A Rather Charming Invitation

by C. A. Belmond

  The man nodded, and hurried off to inform the chef; but Parker caught his arm on the way out and ordered, “Barbecued.”

  The stewards moved swiftly, as if they were feeding a lion that would devour them if he was made to wait for his food. They soon returned, bearing silver trays with enormous silver domes over them. The head steward deposited a platter heaped with ostrich steaks in front of Parker. On the other end of the table, in front of Tina, another server placed the beef. So, when Jeremy and I were politely asked by a waiter what our preference was, it was like choosing up teams in this marital boxing ring.

  Nobody chose Parker. He didn’t seem to mind in the least. As for the beefsteak, it was top quality, quite tender, perfectly cooked . . . and slathered in barbecue sauce. Tina calmly picked up her knife, with its enormous ivory handle, which had probably been yanked off some poor unsuspecting elephant’s tusk, and she scraped most of the sauce off to the side of her plate, then calmly ate.

  So, we all ate, drank and waited. The beefsteak came with baked potato and asparagus, and a good red wine from Drake’s costly cellar, much of which, I knew, he’d won at auction amid great public fanfare. But I must say that Drake was not exactly conducive to good digestion. The stewards looked extremely nervous whenever they brought something to him, always serving him first, so that he could inspect it, appraise it, then taste it, and accept or reject it. This was interspersed with rather incongruously ordinary dinner conversation that was mainly about sports, chiefly boating.

  Each time the servers brought Drake a new platter to approve, he peered at the food, still chewing the previous, with a suspicious attitude; and the momentary tension was so thick that you could have cut it with a machete. By now the staff practically tiptoed around him, for his every directive was barked like a military order. Throughout the meal, Tina just sat there and ate, and drank plenty of wine.

  Only once did Drake outright reject what he was served. It was the coffee, which he thought was too weak. Now, a man is entitled to a decent cup of coffee. However, I was truly taken aback when he expressed his displeasure thusly: “Tell that fucking sous chef I’ll tear his heart out of his chest and eat it while he watches, if he ever serves me another cup of coffee like this again.”

  It was at this pleasant juncture that Drake got the return call we’d all been waiting for. He opened his platinum, diamond-encrusted phone, and listened, then snapped it closed, turned to Jeremy and said triumphantly, “It’s done.”

  He actually smirked at my astonishment, since this whole action was, after all, designed to impress. Then he turned to Jeremy and said, with a broad sweep of his hand, “Call one of your servants at your villa, and tell them to look on your patio.”

  Whoa. This was more than creepy. Oddly enough, all I could think to say to Jeremy was, “It’s Celeste’s day off. But Rollo’s on standby.”

  “Call him,” Jeremy said quickly.

  I did. Rollo landed on the phone like a duck on a junebug. He’d taken his on-call situation very seriously. From the background noise, it sounded as if he were in his hotel bar, watching a ball game on TV. I said, “Rollo, could you go over to the villa and look out on the patio? I am told that our tapestry has been found and returned.”

  Rollo didn’t ask if I’d lost my mind. He just said quickly, “I’m on my way.”

  There was another spot of waiting, during which time Drake showed Jeremy his sailing trophies in a locked cupboard over the bar in the salon. Tina, having evidently heard these anecdotes umpteen times before, was flirting with the barman, who trotted back and forth restocking the bar. Drake did not seem to notice or care.

  I spent the time gazing out at the moon, which had just risen in a darkening blue sky over the sea, and I pretended to be utterly transported by the vista, while secretly plotting about how Jeremy and I might jump ship if this little scam of ours blew up in our face. Let’s see, I was thinking, there’s a lifeboat right out on this deck, but that will take too long, so maybe we should just grab a couple of life jackets and dog-paddle out to that yacht over there, but then what if the owner is a friend of Drake’s? Hmmm . . .

  When my phone rang, I jumped on it gratefully.

  “The deed is done,” Rollo said dramatically.

  “Rollo, is the tapestry there?” I asked.

  “It most certainly is.”

  “And is it the right one?”

  “Seems to be. I dragged it inside and unrolled it, and I’m looking at it right now.”

  I told Rollo a few identifying features of the tapestry, to be as sure as I could. Rollo, being a fanatic collector of fine antiques himself, examined it carefully as we spoke, finally convincing me that it was the real deal. “Okay,” I said. We hung up.

  I nodded to Jeremy, and, acting somewhat sorrowful, allowed him to remove three of the fake coins from my bracelet, which he then handed to Drake. The moment the coins landed in Drake’s palm, his fingers closed on them in a fist; and he actually waved his fist in the air, like a soccer player congratulating himself on a score. Then he put the coins right into his pocket.

  But there was still something in his smile that chilled my blood. He was staring at the remaining two coins on my bracelet.

  “What a shame to break up the set,” Drake said. “I really should have all five of them.”

  I felt the pit of my stomach go cold. Drake’s tone had a new menacing quality that I didn’t care for. Furthermore, he must have pressed a button somewhere under the bar or table, because suddenly, four very thuggy-looking guys appeared on deck. From their thick, muscular bodies, pugnacious stance and tough faces, I knew perfectly well why they’d been summoned. I stifled a gasp when I saw that, under their jackets, each man wore a holster with a scary-looking gun. I mean, they were carrying firearms, for God’s sake. I felt suddenly paralyzed with terror, and, for the first time, I really believed that this night could end badly.

  But I have no idea what Drake actually meant to do, because, at this fortuitous moment, I heard a distant bell. Actually, it was not so distant. It was quite close, coming from a boat that was bearing down on us. It rang its bell again, and this time, we all went out on deck.

  “Who the hell is that?” Drake demanded.

  I felt a surge of relief, and wondered if I was seeing a mirage. Yet, there it was, with its name clearly visible. Penelope’s Dream. And there was our captain Claude, waving at us. And, zipping ahead of it, I now saw, was our little motorized lifeboat, chugging determinedly toward us with all good speed, piloted by Gerald, a member of our crew.

  Drake’s men moved forward, as if ready to spring into anti-pirate action, but Jeremy said, loudly and commandingly, “Hold it! Those men are with me.”

  As the launch came pulling up alongside us, Gerard beamed a searchlight our way, and called out loudly and briskly, “Mr. Laidley, sir. You and Miss Nichols are late for your engagement tonight.”

  Gerard is a big beefy Welshman with numerous tattoos on his enormous arms. You don’t mess with a fellow like him. Meanwhile, the rest of our crew stood on the deck of our yacht, watching closely. One of them had a pair of binoculars trained on us. The tense, alert body language of our crew indicated that they’d be happy to fire cannons if necessary. Not that we had one. A cannon, I mean.

  So, for a moment, we were all at an impasse. Drake and Jeremy were staring at each other, and everyone else watched and waited. Drake’s men glanced at him uncomfortably, as if awaiting his orders. Drake, still in the glare of Gerald’s spotlight, seemed to recognize his conspicuous position. He turned to Jeremy, with that gambler’s gleam in his eye.

  “My three against your two. High card takes all,” Drake said challengingly. He signalled a steward. “Get a fresh deck,” he ordered, and the guy hopped-to.

  I couldn’t believe it. Here was a master of the universe, standing on the deck of the biggest yacht in Monte Carlo, with the world at his command, and a stash that would make King Midas weep—and yet, at that moment, he seemed completely blind to ev
erything that he had. All he could see were the two coins that I possessed, and he didn’t; and he was acting like a man who felt really, truly poor and deprived. Apparently nothing would console him, until he got his hands on those remaining two coins. His face was calm enough, but I could see the veins in his neck standing out.

  So, when his steward appeared with a brand- new deck sealed in cellophane, and broke it open, and laid it on a small table, Drake gestured toward Jeremy to cut the deck. Jeremy glanced down at it, feigned hesitation, then reached for the cards, and cut them to reveal the Jack of Hearts. Drake sprang forward, cut the remaining cards, and drew the Ace of Spades.

  He stared triumphantly at Jeremy, who looked furious but trapped, like a guy who can’t renege on a bet in front of all the other guys. I must say that Jeremy’s acting was superb. Because, as he later told me, thanks to Rollo’s coaching, Jeremy had spotted that the so-called “fresh” deck of cards was a marked deck. So he knew that Drake couldn’t lose. But of course, it was all part of the game.

  Drake held out his hand to me. I took the last two coins off the bracelet, and dropped them in his eager palm. “Let’s go,” Jeremy said shortly. Gratefully, I scampered over to where Gerald was waiting, his hand extended to help me down into our little launch. Jeremy was right behind me.

  “Wait, Penny,” said a female voice unexpectedly. I looked back, and saw a figure move behind Drake. It was Tina. She had drunk quite a lot today, and it hadn’t made her tipsy, exactly, but she seemed to take a defiant pose. She was holding her pashmina shawl and a purse. “Can you drop me ashore?” she asked. She turned to Parker. “I have guests waiting for me,” she said casually.

  Drake glanced at her, then shrugged indifferently. So Tina climbed in, and Gerard expertly turned the launch around and headed away from Drake’s Jackpot.

  “Where to, sir?” Gerard asked Jeremy.

  “Drop us ashore in Monte Carlo so I can pick up the car. It’ll be faster,” Jeremy replied.

  Tina took out a tiny gold phone decorated with silver starfish, and I heard her telling her chauffeur to be ready for her. Under the noise of the motor, I whispered to Jeremy, “How did Claude happen to—?”

  “I told him to bring the yacht to Monaco, stay close enough, and await my instructions,” Jeremy explained. “Then, I sent him an e-mail—Go!—as soon as Drake returned the tapestry.”

  The rest of the ride to shore was utterly speechless, until the little motorboat slowed as it pulled into the harbor, reached the dock and we began to disembark. I had been studying Tina through lowered lashes so she wouldn’t notice, and I was wondering just one thing: Had she actually been fooled by the fake Lunaire charms?

  Tina spotted her waiting limousine, but then she turned to me, as if she’d read my thoughts. With a gleam of satisfaction in her eye, she said in an amused, knowing way, “So Parker has the Lunaire coins, huh? Or does he?”

  All I could say was, “Why—?”

  “I wasn’t sure if they were real,” she replied. “But after Parker gambled away my necklace, well, that was the last straw. It means he’s done with me. So, for once I felt like watching somebody else cheat him.” As I digested this bit of news, she smiled. “Besides,” she said daringly, “I’ll soon need all the friends I can get. I’m betting you’d make a good one.”

  Jeremy had come to my side. “Wait,” I said to Tina. I turned to Jeremy, and said to him, “Please let’s give Tina back her necklace.”

  Jeremy reached into the pouch, pulled it out and handed it to her.

  “Thanks,” she said casually, as if I’d just handed her a favorite candy bar.

  And away went Tina, in a cloud of memorable perfume.

  Chapter Forty-three

  “Thank heaven it’s you!” Rollo exclaimed, pointing his flashlight at us when we entered the darkened dining room where the tapestry was laid out on the floor. Rollo was sitting beside it in the shadows, like a loyal guard dog. He had helped himself to Jeremy’s favorite cognac; the bottle stood on a small side table, and was considerably depleted. Rollo held a big snifter in one hand, and a large, heavy flashlight in the other, brandishing it like a weapon.

  “When I heard the car, I doused the lights and feared the worst,” Rollo explained, as Jeremy switched on the overhead light. “Thought old Drake had sent someone to dispense with me and the damned rug. Drink, old boy?” Jeremy nodded.

  Rollo grinned, handed Jeremy a snifter, then said affably, “Care for a drop, Penny dear?”

  “Sure,” I said, feeling suddenly weak-kneed. I sat down and sighed in relief. But every time a twig snapped outside or an owl hooted, I jumped. I actually shivered when I said, “I can’t believe the thuggy way Drake delivered it.”

  “Never mind,” Jeremy said. “We’ve got to move fast now. Let’s examine every stitch of this tapestry.”

  First, I checked on its condition. Mercifully, it did not appear damaged by the theft, although it was a little dustier. I was hugely relieved, as if a long- lost friend had been rescued from ransom. This mysterious gift had taken me on quite a bumpy ride, as if Jeremy and I had endured some mythological “trial” to test our love. We must have come through it somehow, for now, gazing at its images, I experienced a strong, authentic kinship.

  “Come on, fellas,” I said briskly, emerging from the spell. “Let’s find out what this tapestry wants us to know.” I shuffled through my notes.

  I’d always been bothered by the fact that the groom was marching ahead, without so much as a backward glance to his bride. It reminded me of myths of doom and superstition that I didn’t want to have on my wedding tapestry, so I had averted my eyes without even realizing it. Now I gave it all a good, hard look.

  “Drink deep from the well of life,” I murmured, looking at the lower cartouche. I handed Rollo the translation of the Latin that Jeremy had made, so that Rollo could keep up with us, as I studied it anew.

  “Strange,” I said. “While that Latin proverb on the bottom certainly seems like advice to the groom, he actually isn’t on the same horizontal layer as the water-well. The well is in the line above him, so maybe he’s on his way there.”

  “And treasure a faithful wife,” Rollo read aloud.

  “Treasure,” I repeated. “Dowry, from a faithful wife.”

  “Well, one thing we do know is that the Lunaire gold isn’t in the well,” Jeremy noted wryly. “So why did Armand even bother to mention the well in the Latin proverb?” He was gazing at our notes and pictures from the Bridal Car in the restaurant, with the design of the original top border of the tapestry. “What’s my translation of the Latin in the top cartouche, Rollo?” he asked.

  “Follow the man that you have wed,” Rollo continued reading aloud.

  I stared at the young groom, and I followed the gesture of his outstretched arm. He was scattering some sort of petals on the ground, as if to perfume and soften the path that his bride would follow. This was something new to me, because I had not been able to see these delicate petals in my photos. With all the other insets and images on the tapestry to distract the eye, the scattered petals looked no more significant than fallen leaves.

  But now, gazing at the fine detailing in the actual tapestry, I noticed that these flower petals were violet, with green leaves, all flecked with gold and silver thread, resembling the petals of the violet-and-green moonwort in the borders.

  Even more interesting, the petals were not simply scattered in the same straight line as the groom’s horizontal row of the procession. Instead, as I traced the petals, I realized that they fell on a diagonal line that cut across all the other horizontal rows stacked beneath. Starting from the lower right corner of the tapestry—where the newlyweds’ house was—the petals traced a path climbing upward diagonally to the left, crossing into the bride’s layer, at her feet, continuing upward to the groom’s layer above her, where he was slightly to the left, scattering them. If you extended the diagonal line beyond the petals, it led you to the well, where the groom was presumably
heading. But why?

  “Petals,” I said, pointing. “On the ground. See? It’s moonwort. Going on a diagonal line from the lower right to the upper left.” Jeremy peered at it.

  “Your home behind, your path ahead,” Rollo continued.

  “Aha!” Jeremy exclaimed.

  “What—what?” I cried.

  “Your home behind—didn’t you say the gazebo is now standing where the newlyweds’ house once was?” he demanded.

  “Yes,” I answered.

  “It’s directions,” Jeremy said triumphantly. “There’s the home—the house—and it’s below, therefore behind them, they’ve passed it. The tapestry-maker is giving his daughter the path to follow.”

  “But if all it does is lead to the well, it’s a dead end, right?” I asked.

  “Wrong,” Jeremy said excitedly, “because ‘drink deep from the well of life’—only tells you which direction to strike out in. It’s not the final destination. Don’t you see, he’s saying, if you stand with your back to the house, and you aim yourself in the direction of the well, and go ahead of it—because of ‘the path ahead’—that’s where they will find the treasure! If you extend the diagonal line beyond the well, look where it lands.” He traced it with his finger—and stopped at the “J.L.” circlet of the Lunaire gold.

  “Ohmigosh!” I cried. I had goose-bumps now.

  “But how far ahead of the well?” Rollo asked pragmatically. “We need feet or yards, man!”

  “True,” Jeremy admitted. “It’s a big field. And there are absolutely no numbers on this thing.”

  Yes, there was still something crucial that we were missing, we all knew this. But what? It had to be right under our eyes, a number, a direction, something . . . I could feel it. Like the game we played when we were kids, searching for hidden treasure; the person who’d hidden it would only say, “You’re warm” if you were near, or, “You’re cold” if you were too far away. We were burning hot, I just knew it.