by Tommy Dakar
her leave of Andrea was just like going through the motions, which was a shame because she had truly come to appreciate and feel for her. But the new lady of the house was absent. They too parted on a handshake.
Harvey handed her the cheque and all other relative papers. She knew he was glad to see the back of her, of all the staff. They were the last remaining relics of the original Hautes, the final obstacle. Now the Paulsons could reign in peace. Good riddance, he seemed to say. Same to you, she hoped she managed to get across.
Pet was allowed to stay until she could find alternative accommodation, which she eventually found by shacking up with one of her boyfriends in town. As soon as she had all her belongings ready she was paid and sent packing. No farewells to Andrea, no more than a parting nod to Stein, not a word to Harvey. She was gone. Forget me, she seemed to say. So they did.
Joe Stein ‘retired’. He would no longer need to work as his pension was negotiated and guaranteed. Maybe he had the suspicion that he was being bought off, that Harvey was deliberately being over-generous for some Machiavellian reason or other, but he didn’t care. He was tired of it all and had no desire to set himself up as judge of any man. He would simply retire, slip off back to where he came from and read, or fish, or watch porn. Whatever, but somewhere they would not come looking for him again with talk of intrigue and death. He’d had enough for one lifetime.
Because there had been so much mutual suspicion going on ever since the police turned up and started asking questions, questions that were not always easy to answer. For a tragedy to take place a chain of events is required, and anyone who has a part in that sad tale, no matter how small, is open to accusation. Everybody had a theory, and once the blamemongery began no-one would escape responsibility, not even the dead. On piecing together the evidence and statements obtained by the detectives, it appeared that Sydney’s death was no more than the logical conclusion of involuntary actions, the result of an accumulation of errors. It was as unavoidable as the passing of time.
When we are stripped of social obligations, when we are asked to air the dirty washing of our colleagues, when we are encouraged to abandon allegiances and betray others’ trust, then we are all uncannily alike. Almost with relief we confess our worst suspicions. The Haute household was no exception. From Brendan to Andrea, from Harvey to Petunia, the shit began to fly. If everything that was said was to be believed then they were all guilty to some degree in bringing about Sydney’s demise. Posthumous blame was also laid at the foot of Arnold and Alicia’s tomb, and not even the supposedly revered Sydney Sr. managed to come out unscathed.
Which worked in Harvey’s interests, as Rosaline pointed out. Most of the accusations were hearsay, rumours without fundament, and could be put down to the typical infighting common to closed societies. That the long dead grandparents could in some way be held responsible for the tragic outcome only helped underline the absurd nature of the staff’s statements. Apparently they should have educated Sydney Sr. better, should never have let him drive around like a mad thing in those open top sports cars without so much as a safety belt.... Maybe then he would have been around when he was most needed, maybe then that Harvey chap would never have set his clumsy foot in the grounds. And Stein? If he had not walked off with the head man, if he had done his job and overseen the placing of the wooden slats, then Harvey would not have flown into a rage (blame his parents for that) and he would not have lost sight of little Sydney due to his rage. And shouldn’t Pet have been on the lookout for the boy? Fair enough, it was she who eventually went to search for him, but why did she take so long? Slouching? Smoking more like. Sra. Luz, so aloof, so perfect, but where was she? Keeping her nose clean again, washing her hands of it all? She had a way of avoiding trouble, thereby avoiding responsibility. But wasn’t she paid to keep an eye on things? In the bedrooms she says. Well she had a perfect view of the pool from there if she had deigned to take a look.
On and on it went. Of course nobody was really implying that Stein or Andrea or the delivery men had had a direct influence on the unfolding of events, no, not that, it’s just that they wanted to, you know, for the record, draw as clear a picture as possible, nothing more. Far be it from me.
Mudslinging which took the strain off Harvey and his version of the death sequence. He was left the calm, logical, understated path. Rosaline Gerard refused to take on board any of the others’ statements. She would stick to the proven facts and draw her conclusions in an orderly fashion in accordance with the law. Really it was quite simple. For one reason or another the little boy had been left unattended. That was not uncommon in a large household, and certainly was not, under normal circumstances, any cause for alarm. The child was at home, surrounded by adults, and theoretically safe. However, due to the negligence of one of the employees, an employee who was undertaking, on his own insistence, a job for which he had no official qualifications, a live wire was left dangling in the pool. Disaster struck, now it was time to assume responsibility. An unqualified electrician who negligently allows a live wire to fall into a swimming pool with children in the vicinity, which later leads to the tragic death of a young boy, must face the consequences of his actions. Nobody else is to blame here. Gross negligence manslaughter. Damages and a minimum sentence of ten years.
Stephen Bryant only had Ambrose’s claim that he was always very careful. Not much to go on. The certified letter of complaint, the official warning sent by Harvey, also worked against his client. He was reoffending. Ambrose pointed out that he had not insisted on doing the job, that he had been assigned the task by Harvey himself. But others had made it clear that Bro loved his work and took pride in it, so it was best not to pursue that line. He would fight against damages seeing that Ambrose was all but insolvent, and ten years was of course an exaggerated amount of time which the judge would no doubt reduce to two or three years at most. How they juggled with figures as if they were selling a house! One year, five years, ten years. Who would drive the hardest bargain? Who would strike the best deal, give or take a year or two?
Ambrose looked on in awe as the whole process unravelled, unable to really take it in. He supposed that the system knew what it was doing, and that whatever decision they took would be in everybody’s best interests. The truth will out his mother had always said, so no doubt it would eventually. Luckily he had the ability to feel comfortable in almost any situation. Being in custody didn’t bother him particularly; he was at home in a boarding house, in a staff bedroom, in a cell. He was fine with either work or leisure, alone or in company, and could amuse himself in just about any circumstances. He had no idea what would become of him, or if Pet and all the others were going to be alright, but he assumed they would all stick together and pull each other through.
What bothered him most, what took up most of his day, was that wire. It was a mystery. If he had lined all of them up side by side so neatly and carefully.... He went over and over that again. Had he slipped up, had he thought he had been meticulous but in reality been sloppy? Was it possible that he had a hole in his memory? Did that happen? Could things that had happened just disappear as if they had never really existed? He had no idea; he was not an expert. But try as he might he could only remember having been extremely cautious and methodical, as he always was when dealing with electricity. He could do nothing else, as he had only ever learnt to do it that way. Perhaps live wires could jump when full of electricity. Maybe a gust of wind. An animal. Over and over again he saw Joe whip the cable out of the pool, the swift glances of Pet and Luz and Sydney’s parents. The poor kid face down with his halo of fair hair. Ambrose was unsure what had happened or how, but one thing was certain – he felt guilty.
Guilty not only in a general manner, like not being in the right place at the right time or being unable to do anything to help the boy, but in a particular way too. If he hadn’t decided to alternate between cabling and fetching those damned wooden boards. He was carrying a bundle of them when he heard Pet’s screams. If he hadn’t felt s
orry for the delivery men in the first place. They had told him that their boss would dock them wages if they arrived back at depot late, especially on a Friday, and he had wanted to help them out. Some said that Joe should have been in charge, but that was not fair, because someone had to do the paperwork, check the order and sign the receipts. And it was dark. Anyway, it was really only the boss who had made such a fuss. He also felt bad about not having spotted Sydney slipping into the pool. He had seen him running about in the bushes, but had assumed that someone, Harvey, Pet, Andrea, was looking after him, supervising him from afar, because he was not allowed to roam the place on his own. He had seen him but thought nothing of it. ‘You think nothing full stop’ Harvey had once bawled at him. Looks as if he was right.
‘An avoidable death’ someone had said somewhere along the line, probably that Gerard woman, and Ambrose could but agree. If only, if only, if only. But he hadn’t, and now Sydney had drowned. The cable mystery was still unsolved as far as he was concerned, but it didn’t matter much now, nothing could