”

“Do you know what happened to Little J?”

“I heard that he’d made quite a fortune across the pond,” Benny said.

Harry stood up. “I heard that as well. Benny, could you take these plates away and start on that coffee?”

How come I’d never heard that?

Benny took our plates and went to the house to make coffee.

“Dessert, sir?” Harry asked me.

“Absolutely. One thing though. How did they know it was Susan?”

“Oh, we found the frame from one of the missing pictures in one of the pantries, sir,” he said and started to cut the cake that had come from the local bakery.

I put my glass down. “In the pantry? How did you know it was her?”

“She used it more than others, I suppose.”

“That’s an odd place to hide something valuable, don’t you think?”

“It is, sir.” Harry gave me a plate with a piece of cake. “She was lucky she wasn’t arrested, if I may say so,” Harry said. “It was very generous of your father to let her go without pressing charges.”

“How did she take it?”

“Oh, she was quite upset.” He nodded, and the corners of his mouth drew downwards. “She was a good woman and, to be entirely honest, we didn’t believe that she could’ve done something of the sort. She actually stayed for a time and helped us while we were all busy with the search.”

“Who did?” Benny asked, coming back with the coffee pot.

“Susan Shannon,” Harry answered, frowning at Benny’s familiarity in front of me.

“Oh, yeah.” Benny nodded, not noticing the frown. “She helped us with those rats in the basement, didn’t she?”

“Did they find what happened to the pictures?” I asked, trying to conclude the topic.

“To my knowledge, they never found out who’d done it,” Harry said.

“I suspected two drifters who worked at the estate at that time, but they had some sort of alibi,” Benny said pouring the coffee. “Poor Susan though.”

I put a piece of cake in my mouth and nodded to Harry approvingly, pointing to the cake. He smiled.

“By the way, Benny,” I said when I swallowed my dessert, “you did a splendid job of keeping the lawn in perfect shape. I kind of expected to see it waist high.”

Benny was pleased to hear it. “Thank you, sir.”

The subject was successfully changed to gardening and house maintenance.

Chapter 9

I woke up early on Monday morning in my apartment and checked my phone for any messages. Surprisingly, there were none. Before putting the phone back on my bedside stand and contemplating a few more hours of sleep, I noticed what date it was – First of May. It was my mother’s birthday and the birthday of Charlie. They were born on the same day, which my mother had taken as a blessing from above, and the day was always special in Maple Grove House. We would have a grand party, and my mother would take countless pictures with Charlie. For many years after Charlie’s disappearance, my mother stopped receiving her presents and would only celebrate his birthday. The number of candles on his favorite honey cake, which my mother and her sister Lucy would bake themselves, would be equal to the age of what he would have been. I would call her on this day no matter wherever I was or whatever the state of our relationship at that moment. Charlie’s birthday would negate all the arguments for one day and we would talk about him. I would aways end our conversation with Happy birthday, Mother to which she would always reply It’s not about me today, mon chéri, it’s about Charlie, and she would sometimes add, Thank you, though.

“Hello, Mother,” I said when she finally answered the phone. Sometimes it would take her ages to locate it.

“Good morning, mon chéri.” I could sense she was in one of her sad moods. “Nice to hear your voice … finally.”

“Happy birthday …to Charlie,” I said.

“Happy birthday to Charlie,” she said. “He would’ve been thirty-seven now.”

“Right.”

“Perhaps married with a few children.”

“Definitely,” I said following our usual routine of imagining what Charlie’s life would have been if he was alive. “He would probably have had a few dogs, cats, horses and snakes or something.” My list of Charlie’s imaginary pets had always put a smile on my mother’s face. I heard her chuckling, and I smiled. I didn’t want her to be too sad today. We chatted for a bit and ended our conversation with the usual lines. I felt that I had done something good today and deserved some decent news in return. And that’s exactly what I received.

It was in the afternoon when I received the anticipated update from Jared’s team. I was getting ready to meet some acquaintances I had met at a nightclub a few years ago—a fun bunch of people who enjoyed partying—who had promised there would be some women I might like. Jared’s assistant called to inform me that they had emailed the proposal’s outlines. She asked me to review it and, if I was willing to accept, to visit their office next week to review the paperwork and grant permission for their team to visit Maple Grove House for assessment work. I approved the visit right away and thanked her for the call.

The proposal's outlines were straightforward. Jared was willing to provide the necessary funds to build the cottages, but only after the project was successfully promoted and had secured at least two down payments. Essentially, I had to use my own money to get the project started, and he would invest once he saw progress. I wasn’t thrilled with the arrangement, but it was a clear sign of his interest. Given my situation, I felt compelled to roll the dice and accept it—beggars can’t be choosers, after all.

I called my lawyer, Mr. Goldberg, to discuss the deal. He wasn’t particularly enthusiastic about the terms either, but he admitted it was “definitely better than nothing, as long as you’re smart about it.” An old family friend, he knew me all too well. For him, this was good news; it signaled the end of my financial dry spell and, hopefully, meant he would finally get paid for his work.