Thick and Fast

by Tommy Dakar

12.09.

  As an accessory a car can be a very potent calling card. A lot is said about a person who turns up in a Porsche, or a two-seater of any kind. First and foremost it means No Kids. Alternatively a large sedan car, in sombre dark grey, powerful yet discreet, denotes responsibility and decency. An orange Beetle with racing stripes tells another story. So they waited expectantly to find out what type of vehicle Harvey drove. Brendan would be first to spot it, as he had positioned himself near the main gates. He watched anxiously as possible candidates approached, only to drive past. He saw an Audi, white and sleek, dither as if unsure which way to turn, but as it crawled past he noticed the woman driver was well into her sixties. A four by four Toyota? No, that was Joe Higgins’ car. A black Ford van he thought was unlikely, but worth tracking nonetheless. It parked a little further up the street. Nobody got out, at least not while he was watching.

  Eventually a taxi pulled up at the gates, and a short, stout young man with dark hair and casual clothes alighted. He opened the back door for Andrea, then paid the taxi, which pulled away noiselessly. He was no fool this Harvey, he would keep them guessing.

  They entered the grounds through a side gate and walked up the drive to the main door. They did not hold hands, they did not talk. Andrea, clad entirely in denim, led the way with her lazy, loping gait, while Harvey, keen and alert in khaki and navy blue, took in the sight. Brendan, who had taken the opportunity to wish them good day, slipped off to find the rest.

  When the couple entered the house, they were met by Mr. Stein and Señora Luz, who just happened to be going over a few unspecific minor arrangements. They were duly introduced to the guest. On the way to Andrea’s quarters they almost literally bumped into Petunia, who was carrying some plastic bags on her way to the kitchen. Andrea nodded, Harvey smiled politely, and they were gone. Not much of an encounter, but she had seen enough. She watched as they disappeared into Andrea’s rooms.

  Ambrose was still getting dressed. He had found an old pair of sunglasses in a kitchen drawer and was trying to decide if he should wear them or not. He liked to think that they were rather stylish, and made him look attractive, but it was hard to know for sure. More than once Pet had ridiculed his dress sense, swearing he had no taste. Which is why she chose his wardrobe, even his accessories. She even took it upon herself to help him choose what tattoo he should have, and where it should go. His hairdresser was a friend of hers and styled Ambrose as Pet saw fit, moving with the fashion that most impressed her at the time. So he rarely wore anything that his sister hadn’t bought for him or previously approved. Every so often he would try to put his foot down and insist on a certain cap, or a pair of shorts, but Pet could always cajole him out of his obstinacy. Still, the sunglasses he thought she might just agree to.

  Pet rushed into the room.

  ‘He’s here. I’ve just seen him downstairs. What are you doing?’

  Ambrose struck a pose and winked, unaware that she could not see his eyes through the dark lenses of his shades.

  ‘For Pete’s sake take them off. Where did you get them? You look ridiculous. Come on, we have to go down and see if we can spot them again. She’s bound to show him round at one point.’

  Ambrose slipped the sunglasses into his pocket and followed his sister obediently.

  The staff took up positions and continued their surveillance. Brendan would keep an eye on the small terrace in case the sun came out and they should decide to take a stroll through the grounds via the French windows. Stein and Luz would alternate along the main corridor. Pet and Ambrose would hover round the games room area which was connected to Andrea’s rooms by a not very often used side door. Still, better be on the safe side. The moment the couple appeared, the staff would accidently place themselves in a position from where they could get a better view of the young pretender.

  Harvey realized this and was on his best behaviour. He knew how to hold himself on such occasions, knew how to charm and delight. His aim was for all those who met him to think that he was ‘nice’. His parents and his upbringing had given him all the advice necessary to succeed in society, even if he did choose to ignore it some of the time, and today those lessons would be put into practice. So he feigned interest, was courteous, made an effort to smile, pretended to be shy and a little out of place in such magnificent surroundings. Therefore he was grateful to the staff for their consideration. That day Harvey Paulson was a perfect gentleman.

  He eventually met Ambrose in the hall as he was about to leave. He noticed that the man seemed to be more than a little embarrassed, unsure whether to grin or remain straight-faced. Ambrose, (was that his name? his real name?) shuffled his feet, and his mouth hung open at intervals. He looked as if he were about to go to Sunday school, and kept toying with something in his pocket all the time. He thought: the man’s a fool. But Harvey nonetheless smiled and bowed his head, said that he was pleased to make his acquaintance, and sauntered off to the main gates where his taxi awaited him. Pet had witnessed the whole scene.

  She had also been present when young Sydney had been brought down from his afternoon nap to meet his future step-father. This Harvey character had gone through the motions, but he wasn’t fooling her; she had all the information she needed.

  That had been the most difficult encounter for Harvey. Sydney Jr. was like a miniature, cherubic version of Sydney Haute, deceased, thereby reminding Harvey that this was still very much the home of the Haute family. The outsider, the newcomer, the upstart even, was Harvey Paulson. This little boy, with his unsought inheritance, was inadvertently underlining the fact that, for the time being, Harvey was no more than a visitor. Not even the widow held the keys to the treasure; it all resided in that small child. Which, added to the fact that Harvey had never had any time for children, made petting the boy an act of determination, of self-sacrifice. Not only was Sydney Jr. a noisy, uncontrollable, whining nuisance, he was another man’s offspring, a competitor for Andrea’s affection, and an obstacle placed between himself and control of the Haute fortune. Not the best credentials for establishing a relationship. Still, appearances were everything, especially on first encounters, so Harvey had done what anyone would have done. He ruffled the boy’s hair, asked his age (two fingers for an answer), and gave him a bag of sweets. That was enough for one day; he left Andrea in charge after that.

  In the taxi on his way back to town Harvey decided his fate; he would make Andrea his wife and take charge of affairs at Haute House.

  Over supper in the kitchen, the TV on for background noise, the topic of conversation was Harvey. They discussed his looks, his attitude, his background, his chances, his intentions. The general opinion was that he seemed to be a ‘nice enough’ man. Well-dressed but not over-dressed. Correct but not too distant, nor too informal. That he came from a decent family went without saying, his manner and bearing could testify to that. A bit short, maybe. That was Joe Stein, though he himself was not exactly tall. When Andrea put on her high heels she’d be a good bit taller. They nodded; height could be a problem. Unless he wore platform boots, suggested Ambrose. They all laughed except Pet, who had so far held her tongue.

  ‘Well, you’d better get used to him, ‘cos he’s here to stay.’

  ‘The lady has spoken,’

  jibed Mr. Stein.

  ‘Not your type, Pet?’

  Inquired Brendan, winking at Ambrose.

  ‘I don’t like him, not one little bit. There’s something shifty about him, something, I don’t know, something not right. He gives me the creeps.’

  ‘I don’t think we should leap to conclusions, we hardly know the man,’

  said Luz, almost as a rebuke.

  ‘He seemed nice enough to me,’

  added Joe Stein.

  Pet fell silent. Ambrose looked at each of them in turn, and understood nothing. They couldn’t all be right about Harvey, but who to trust? He very much respected Joe Stein. Here was a man who could do almost anything, from fixing a car to rebooting a computer,
a man of letters and figures, a man with a cool head and a keen eye. And Luz was no fool, with her photographic memory and an internal clock that worked to the minute. Brendan Senior was his friend, he was old and wise, and he had clearly stated earlier in the conversation that the new man had come across as alright. So that meant Pet was the only one who did not agree, had seen something the others hadn’t. But she did have that power, he knew. Apart from the Wiggins she had nearly always been right. He was unsure how she managed it, there were candles and numbers and weather patterns involved, and it was all too mysterious for him to grasp. But she really did have hunches, and they really did work most of the time, so what was the verdict? Was Harvey ok, harmless enough, a chap to be trusted? Or was he to be feared? Was it best to tread carefully in his presence? Or would it all come to nothing anyway? A brief passion with no future? And why couldn’t they ever agree to anything? Why did they all talk and talk and never reach a joint conclusion? Why did it all have to be so damned difficult? Maybe he should try another joke, like the one about the platform shoes. He shot a glance at his sister who was picking at her potatoes sullenly. Maybe not, he decided.

  ‘Either way, it’ll do her the world of good; it’ll take her mind off