A Weaving of Ancient Evil

by SIMS, MAYNARD

  He picked up his drink and drained the remainder. “No, but I didn’t expect a re-enactment of world war two either. Why don’t you fix yourself a drink, sit down and we can talk this thing through.”

  For a moment more she stood there with her back to him, rigid, stiff and straight, then her shoulders sagged and began to shake and he realized she was crying. He reached out and took her arms, turning her to face him, then pulled her gently towards him and let her cry on his shoulder. They stood like that for half a minute then she pulled away, wiping the tears from her eyes with a delicately manicured hand.

  “You smell of fish,” she said.

  “Gets into the fibres, difficult to shift. Sorry.”

  “Your room’s upstairs just as you left it. There are still clothes of yours in the closet.”

  He sighed. “How is mother?”

  “Doctor Cooperman comes morning and evening to give her morphine. He seems to be at a loss, says she’s on borrowed time.”

  Caroline went to the bar and poured herself a vodka tonic. Ray watched her, noting that the years were not treating her kindly. Caroline still had her slender figure, but her raven hair was turning grey at the temples, expertly masked by undoubtedly expensive colouring, and the skin of her neck was starting to crepe. And there was a certain slowness of her movements that seemed to add about ten years to her own forty-one. She was dressed elegantly tonight for the party in a black designer creation, but even that seemed to age her. He felt a genuine pity for her as he watched her take her first sip of the drink. She turned to him. “Can I get you one?”

  “Chivas Regal. Please.” He held out his empty glass to her. She poured the whisky into a clean one and handed it to him.

  “I’d like to see her, Caro,” he said, as she came and sat down opposite him.

  “She’ll be sleeping now. The morphine, you know. Were you planning to stay the night? In the mornings, before Doctor Cooperman comes, she’s usually pretty alert.”

  “I haven’t made any plans. All I know about this is what you put in your note...which wasn’t particularly informative.”

  Caroline nodded slowly and took another sip of her drink. “Yes, I’m sorry I did that. You deserved to be told properly. I suppose I was feeling angry, angry at the whole damned world, and especially at you.”

  “Why especially at me?”

  “Because you’re not here, damn it!” she snapped. “You’re not here to bathe her, to clean up after her when she’s sick or incontinent. You’re not here to soothe her when she’s screaming out in pain. And because, Ray, you’re not here to love her, you’re not here to care.”

  Ray lowered his eyes and blew softly between pursed lips. “Whew, quite a speech,” he said.

  “Oh Christ, you’re just impossible.” Caroline swallowed the last of her vodka tonic and slumped back into her seat, staring at the books on the opposite wall as if in some mystical way they could absorb the anger and pain she was feeling.

  “I saw a monk on the landing earlier,” he said.

  Caroline jerked in her seat and stared at him, saying nothing.

  “I didn’t think it was just my imagination,” he said. Her reaction told him he hadn’t imagined what he’d seen. “What’s a monk doing here?”

  “It wasn’t a monk.”

  “Sure looked like a monk to me. Robe and cowl, unless you’ve been redesigning the maid’s uniforms again.”

  “Don’t be flip. I told you it wasn’t a monk. It was probably one of the sisters.”

  He looked at her blankly, waiting for her to continue. When she said nothing more he said, “Sisters? Sorry, I think I’m missing something here. What kind of sisters? Sisters as in nuns, or what?”

  “You’ll have to talk to father about it. They’re here at his invitation. They’ve got nothing to do with me. Martin is absolutely furious about all this. He’s taken legal advice, but John Bailey, his attorney, says there’s nothing we can do about it, as long as they’re here at father’s request.”

  Ray pushed himself up from his chair and began to pace the floor. “Look, Caro, could you please start from the beginning and tell me what the hell is going on here?”

  “I’m not going to talk to you while you’re prowling around like an angry lion. Sit down and I’ll start at the beginning, when mother’s illness was first diagnosed.”

  He stared at her for a long moment then shrugged and sat back down in the chair opposite her. “Okay, I’m sitting. Now start talking.”

  “It started when mother fell ill. Oh yes, and when mother decided Frank wasn’t dead after all.”

  “Guy’s a wiseass,” Carl Anders muttered. “If he wasn’t Stock’s son I’d…”

  “Carl, you’re full of shit,” Phil Ryker said amiably. “If Ray wanted to he could break you into little pieces and put you back together with your ears sticking out your ass. You’ve got an attitude problem, that’s all. You’ll grow out of it.”

  Anders glared at the older man, but further discussion was halted by Martin Devereaux, who appeared between them in the doorway.

  “We have a problem, Ryker. Three clowns who think it’s smart to snort some cocaine. They’re upstairs in the west wing washroom.”

  “You want them out?”

  “I don’t want filth like that in my house.” Devereaux was a small thin man, with a sallow complexion and cold blue eyes. When he was angry, spots of red appeared at his cheeks, giving him a fevered look, and his nostrils flared. They were flaring now.

  Ryker turned to Anders. “You deal with it, Carl.”

  “And for God’s sake be discreet,” Devereaux said. “Police Commissioner Marks looks like he might be leaving soon. I don’t want any unfortunate crossing of paths.”

  A slow smile crept across Carl Anders’ face. Perhaps it wasn’t going to be such a dull evening after all. He moved inside the house but hadn’t taken two steps before Phil Ryker gripped his arm and tugged him back. “Remember, Carl. Discreet. Be gentle.”

  Anders grinned satanically.

  Martin Devereaux watched Anders’ retreating back and frowned. “Do you think he’s up to the job?” he said. “I sometimes wonder why we employ thugs like him.”

  “With respect, sir, Anders isn’t a thug. And I take full responsibility for the men under my command.”

  Devereaux sniffed imperiously. “Yes, well you’re not in the army now, Ryker.”

  “Police, sir.”

  “What?”

  “I was in the police, sir, not the army.”

  Devereaux wasn’t listening. His attention was focused on a shiny black stretch limo that was cruising up the drive towards the house. “Yes, well, whatever,” he said absently. “Now who the hell is this?”

  Ryker followed his gaze and saw the car stop. The doors opened and two figures stepped out, both small, both dressed in white robes. They waited obediently at the side of the car, their heads lowered as a third figure emerged from the passenger seat.

  The first thing Ryker and Devereaux noticed about him was his size. The man was only short, about five eight but he must have crushed the scales at about three hundred and fifty pounds. His head was completely hairless and his neck was camouflaged by three great rolls of fat. His body was sheathed in a flowing white silk robe and he wore heavy framed dark glasses. He heaved himself out of the car and looked towards the house, though Ryker and Devereaux couldn’t be sure if he was looking at them because the lenses of his glasses were impenetrable. He made a quick birdlike flutter of his hands and the two robed figures fell into line behind him, then, with an almost ponderous grace, he started towards the house.

  “Looks like the circus has come to town,” Phil Ryker said, out of the side of his mouth.

  Martin Devereaux shifted his weight from foot to foot. “Have you seen my wife?” he said.

  “In the library, sir, with Mr. Stock junior.”

  Devereaux spun round sharply. “Ray Stock? Here, in this house? Has the old man been told?”

  �
�I’m not sure, sir.”

  Devereaux glanced back at the unlikely procession heading towards the house. “Look, you deal with this. I’m going to find Mrs. Devereaux. I want to know what the hell is going on here tonight. This was meant to be a party to celebrate my daughter’s eighteenth birthday, and I haven’t seen her for the last two hours, let alone her mother. And now this.” He gestured towards the fat man and his entourage, who were within yards of the house. “There are some very important friends of mine here tonight and I’m not about to be humiliated in front of them. Ray Stock!” he said, and Phil Ryker stared at him in wonder that Devereaux could imbue two simple words with so much venom.

  Devereaux glared back at Ryker challengingly, then spun round and headed back across the entrance hall. Phil Ryker shook his head slowly then turned his attention to the procession. He raised his hands and said, “Whoa, hold on there, folks. This is a private party; may I see your invitations?”

  “So who is this Dr Romodon? Have you ever met him?” Ray said, pouring himself yet another drink at the bar. The Chivas Regal on top of an empty stomach was having a mild anaesthetizing effect on him, and his thoughts were getting woolly.

  Caroline still sat in the club chair, poised, her hands folded in her lap. “He’s the head of the Church of the Divine Light, more than that I haven’t a clue. And no, I’ve never met him. When mother used to go to the meetings she’d leave at lunchtimes and come back a little after six in the evening. I questioned Henderson, her chauffeur, about her visits, but all I got from him was that he took mother to a large house just off Calemaro Drive, where he’d sit outside in the car while she went in.”

  “And these sisters, are they nuns of some kind?”

  “Devotees, mother calls them. Not nuns in the real sense, not Brides of Christ. They talk of Dr Romodon as the Holy Father.”

  “So you don’t think it’s Christian based?”

  “Not at all. From what little I’ve managed to learn, it seems to be a mish mash of Buddhism, Hindu, and a dash of Shinto thrown in for taste.”

  “Eclectic.”

  “A put on,” Caroline said vehemently.

  “Yet they’re here with the old man’s blessing. I find that hard to swallow. He’s got no time for the more orthodox churches. Why should he suffer a cult like this one?”

  Caroline rose from her chair and stood in front of her father’s portrait. “He does more than suffer it. That’s why Martin’s so concerned. Mother was diagnosed just over a year ago. Since then a six-figure sum has been diverted to a bank in Ohio. Checks made out in father’s hand payable to one Dr S Romodon.”

  Ray raised his eyebrows. “I take it Martin asked the old man about it?”

  “Yes, and, if you’ll pardon the expression, got his balls chewed off. Father just told him that as major stockholder in the Yellow Beach Corporation, he could divert funds as and when he liked and didn’t have to ask permission of a, and I’ll use father’s exact words, a pernicious little asswipe of a vice-president who only enjoys that exalted title because he humps a member of the family.”

  Ray smiled but tried to hide it with his glass. “I see dad’s lost none of his charm.”

  “Damn it, it’s not funny, Martin almost resigned.”

  “Only almost?”

  “Don’t you start. Martin doesn’t only have himself to consider. There’s me, and there’s Paula to think of.”

  “I didn’t bring her a present. She’s eighteen, right?”

  “She wasn’t expecting one, not from you.”

  “Ouch.”

  “Right, well let’s stop all this sniping and try and decide what we’re going to do about it.”

  Ray walked across to the window, parted the drapes and peered out at the floodlit grounds. From the library window he could see a broad expanse of lawn that swept down to a kidney shaped swimming pool. On the far side of the pool was the pool house, built in a kind of pseudo-Grecian style. The pool house also housed a sauna and fitness room. The lights were burning inside, suggesting that someone had got bored with the party and was making use of the facilities. He could use a sauna himself, to sweat some of the alcohol out of his system. Maybe later.

  “Well,” Caroline said. “Have you any suggestions?”

  Ray shrugged his wide shoulders and drained the last of his Chivas Regal. No more for you tonight, Ray boy. “My only suggestion would be for everyone to butt out and let mother and father get on with whatever it is they are getting on with.” He turned to face his sister who was staring at him as if he’d just slapped her.

  “I don’t think I heard you right,” she said.

  “Think again.”

  “But you can’t mean you’re going to do nothing about this?”

  He rested his knuckles on the windowsill trying to quell the tide of anger that was surging inside him. Staring at his reflection in the window he leaned forward until his head was touching the glass. It felt cool. It was always the bottom line, even now, with his mother upstairs dying of cancer. He hadn’t been asked to come here tonight to give comfort to the sick; he was here to add his weight to his sister’s argument. It had been the family curse for years. The relentless pursuit of wealth.

  Caroline’s motives were becoming as clear as her vodka tonic. Mother was dying and these people, the Church of the Divine Light, were helping to ease her through it. The fact that the old man was dipping into company profits to finance this spiritual care had got under Caroline and her husband’s skin. Greed had diseased this family for generations. The old man’s drive to acquire wealth and to turn the Yellow Beach Corporation into one of the worlds largest and most successful precious stone marketers had cost him the life of his first born son, lost him the respect of his second son, and had left the old man an embittered wheelchair bound cripple. Maybe, at long last, Randolph Stock had discovered there was more to life than turning a quick profit. Spiritual care for his wife, Marlene, however off the wall and unorthodox as it appeared to be, was a step in the right direction. Well, hurrah for that!

  “Look, Caro, this is none of my business. I came here tonight to see my mother, to give what comfort I can. I’ve been away a long time, and, God knows, my quarrel wasn’t with her, and I dare say my absence has hurt her. But if I get involved in a fight between father and you and Martin, I don’t really see that my coming back will have achieved anything.”

  “The only thing you wanted to achieve was to soothe your own sense of guilt!” Caroline spat.

  “Maybe,” Ray said, turning around slowly to face her. “But that’s something I’ve got to live with.”

  The library door opened and Martin Devereaux stalked into the room, making straight for Caroline and ignoring Ray completely.

  “Caroline, do you know how long you’ve been away from the party. People are beginning to notice. Senator Cole’s wife was asking if you’d been taken ill.”

  Caroline rolled her eyes. “Oh, for heaven’s sake, Martin, don’t make everything into a crisis.” She stared at her brother for a long moment and said, “I’ve finished here anyway.”

  “Does your father know he’s here?”

  “I didn’t tell him I’d invited him.”

  “You should have done,” Devereaux said. “You’re just giving him more ammunition to use against us.”

  “My God, you two are entrenched, aren’t you,” Ray said.

  “It’s none of your business,” Devereaux snapped at him.

  “Couldn’t agree more,” Ray said with a smile, and went to sit down by the fireplace.

  “How much have you told him, Caroline?” Devereaux demanded.

  “Enough, and he won’t help. My dear brother wants to keep out of family squabbles.”

  “Well there’s a first time for everything,” Devereaux said sarcastically.

  “Good evening, Martin,” Ray said. “I’d like to say how good it is to see you again…but I was always brought up to tell the truth.”

  Devereaux coloured slightly but ignored him, t
urning once more to his wife. “I can’t find Paula either. I mean, for Christ’s sake, it’s her party.”

  “Yes,” Caroline said. “And it’s about time we got back to it. Excuse us, Ray. As I said earlier, your room is still upstairs if you intend to stay the night. And I would ask you not to go into the ballroom until all the guests have left. God knows, you’ve embarrassed me enough in my life, I’d prefer it not to continue, at least not tonight.”

  Ray grinned and raised his glass to them as they left the library arm in arm.

  The door closed and his face darkened. The anger that had been simmering inside boiled over and he hurled the glass into the grate, smashing it into a thousand glittering pieces. Much of the anger was directed at Caroline and Martin, but he reserved a lot of it for himself. For a moment back then he had allowed himself to be taken in by his sister. For a moment, when the tears started to flow, he’d forgotten what a devious and manipulative bitch she was, and always had been.

  It had been hard for the both of them growing up in their elder brother Frank’s shadow. Their father had always made it clear that, in his eyes, Frank was number one and Caroline and Ray were also rans. The accident had changed all that. With Frank in his grave, and their father hospitalized with a broken spine, Caroline had seen her chance and made a grab for it with both hands. Ray was away at college so Caroline had a clear run.

  She took over the day-to-day running of Yellow Beach, and within six months had several major coups under her belt. Buying into a Thailand based pearl giant and eventually taking it over; the acquisition of several of the smaller German stone dealers and establishing a firm base in Idar Oberstein from which to attack the European market. Soon Yellow Beach was one of the leading exporters of opals, aquamarines, peridots and pearls.

  In those six months she had done enough, if not to earn her father’s love, then at least to earn his grudging respect, and to secure herself a place in his affections, albeit several notches down from the position Frank had enjoyed.

  Over the next year or so Randolph Stock grew fit enough to re-establish himself as head of the corporation. Caroline married Martin Devereaux, at that time the owner of a small string of elite fashion jewellery outlets on the east coast. They had a daughter, Paula, and Caroline, while maintaining a certain interest in Yellow Beach, was content to stay at home and play the good mother, while her husband ensconced himself as vice-president of the company and acted as her surrogate.