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TWO

Conversations Among

the Damned




Walter slammed open the drawing room door with a grand gesture and strode in with Melanie hanging on his arm. The gesture was somewhat spoiled by an uproar of raised voices blasting out of the room. Walter had walked in on an argument; an angry one, at that. The noise gradually died away as Walter and Melanie entered, and I hurried to catch up with them so I wouldn’t miss out on the fun.

The few remaining voices cut off completely the moment I entered the extremely large room. I stopped just inside the door and looked interestedly around at all the flushed faces and startled looks. Everyone moved to stand a little closer together; it might be all against one and one against all in private, but they automatically closed forces in the face of an outsider. It was so quiet that I could hear the wind outside the shuttered windows. Walter drew himself up to his full height, slammed his walking stick on the floor, and glared about him.

“I’ve told you all before, no arguments at Christmas! This is a time of peace and good will, and by God you’ll all play nicely together or there will be no presents in stockings for anyone! You leave your problems behind when you come to my home for Christmas, is that clear?”

His voice cracked like a whip, and his gaze was cold and merciless as he glared round the room. There were a few reluctant nods among his guests and a lot of lowered gazes. I used the opportunity to take a look round the oversized room. You could have played five-a-side football in the space available while swinging a whole bunch of seriously annoyed cats. The room was dominated by a massive Christmas tree that took up one whole corner all by itself, its top bent over as it brushed against the patterned ceiling. Wide spreading branches were weighed down by any number of shiny balls and baubles, along with tattered lengths of tinsel and strings of old-fashioned flickering lights. Long-established family favourites, brought down from the attic for the occasion, I presumed. Someone had spent a lot of time dressing the tree, but it still looked like the Christmas fairy had thrown up on it. Cheerfully wrapped presents had been piled up around its base, all with carefully applied name tags. Someone liked their Christmas traditional and well organized.

The drawing room was overpoweringly large for the handful of people standing around in it, as though the room had originally been intended for much larger gatherings. Large bulky pieces of antique furniture stood awkwardly around, like guests hauled in to make up the numbers, and the truly ugly carpeting looked much used and even worn away in places. An open fire crackled loudly in a massive stone fireplace. I could feel the heat it was putting out all the way across the room. But then, this drawing room was almost large enough to generate its own weather conditions. I half expected to see rain clouds forming around the heavy brass chandelier, which looked sufficiently precarious that I made a mental note never to stand underneath it.

Dozens of assorted Christmas cards hung from lines stretched across the wall above the fireplace, as though to say: Look how many people we know! A radio was playing traditional Christmas carols, sung by syrupy massed choirs without an ounce of real sentiment, but turned down to an unobtrusive volume so people could talk over them. There was even a sprig of mistletoe, hanging miserable and unwanted in a far corner, just to keep the Druids happy. All in all, it could have been a jolly enough gathering, if not for the heavy silence my arrival had plunged the room into.

“This,” growled Walter, “is Ishmael Jones. A friend of James. So I expect you all to make him feel welcome!”

Everyone in the room reacted when they heard I knew the Colonel, everything from dropped jaws to narrowed eyes. But none of them said anything, even as they looked me over in their own interested ways. Whatever they’d just been arguing about was clearly forgotten now they were presented with the possibility of a new target.

I gave my fellow guests my full attention and smiled easily about me. Most of them managed some kind of smile in return.

Walter took me firmly by the arm and urged me forward. “Come over by the fire, Ishmael. Warm yourself up! You must be frozen, after driving so long through the damned snows to get here.”

An attractive young woman in her mid-twenties immediately came to greet us, and Walter’s habitual scowl disappeared in a moment as he beamed fondly on her.

“This is my daughter Penny, Ishmael. By my second wife Melanie, of course. Sometimes, I think Penny is the best thing this family has produced in a long time. Until the credit card bills arrive.”

“Hello, Ishmael,” said Penny. Her smile seemed genuine enough, as though she was actually pleased to see me. “A new face at Belcourt Manor! How delightfully unexpected. Are you my Christmas present? I can’t wait to unwrap you . . .”

“Dear Penny,” murmured Melanie. “Always so ready to say something inappropriate.”

“Sorry, Mummy,” said Penny. She didn’t sound it.

She put out a hand for me to shake, and then raised an eyebrow as my hand closed around hers.

“How very warm your hand is, Ishmael! I’d never know you’d been out in the storm. Don’t you feel the cold?”

“I’m very warm-hearted,” I said solemnly. “Can I have my hand back?”

Penny let go of my hand, her scarlet mouth making a brief moue of mock disappointment. Melanie sighed quietly, while Walter chuckled. And only I saw Melanie’s pale pink lips silently form the words: Must you always be such a slut, dear?

Penelope Belcourt had long dark hair, flashing dark eyes, a pretty face with a good bone structure, seriously dramatic make-up, and a smile that suggested there wasn’t much she took seriously. As though the whole world was one big joke laid on for her entertainment. Just standing still, she burned with barely suppressed nervous energy. Like someone who had a lot to give and was just looking for the right person to give it to. She was dressed fashionably, but sensibly, for a weekend in the winter countryside. No jewellery, as though she didn’t want anything about her that might distract you from looking at her.

“It is interesting that Daddy didn’t see fit to inform any of us you’d be joining the party,” Penny said smoothly.

“Well, given the weather . . .” said Walter.

“I didn’t know I was coming here till I got the summons from the Colonel this morning,” I said.

“And you always do what James says?” said Penny.

“Always,” I said. “Except for when I don’t.”

“Penny, darling,” murmured Melanie, “do get our new friend Ishmael a glass of our special hot toddy. Just the thing, to warm the inner man.”

Penny shot Melanie a quick look, and then grinned briefly. She picked up a heavy china mug from a side table and presented it to me gravely, holding the mug carefully with both hands so as not to spill a drop. Heavy steam rose up from the mug’s dark contents. There was something in Penny’s gaze as I accepted the mug from her, so I sipped the stuff carefully before giving my opinion.

“Vile,” I said. “Truly vile, with a creeping undertaste of Oh My God.”

I handed the mug back to Penny, who laughed out loud, delighted. She put the mug back where she found it, beside several other untouched mugs.

“At last!” she said happily. “Someone who’s actually prepared to speak his mind! How charming . . . You’re quite right, of course, Ishmael, it is a truly awful family concoction that only appears at Christmas gatherings. I think for the rest of the year they use it as a horse purge.”

“Really, Penny! It’s an old established family recipe.” Walter was trying to be annoyed with her, but couldn’t quite manage it. “Just a bit of an acquired taste, that’s all.”

“Then why don’t you ever drink it?” Penny said sweetly.

“Well,” said Walter. “A toddy that good isn’t something you want to overdo.” And he smiled briefly at me, as though I’d passed some kind of test.

Penny nodded, thoughtfully. “You’ll do, Ishmael,” she said. “You have possibilities.”

“Oh, I do,” I said. “Really. More than you can imagine.”

Walter took me by the arm again and led me away. None of us had said anything to the young man who’d been hovering sullenly at Penny’s side all the while. No doubt we’d get around to him, in time.

“Now this, is Alexander Khan,” said Walter, as we stopped before a slender, dapper Indian gentleman in his fifties. He wore a sharp business suit, complete with a snazzy waistcoat and shoes so brightly shined that you could see their maker’s face in them. I said hi, and Khan bid me welcome in the clipped English tones of someone who’d learned the tongue as a second language. Sleek dark hair, dark skin, and a round face with deeply pouched eyes. He looked hard-used and overworked, and not at all interested in partaking of the Christmas spirit.

“My business partner,” said Walter. “Helped me rebuild the company, many years ago, and make it what it is today. I’m semi-retired now, but I still take a healthy interest in what’s going on.”

“Not quite as retired as some of us would wish, alas,” said Khan, looking at me rather than Walter. “If you will insist on still being a part of the decision-making process, Walter, you must shoulder your responsibilities. Important decisions will not wait, just because it is an official holiday.”

“You don’t approve of taking Christmas off?” I said.

Khan smiled frostily. “I am a Hindu, Mister Jones. I do not celebrate Christmas.”

“That’s Alex for you,” said Walter, chuckling loudly in an only slightly forced way. “This man has a hell of a lot of the old-fashioned Protestant work ethic in him, for a Hindu. Always weighed down by responsibilities and worrying where we’re going next. I keep telling him: slow down and learn to smell the coffee, or you’ll be dead of a heart attack long before you reach retirement age.”

Khan nodded absently. He was staring into my face and regarding me oddly. “Pardon me, Ishmael, but . . . It does seem to me you look remarkably like someone I used to work with, back in the eighties . . .”

Walter let out a sharp bark of laughter. “Well, it could hardly be the same man, could it, Alex? That was thirty years ago! Ishmael wouldn’t even have been born, back then!”

“Perhaps you knew my father, Mister Khan,” I said. “Which puts you one up on me, because I never met the man.”

“Yes . . . Of course,” said Khan. “That would have to be it, wouldn’t it . . .” He gave me one last curious glance and then turned away, dismissing me so that he could give all his attention to Walter. “You and I need to talk, Walter. It is very important! You can’t keep putting it off!”

“I think you’ll find I can, Alex,” Walter said cheerfully. “I will do whatever I damn well please, in my own home.”

He moved away, and Khan immediately set off in pursuit, still trying to talk business while Walter talked loudly about anything but. I looked after Khan, remembering. He’d been perfectly correct, of course. I had known him in the eighties, back when we both worked for Black Heir. He left years before I did, one step ahead of being fired with extreme prejudice. He’d smuggled out a particular piece of alien technology, when he thought no one was looking, and used it to buy his way into one of the big communication companies. I hadn’t known it was the Colonel’s father’s company.

Khan covered his tracks with all his usual thoroughness, but I knew what he was going to do before he did. I could see it in his face, hear it in the things he carefully didn’t talk about. I could have stopped him, but I didn’t see why I should. I was already starting to lose faith in Black Heir, and his more obvious actions helped draw attention away from my own less noticeable sidelines. It wasn’t as though Khan had taken anything dangerous, or disturbing. Just some basic alien comm tech, sufficiently advanced to give any Earthly company a head start over its rivals. But not anything that might be . . . noticed. If it had been anything dangerous, or disturbing, I would have made it dis-appear, along with Khan. There is a line I will not cross.

Alexander Khan and I worked in the same department for several years, but I can’t say I ever felt close to the man. We were colleagues, not friends. Khan had a lot of colleagues. And he was always a bit too ready to endorse terminating a stranded alien, instead of kicking its arse and sending it home. Still, it did seem I had made an impression on the man, that he could recognize me so quickly after thirty years.

While I was considering that, another of Walter’s guests came forward to smile at me. A woman in her late sixties, grey-haired, with a wrinkled face that still held the remains of what had once been great beauty. She wore stylish but understated clothes that spoke quietly but persuasively of the virtues of another era. When people wore clothes to make them feel good about themselves, rather than just show off the latest labels. She wore a hell of a lot of jewellery, in all shapes and sizes, as though to say: See? I was lovely, once. Men gave me all this, because I was so lovely. She extended a slender veined hand for me to shake, and I did so carefully because she seemed fragile.

“Hello, Ishmael Jones,” she said, in a warm and still quietly thrilling voice. “I’m Diana Belcourt. First wife to Walter. Welcome, to what used to be my home before Walter gave me up for the more obvious charms of Melanie. I do miss this place . . . Just one of the many things I had taken from me in the divorce. Because Walter controlled all our finances, he could afford better lawyers than me. I suppose I could have fought more, but in the end I just wanted out. Everything I gave up was worth it, to earn my freedom. It was hard work, being Mrs. Walter Belcourt. There’s nothing like being married to a Great Man of Business to force you into the shadows.”

I was saved from having to respond to any of that by Walter’s return. He nodded easily to Diana.

“Still living in the past, my dear? You can’t expect to move forward if you’re always looking back over your shoulder.”

“You’ve redecorated again, Walter,” said Diana. “I don’t like it.”

“Mel does,” said Walter.

“She never did have any taste,” said Diana. “But then, that’s why you married her. You know, you never used to give in to me that easily, when we were married.”

“Well, one of us had to mellow over the years,” said Walter. “And it wasn’t going to be you, now, was it?”

“Are you sure the two of you aren’t still married?” I said. “You talk like you are.”

They both smiled. “We’re all on good terms,” said Walter. “None of us are the type to bear grudges.”

“As long as the alimony cheques keep coming,” Diana said sweetly. And then she paused and fixed me with a thoughtful look. “James is my son. I don’t think I’ve ever met anyone before who worked for him. He’s always kept himself to himself. I’m glad I’ve finally got to meet someone from that side of his life. He emails regularly, and phones when he can, as a good son should, but I haven’t seen him for years. He does like to keep himself a mystery.”

“Yes,” I said. “I would have to agree with that.”

Another woman came forward to join us, a remarkably good-looking woman in her thirties. Walter and Diana both smiled on her, in their different ways.

“Allow me to present my good friend and companion, Sylvia Heron,” said Diana. “She makes sure I’m where I’m supposed to be and doing what I’m supposed to be doing. Don’t know what I’d do without her.”

Sylvia gave me a wide smile, as though I was really only there to meet her. A warm, suggestive smile, backed up by a steady gaze, as though we were the only people present in the room. Having Sylvia bestow her full attention on you was like staring into a spotlight. She shook my hand heartily, and her fingertips brushed against mine as she released her grip. I felt a definite spark, just for a moment. Which wasn’t something that happened to me very often. Sylvia was the kind of woman who could make a man feel like a man, and make him feel special, just by recognizing his existence. She looked me over, quite openly, and without saying anything made it very clear she liked what she saw.

Which was all very pleasant, but I couldn’t escape a strong suspicion that she treated everyone that way.

“Stop it, Sylvia,” said Diana, amused, but with just a hint of warning in her voice. “You can’t have them all, or there won’t be enough to go round.”

“Sorry,” said Sylvia, grinning. She didn’t sound sorry. “My eyes always were bigger than my stomach.”

“Well, don’t eat the boy alive—at least, not until he’s found his feet.”

“Why waste time, that’s what I say,” Sylvia said artlessly.

She dressed glamorously in rich colours and clashing shades, and got away with it because her presence filled the room like a naked flame. Her face was just that little bit too long and horsey to be a classic beauty, but she could still take your breath away every time she turned her gaze on you. With a face like that, and one hell of a body to back it up, Sylvia could get away with anything where men were concerned, and she knew it. She dressed a lot younger than her age, like Melanie; but unlike Melanie, Sylvia could carry it off.

So I just smiled back at her, making a point of being entirely unmoved by her spectacular presence. Because I’m not easy. I can’t afford to be.

Sylvia blinked, just a little taken aback. “How lovely to have you with us, Ishmael,” she said. “I only agreed to come to this draughty old heap to keep Diana company. I was expecting a dreary old-fashioned Christmas, but now it seems things are looking up. Always good to have new blood at an old gathering.” She took a healthy drink from her champagne glass, made a moue when she realized she’d emptied it, and just stuck the glass out in mid air for someone to refill. Walter was quickly there, to do that little thing for her. Sylvia didn’t even notice. She was busy looking at me, thoughtfully. “Diana’s told me a lot about James. Your Colonel. I never expected to meet him here this weekend, or any of the mysterious people who work for him. Don’t worry if you can’t tell me any of your secrets; just make up some fascinating lies. That’s what I always do.”

“I’ll do my best,” I said.

There was general laughter from everyone listening, which was . . . everyone. They’d all been drawn forward by Sylvia’s performance, like moths to a flame. She might only be there as Diana’s friend and companion, but she knew she was expected to be part of the entertainment, and she had no problem with that.

The group broke up as Diana led Sylvia away for a few private words, and general conversation resumed. Without being too blatant about it, I watched Sylvia work the room with ruthless efficiency, moving from person to person and group to group, charming and sparkling and flirting outrageously with everyone, while making it look effortless. The lady was a professional. I made a mental note to keep my distance from her, because I knew a predator when I saw one. I’d met Sylvia’s kind before, at all sorts of gatherings. The professional friend and the perfect guest. The kind who’s always ready to latch on to the right people, to be a friend and companion to those in need, so she could always be sure of being invited to the right places and the right parties . . . where she could attach herself to someone better. That was Sylvia. Always moving on, always moving up, until she finally allowed someone big enough to pursue and catch her, and persuade her to settle down—in sufficient luxury, of course.

Question was: what was Sylvia doing here at Belcourt Manor? She couldn’t be after Walter, surely? Maybe she was just looking to make connections. Or maybe . . . she had her professional eye on something more solid. If I’d had any valuables, I’d have locked them up somewhere very secure while Sylvia was on the prowl.

I seemed to have made a complete circle of all the guests present, because I ended up back with Penny, who seemed happy enough to see me again. She might not be as glamorous as Sylvia, but she was a lot easier to be around. If only because she seemed to mean it when she smiled. The young man was still standing stubbornly at her side and made a point of stepping forward abruptly—ostensibly to introduce himself, but more noticeably to place himself between me and Penny.

“Roger Levine,” he said shortly. “And I don’t want you bothering Penny.”

“Ah yes,” I said. “The young man who’s always at Penny’s side, even when it’s obvious she’s forgotten you’re there.”

“What?” he said, bristling immediately.

“I’m afraid you rather walked into that one, Roger darling,” said Penny. “You can’t act like a brute and a bully and not expect to be called on it, eventually. Now behave yourself, and be nice to our new guest, or I swear I won’t say a single word to you all weekend.”

Roger started to say something, and then fell silent under the force of her glare. It was clear he wanted to stand up to her and equally clear he didn’t know how. Self-confident and self-contained women were always going to be a mystery to a man like him. So he just shrugged quickly, turned back to me and thrust out his hand. I shook it carefully, and then let him have it back again. I did my best to look at him understandingly, and he nodded briefly, as if to say, What can you do? Thus love makes fools of us all. Love, or something like it.

Roger was in his early twenties, tall and gangling, in an expensively tailored suit that hung badly about him because he couldn’t be bothered to stand up straight. Slouching and sulking were obviously full-time occupations for him, because he didn’t understand why wealth and position couldn’t get him the things he really wanted. Like Penny. It was also clear he was only here for the Christmas gathering under protest, to be with Penny. And even more clear that she didn’t want him there. You only had to look at their body language. Roger did his best to project confidence, or at least arrogance, but was undermined by a weak smile and shifting eyes.

“So,” I said. “What brings you here, Roger? You’re not family . . .”

“I nearly was,” said Roger, deliberately. “And I might still be.”

“Oh, Roger!” Penny said sharply. “Don’t go on. I told you, it’s over.” She shot me a look that begged for understanding. “Roger and I were engaged to be married, but that is very definitely in the past. We’re just good friends, now.”

But all I had to do was look at the way Roger looked at Penny, to know that as far as he was concerned, it would never be over until he said it was over.

We chatted a while, about this and that. Penny filled the air with bon mots, while Roger mostly just grunted. It was actually a relief when Diana arrived, to take me aside for a quiet word. She studied my face for a long moment.

“I’m sorry, Ishmael, I know I’m staring, but . . . You remind me so much of someone I used to know. Back in Paris, in the late sixties.”

“That would have had to be Ishmael’s grandfather!” said Walter, passing by.

“It might have been,” I said gently to Diana. “I believe he was in France, about that time.”

And I moved away, ostensibly to get myself a glass of mulled wine. I really hadn’t recognized Diana until we’d spoken. She’d changed so much, since she and I were lovers in Paris, in 1969.

I took a sip of the mulled wine, decided one sip was enough, and put the glass down again. There had to be something here worth drinking. I stood alone, doing my best to look lost in my own thoughts, and listened to what everyone else was saying. I can follow any number of conversations, even when several people are speaking at once. It’s a good way to pick up on things you need to know, that other people don’t want you to know.

Alex Khan still wanted to talk business with Walter, who didn’t. Walter avoided Khan by attaching himself to every group as it formed. Talking cheerfully and loudly, he made sure he was never left alone with Khan. Fuming quietly, and sometimes not so quietly, Khan ended up talking with Roger, who’d been left alone because Penny wasn’t talking to him just then and nobody else wanted to. The young man looked sullenly at the floor while Khan spoke to him, quietly but forcefully.

“I have been a good friend of your father for many years, Roger,” said Khan. “And while he may be gone now, I know he would want you to do the right thing. You promised me you would invest a substantial sum of money in my company, and I am holding you to your word.”

“That was when I was engaged to Penny,” said Roger. He still couldn’t bring himself to meet Khan’s burning gaze, but his voice was firm enough. “The investment was to be my wedding present to her. Well, now the engagement is off, you and your company can whistle for the money.”

“You can afford it,” said Khan.

“That’s not the point!” Roger raised his eyes from the carpet to glare at Khan, his cheeks flushed. “You want the money? Then make Penny like me again!”

“Be reasonable, Roger . . .”

“No!” said Roger, rather more loudly than Khan was comfortable with. “I’m tired of being reasonable. It doesn’t get you anywhere. It just means you get taken advantage of and people walk all over you. I’m tired of doing what everyone else wants. Penny led me on and then dropped me, like I was nothing. As though what I wanted didn’t matter. I don’t like feeling like this. I want Penny back. I want things to be the way they were, when I was happy. So, you want the money, Khan? Then you know what you have to do to get it.” He turned his back on Khan and walked away.

Khan seemed actually startled that Roger was capable of such strong-minded behaviour. He looked around for Walter and caught him in an unguarded moment, alone at the drinks cabinet. Khan hurried over to back Walter up against the cabinet, blocking his escape. Walter scowled at him, but short of shouldering Khan bodily aside, there wasn’t any way out.

“I told you,” Walter said stubbornly. “I won’t discuss business over Christmas!”

“You have to!” said Khan. “The whole company is in danger of going under!”

“You’re exaggerating.”

“It is my company. I know what is going on.”

“I think you’ll find it’s still my company, Alex,” Walter said calmly. “Been in my family for generations . . .”

“It isn’t your company, Walter, and hasn’t been for some years now. We only keep you on as Chairman of the Board because your name still has some value in the City. But it is the Board who make all the decisions now, and they look to me to take the lead.”

“And see where that’s led them,” said Walter, nastily.

“You aren’t the only one who will lose everything, if the company collapses through underfunding,” Khan said stubbornly. “It nearly went under before, remember? If I hadn’t brought you that new communications technology . . . But the market has moved on and threatens to leave us behind. We need fresh investment to support our research labs, so we can come up with a new cash cow.”

“I don’t have that kind of money any more,” said Walter. He looked quickly around, to make sure no one was listening, and lowered his voice till Khan had to lean forward to hear him. “I have the house and the land, and the money they bring in, and that’s it! More than enough to see me out in comfort and leave a nice nest egg for Melanie and Penny, but that’s all. I won’t risk that, to prop up your dreams of what’s best for the company!”

“You own things, Walter,” said Khan, entirely unmoved. “Art, antiques, land. All worth a great deal of money. Sell something.”

Walter smiled at him mirthlessly. “Are things really so bad, you think you can pressure me? All I have to do is wait, and the Board will recognize how worthless you’ve become. And then with any luck they’ll have a rush of sense to the head and throw you out.”

“I will remove you as Chairman of the Board, if I have to,” Khan said flatly. “By force, if necessary.”

Walter looked at him sharply. When he finally spoke, his voice was calm and controlled and icy cold. “You’d have to persuade every single member of the Board to vote together, to outnumber the shares I still command. And there’s no way in hell you’ll ever manage that. Too many of those people owe me.”

“You are talking about the past, while I am talking about the future,” said Khan. “You are talking sentiment, and I am talking business. It doesn’t matter what you’ve done for those people in the past; they will vote to back me because it is in their best interests to do so. Money trumps friendship, or loyalty, or guilt.”

Walter grinned at him unpleasantly. “If I do go down, I’ll take every single one of you with me. I know where all the bodies are buried, because I helped bury most of them. You tell those treacherous little shits on my Board to behave or I will bury them. And what I will do to you, Alexander Khan . . . I would hate to see done to a dead dog.” He scowled heavily. “Now see what you’ve done! Completely spoiled my holiday mood! Mel, where are you, girl . . . ?”

Melanie came quickly over to stand with him, and Khan gave up. He strode away, while Melanie fussed over Walter, making sure he had a fresh glass of champagne, and cheering him up again with happy inconsequential chatter. I couldn’t help noticing that while Melanie was always ready to be instantly protective of her husband, she left Penny strictly alone. As though Melanie expected her daughter to be able to look after herself.

Meanwhile, Sylvia was still busy being the life and soul of the party. I watched her make a point of talking to everyone, individually and in groups; they were always glad to see her. Laughter followed her round the room, and there wasn’t a man present who didn’t look at her in a thoughtful sort of way, if only for a moment. And yet she didn’t seem to want to talk with me any more. Perhaps because she could tell she’d be wasting her time. I think I puzzled her, a little. She was used to being able to con people, and you know what they say . . . one predator can always recognize another.

Roger finally got Penny all to himself by backing her into a corner and not letting her get past him.

“You can’t keep avoiding me like this, Penny!”

“I think you’ll find I can, darling. I’m actually getting pretty good at it.”

“You said that if I agreed to come all the way down here, to this horrible old haunt in the back of beyond, and spend Christmas with you and your ghastly family, then you’d talk about us getting back together again!”

“I said nothing of the sort!” Penny said sharply. “You insisted on being invited down here, even though I told you it was a bad idea. I said that we would talk about this one last time, and we have. I don’t want to be engaged to you any longer. How many times do I have to say it?”

Roger scowled at her, like a little boy being told something he didn’t want to hear. “Why don’t you want to be engaged to me? We had good times! We were happy together!”

“You were happy,” said Penny, not unkindly. “I just went along, I think, because it made Daddy happy. He so wanted to see his little girl safely married and off his hands. Someone else’s responsibility. But in the end I decided that my being happy was more important than his being happy. You’re not a bad sort, Roger, but you’re not what I’m looking for. Sorry.”

Roger stared at his shoes, because he couldn’t face terribly understanding gaze. “I suppose you’re about to say: It’s not you, it’s me.”

“No, I’m pretty sure it’s you, Roger,” Penny said firmly. “You’re sweet enough, I suppose, when you’re not thinking about yourself. And yes, I suppose we did have some good times together. But that’s no basis for a marriage! You’re not what I want, and you’re very definitely not what I need. Just put it down to experience, Roger, and move on. I have.”

“What is it you want?” Roger said desperately. “Whatever it is, I’ll get it for you! I promise I will. Just . . . tell me what you want me to do.”

“And that’s your problem right there, Roger. I don’t want someone who wants me to tell them what to do. Especially when I don’t know what it is I want. Only that I’ll know it when I see it. Or him.”

She turned and looked right at me, and caught me studying her. Roger looked at both of us, and seemed more tired and hurt than angry.

I carefully looked away. I didn’t want to get involved with these people. I was here for the Colonel . . . and there was still no sign of him.

I turned away, for something to distract myself with, and saw Diana standing alone for a moment, looking thoughtfully at Sylvia as she charmed and sparkled her way round the room. Perhaps Diana wasn’t sure that bringing her new friend and companion with her had been such a good idea, after all, because there had been a time when Diana herself would have been the one sparkling and charming and catching everyone’s eye. I remembered her doing it, in the days of her beauty. And perhaps Diana was realizing there was only one real prize in this gathering for Sylvia to go after, and that was Walter. Diana might be divorced from the man, but that didn’t necessarily mean she wanted to see him thrown to the sharks. But even as I thought that, Sylvia turned away from Walter and went back to talk with Diana. And within moments the two of them were chatting and laughing together, happy as two teenage chums. Sometimes, I really don’t understand people.

Melanie and Khan were standing close together, with their backs to the fire, talking quietly, as though they’d just happened to end up in the same place. But there was something in the way they stood together, in the way they held themselves, that caught my eye. I listened carefully.

“Have you talked any sense into him yet?” said Melanie.

“I’m trying,” said Khan. “It’s not easy. Your husband can be very stubborn.”

“I know,” said Melanie. “Trust me, Alex, I know. Do whatever you have to. I am not losing Belcourt Manor, and all that goes with it, just because Walter won’t see sense. It’s well past time he retired fully and left the company in more proficient hands. Your hands.”

“Will I see you later?” said Khan, still staring carefully straight ahead of him.

“We’ll see,” said Melanie. “We’re going to have to be very careful, Alex. We can’t risk—”

“No,” said Khan. “We can’t. So we will just have to be careful.”

They moved off, in different directions, to talk with other people.

Sylvia made a beeline for Roger, who’d been left standing on his own again. I nodded to myself. People like Roger would always be easy prey to people like Sylvia. He didn’t want to talk to her, because he didn’t want to talk to anyone but Penny, but Sylvia fluttered before him, hanging on his every word and laughing happily at anything that might have been humorous. And Roger started smiling, and even laughing, in return. He seemed a lot more likeable when he lightened up. Every now and again, Roger would shoot a glance at Penny, just to see if she was noticing him being happy without her, but on the few occasions when she did notice, she actually seemed happy for him. Which wasn’t what he wanted at all.

Jeeves the butler entered the drawing room, moving so quietly and smoothly that he hardly seemed to be there at all, bearing a fresh set of drinks on a silver platter. He moved around the room in a most professional way, his dark face calm and impassive, offering drinks to the guests. No one seemed particularly interested, but Jeeves didn’t leave.

“Coffee and hot chocolate are also available,” he announced his deep rich voice, breaking effortlessly through the general chatter. “I can always send down to the kitchens . . .”

“Ah! Yes,” said Walter. “Are you sure dinner will be on time, Jeeves? I mean, given that Cook is down there on her own . . .” He looked around him apologetically. “No staff, you see. Couldn’t get any of them to come in over Christmas, no matter how big a bonus I offered. We’re lucky to have Mrs. Bridges. First class cook. Jeeves found her for me. Didn’t you, Jeeves?”

“Indeed, sir,” said Jeeves. “Cook has assured me dinner will be served exactly on time, sir. With the approved Christmas menu. The lady is a treasure.”

“She’d better be,” growled Walter. “She’s costing me enough . . .”

“Now, Walter, I’m sure she’s worth every penny we’re paying her,” Melanie said firmly. “Everybody else wanted to be with their family over the holiday season.” She stopped and fixed me with a speculative gaze. “Won’t your family be missing you at Christmas, Ishmael?”

“I have no family,” I said. “They’re all gone. There’s just me, now.”

Penny stepped forward, immediately touched. “Oh, that’s so sad! Well, for this Christmas, you must regard us as your family! Isn’t that right, Daddy?”

“What? Oh, yes! Of course! Glad to have you with us, young man,” said Walter. “Any friend of James . . .”

I decided I’d been a polite and patient guest long enough. “Where is the Colonel? I haven’t seen him.”

I still couldn’t bring myself to call him James—not after he’d been the Colonel to me for so many years.

“Yes . . .” said Penny. “Where is my dear stepbrother, who I’ve been so looking forward to meeting at long last?”

She looked at the others, and they all looked blankly back at her. And then they all looked at each other, before offering different ideas as to where the Colonel might be. In the Library, in the Study, in the Billiards Room . . . Even resting upstairs, in his own room. Eventually Jeeves cleared his throat meaningfully, and everyone fell silent to look at him.

“If I might take the liberty . . . Thank you. I have made my rounds of the entire house, checking that all the shutters are properly closed and securely locked. I have been in and out of every room, on every floor, and I haven’t seen Mister James anywhere.”

There was a long, awkward pause as everyone looked at everyone else. In the sudden hush, we could all hear the wind howling and rattling the heavy shutters outside the drawing room windows. It was a cold, ugly, threatening sound. One by one, everyone turned to look at the shuttered windows, thinking about the conditions outside Belcourt Manor, and they all shuddered, just a little. There was a general feeling of he couldn’t be outside, not in that...

“He’ll turn up!” Walter said briskly. “I mean, come on! He won’t want to miss dinner. We’re having his favourite dessert. He won’t want to miss out on his first dinner at home, not after so many years away.” He looked around, almost pleadingly. “His job keeps him out of the country a lot of the time. Isn’t that right, Ishmael?”

“Something like that,” I said. “Have none of you seen the Colonel today?”

No one had anything to say. I was liking the situation less and less.

“He’s got to be around here somewhere!” said Walter. “He wouldn’t just leave. It’s a big house, Jeeves! You must have missed him. Look again.”

“Of course, sir,” said the butler. He didn’t sound convinced.

Walter looked slowly round the huge drawing room, as though suddenly aware of how the size of the room dwarfed the small number of people present.

“There used to be so many of us,” he said slowly. “There’s something about Christmas, out of all the holidays, that makes you aware of how many people you’ve lost. Mum and Dad, of course. Gone almost twenty years now, but there isn’t a day goes by that I don’t think about them. And my brothers, Paul and Eamon. Both of them so much younger than me . . . I never thought I’d have to go to their funerals. All the aunts and uncles, the cousins, the wives and husbands and children . . . I stopped going to the funerals. I couldn’t stand it. And now . . . This is all that’s left of us. No one ever tells you that the hardest part of growing old is to go on living, when everyone else just goes . . .”

Melanie and Diana closed in on him from both sides, holding his hands and patting him on the shoulder. They murmured comforting words to him, but he didn’t want to be comforted.

“Where’s James?” he said loudly, close to tears. “I want my son!”

“I’m sure he’ll turn up for dinner,” said Penny, just a bit desperately. Not knowing what to say or do for the best. “He can’t have gone anywhere—not in this weather.”

Walter glared at her. “I always thought James would be the one to provide me with grandchildren and continue the family line. But now, I don’t see that happening. So it’s down to you, Penny girl. Stop being so damned fussy and do your duty to the family!”

“Yes, Daddy,” said Penny. Not because she meant it, but because she didn’t want the old man more upset than he already was.

“Could James have gone outside?” said Sylvia. “Maybe for a walk, in the grounds, before dinner?”

“In this weather?” I said. “Have any of you seen how bad it’s getting out there?”

“Well, no,” said Melanie. “The shutters are closed.”

“I will search every room in the house,” said Jeeves.

“James will turn up,” said Walter, nodding vigorously. His eyes had gone vague again. And then he looked at me sharply. “Perhaps you’d like to freshen up, young man. Change your clothes, before dinner?”

“Of course,” I said. “I’ll see you all later. Lead the way, Jeeves.”

I followed the butler out of the drawing room. There were some things I needed to ask him, in private.


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Framed