The Secret Stealer
Page 20
Byron Gables and Esther Mason-Smith suddenly seemed to recall that they were in a room full of people, and broke apart, cheeks thoroughly flushed.
“It is true,” James said firmly, and looked to Blythe as he continued. “And she has the proof.”
Blythe held up the documents, smirking at the Winchesters. “Marked ‘Angeline’, I believe.”
Yvette and Walter blanched simultaneously.
The officer stepped forward. “I’ll take a look at those, thanks.” After a few tense moments the man said to Yvette and Walter, “It looks to me like you two are in a lot of trouble.”
“But–” Yvette spluttered, “– assault! She just slapped me!”
“And he just punched me!” Walter added indignantly.
“Did she? Did he?” The officer asked, serious and unsmiling. He cocked his head to one side. “I thought you both tripped over in the process of trying to escape.” He turned to the others present. “Didn’t they?”
Everyone but Yvette and Walter nodded.
Domenic said with perfect sincerity, “That’s what I saw.” A moment later he muttered, “Clumsy gits.”
It was not in Walter Winchester to run or to fight. His all-pervading idleness extended to his own defence too. He simply looked sour, surly and hateful when the officer informed him that he and his wife would be required to come with him to the police station. Yvette fretted and whimpered; vapid though she was, even she was keenly aware that her affluent and indolent way of life was rapidly crumbling about her.
James fancied then, with great satisfaction, that his true mother could rest properly in peace, now that the Winchesters were on their way to be dealt with. The officer politely requested that the rest of the company also follow him shortly, in order to sort out this ‘sordid mess’. This being agreed upon, he escorted the livid, humiliated and mulishly unapologetic couple from the house.
“Before we go anywhere,” James said, addressing the adults around him, “you,” (he pointed at Blythe) “and you,” (and now at Esther) “need to go into that room,” (he pointed to a double door to his right) “and sort yourselves out. Argue, yell, whatever – just don’t leave without saying what you want to say.”
The twins looked at James, then at one another, and, quite remarkably, obeyed. They closed the doors behind them.
Byron and Domenic exchanged a semi-worried look.
“Maybe we should clear the area,” suggested Byron.
Domenic asked James, “Exactly how attached are you to this house?”
The Aftermath
Blythe spoke first. “How dare you?”
“How dare I what?” Esther asked, slightly amused and wholly bemused.
“Don’t pretend to be all Miss Innocent with me, Esther. I had someone, someone nice and decent and smart and potentially very rich, and you stole him from me. And now you have the nerve to bring him here, throwing your triumph in my face.”
“You’re talking about Gables?”
“Let me remind you, seeing as you seem to have developed selective amnesia. After our first ridiculous argument about the chocolate–”
“Which our father stole, incidentally.”
“Really?” Blythe said, seeming to lose some momentum.
“Seemed to think it was a great joke.”
“Well, anyway.” Blythe waved an uncaring hand. “I had come back to Australia to make amends with you and to visit father, etcetera, and myself and Byron, my then-boyfriend, went out for some drinks at a dingy little local pub, and–”
“And Byron saw me…”
“And Byron saw you,” Blythe repeated mockingly. “And I no longer existed! I never understood it. We’re identical twins, after all, so it can’t have been love at first sight.”
“Well it was love at first sight, and it was entirely your fault, Blythe.”
Blythe gave her twin a sharp look and cautioned her, “Careful, sister, I’m seven words away from giving you a permanent handle-bar moustache.”
Entirely unaffected by this threat, Esther shrugged and continued, “You cursed him. It was your fault he went after me in the first place.”
Blythe started at that. “Pardon?”
“One of your many petty vengeances backfired,” Esther said calmly. “A seed-curse of your own making hit your own boyfriend. Of course,” Esther continued in philosophical tones, “you never noticed, because you’re only good at making curses, not detecting them or fixing them.”
Blythe shrugged her agreement.
“So you were oblivious, thinking he’d wronged you, that I’d wronged you,” Esther continued. “But really, you did it to yourself. And you’re the only one who can get rid of it. That’s how you made the curse, after all, so I’d have to come grovelling to you for help. Now I hope you’re happy, because here I am, asking you to fix him. He’s been trying to (a) quote poetry or (b) kiss me, ever since I had the misfortune to require his help – after all that ruckus you caused at Sydney Airport.”
Blythe looked somewhere between amused and ashamed[94]. “It really was my fault… What are the odds, do you think[95]?”
“Very, very small,” Esther answered, smiling. “Now fix him before he tries to kiss me again.”
Blythe cast an incredulous look at her twin. “But what was that kiss all about – the one before? If I recall correctly, it wasn’t him that kissed you… you kind of both went for it at the same time.”
Esther’s cheeks blushed crimson in seconds and Blythe smirked triumphantly.
“We had a deal,” Esther replied, with a shake of her head, “and that’s the extent of it. This stage of his curse makes him want to kiss me, so I said if he helped me, and we managed to rescue James, then I’d kiss him. But it doesn’t really help, in the end, because he’ll always want to kiss me unless you fix him.”
Blythe could hardly believe what she was hearing. “Byron Gables is hot. Are you 100%, completely, without a single doubt in the world sure you want me to remove that curse?”
“He’s not in his right mind!” Esther exclaimed. “How can I, in good conscience, allow a thing like this to continue?”
“It might be weary on the conscience,” Blythe slyly intimated, “but not weary on anything else. He’s very good-looking, he’s rich, and (if I cursed him properly) he’s likely to be infatuated with you forever. What’s your problem?”
Esther hesitated momentarily, then shook her head. “It’s just wrong. It’s immoral.”
Blythe sighed heavily. “See, that appears to be the difference between you and me.” Then, half to herself, she murmured, “It’s probably why you’re not constantly getting crapped on by giant herons.”
“Sorry?”
“Oh, I’ll tell you some other time. It’s a long story. Let’s just say I’m beginning to see the error of my ways, as they say.”
“Oh! Good,” Esther said sincerely, and without a trace of irony.
It was the obvious sincerity and goodness in Esther’s entire person and expression (which her sister had once disdained) that Blythe now coveted most jealously. She wanted her sister’s goodness, but wondered where to start. She supposed there might be some curse that would allow her to take all her sister’s goodness away from her, but after thinking it through for more than three seconds she realised that it was about as appropriate as entering a dachshund into a greyhound race, or wearing a swastika to a bar mitzvah.
But Blythe was not, as yet, so completely reformed that she would simply help Esther when she asked it of her. She still had a little bit of ‘messing’ in mind.
“Here’s the thing, Esther,” Blythe began, frowning. “I made a pile of different seed curses, and they all go in a five-stage loop. I need to know what those five stages are. Then I’ll know which one it is, so I can… deactivate it, so to speak.”
“Can’t you take him through the stages?” Esther asked despairingly.
“Hey, I’m a married woman now,” Blythe said, trying to look serious but failing somewhat.
“No, you won’t.” Blythe laughed. “You’re too nice.”
Esther growled at her, seemingly admitting that she was right.
Lilith regained consciousness shortly thereafter, and was so delighted with her ever-playful and ever-amusing adoptive father that she soon forgot her terrible headache. Blythe emerged from the room alone, looked to Gables and said, “You’re forgiven. And it’s your turn to go in.”
Gables moved to obey, but hesitated at the doorway.
“He’s not going to find a dead body in there, is he, Miss Pitchfork?” Domenic asked.
“Would I do that?” she said to her husband with mock-innocence. She nodded at Gables, who merely shrugged and disappeared into the room.
Blythe stopped when she saw Lilith. A look passed between them in which no words were spoken but much was communicated: their similarities, in their often misunderstood abruptness, their repressed cravings for affection, and the silent determination that together, much could be accomplished. James merely saw happiness on both faces and was satisfied that his work was done.
“Byron Gables,” Esther Mason-Smith said, slowly and deliberately, “I love you.”
Happiness suffused Gables’ face. “Really?”
“No! Of course I don’t love you, you stupid, moronic git!” Esther snapped at the bewildered pilot. “I had to say ‘Byron Gables I love you’ to get rid of that part of the curse. Oh God – what’s the next part?”
“How could you say that you love me, when you don’t?” Byron cried dramatically, tears forming in the corners of his eyes.
“Okay,” Esther said miserably. “Stage three: bizarre depression.”
She ordered Gables to be still, and looked into his eyes once more, searching for what would take the curse into its next stage.
“Oh, I have to what?!” Esther Mason-Smith exclaimed.
James, Lilith and Blythe turned from Domenic’s time-wasting storytelling to see Esther’s head pop out from behind the doorway.
“Okay,” Esther spoke quickly, with the tone of an experienced surgeon, “I’m going to need a strawberry and a feather duster.”
Blythe collapsed into a fit of laughter, whilst the other three looked on, bewildered.
Esther scowled at her twin. “Either help me or shut up.”
“Alright, hang on.” Blythe giggled and ran into the kitchen to retrieve the items.
After feeding Byron a strawberry whilst tickling him with the feather duster, hugging him, and finally slapping him (rather hard), Esther was relieved to find that the original sonnet-spouting curse had returned. At least Blythe had not lied: it truly was an endless, five-curse loop. Which, unfortunately, only Blythe was capable of completely removing.
And yet Esther had to admit that the wanting-to-kiss-her phase of the curse was the least irritating. At least he had some measure of control over himself, and didn’t descend into the ridiculous. And right now he seemed to be working himself up to a multi-stanza sonnet. It was easily remedied, at least. All she had to do was kiss him again. She had only intended a small peck, but for some reason not consciously known to her, she did not pull away instantly.
“Told you I’m a good kisser,” he whispered.
“Oh!” Esther retreated, half angry, half embarrassed, slapping him in the process. But this action, unfortunately, by-passed the other stages and returned Gables to the sonnet-spouting stage once more.
“You’ve got to be kidding me!” Esther growled again[96], jaw and fists clenched, as Gables began to declare his everlasting love in iambic pentameter. She kissed him again, this time instantly pulling away, and said very quickly, “Now don’t you dare say a thing. Blythe!”
Her twin appeared in the doorway.
Esther described as best she could the five stages she had encountered.
“And what were the transitions?” Blythe asked.
“Isn’t that enough information?”
Blythe looked grim.
“Oh, alright,” Esther said, seething, and explained what had sent him into each stage of the curse.
“Ah, I see now,” Blythe said with a knowing nod. “It’s my patented Endlessly Irritating Infatuation curse.”
“I could’ve told you that!”
“And I could’ve told you that five minutes ago.” Blythe grinned. “I just wanted to mess with you a little.”
Esther could have strangled her. With great control, she took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “Now that we have established without a doubt that it is your–” (she scowled violently) “–patented Endlessly Irritating Infatuation curse, can you please fix him?”
“Sure,” Blythe said. She stepped over to Byron, placed her right hand over his eyes, and simply said the word ‘out’ as she pulled her hand back. Something dark and powdery-looking followed the motion of her hand. She closed her palm around the substance and it shrunk into a smooth, black, pebble-like thing, which she tossed aside. She looked to Esther and said, “Done.”
Byron Gables opened his eyes. He looked up at Blythe. “I’m sorry if I hurt your feelings.”
Blythe shook her head. “We’ve already established it was my fault – and besides, I’m happily married now. So I guess it was all for the best, anyway.”
“Well.” Gables stood, his face unreadable. “I guess we’d all better head down to the police station now, right?”
Esther was surprised and somewhat hurt – then distressed that she should feel hurt – that Gables said nothing to her, and would not even meet her eye.
“Everything is sorted,” Blythe said happily as she, her twin and her former flame exited the room.
James, however, felt slightly anxious for Miss Mason-Smith. There was something discontented about her face and shoulders, which James had never seen in her before. Also, Mr Gables was not smiling or being cheeky, but looked rather dejected himself. He simply moved toward the door and said, without turning, “I’ll go and start my car – I can take four.”
James looked at Miss Mason-Smith, who was watching Byron go. He decided that distraction, which had often worked for him, might work for Esther too. He slipped his hand into hers and began to lead her outside, saying softly, “Andrew’s secret was that he had no redeeming quality. What’s a redeeming quality, Miss Mason-Smith?”
Frowning, and not entirely recalling that she was talking to a nine-year-old boy, Miss Mason-Smith said, “Something that useless men use to get women.”
“What?”
She shrugged, pointing towards Domenic, Blythe and Lilith, who had exited the house before them, and were currently heading toward the taxi waiting beside Gables’ car. “Take Domenic, for example. The man is absolutely useless in this day and age, except for the fact that he loves my sister blindly.” Miss Mason-Smith’s frown left her. She seemed almost herself when she smiled down at James, and squeezed his hand, adding, “And I suppose he’d look good in a tux. So not completely useless, after all.”
James was comforted by this thought. Well, if nothing else worked, he thought, at least he knew that he too looked good in a tux.
James himself had no further desire for vengeance; the truth was out, and his pseudo-parents were vanquished. The law, however, had much against the couple. There was hardly a council official or policeman in the immediate area who had not received a small token of Walter Winchester’s ill-gotten wealth. One huge advantage to Walter’s so-called ‘juvenility’ (in keeping evidence for all these transactions in such good order) was that it made it amazingly easy for the honest police officers to weed out those among their ranks who were evidently more loyal to their pockets than to the law.
And so Yvette and Walter Winchester, along with those who had bent the law for them, got precisely what they deserved. The estate, the money – in short, everything – was confiscated and placed in a trust fund for James, with Esther as his guardian, on paper and in practice.
James returned to class with littl
e welcome from the majority of his classmates. Mind you, he was not hurt by this, but glad of the lack of attention. And now, in the general tone of the classroom there was one major difference – instead of sitting beside Andrew Harrison VI (whose company nobody missed), he sat beside the bright-eyed, golden-haired Lilith Palmer. And yet, James Winchester was still James Winchester: ludicrously hypochondriacal, and with a particular affection for Miss Mason-Smith. So his class-time visits to the infirmary were almost as frequent as before.
With the rather dubious excuse that they were both feeling ill from last night’s dinner, Lilith and James strolled away from class to visit said nurse. As they entered, James saw Esther deep in conversation – with thin air. But a moment later he realised it must’ve been Andrew she was talking to; James simply could not see him, as he had lost his potential.
“Alright, Andrew, the only way for you to become visible again is to return all the secrets to their rightful owners.” Esther looked in James’ vicinity. “Are you listening to me?” She ran her fingers through her hair, gesticulated exasperatedly and said, “Andrew Harrison! How many times do I have to tell you? You are invisible. Stop trying to punch James!”
James smiled. He couldn’t feel a thing. “He’s trying to punch me?” He laughed, then spun round and round, saying, “Ner-nerny-ner-ner.”
“Oh, don’t make him madder, James,” Lilith said shortly. “You mightn’t be able to hear him, but I can.”
James stopped spinning and tried to regain his balance. “What’s he saying?”
“You liar, where’s the bank, where’re the guns, I hate you, I hate you, blah, blah, blah.” Lilith shrugged. A moment later she looked relieved. “Oh good, he’s gone.”
“Miss Mason-Smith,” James said, confused, “if that was how you get rid of the curse, why didn’t you just tell me so in the first place?”
“Oh,” Esther waved an indifferent hand, smiling in a slightly wicked manner. “I have no idea if that’ll do it.”
“That’s a bit cruel, isn’t it?” James frowned.