The Thornthwaite Betrayal

by Gareth P. Jones

  Lorelli had no desire to think about the size of her honesty pie. She said, ‘So your truth partner is a girl,’ then instantly regretted it, realising how it sounded.

  ‘Yes, but I don’t want to talk about her,’ said Adam. ‘I want to talk about … I’m trying to be honest in what I say … and that means being honest about how I feel.’ He fixed her with his gaze.

  ‘Adam, I …’ Lorelli took a small step back.

  ‘I like you, Lorelli. I just want to know how you feel about me.’

  Lorelli felt her body stiffen. She felt strangely aware of her nose. She tried to avoid Adam’s gaze but it was unavoidable. She was struck by how much he had changed. His directness unnerved her. His intensity scared her. Her own feelings terrified her.

  A Good Man

  Ovid followed Uncle Harry and Mr Farthing to the boxing room. He took the upstairs entrance while the two men went through the door on the ground floor. Ovid snuck onto the balcony, then watched as Uncle Harry sat on the side of the boxing ring and poured two glasses of wine.

  ‘That’s enough, thank you.’ Mr Farthing moved his glass away.

  Ovid shifted to get a better view. A floorboard creaked under his foot. Mr Farthing looked up at the balcony. ‘Who’s up there?’

  ‘Stop being so jumpy,’ said Uncle Harry. ‘There’s no one up there. This old wreck is full of creaks. Never mind repairing it. It would be kinder to put it out of its misery.’

  ‘I’m sorry.’ Mr Farthing took a small, cautious sip of wine. ‘You see, mine is not an entirely happy association with this old house.’

  Uncle Harry gulped from his glass. ‘Nor mine, but let’s not dwell on the past.’

  ‘I would have thought, given your situation, you would spend a great deal of time dwelling on the past.’

  ‘You’re wrong. The present is my concern. And the future.’

  ‘When do you plan on telling them the truth?’

  ‘In time.’

  ‘Why not be honest from the start?’

  ‘I’m concerned that if they do not see me as part of their future, they won’t bother with me at all. So here’s to the future, whatever it brings.’ Uncle Harry clinked glasses and downed a mouthful of wine. ‘Thank you, Bernard.’

  ‘I have done very little.’

  ‘Yes, but the twins know you, and that’s important.’

  ‘Knowing me isn’t the same as trusting me.’

  ‘Yours is the hand that drew up their parents’ will. They called you when they wanted to make an alteration. Your involvement in this affair gives them consistency and reminds them that they are in charge of their own fates.’

  ‘I suppose …’

  ‘Ovid and Lorelli can escape their fate, but they must be led gently. It must come from them. The most persuasive voice is one’s own. They must be their own liberators if they are to start a new chapter.’

  Mr Farthing took the smallest of sips from his wine glass. ‘I hope you can help them.’

  ‘So do I. Now, I should get to the dining hall. Beaufort is cooking something special tonight.’

  ‘Yes, I should get Adam out of here too. I shall send a copy of the new will to your team of lawyers.’

  ‘Thank you, Bernard.’ Uncle Harry gave his hand such a firm shake that wine splashed out of his glass.

  ‘You’re a good man, Harry Marshall,’ said Mr Farthing.

  ‘I’m trying to be,’ replied Uncle Harry.

  Incomplete Pictures

  Ovid dashed along the corridor ahead of Uncle Harry and Mr Farthing, past numerous paintings, blackened and burnt by the great fire. It felt fitting to live in a house full of incomplete pictures. Nothing was ever clear in Thornthwaite Manor. Ovid was keen to discuss what he had overheard, but as he burst into the music room Lorelli and Adam both jumped back away from each other.

  ‘Oh, sorry,’ said Ovid. ‘I didn’t mean to interrupt anything.’

  ‘You haven’t. You didn’t. What do you want?’ asked Lorelli.

  ‘There’s something Uncle Harry hasn’t told us.’

  ‘Everyone’s got something they haven’t told us,’ said Lorelli.

  ‘Doctor Mingus says we all have to be selective with what we say,’ said Adam. ‘Even when we know the truth, we can never know the whole truth. In the end, all we can do is be honest with ourselves.’

  Ovid tried to exchange a knowing glance with his sister, but she was gazing at Adam. ‘How can we be honest with ourselves when no one has ever been honest with us?’ she said.

  ‘It is possible,’ said Adam. ‘But it isn’t easy.’

  Ovid was beginning to wonder if they had even noticed him. ‘Farthing knows something that Harry hasn’t told us. What is it?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ said Adam.

  ‘Something about him not being a part of our future.’

  Adam tapped his head. ‘I don’t know.’

  ‘Don’t you?’ said Ovid.

  ‘No!’ shouted Adam, tapping faster and harder on the side of his head.

  ‘Because if you’re lying to us again …’

  ‘Leave him alone,’ said Lorelli.

  Ovid turned to look at her. Her cheeks were flushed.

  The door opened and Uncle Harry and Mr Farthing returned. ‘Everyone having fun?’ asked Uncle Harry.

  ‘Adam, it’s time to go,’ said Mr Farthing.

  ‘Yes, Father,’ said Adam timidly.

  ‘And it’s time we got to the dining room too,’ said Uncle Harry. ‘Beaufort is making something of a treat for us this evening.’

  ‘Adam, you and your father would be most welcome to stay for dinner if you like,’ said Lorelli.

  ‘I … er …’

  ‘No,’ said Mr Farthing firmly. ‘We have abused your hospitality quite enough for one day. We will take our leave.’

  ‘Besides,’ said Uncle Harry, ‘I dread to think how Beaufort would respond to two more mouths to feed. He assures me this evening’s meal is going to be something very special.’

  ‘I’ll show you out,’ said Ovid.

  ‘Goodbye, Adam,’ said Lorelli. ‘Thank you for visiting.’

  ‘Goodbye, Lorelli. It’s been … It was a …’ He tapped his head. ‘… It was good to see you.’

  Ovid led Adam and his father out of the room, and Uncle Harry turned to Lorelli. ‘Interesting boy,’ he said.

  ‘I suppose,’ said Lorelli, gathering herself. ‘I don’t really know him. Not all that well anyway. He visited with his father last year and …’

  Uncle Harry placed a hand on her shoulder. ‘I wasn’t prying,’ he said. ‘You don’t have to tell me anything you don’t want to. I want to earn your trust, but you already have mine.’

  Fish for Dinner

  As far as Hazel was concerned, Beaufort had transformed the kitchen into an exotic kingdom filled with rich aromas and endless possibilities. The hiss and steam of the frying food were like dramatic stage effects in a magic show. Beaufort didn’t make meals. He made miracles.

  Beaufort’s sporadic commentary rarely involved any specific explanations of what he was doing. Instead, it was mostly made up of obscure comments such as, ‘If you cook with your entire body, your consumers will consume with theirs,’ and, ‘A cook must be as fit as an athlete, as precise as a scientist and as subtle as the devil.’

  Hazel’s main job was to ensure he was not interrupted, so she was alarmed to feel the soft brush of Cowell’s fur against her leg. Beaufort was too busy frying fish to spot the cat. Hazel jumped off the stool and had nearly reached her tail when the door opened and Nurse Griddle stepped into the room. Beaufort threw a fish into the pan, sending clouds of steam into the atmosphere, obscuring the French cook from view. Cowell ran under a table.

  Nurse Griddle coughed and exclaimed, ‘What on earth is going on? I can’t see a thing.’

  ‘No sightseers,’ said Beaufort. ‘This is a crucial moment.’

  ‘I am no sightseer!’ cried Nurse Griddle.

  A second fish went in, c
reating more thick steam.

  From within the cloud, Beaufort cried out, ‘Madame, I do not know who you are, but now is not the time. ’Azel, do your duty.’

  ‘Oui, chef.’ Hazel was watching Cowell creeping towards the smell of frying fish.

  ‘Hazel?’ said Nurse Griddle. ‘Are you in here too?’

  ‘Yes, ma’am. It would probably be best if you left.’

  ‘Why are you letting this man order you around?’

  ‘If you please, ma’am,’ said Hazel, ‘Beaufort is an artist. He must not be distracted.’

  ‘An artist? This place is hotter than the kitchens of hell. Messier too.’

  ‘Would you judge Picasso by his studio?’ said Beaufort. ‘Would you tell Beethoven to tidy his room?’

  ‘I’m sure both those gentlemen had very good housekeepers to tidy up after them,’ replied Nurse Griddle.

  ‘Oui. And I have ’azel, except you are currently distracting her. Now, please be so kind as to leave us.’

  ‘I certainly shall. Hazel, we’re leaving.’

  ‘No.’ The word came out of Hazel’s mouth with such force that it caught her by surprise.

  The hiss of another fish hitting the frying pan hid the gasp from Nurse Griddle. ‘No? What do you mean, no?’

  ‘I mean, no,’ said Hazel.

  ‘Quite aside from the fact that I have a superior position in the house, I am your mother.’

  ‘Mrs Bagshaw is my mother. You gave me away.’ Hazel was unable to contain herself. She didn’t care about Nurse Griddle’s feelings. She only cared about Beaufort.

  ‘This is neither the time nor the place for this discussion,’ exclaimed Nurse Griddle.

  ‘I’m staying,’ said Hazel firmly.

  With all the smoke, Hazel couldn’t see Nurse Griddle, but she could tell she was angry. ‘You had better think long and hard about the decisions you make.’

  ‘I have. This is what I want,’ said Hazel.

  ‘You have made that very clear now.’ Nurse Griddle slammed the door on the way out. Hazel got back to the cat problem. Cowell was poised on her hind legs, preparing to jump up onto the counter.

  ‘Beaufort – I mean, chef …’ said Hazel.

  Her warning was cut short by a large chopping knife flying across the kitchen and landing directly in front of the cat. Cowell let out a panicked screech and scarpered from the kitchen.

  ‘You could have killed her!’ exclaimed Hazel.

  ‘Yes, my aim was a little off,’ said Beaufort.

  ‘She’s a cat.’

  ‘’Azel, a kitchen is no place for a cat. Remember, we are the top of the food chain. If it can be killed, it can be eaten. Now, go gather tonight’s audience for the performance. Tonight it is something new. Something dramatic. Tonight I will transport them to a brave new world.’

  Bring on the Darkness

  Ovid, Lorelli and Uncle Harry sat down at the dining table. Three places were set but the food was yet to arrive. Uncle Harry sipped his wine and leant back in his chair. ‘I have to say, it feels as though a weight has been lifted off my shoulders. All these years I’ve been gathering this fortune with no sense of purpose. I can die happy now that I know it’s going to my family.’

  ‘And when you do die happy we get the lot, do we?’ said Ovid.

  Uncle Harry chuckled. ‘I do hope that you’re not thinking about bumping me off for my money.’

  ‘And what if I was?’ said Ovid. ‘How would you suggest I did it? Poison your food? Or perhaps there’s an easier way to knock you off.’

  ‘Ovid,’ scolded Lorelli.

  ‘No, I’m interested,’ said Ovid.

  Uncle Harry allowed himself a smile. ‘All right, I’ll play this game. How would I kill me if I was you? Poisoning would certainly work, but I think I’d rather something a bit more dramatic. Perhaps you could tamper with the brakes in my car.’

  ‘Or trap you down a mine with a wild animal,’ said Ovid.

  Uncle Harry stared back at Ovid, unsure what to say.

  Lorelli turned to look at him too, but before he could reply Hazel entered carrying a tray with three small saucers. She placed them in front of Ovid, Lorelli and Uncle Harry. In the centre of each saucer was a small green globule on a silver spoon.

  ‘What is this?’ said Ovid.

  ‘It’s an amuse bouche,’ said Beaufort, following Hazel into the room. ‘It is a flavour to enliven your taste buds before a meal.’

  Ovid leaned over to examine it. ‘It looks like someone sneezed,’ he said.

  ‘Tonight’s meal will be presented without the distraction of vision.’

  ‘What?’ said Lorelli.

  ‘It will be eaten in the dark. Are you ready?’

  ‘Absolutely,’ said Uncle Harry. ‘Bring on the darkness.’

  Hazel switched off the light. Ovid picked up the spoon, sniffed it, then tasted its contents. As soon as it hit his taste buds it took his breath away. It was minty, sour and spicy. It was horrible. He heard Lorelli gasp and Uncle Harry cough.

  ‘What was that?’ asked Ovid.

  Beaufort’s voice spoke out of the darkness. ‘Tonight I present a story told entirely through flavour. Some stories begin with a simple footstep, some begin with a bang. This palate cleanser is the scene-setting prologue that prepares you for the narrative of this meal.’

  ‘The narrative of a meal?’ said Ovid.

  ‘Silence,’ commanded Beaufort. ‘Your taste buds are tingling. Your mouth is burning. The fire must be put out. Your next course awaits.’

  Desperate to take away the flavour, Ovid found a bowl in front of him and lifted it to drink. It was ice cold, sweet, refreshing and delicious. He devoured it and was overcome by the sensation of having jumped out of a burning building into a cold river. It was as though the image was being projected through his mouth. He had never experienced anything like it.

  He heard Lorelli sigh.

  ‘Turn the next page,’ said Beaufort.

  This time Ovid’s hand found a bread stick, but the texture and shape made him think of a wooden raft. In his mind’s eye, he had climbed out of the water onto the raft. He lay down as it carried him downstream.

  As the meal went on, Beaufort alerted them to each course and they continued to eat in silence. Ovid became further removed from his surroundings. He was immersed in the story. The raft travelled along the river, down fast-flowing rapids before the river calmed. He caught a fish and ate it raw. It was delicious, as though the river itself had seasoned and cooked it to perfection. The raft drifted to the side of the riverbank where he got off. He was alone in his story. He walked through a field of strawberries, crossed a moat and entered a grand old castle. He was thirsty. He grabbed a glass from a shelf and gulped it down. It tasted like lost memories. He went in search of someone but every room was empty. Fear entered his thoughts. How could such a large house feel so empty?

  ‘Where is everyone?’ said a voice. It was Lorelli. She must have been experiencing the same. Ovid reached out to take her hand but found an apple. He took a bite. It was the most delicious thing he had ever eaten. Tears sprang to his eyes. It tasted like freedom.

  A thud on the table brought him back to reality.

  ‘What was that?’ he asked.

  ‘Something’s wrong,’ said Lorelli.

  ‘No interruptions,’ said Beaufort.

  ‘It’s Mr Marshall,’ said Hazel. ‘He’s collapsed.’

  The lights came on suddenly and Ovid saw Uncle Harry lying face down in his food.

  Business as Usual

  When the ambulance arrived, the twins stood in the games room, watching from the window as its flashing blue lights disappeared up the driveway, carrying Uncle Harry to the hospital. It all felt like something out of a dream. Lorelli’s thoughts were muddy and confused by Beaufort’s narrative meal. Being drawn out of the story so suddenly had left her with an uncomfortable unresolved feeling. Whenever she closed her eyes, she could still picture the long corridors in the empty house.
The nagging fear that something was wrong had not yet left her.

  ‘What an eventful day it’s turned out to be,’ said Ovid.

  Lorelli turned to her brother. ‘I hardly think eventful is the right word,’ she said. ‘Harry is being rushed to hospital.’

  ‘So? It’s not my fault,’ said Ovid.

  ‘Uncle Harry collapses five minutes after you’ve brought up the idea of poisoning his food on the same night that he has put us in his will,’ said Lorelli.

  ‘What are you suggesting?’

  ‘Just tell me the truth,’ said Lorelli. ‘Did you have anything to do with this?’

  Ovid picked up a clock from the windowsill that had lost its hands in the fire. ‘This has never worked,’ he said. ‘I don’t know why we keep it.’

  ‘Because it’s always been here,’ said Lorelli. ‘Stop avoiding the question. I know the bathroom was you.’

  ‘All right, it was one of my designs,’ said Ovid, ‘but that trap was three years old. I made it in retaliation for that time you bred those poisonous toads in the pond. I’d forgotten all about it.’

  ‘I don’t believe you.’ Lorelli took the clock from Ovid and placed it back on the windowsill. ‘I think you wanted to scare off Felicia because you can’t stand me having friends.’

  ‘Friends? You don’t even like her.’

  ‘I’m not trying to kill her though.’

  ‘So you admit I’m right.’

  ‘If you admit you tried to kill her.’

  ‘Kill her?’ exclaimed Ovid. ‘I was the one who saved her life.’

  Lorelli turned to leave. ‘I don’t know what you’re up to, but I know you too well to believe anything you say.’

  Hazel stepped into the room and began to clear the table.

  ‘Hazel,’ said Lorelli. ‘Let me help.’

  ‘There’s no need, miss.’ She quickly and efficiently stacked the dishes.