Hide-and-Seek
Шрифт:
I’d had a nasty car accident a few years ago when my car’s brakes malfunctioned, and I crashed into a brick wall. I hurt my back, spent some time in hospital and went through an unpleasant recovery therapy after that. I had my car, a Firenze red Range Rover, fixed because it was new at the time and a real chick magnet, but had been driving it rarely ever since.
“It’s all right as long as I don’t need to stand for a long time,” I said.
“So, what brings you to this neck of the woods anyway?” he asked.
I didn’t know if I should tell him the reason why I was on the train, but I had a feeling that I needed to share what was on my mind to feel better. Well, at least sharing some of it couldn’t hurt.
“I had a business meeting with Jared Shannon.”
“As in Jared Shannon, the founder of QC Solutions?”
“That’s the one. Trying to get some investors for this project that I have.”
I was trying to be as vague as possible yet attempting to make it important at the same time. It was futile because James didn’t have that much money nor did he have any good connections that could’ve been useful to me, but I couldn’t help it.
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 until my stop, reminiscing about our university days, talking about our families, James’s tense relationships with his mother, who kept him around but didn’t want to give him the reins to the estate, and discussing my poor choices in women. Even though I couldn’t stop thinking about Jared, I tried to keep him out of our conversation. James, never a nosy fellow, didn’t ask me anymore 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 next week. I forgot about that promise as soon as I got 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 saw our old taxidermy fox still standing near the fireplace. James’s father, Richard Harding, gave the thing to my father as a gift about thirty years ago. It had a secret pocket inside big enough to hide a bottle of whiskey – something Richard used to do because his wife, Margaret, was quite strict on alcohol. We used it to hide presents and snacks. No one seemed to want this old fur for anything anymore and it was destined to be eaten by moths.
I thought if I said something loudly in here, I would be able to hear the echo. I didn’t test my hypothesis and went straight to the red leather armchairs that were still placed by the fireplace and sat down. I tried to remember the end of my conversation with Jared back in the pub.