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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.”
“Very good, sir,” Harry said and left the library thoughtfully leaving the tray with the crystal whiskey pitcher on the table.
All right. The wheels were in motion, so to speak. I would have one more drink and then I’d be ready to see it. One more drink.
***
We had a large basement under Maple Grove House. It matched the floor space of the levels above. Since it supported the weight of the house, its walls were built to extend the foundations, making them much thicker than the walls above. There were two entrances: one from inside the house, from the kitchen, and one from the backyard. Both led to passageways with storage spaces, wine and whisky cellars, and pantries on either side.
The basement had a secret exit, disguised as a dead-end, next to the farthest cellar, which led into the escape tunnel. Ezekiel Montague had included this in the design of the house in case he needed to flee the property. The exit was hidden in a maple grove about fifty meters from the house. That led us, the descendants, to believe that he still had a few skeletons in his closet that had been troubling him.
Over the years, the tunnel proved to be an extremely useful addition for those who knew where the exit (or entrance) was and wished to enter the house unnoticed. These were mostly male family members returning from some debauchery late at night. In fact, it got so out of hand that at some point, my great-grandfather ordered it to be sealed. After that, no one used the tunnel much – well, no one who didn’t want to be seen using it.
The basement was off-limits to us when we were children, but we managed to sneak in from time to time, with the staff who were down there getting groceries from the pantries, fetching old and dusty wine bottles from the cellars, or moving ancient items from one storage area to another.
I was following Benny through the kitchen to the basement door and my heart started to beat faster. I tried not to think what I might see down there, but I was determined to get this crazy thing over with as soon as possible.
“How long have you been working here, Benny?” I asked just to fill the silence with some chat.
“Going on twenty-seven years, sir,” he said, opening the door and entering the basement.
“Gosh, has it been that long?” I asked, following him down the stairs.
“Time flies, doesn’t it?”
“It certainly does.”
We passed a couple of storage spaces on the left side and former pantries on the right when Benny turned right around a corner.
“I thought that was the storage.” I pointed to the massive wooden door on the left, farther down the corridor.
“Oh, that’s a wine cellar and we had to lock it up a long time ago because of the rats if I remember correctly. Some of those furry bastards, pardon my language, died in there. The smell was unbearable. We threw some chemicals in and sealed the door,” Benny said. “I don’t reckon we’ve opened it ever since.”
One of the footmen had explained to me at the time which storage area they had put the chest in, and I had made one attempt to get to it after it was moved down here to get my stuff out, but they told me to wait until the rodent problem got resolved. Later, we were too busy searching for Charlie, and I had neither the time nor opportunity to come down here again.
We approached another door, and he opened it with one of the countless keys on the huge ring he was carrying.
“Here we are,” he said. “Let me switch on the light.”
When the light was on, I found myself in a room full of countless things covered with dust that had clearly been here for a long time.
“The chest’s right there,” Benny said and pointed to the corner. It was the chest all right.
“Do you mind if I look around here myself, Benny?”
“No problem, sir. I’ll just be around the corner.”
After he left, I came closer to the chest. There was no lock on it. I opened it.
It was empty.
My knees became weak, and I had to find something to sit on. Luckily, there was a cardboard box next to the chest that looked sturdy enough to bear my weight. It was also dusty, but I didn’t care. I sat down and tried to breathe evenly. I didn’t want Benny to see me getting emotional over nothing.
How could I fall for that? My brother couldn’t possibly have been in that thing. I was so stupid for coming all the way to this place. Was this all because of “the lack of closure on Charlie’s disappearance,” as my therapist had once put it? My family and I had always hoped that one day we would see him again or, at least, know his fate.
Hope was a dangerous thing. It could drive a person mad.
Once I was able to gather my wits, I began to think. What had happened to my stash? It couldn’t have just evaporated along with the bag it was in. Had the staff over time helped themselves to some recreational drugs at my expense? Perhaps it had been the rodents that got to it after all. Well, I hoped those furry bastards, as Benny had so eloquently put it, had died high.
Chapter 8
Back in the library, I was having another drink, still feeling stupid but relieved at the same time.
“Do you also think I’m a fool?” I asked the fox. It didn’t dignify me with an answer but kept staring at me. “It’s the stupid legal high. That’s what it was.” More unanswered staring.
Well, I could focus on making money again.
Like many families with large estates, we went through some tough times, but we did our best to hold on to our land for as long as we could. It took me a while to convince my parents, especially my father, who still lived in France, to consider the housing project, after our tenant who ran the pig farm passed away. The land had belonged to his side of the family for a few generations. The idea of having cottages full of strangers on our land didn’t sit well with my father at first, but he reluctantly agreed when I told him that it would be for the good of the local community, as it would create long-term jobs for the locals. I suspected, though, that the real reason was that they had given up on me getting into a meaningful relationship that could lead to forming a family and having children. Ergo, no need for a lot of land that wasn’t making any money.
Harry came in.
“Did you find what you were looking for, sir?” he asked.
“Yes, Harry,” I said, standing up. “I think I did.”
“Would you like to have some dinner, sir?” Harry asked, picking up the tray with the whiskey pitcher and my glass.
“I would actually. Could we make a sandwich or something?”
“I think we could do better than a sandwich, sir.”
“Sounds amazing. Will you join me, Harry?”
“If you wish, sir. I’m afraid the dining room is empty at the moment, though.”
“The kitchen will do just fine,” I said.
***
I decided to stay at the house for the rest of the weekend. I figured that since I was already there, I might as well do something useful. I received a few inquisitive phone calls from Natasha, who had tried to invite herself to the house. She knew that I hadn’t visited the place in years and had become extremely excited about the opportunity to finally see it. I told her there would be another chance and promised to take her out when I was back in town. She didn’t say much, but I sensed she was disappointed.
I saw that my mother was trying to call me but decided not to answer. I hadn’t been in touch with her for some time, and I wasn’t sure how to explain why I had come to Maple Grove House. I wasn’t in the mood to make up excuses, so I decided to call her back in a few days.
I spent most of my time walking in the park, reminiscing about the good old days and inspecting the spot I had intended for my construction project. The park, with its old trees, wooden benches, and neatly mown grass, was as splendid as I remembered. For a brief moment, it almost made me reconsider what I was planning to do with a sizeable chunk of it. It also reminded me of the time we were searching for Charlie, and I felt a twinge of hostility towards the place, as if it were somehow to blame for my brother’s disappearance.
In the end, I felt that bringing more people to this park would breathe new life into it and bring positive energy. It had been deserted long enough. But I wondered what my predecessors would think of all this. Would they turn in their graves, over in the family cemetery on the other side of the park? The thought made me smile.
Perhaps, for the heir I was bound to become one day, the right thing to do would be to preserve the place as it was, as it had been shaped by generations before me. Somehow, though, I didn’t feel enough connection to the past for it to stand in the way of my decision. Did that make me a bad owner or simply a pragmatic businessman? One had to let go of the past in order to build a future, I’d read on some street poster somewhere. It didn’t seem like such a bad idea after all.
As for the house, it felt empty and cold without the people and things I remembered as being part of my childhood and adolescence. To feel a bit more comfortable, I asked Harry to have some of my clothes and toiletries delivered from town, and once I’d purchased some wine in the village, it almost felt like I was having a weekend out in the country. I almost felt like calling Natasha and inviting her over but decided against that.
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.