by Josh Lanyon
“Anything,” Miles said, relieved that there appeared to be no hard feelings. “Whatever you want.”
Oliver gave a short laugh. “You always were too eager to please. But I wouldn’t repeat that to Lin, if I were you.”
The too-eager-to-please comment smarted a little, though there was probably truth to it. Miles had wanted Oliver and Linley—particularly Linley—to like him. But he kept his expression neutral and said, “No? Why not?”
“You know Lin. Give him an inch, and he’ll have a mile-long moving van parked in the front drive.”
“Ah.” Miles smiled doubtfully. He had never thought of Linley as particularly materialistic, but then ten years ago he had not been much of a judge of character. “How is Lin?”
“Same as always.”
“Sure. Right.” Miles had no idea what that meant.
The brothers had always seemed more like amicable neighbors than kith and kin. Granted, not having any siblings had given Miles a probably unrealistic idea of what that relationship should be like.
Oliver’s smile was quizzical. “You used to be afraid of him, didn’t you?”
“Lin?” Miles was startled. “No.”
Oliver continued to smile.
“Intimidated maybe.” The truth was, he’d had a ferocious crush on Linley, which had made him shy and self-conscious. And Lin, sharp-tongued and casually brusque, had been more intimidating than Oliver. Even as a teenager there had been something avuncular about Oliver.
Whereas Lin…
Suffice it to say, his instinctive reaction to Linley Palmer had been part of what helped nine-year-old Miles figure out he might be gay.
“Okay,” Oliver said, clearly unconvinced.
The lighthearted notes of the music playing in the background caught his attention. It sounded Irish, though the words were in French.
“That’s nice. What is it?” Miles asked.
Oliver listened for a moment, made a face. “‘Et l’on n’y peut rien.’”
“Ah.” Miles’s French was not up to much.
“It means: and there’s nothing one can do about it. It’s kind of a love song, I guess.”
Eager to change the subject, Miles cast around in his brain for a new topic and remembered the strange events of the previous evening. Now that he knew Oliver was okay—or at least had come to terms with the idea of his inheriting Capucine’s house, he didn’t mind admitting that he’d climbed over the fence to prowl around the courtyard.
He told Oliver the whole story, and when he got to the part about thinking he saw a face in the upstairs window, Oliver started to laugh.
“My God. That had to be Agathe.”
“Who?”
“Agathe Dube. She’s since your time. She was Mother’s housekeeper. In theory. According to the will, she goes with the house, though I believe you have the option of buying her out. Old Thibault will explain everything in exhaustive detail on Monday, I have no doubt.”
“Well, but why wouldn’t she answer the door, then?”
“She lives in fear of being raped and murdered.” Oliver seemed to find this amusing too. “She spends all her free time watching gruesome true-crime shows, so she won’t answer the door after the sun goes down.”
“That’s…”
“I know.” Oliver shook his head. “The irony is the only real criminal she’s ever met is her son, Erwan. He’s been in and out of prison his entire life.”
“Is he in or out now?”
“No idea.”
“Because that wasn’t the only weird thing.” Miles told Oliver about phoning the house after his return to his hotel and hearing the stranger on the other end claim to be Miles Tuesday.
Oliver looked taken aback. “You can’t have heard right.”
“I know it sounds nuts, but that’s what happened.”
“You must have automatically given your name, and you just don’t remember.”
“I’m sure I didn’t.”
He must have sounded sure, because Oliver looked thoughtful.
“And if it did happen that way, why would the guy have hung up on me?” Miles pressed.
“Good question.” Oliver frowned, and then his expression cleared. “Why don’t we go find out?”
“Go—? What do you mean?”
“Let’s get this cleared up now. Let’s go to the house and see who’s there with Agathe. If it’s Erwan—” Oliver looked grim.
Was it possible it could be this easy? “I don’t have a key,” Miles reminded him. “I don’t officially take possession until Monday.”
“I have a key. So does Lin, for that matter. Anyway, Agathe will let me in. I can introduce you to her. In fact, you could move out of your hotel and into the house tonight, if you like.”
Miles’s heart seemed to rise like an air balloon slipping its moorings. “Really? Are you sure? Isn’t that liable to violate some legal clause?”
“What legal clause?” Oliver seemed amused. “The house is yours. Lin and I aren’t going to contest Mother’s will. Even if we wanted to, the will is perfectly valid. Mother was of sound mind. Everything was signed, dated, and witnessed.” He shrugged.
It sounded like Oliver and Lin had done some double-checking on that score, and Miles’s pleasure faded. But after all, it was reasonable they might have questioned the validity of Capucine’s will. No matter how good a sport someone was, they were bound to feel a twinge or two at handing over nine million dollars to a stranger.
“If you’re sure it’s no trouble,” Miles said.
“No trouble at all,” Oliver assured him. He winked. “Besides, you’ve got me curious. I still like a good mystery.”
Chapter Three
The sun had at last boldly ventured forth by the time Miles and Oliver arrived at the gate of 13 Place Braeside. The brass tips of the black gate gleamed like spear points in the autumn sunshine.
Oliver hit a button on his key fob, the gate glided smoothly open, and they zipped through to the grand exterior courtyard, parking in front of the natural wood doors of the garage.
“Home sweet home.” Oliver turned off the engine of his black Mercedes and smiled at Miles.
Miles smiled back. He felt a little awkward again, remembering that this had previously been Oliver’s home sweet home.
They got out, looked around. Sunlight through the trees cast lacy shadows across the warm stone walls and windows. The drying puddles reflected glints of pink and green light as they walked across the bricks to the blue-black paving slabs leading to the massive custom-made double wood doors beyond.
Overhead, drapes were still drawn, no lights shone, no smoke drifted from the chimneys; in daylight the quiet seemed ordinary, expected.
“The roof’s still in good shape,” Oliver observed. “You’re lucky there.”
“It all feels lucky to me,” Miles said.
Oliver’s laugh was brief. “We’ll see if you still feel the same at tax time.”
They reached the arched entrance. Oliver rang the bell. And, like the evening before, nothing happened.
Oliver rang again, sighed. “That’s what I thought. Agathe is almost completely deaf.” He took out his keys, hesitated. “Would you like to do the honors?”
“No, go ahead,” Miles said quickly.
Oliver inserted his key in the lock, pushed the door open, and stood back for Miles to enter.
Miles gulped. It was like gazing into the past—or a dream. He could see through the vestibule to the foyer with its ten-foot ceiling, Harrogate black-and-cream marble floor, and the white fireplace with its long, ornately carved mantel.
Nothing had changed.
Two Empire style chairs in black and white stripes sat before the fireplace on a red and blue Persian Heriz rug, a round giltwood table with ball and claw feet positioned between. Over the fireplace hung a large gilt-framed painting of red roses in a blue vase. The painting was flanked on either side by ormolu and crystal twin-branch wall appliqués.
No, ac
tually something had changed. In the old days a pair of blue and white ginger jars with a phoenix motif had rested on either end of the fireplace mantel. They were gone now.
No doubt many things were gone now—including Capucine.
“Is it like you remember?” Oliver asked.
“It’s exactly like I remember.”
Oliver smiled faintly. “Agathe’s quarters are this way. Come on.”
Miles followed him down the gleaming hallway, past the graceful, curving Spanish style marble staircase—trying not to stare when he remembered this was where Capucine had fallen to her death—past inlaid doors and ordinary doors, and many, many paintings. Some by famous painters and some by nobodies like Miles.
Capucine had considered herself an art connoisseur. The house was filled with her acquisitions. Linley had held a different view of her “expert eye,” but then, as Miles knew firsthand, teenagers were naturally sarcastic smart-asses.
They went through the conservatory with its shining black-and-white check marble floor and delicately arched ceiling to the enormous old-fashioned kitchen, passed the tall frosted glass doors of the pantry and reached the servants’ hall, where they could hear a TV blasting from several doors down.
“Hikers discovered the nude body of a young woman lying on the rocks below the cliff…” shouted the program announcer.
“Yikes,” said Miles.
“Agathe?” called Oliver. “Are you here? You’ve got company! Agathe?”
The TV volume cut off sharply. A door at the end of the hall creaked opened, and a stout middle-aged woman with tortoiseshell-framed glasses and hennaed hair warily poked her head out.
“Mr. Oliver? Is that you?”
“It’s me,” Oliver said. “With your new lord and master.”
“Don’t say that,” Miles protested.
Agathe took a cautious step out of her room, peering down the hall at them. She wore a shapeless gray skirt, a white blouse beneath a baggy gray sweater, black low-heeled shoes, and a long rope of pearls. “What’s that you say?”
“This is Miles Tuesday,” Oliver told her. “Mother left him the house.”
Agathe didn’t exactly hiss, but she was clearly not overwhelmed with joy at the sight of Miles. She scowled, still peering nearsightedly at them. “From America?”
“That’s right. All the way from California. That was Miles here last night. You should have answered the doorbell.”
“No one rang last night.”
By then they had reached Agathe. Miles took note of her hearing aid. He offered his hand, raising his voice, “It’s very nice to meet you, Agathe.”
Agathe looked at Miles, looked at Oliver, and finally, reluctantly, shook hands.
“You’ll have to get the girls back,” she announced. “I’m too old to manage this house on my own. I’m a housekeeper, not a maid.”
“Oh. Uh, right.” Miles gave Oliver a doubtful look.
“Now, there’s no need to go into all that this minute,” Oliver said. “Miles is—”
“He can’t get rid of me. It’s in Madame’s will. I can live here as long as I like.” Agathe glared at Miles.
“No one’s trying to get rid of you.”
“What?”
Miles called, “I promise I don’t have any plan to get rid of you.” He was sort of sorry for her—and sort of alarmed by her.
“Not yet you don’t.”
Oliver laughed. “You didn’t make a very good impression last night, that’s for sure.”
Agathe looked genuinely baffled. She returned to her point of grievance. “Dusting and vacuuming. Light housework. I don’t cook for anyone but Madame. I don’t—”
“That’s all right. I’m used to cooking and cleaning up after myself,” Miles said.
“What?”
He said loudly, “You don’t have to worry about—”
“So you think you don’t need me!”
This lady was a real character. He couldn’t wait to tell Robin about her.
“Okay, Agathe,” Oliver intervened. “Settle down. Miles is familiar with the terms of the will.”
Well, not really. And he couldn’t say that the news he’d be sharing the house with Agathe Dube was great to hear. But one thing at a time.
Miles said, “Not at all. I only mean I’ll try not to add to your workload.”
Agathe’s expression was skeptical.
“Do you have someone staying with you?” Oliver asked.
Agathe’s skepticism gave way to instant defensiveness. “Who? Who do I know with time to waste visiting?”
“What about Erwan? Is he around much?”
“No.” Behind the thick glasses, her pale eyes were hostile. “Mr. Linley said he wasn’t allowed here anymore.”
Oliver looked unimpressed. “Miles says he phoned the house last night and a man answered.”
“No one phoned this house.” The look she threw Miles said plainly that this was all his fault.
“Are you sure you would have heard with the television on?” Oliver asked.
“Of course I’m sure.”
“You didn’t hear the doorbell.”
Miles was starting to wish Oliver would drop it. He knew he was not mistaken about phoning the house, but it was equally clear that this line of questioning was not winning him brownie points with Agathe.
Agathe said sullenly, “There must be something wrong with the doorbell.”
Oliver glanced at Miles, and Miles gave a slight shake of his head. Let it go.
“All right,” Oliver said. “Miles is going to move his things from his hotel and stay here tonight. So don’t be alarmed if—”
“Tonight?”
“Is there some reason he shouldn’t stay here tonight?”
She shook her head reluctantly. Said again to Miles, “I don’t cook. You’ll have to get your own meals.”
“Yes, I understand. I don’t expect you to cook for me.”
“There’s nothing ready. I wasn’t expecting you until Monday.”
“That’s all right. I can fend for myself.”
Oliver said in the tone of one fast losing patience, “We’re just letting you know what’s happening, Agathe. This is Miles’s home now. He can come and go as he pleases. The smart thing for you to do is try to make yourself useful.”
Miles winced. Oliver had always seemed so tactful, but maybe that had just been in comparison to Linley and Capucine. Or maybe Agathe was enough to aggravate even the most patient person. He was definitely getting that impression.
Agathe looked both angry and frightened. She said haughtily, “That may be, but I’m not on the clock until Monday.” She turned and stomped her way down the hall to her room, went inside, and slammed shut the door. From inside her quarters, the volume of the TV instantly rose to wall-shaking levels.
“…of a woman, and a block of cement. The body was examined by the coroner…”
Oliver’s smile was wry. “So that’s Agathe. Don’t ask why Mother was so fond of her. It’s a mystery to me. Mother always loved to swoop in and rescue people, whether they needed rescuing or not.”
Interesting. Did Oliver see Miles as fitting into the needed-rescuing category? That was certainly not how Miles saw himself. Just because he wasn’t rich didn’t mean he was circling the drain.
“I will say Agathe was devoted to her. Anyway, I believe her when she says she didn’t hear the phone or the doorbell. I’m not so sure that Erwan hasn’t been lurking around the place, but if he is, that will stop once you’re on the premises. He’s a sneak and a thief, but he’s not dangerous. Shall we go get your things? Or has Agathe scared you off?”
Agathe was definitely a fly in the ointment, but nothing could dim Miles’s joy. The house was even more beautiful than he remembered, and this was the first day of the rest of his life.
“Let’s go get my stuff,” he said.
***
It took very little time to throw a few scattered items into his mostly still pack
ed suitcases and pay his hotel bill. At Oliver’s suggestion they stopped to pick up a few groceries at Metro Westmount, and then they returned to Braeside.
“I feel like I’m taking up your whole day,” Miles apologized as they wound back up the tree-lined drive to Braeside.
“Not at all. I’m enjoying myself. It’s nice knowing the house is going to someone who’ll love it as Mother did. When those front doors opened and I saw your face…” Oliver’s smile was wry. “She’d be very happy to know her gift was so well received.”
“Well received? She changed my life,” Miles said simply.
“Were you so unhappy at home?”
“No, not at all. I was happy enough.” Miles considered that. “I mean, I wasn’t dissatisfied, because it never occurred to me I had other options, but I always felt like there should be more, that it wasn’t how I had pictured my life, that maybe I shouldn’t have given up so easily.”
“Given what up?”
“Just…dreams.”
Oliver made a sound of amusement. “I forget how young you are.”
Now there was a bucket of cold water. Miles changed the subject.
“How did Capucine’s accident happen? Monsieur Thibault only told me she fell down the stairs.”
Oliver’s smile faded. “That’s all we know. She was in perfectly good health. No problems with her heart. She didn’t have a stroke. It seems she just lost her balance and fell. Those marble steps…” He shook his head.
Yes, iron railings and fifty marble steps meant a tumble down that staircase was not going to end well for anyone.
“Was it at night? Was anyone around?”
“It was a Friday night. Lin found her. He had planned to stay over. He does—did—occasionally just to keep her company. He had dinner with friends and then arrived at the house after midnight and found her.”
“That’s awful.”
Oliver nodded absently. “Yes. They always fought like hell, but I think he was very fond of her.”