“ ‘Oh,’ her daughter sobbed, ‘I thought you said Daddy.‘”
Amid the laughter, I take the opportunity to ask the group to join us. They act as if they’d been expecting my invitation, as though their studied, world-weary insouciance makes them automatically covetable guests. Belladonna, wrapped in her scarlet chador, is waving her fan casually back and forth to hide her tension. The entire incident with June has taken less than an hour and a half.
“You sir,” she says, pointing her fan at our intended, “you look like you’ve been licked by a cat.”
“Sir Patterson Cresswell, at your service, ma’am,” he says,
“And you reside where, Sir Patterson Cresswell?” she says. You’d have no idea looking at her that she is desperately trying to place his voice.
“London, England, of course,” he replies.
Her fan stops. “Why do you say ‘of course’? Might you not have a home elsewhere? In the countryside, perhaps?”
“Oh yes, oh yes indeed. In Gloucestershire. Charlton Woods Manor. Do stop by should you be in the vicinity. We’d love to have you.”
“You’re too kind,” she says, her voice as soft as frayed rope. “And how long will you be gracing our city with your presence?”
“Only a short while, I’m afraid,” he says, her sarcasm completely eluding him. “I’m sailing on the Royal Splendour in two days’ time.”
“Well, then, you must return to my club,” she tells him, standing up. “I fear I have other obligations at the moment, and I should dearly love to continue this fascinating conversation. All of you, should you wish it, tomorrow night, eleven o’clock sharp. I insist.”
They nod assuringly as she passes them by, a whiff of her yellow jasmine and lily of the valley wafting in her wake. What splendid luck! To be singled out and asked to return by Belladonna herself. Why, whatever else could she do with the wondrous likes of them.
It’s only because we need a day to prepare.
We’ve waited all this time. We can wait a few more hours.
“Listen to me: Few people can cope with the guts of life; you know that. Certainly not the likes of Sir Patterson Cresswell, the useless bastard. And if these guts were coiled in a bloody heap in a bloody bucket"as Sir Patterson might say"most people in this world would close their eyes tightly at the sight of them. Not you. You’ve been waiting all this time.”
I’m talking to Belladonna, who is pacing up and down the living room. It’s 4:30 in the morning, but we are all wide-awake. We’ve been on the phone to the Pritch. Jack’s team is going to book several first-class staterooms on the SS Royal Splendour, and the Pritch will be waiting to meet the ship with his team once it arrives in Maidstone. We will go over our plans once more. We will go slowly. We will be methodical. We will tease out as much information as we can from him tomorrow, before giving Sir Patty a nice surprise.
We can afford to make no mistakes.
“You have to keep busy tomorrow,” Matteo tells Belladonna. “Do something unusual to distract yourself.”
“Such as?” she snaps.
“Such as going to Bryony’s school,” I offer, “You’ve been planning to do this for months. The time is right, don’t you think?”
“Yes, the time is right.” She sighs. “You know what this means.”
Yes, I know very well what this means.
Several hours later, she surprises Bryony by walking with her and Matteo to the Little Brick Schoolhouse. I follow a few blocks behind. Belladonna’s face is pale but calm. I can’t imagine what she’s thinking, what torments the sound of that man’s voice must have kindled.
Once Bryony is in her classroom and Matteo returns home, Belladonna asks for an urgent meeting with the school’s principals, Hyacinth and Daisy Hamilton. I wait with her in the hall, feeling like the truant I once was. They run a wonderful school, and I’ve always liked them for the simple reason that they have flower names, like Bryony.
“Is everything all right with Bryony, Mrs. Robbia?” Hyacinth, looking anxious, asks once we’re settled in the office.
“Yes,” Belladonna replies, reaching in her bag for a large manila file, which she hands to me. “My business manager would like a word with you. Good day to you, ladies.” She nods, then walks out, leaving Hyacinth and Daisy in a state of rather perplexed anxiety.
“I’m afraid that Bryony will not be back after Christmas vacation,” I say.
The sisters exchange concerned glances, steeling themselves for the worst. “Is there some problem with the school?” Daisy asks.
“Of course not,” I reply. “Mrs. Robbia has asked me to express her gratitude for all you’ve done for her daughter. Bryony has been very happy here, but we’re going to be moving out of state; we are truly sorry that business commitments are taking us away. Mrs. Robbia also wishes me to tell you that she regrets not having been more of a participating parent in school activities. As you have just witnessed, she still finds it most difficult to be sociable, to mingle with the other mothers.”
“We understand,” Hyacinth says slowly, although she doesn’t. Not really. Not yet.
“Mrs. Robbia wishes to give you something in return for all you’ve given to Bryony. Forgive me if I sound blunt but I was wondering if you had a building fund for expansion.”
Now the sisters’ glances at each other are slightly flummoxed. “Yes, we were hoping that someday we could expand, and we do have a fund,” Hyacinth says carefully. “A very small fund, unfortunately. We’ve had one since we started the school; we use it for emergencies, repairs, whatever. It seems that there’s always some emergency.” She laughs ruefully.
“We were hoping someday"this was our dream"to buy the building next door,” Daisy adds. “It would have been ideal space for expansion, to add more teachers, a larger gym, music rooms, but unfortunately, someone bought the building. A corporation. We’ve no idea who.”
“Yes, I know that the building was sold,” I say. “That’s because we bought it.”
“I’m sorry, I don’t understand,” Hyacinth says. “Are you in the property business?”
“Not exactly, no. Please read this carefully.” I hand the file over. They open it look at the top document at each other, and then at me in total astonishment Daisy’s cheeks become as red as an apple polished for one of their teachers.
“But this is the deed to the building next door,” Hyacinth says. “With our names on it.”
“Yes,” I reply. “We bought it with the explicit intent that it should be given to the school, for expansion. You’ll also find information about the account set up to pay for all the necessary renovation, your new architect, builders who are actually trustworthy, believe it or not, suppliers, that sort of thing. All your projected expenditures will be vetted by our accountants and quickly approved, I am sure. Once the building is finished, you’ll find there is also a fund to hire more teachers of the caliber you require and to purchase all necessary school supplies. Et cetera, et cetera. Should you need more money or assistance, arrangements can be made. There is also a discretionary fund to be used for whatever you desire. This includes a long-overdue vacation. You’ve certainly earned it.”
They are stunned into speechlessness. They look at each other again, and then back at me. Tears have started in their eyes.
“You want to do all of this for us?” Daisy asks, still incredulous.
“You deserve it. No price tag can be put on a superior education.”
“But it’s so much money"”
“As I said, you more than deserve it. There is only one condition.”
“Yes?” A flicker of panic crosses both their faces. Surely they must be dreaming. This can’t be happening; impossible dreams do not come true. Not like this. I’m going to say it’s a cruel joke, and depart as mysteriously as Mrs. Robbia did.
“This must remain an anonymous contribution,” I tell them. “Mrs. Robbia does not wish to be acknowledged in any manner whatsoever. Should we find any breach of this condit
ion, I’m afraid all funding will cease.”
Their faces relax into relief. “Are you sure?” Hyacinth asks quietly.
“Absolutely,” I reply. “It’s to protect Bryony. It is not generally known that her mother is"how shall I say it?"more than comfortably well-off. She prefers that her financial status remain as private as possible. I’m sure you can understand her fears on this topic.”
“Of course,” Hyacinth murmurs.
“The contracts are quite explicit. Several gentlemen in our employ will be contacting you imminently to see to all the paperwork. Have your lawyers review everything, and please feel free to contact us should you have any questions. The numbers you’ll need are in the file.” I smile. “Perhaps we shall be back someday, and if we are, we hope Bryony can re-enroll. We expect your standards of excellence will remain as exacting as they ever were.”
“We’ll miss Bryony,” Daisy says.
“And she’ll miss you,” I say, standing up. “We are hoping the adjustment won’t be too difficult for her. But we must go.”
I extend my hand, and both of them shake it.
“Bless you,” Hyacinth says, tears now running freely down her cheeks. “We’ll never forget what you’ve done for the school.”
“If only everyone were as worthy,” I say, and bid them farewell.
“All done?” Belladonna asks when I come home.
“Yes, it’s all done.”
Yes, she’s done it. Done with kindness.
Botheration. I suppose you want exact details of everything that happened in the Club Belladonna that night. Forgive me; this is one of the few times my memory fails me. I can remember little of what happened before Sir Patty’s arrival at our table. All I know is that he’s suddenly sitting there, beaming and proud. His friends, unfortunately, are delayed. What a surprise. He wants an evening with Belladonna all to himself, and he’s going to get one.
Only not in the way he has imagined.
“That is a very unusual ring,” she is saying. “Is it a family heirloom?”
“Yes,” he says, beaming. I’d like to pour a healthy dose of Belladonna in his drink and see how colorful his chubby cheeks are then. How Belladonna herself must be struggling to maintain her composure. The ring’s the kicker, you see. The ring is what gives him away. “My father gave it to me, and his father to him.”
That makes sense. Membership in this club is passed down from one perverted generation to another. No new blood need apply, thank you very much. We prefer to keep our depravities in the family.
“Might I see it a bit more closely?” she asks, all sweetness as she waggles her pearl-dripping fingers. “Being such a ring aficionado myself.”
“Of course,” he says, holding out his hand. He’s a smoothy, this one, knowing full well he’s not supposed to wear his ring in public. He doesn’t recognize her voice. He has no idea she’s seen the ring before, that the very thought of it––
No no no. Enough of this. Focus, Tomasino. Breathe deeply. Remain calm. Aim for his heart.
The ring is an exceptional piece of carving. A heavy signet that would normally display a family coat of arms, it is instead a meticulously sculpted snake, engorged on an apple, twisting around what seems to be a tree but is in actuality a very tiny, perfectly naked body of a woman.
Belladonna won’t touch it, but she leans over, close, and smiles up at him. “Thank you,” she says, “it is quite extraordinary. Is it one of a kind?”
His smile barely falters. “I believe so,” he says, lying through his teeth. “Or so I’ve been told. I should hope so.”
Indeed he should. How many more are there? One for each member of the Club? Is that the exclusive password they wear brazenly on their fingers, allowing them into places no normal man would dare to go?
“Tell me, Sir Patterson,” Belladonna says, abruptly changing the subject, “about clubs in London. Are there any comparable to mine? Do you think I should open one there?”
“There are many nightclubs, but none quite so charming as yours,” he replies. “The Club Belladonna in London would be smashing, simply smashing.”
If she weren’t wearing a silver lace mask encrusted with tiny sparkling diamonds, Sir Patty would have seen her blush coquettishly. But he can see her ruby-stained lips curve into a smile, and her dark-brown eyes glowing, contact lenses be damned. Her wig is platinum blond, cascading in ringlets down her back, glowing against the golden brocade of her embroidered bustier as if they were spun silver. In fact, she is a veritable vision of silver and gold. Her gloves are of the same lace as her mask, and her fan is a shimmering kind of golden foil. There is such a radiance surrounding her that no patrons in the club can tear their eyes away.
“That is very kind. What I know little about, though, are private clubs,” she presses. “Surely a man of your stature is a member of one, if not several. I’m very curious, as we have so few here. And those that are successful are not frequented by women, I believe. It is quite unfair, don’t you agree?”
“Quite unfair indeed. Although I am thankful my wife is barred from entry.” He laughs so loudly I think his collar is going to burst.
“How does one become a member?” I ask.
“One is born to it, perhaps, or recommended by one’s peers,” he replies.
“I see,” Belladonna says. “And what about clubs that are"how shall I put it"slightly more exclusive? Clubs that one may not know about unless one is rather well connected.”
“Ah,” he says, clipping off the end of his cigar, “that is not a suitable topic for a lady.”
“What makes you think I’m a lady?” she retorts, snapping shut her fan.
“My dear Belladonna,” he says. “I should never presume"”
“No, you never should,” she says sternly.
We sit in an uncomfortable silence for a few minutes. No, Sir Patty is not as dumb as he looks, nor as drunk as I’d wish. Double botheration. I almost wish his friends were here to lubricate the situation. But they’re not, so I start blabbing, about nothing in particular. I can’t remember exactly. Anything to keep him here a little bit longer. It’s too early for Belladonna to make her exit, for him to leave.
So we sit and talk, and drink. Belladonna gets up after a while and walks around the club, greeting her guests with kind smiles. She is much more friendly than usual, sparkling and flirting and laughing. Her gay mood infects the club as if she had waved a fairy wand of enchantment. Nothing can go wrong tonight, think our delighted revelers. The band’s music is lilting and the Belladonna cocktails are flowing and the lights are twinkling and we are here, we the chosen few, we are part of the magic. If only this night could go on forever.
Yes, for hours Belladonna is as charming as Sir Patty is an insufferable bore, but a bore we desperately need to stay where we can keep an eye on him.
Eventually, Belladonna gets up and says her good-byes, thanking Sir Patty for such a wonderful evening and wishing him well on his transatlantic crossing. “Do allow my chauffeur to take you to your hotel,” she says as he rises. “I must insist.”
“You are too kind,” he says. Naturally, he thinks he deserves no less an honor. Why not? Isn’t he the great Sir Cresswell? Doesn’t the world revolve to do his bidding?
Matteo, our chauffeur del giorno, politely holds open the door of one of our Cadillacs for Sir Patty, who pours himself into the backseat with a satisfied humph. The car drives away, but not in the direction of the St. Regis Hotel. It has turned around one dark corner, then another, and while waiting for a red light to change, the back doors are suddenly flung open. Jack coldcocks Sir Patty with such precision that he doesn’t have time to blink. He’ll have a sore jaw with a little swelling, nothing too noticeable for someone with such droopy jowls. Nothing too obvious to remind him of what is about to happen.
We’ve got about twenty minutes before he comes to. And when he does, he’ll be sorry he ever woke up.
Sir Patty moans, shakes his head slightly, and opens his eyes
. The room he’s in is barely lit, and damp. He is, in fact, in the sub-basement of our house, the level below the basement room where we’d taken June. He is down so deep he could yell and scream and no one could hear him. Certainly not Bryony, peacefully sleeping several stories above us. We loaded him in through the old Kiss-Kiss warehouse entrance, but for all he knows, he could be in hell. He is certainly as far, far away from the Club Belladonna as imaginable.
He tries to move and realizes he’s tied to a chair, and he starts thrashing about in a panic. It is then that he sees Matteo, Jack, and myself standing before him, clad in monk’s robes, our faces concealed behind masks. Belladonna is dressed as we are, but she doesn’t want to look at us, at least not at our faces. She is sitting behind us, facing our backs, hidden in the shadows next to a small wooden table where a large reel-to-reel tape recorder is slowly whirling. Sir Patty can’t see her there. She doesn’t want to be seen.
We are dressed as exact replicas of the members of the Club, and when Sir Patty realizes this his eyes widen in even greater terror and he blanches.
“I said nothing,” he says, his voice trembling. “I swear it. Not a word.”
“Didn’t say what?” Jack replies. His voice is perfectly clipped, pukka English, as if he were precisely to the manor born. No wonder the Pritch had recommended him so highly.
Belladonna has asked him to moderate this interrogation. Although I’d conducted such a charming conversation with June, Matteo and I are not experienced enough for something this important. And much as we’d like to see Sir Patty lying in a pool of his own blood, tortured and cut as we had been, my brother and I could never do to another man what had been done to us. No matter how deserving, and despite what Matteo had said to that repulsive Paulie Baldwin.
Belladonna Page 24