Masters And Lovers 1-4 novel Chapter 45

Elizabeth comes with me. The six of us, we gather around the large kitchen table at the Triad’s home.

Michael looks dreadful. Red-eyed, his face drawn, in a reversal of their usual roles, Charlotte sits by him, holding his hand.

He’s lost weight…

Elizabeth glances up, but she doesn’t need my permission for this. I nod her to him. She takes the seat on his other side, resting a hand on his thigh.

And in a kind of mirror of protective roles, James and I flank Mitch, seated to one side and the other of her as she holds the packet.

“It can only be from him,” she says. “And I think I know what it is.” She slits open the top and tips the contents onto the table, then checking inside, pulls out first what looks like a legal document, then a note; a single sheet of paper, folded double.

As the x-ray showed, keys; house-keys by the look.

And in a bubble wrap packet, a small moss-green velvet bag. She unlaces it, emptying the contents into her palm; the necklace…

James whistles inwards. Even Michael stirs. Thick and heavy, it’s almost a collar, emeralds set in white gold.

“That must have cost a fortune,” I murmur. I’m in a position to know, with some of the jewellery I have gifted to Elizabeth.

Mitch picks it up, plays it through her fingers. “He gave it to me. I threw it back at him the first time, for trying to buy me. He gave it to me again later but then, when I ran… At the time, I never thought about it.”

“And the keys?”

She nods, doesn’t speak, passes the document to me: a title deed for some address down by the harbour.

Then she unfolds the note.

They were always yours.

Please accept them.

LK

*****

James

It’s a nice area. A pretty area. And it’s a day for seeing it at its best.

Yachts and pleasure boats float in bobbing ranks on sparkling water. Tourists walk by with ice creams, tossing coins to cross-legged artists sitting by pavement chalkings. Shops sell souvenirs, art and holiday wear.

The apartment block is clean and well-maintained. The hallway as we approach the door smells of new carpet and fresh paint.

Mitch stands outside the door, seeming to gather herself together, then taking a breath, she inserts the key, turns it, opens the door and we step inside.

It’s… lovely…

Sunlight dances over walls painted in soft neutral colours. They complement the furnishings, made from some pale golden timber, perhaps beech.

“Can’t fault his taste,” comments Michael.

Paintings dot the walls, abstract mainly, except for a single striking piece taking the centre of one wall; an image of ice and broken water in astonishing rainbow hues.

“Amazing painting,” I say, looking more closely. “Looks like an original.”

Mitch moves to stand by my side. “It is. I gave it to him. He took me to Helsinki that Christmas. I tried to give him Helsinki back.”

“You did this?” I back away, taking in the whole image. “Klempner said something one time about you having a talent for painting. He understated the case.”

The plain beige carpet pile lies striped paler and darker. Fresh flowers sit on a coffee table and a windowsill. Charlotte eyes them speculatively.

I wander around, just looking. In the kitchen a tray is set out with cups and saucers, a teapot and a packet of peppermint tea.

“Oh!” Mitch’s voice carries through and I stride out to see what’s amiss. I find her in one of the bedrooms. “He did it,” she says.

I look around. “Did what?”

“When I last was here, that fireplace was blocked up. I’d said what a lovely room it would make if the hearth were opened up.”

What’s Klempner playing at?

“So, what are you going to do with it, Mitch? Since it appears that you are a woman of property after all.”

“I don’t know.” She shakes her head. “I just don’t know. I can’t decide.”

“Why don’t you rent it out for a while?” says Michael. “You’ll get a decent income from it, in a spot like this. You can decide later, when you’ve had time to think about it.”

“I might at that.”

“Shall I make some tea?” says Charlotte.

I leave them, talking and chewing over the fat, wandering over to stare out of the window.

A rowing eight pulls over dancing water. Gulls wheel, turn, then dive, to rise again, splashing and gulping. Along the harbour wall, fishermen sit with their rods, apparently content to stare idly at the sea for hours on end.

What is the appeal of fishing? I could never see it…

My attention drifts over them, a good twenty men, all with kit bags, lines…

And then I see it. At the farthest point of the wall, looking towards the open sea…

Ahhh….

“I’m going for a stroll,” I say. “Going to get some air.”

Charlotte looks up. “Shall I come with you, Master? Keep you company?”

“No need. You keep an eye on your mother.”

*****

Klempner leans back against the concrete, feet crossed at the ankles, watching me approach. Wearing jeans, a casual shirt and trainers, he could be an everyday tourist. No one looks at him twice.

As I join him against the wall, he says, “Thank you for coming.”

“You’re welcome. Why am I here?”

“Don’t worry. It’s not some nefarious plot to abduct you.”

“I’m pleased to hear you say that. Can I assume that someone has a gun on me?”

“No, it’s just you and me, talking.” He stands upright, arms held out and turns three-sixty, then resumes his position. “As you can see, I’m not armed.”

“And the leg holster?”

He lifts first one trouser leg, then the other, displaying no more than the tops of a pair of white sports socks.

“So, why am I here?”

“I just wanted to… talk. I’d like to talk with Mitch, but since I can’t, I’ll talk to you. You can tell her whatever you think is appropriate.”

“What do you want to talk about?”