Barbara Silkstone - Wendy Darlin 02 - London Broil Read online

  “This is where Samuel does his magic.” He waved his hand as we entered the kitchen, which reeked of curry. “I believe centuries from now, when archaeologists discover my house under cities of the future… the scent of curry will still be in these walls.” He laughed.

  “It does sort of bowl one over, doesn’t it?”

  Benny leaned over and whispered, “I must caution you. Samuel makes a curry stew every morning. There’s no escaping the smell.” He edged me into the hall, pulling the door closed. “We must be kind to Samuel. He’s very sensitive and very devoted. He’s been with me since I arrived in England, my constant companion. When we first met, he was a research assistant at the British Museum. Now he is my houseman, my chauffeur, bodyguard, and good friend.”

  “In other words, don’t say anything about the smell of the curry.”

  He smiled. “Exactly.”

  “I could show you the wine cellar,” he pointed to a wooden door on our left, “but it’s dark and tomb-like, I’m uneasy down there. Shall we go upstairs?” I led and he followed up the ornate staircase.

  We visited each room, ending on the sixth level. Benny’s bedroom took up the entire top floor of the townhouse. The walls were painted a tranquil shade of green… celadon. The woodwork was a rich cherry. There was a Persian rug in shades of tea and ivory in the entryway, and in front of the fireplace was a leopard skin with vivid black and tan spots. Ming Dynasty animal sculptures stood alert on the mantel. The walls held two paintings by Klee, one of Manet’s earlier portraits, and a single Gauguin. There was a lily motif mirror crafted in bronze and copper above the dry sink. On the night table next to his bed, a framed photo of the Hannah family history was captured. The sepia picture showed a group of young boys gathered in front of a concrete building built in a Moorish style.

  Benny touched the picture. “My brothers,” he said, hesitating. He looked around the room. “My collection is now my world, small and contained. I prefer to travel in my imagination. I found real places to be exhausting, dangerous, and frequently disappointing. That’s why I surround myself with things of beauty and travel no more.”

  When we came upon a panther skin in the back hall on the first floor, I found my voice again. The words just popped out of my mouth. “Did you… kill all these animals?”

  He looked down at the black fur hide beneath his feet. “It is against my beliefs to take a life… except for revenge. Over the years, I’ve discovered the remains of many poor creatures in my travels. Because they died before their time, their souls can never be at peace, but at least I’ve given their bodies a comfortable resting place.”

  “Doesn’t it disturb you to surround yourself with all this death?”

  “Would it not be much worse to know the remains of these creatures are under the feet of someone who has no compassion for the loss of their lives?”

  “I understand. It upsets me to see them, but I get it.”

  “Death is the sad conclusion to life. And frequently death is violent.”

  My host walked me to my bedroom door. “One of the great joys in talking with you has been the reward of experiencing your intelligence. I was always taught that empathy is a quality of an intelligent mind, and humor the intelligent soul. You have both in abundance.” He bent and kissed my hand. “I’d like to take you to dinner tomorrow, if that pleases you.”

  “But Roger…”

  “Our partner in reuniting the Lost Boys won’t be back in old Blighty until the day after tomorrow, at the earliest. We’ll dine at the Savoy Grill tomorrow at nine. But I’ll see you in the morning. Sleep late if it pleases you. Lock your door.”

  Chapter 8

  I woke the next morning to the smell of curry. Not quite the same wake-up scent as a sea breeze in Miami. Slipping into a pair of flowing trousers and a tank top, the one summer-weight outfit in my huge bag, I followed the spicy aroma to the kitchen. There was an underlying scent that had my mouth watering… popcorn?

  The house was quiet. There was a Krups coffee maker on the counter next to a cup and saucer. I poured the freshly brewed coffee, sipped off a little, and added some cream. The birds in the garden were singing in a happy chorus. I wandered outside, wondering where on the globe Roger was at the moment and when I would feel his arms around me again.

  A path led through the garden, toward a small, quaint sitting area. I wandered in that direction. It was still cool. The mist was just lifting, struggling against the heat that was dropping like a curtain on London. Benny’s garden was a traditional English delight with delicate roses in shades of pink, coral, and yellow. A collage of flowers: lilies of the valley, violets, and forget-me-nots danced along the white pavers that wound away from the house and disappeared past an arbor covered in graceful ivy.

  Honk! Honk!

  I jumped three feet in the air, splashing my coffee down the front of my trousers. Pale pink silk… ruined. Two giant grey birds with yellow beaks careened by me and toward the kitchen door. They were at least three feet tall and balanced on paddle-size yellow feet. My hands were shaking from the poultry surprise.

  Samuel stood at the kitchen door laughing as the morning sun bounced off his high ebony cheekbones. He was holding a big bowl of popcorn. He lifted his hand level with his head and then moved it in a circular motion. The geese danced round like bottom-heavy ballerinas. Each spun on one foot, bumping into the other and barely retaining their balance. I applauded with delight even as I marveled at the quirks of life that brought me to this garden in south London to watch a pair of overweight birds dance for popcorn. Heck, I’d dance for popcorn… if it were buttered.

  Benny was at my side. I hadn’t heard him approach. He grinned as he nodded toward Samuel. “That’s Hildy and Holly our watch-geese. They honk to warn us of strangers and then show up at exactly eight every morning for their popcorn and peanuts. They are two spoiled birds who thoroughly dominate my bodyguard. They only perform for him. Shall we walk?”

  My host led me through his miniature wonderland. I breathed in the fragrance of the flowers. Sprawling greenery spilled across the pavers. Something smelled like herbal shampoo. I glanced down and saw clusters of mint and rosemary brushing up against a tiny stone gnome about eight inches tall with a funny flat face. The little figure seemed to be smiling at me, sharing a secret. The garden was romance and mystery. And that brought Roger to my mind.

  Benny motioned to a weathered teak bench nestled in the shade of a small willow tree. “Let’s enjoy the morning before the heat spoils it.”

  I sat next to him, wondering what Roger was doing.

  “May I intrude on your thoughts?”

  He didn’t wait for my answer. “You care about Roger. You’re thinking about him now.”

  How could this stranger see into the recesses of my heart?

  “Our dear friend wouldn’t be pleased I was sharing this information with you, but I feel there is a special connection there.” He put his hand over mine. “I’d be remiss if I did not tell you that you are not hiding your feelings very well.”

  I shook my head.

  “No. This is a good thing. Dr. Roger Jolley needs someone to care about him. The man takes too many risks and his heart is too soft. He often takes in strays to his detriment. He needs someone to say ‘no’ for him.”

  “I’m sure he’s just pursuing his passion.”

  “Or is his passion pursuing him?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I’ll tell you only because I sense you care about him, and you will need to know what pushes him to extremes to bring back lost treasures. He can become obsessed with answering the prayers of those who’ve lost something of great value.”

  I felt like a traitor letting Roger’s client talk behind his back. And yet… I did want to know. In many ways, Dr. Roger Jolley was an enigma.

  A deep breath escaped Benny’s lips, “When Roger was not quite ten years old, his baby brother was kidnapped. The child was never found.”

  “Oh… no!” />
  Benny touched my hand, taking it in his own. “He’s on a constant quest, but it’s not always about an antiquity. And so, my dear, if at times he’s cavalier and irritating, it’s an act, a shield. What he really needs is one person to be there for him to add balance to his life. Perhaps that is you. Look after each other.”

  Two butterflies played tag in a patch of lavender and clover, oblivious to a wren stalking them from the perch of a tiny birdhouse. There was a lump in my throat. I changed the subject.

  “Oh dear!” Benny muttered.

  “What?” I turned my head in the direction he was looking.

  “My shrubberies have all but died off. Look at them. The heat has killed them.” He pointed to a bank of browned bushes that clung to the townhouse and traveled on a trellis up to the bedroom windows.

  “When I first bought this house, the grounds were in a state of neglect and disrepair. This patch of land has become my refuge, my garden of constant surprises.” He shook his head. “How sad. I tried so hard and still my plants are dying.”

  “This heat wave has to pass,” I said as I studied the wisteria and jasmine struggling to climb from the house and travel the brick wall that enclosed the yard. I noticed a heavy padlock on the small service gate at the rear of the garden. “What’s that little cottage in the corner?” I pointed to a tiny shed.

  Benny smiled. “That pretty little place is my hideout. On cool days, I go there to be alone and putter with my pots and soil. It’s a gardener’s shed for tools, plant food, and paint. I’m planning on painting those tiny fences around the gnome’s flower bed as soon as the heat wave ends.” He stood and extended his hand to me. “I have some business to attend to in my library. Will you be able to occupy yourself?”

  “Well…” I hesitated. “I’d like to call Roger.”

  He touched the tip of my nose. “Silly girl. Even as we speak he is racing back from Cairo to be at your side and to retrieve the thirteenth Boy. Now make yourself comfortable. My house is your house. I’ll set our dinner reservations for nine. Enjoy your day.”

  Hildy and Holly came running as Benny stood. The fowl beggars were almost as tall as he. I looked at their nippy yellow beaks.

  “Can I make them dance?”

  He laughed. “They only dance for Samuel. But you can try.”

  I followed close behind my host as he shooed the geese till we made it back into the kitchen. We surprised Samuel who was standing near the stove, hips wiggling and hands clapping in the air as he danced to funky cymbal music. I smiled at him, but he looked away appearing embarrassed.

  “Samuel, our guest would like to try to make Hildy and Holly dance for popcorn.”

  “Miss, they may attack rather than dance. They are stubborn birds.” He filled a small bowl with popcorn and handed it to me.

  The geese were on me in a flash. I held my arms high, standing on tiptoe, and moved the bowl in a circle. They stopped trying to pull it from my hands and instead turned in circles. I laughed with delight. The small bowl went quickly and the dance was short.

  “All gone,” I turned the bowl over so they could see I wasn’t holding out on them. Their yellowish webbed feet stepped all over my shoes, and they came in closer, pushing their heads against me like dogs, almost knocking me over.

  Benny was smiling. “That’s the first time they’ve taken to anyone. Well done!”

  “That was fun. I’m going to run upstairs now. Thank you, Samuel.”

  In my room, I grabbed my phone and dialed Roger, again. What good was there in having an archaeologist on speed dial if you couldn’t call him? Three times I tried to reach Roger Jolley, and three times I got the same recording of a computerized voice saying the connection was unable to be completed. I was on my own.

  Chapter 9

  I frittered the day away looking through antiquities books in Benny’s library until it was time to get dressed for the evening. I showered, then towel-dried my hair and applied illuminating cream to brighten it. It always gets dry on long flights. I twisted it at the nape of my neck and held it with a few pins.

  Slipping into a little black Lady Dior dress with a bow at the chest, I carried a Hermes Kelly bag I’d bought with part of a large commission ten years ago. My Louboutin Marcia Balla patent pumps with four-inch heels were so expensive they had to last me to my hundredth birthday, and here I was sweating into them.

  At a half-past eight, Benny and I got into the limo, and Samuel drove us to the Savoy. The city lights striking prisms of light into the car. My host smiled and gave me a fatherly wink. Wendy’s big night out. If he was afraid of his so-called death threats, he sure didn’t show it.

  The elegant Savoy Hotel, a lovely blend of art deco and English Edwardian architecture, sat on the banks of the River Thames. The doorman helped me out, and Benny followed as Samuel pulled away. I wondered what the chauffeur would do with his time while we were dining. Did he run to a curry shop or take a nap in the limo?

  Holding Benny’s arm, I walked across the checkered lobby floor to the Savoy Grill. I got goose-bumpy knowing that my idol Katherine Hepburn had stayed here, along with The Beatles, but not at the same time.

  I tapped Benny on the shoulder. “Just a minute. A quick peek.” Letting go of his arm, I eased into the doorway of the Thames Foyer. I had heard about the new stained-glass cupola and had to see it. “Oh my!” It was everything I’d imagined it would be, and more. The ceiling was a huge parasol of colored glass reflecting thousands of twinkles of artificial light. The room put me in mind of a sunny day in Hyde Park. I planned on coming back, sitting alone or maybe sipping tea with Roger, pretending to be British. But for now, I returned to Benny’s arm.

  Then, on to our reservations in the Grill.

  The menu was a carnivore’s delight, except for the broiled English hare with buttered spätzle. Poor bunny buried in German noodles. I’m not a fan of eating things I might have had for a pet. Instead, I had red wine-braised Dedham Vale beef fillet with creamed wild mushrooms. Benny had roasted loin of beef with parsnip purée and black pepper sauce. We shared a delightful red cabernet. Benny said we would hold the champagne until Roger and I had rescued the last Lost Boy. Then we would celebrate with the best bubbly.

  As my host appeared to grow tipsy, I tried to trick him into sharing his new information. He held fast. “When our dear Roger arrives, then I shall have the pleasure of telling you both what our next challenge is. I would not want to deny Professor Jolley the pleasure of being in on the kill.” He laughed and topped off our glasses.

  Benny, former associate of a cannibal-dictator, asked all sorts of questions about my humble little life in Miami. I’d done nothing to warrant the attention of someone with his exotic history, but soon he was commiserating with me over Treanna and her fear of abandonment.

  “You are her anchor on this planet,” he said. “I sense she would spin off into space without you.”

  I told him about Matty and the gambling and my concern that she might lose custody of her granddaughter if she were arrested.

  “It seems such a petty thing and hardly a crime. We shackle the little people so the bullies may thrive. Perhaps there is a way to teach this Matty how to fish…? Yes?”

  “Meaning?”

  “There must be some business you could help her start that she might enjoy enough to stay awake. An inexpensive way to play to her talents, perhaps?”

  “Hmm. I shall think on it. You’ve inspired me.” We clinked our wine glasses.

  Benny took a tiny silver spoon of Beluga caviar and placed it on a paper-thin wafer then bit, a look of pleasure spreading across his face. He fixed his eyes on me as if choosing his words. “It must be lonely for you living alone.”

  That was a question that came up frequently. I often felt like an “i” that folks thought needed dotting. Smiling, I answered, “I love the quietude. Never have to worry if I’m disturbing anyone. Never have to be disturbed.”

  “There must be a downside.”

  �
�Nope. I don’t even have a dog, so I don’t have to worry about him eating my face off.”

  Benny shot me a startled look. “What?”

  I laughed. “It’s an urban legend… the woman living alone who dies, and she’s found weeks later with her face eaten off by her beloved hound.”

  “Wendy, dear… that is awful.”

  “It is pretty gross. Dark humor.”

  He chuckled, “What type of man would please you?”

  “Are you coming on to me, Benny Hannah?”

  “No, my dear. Just wondering if our Roger fits your criteria.”

  I sat back and thought for a long minute. “The type of man who would appeal to me? He would be smart, funny, and the kind of guy who really listens to me as he’s putting down the toilet seat.”

  Benny choked on his wine and put his napkin to his lips to catch the spray.

  “You are an outrageous minx!” he croaked. “A perfect match for Roger,” he muttered under his breath.

  “What did you say?”

  “Brilliant! Our sweets are here.” He deflected my question.

  I whipped into my dessert with enthusiasm. My treat was a passion fruit soufflé. Benny had a chocolate sorbet.

  “My belly is busting,” he said after licking the last remnant from his spoon. “Shall we gamble?”

  “On what?”

  “I’ll show you.”

  Chapter 10

  Samuel pulled the limo to a stop in front of a canopied entrance just before midnight. The small brass plaque on the wall behind the doorman read, “London Gaming Club – Established 1850.”

  Benny must have been a regular, as the tuxedoed doorman grinned when he saw us stepping from the car. Samuel drove away as Benny and I walked through the gold-leafed and etched glass doors.

  “This is one of the finest casinos in London,” Benny whispered in my ear. The air buzzed with kinetic energy spun from the stacks of brightly colored chips clicking on the tables.

  I’d landed in the middle of Casino Royale. I cut my eyes to Benny, and he smiled happily like a kid who was sharing his biggest secret. “You can be my lucky charm,” he whispered. “Just don’t touch the tables. Don’t lean.”