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.