The Last of the Stanfields(10)
Be cool, May. Be cool. If you can’t get the lockpick out, you’re done for.
After a few attempts, May succeeded, slipped the pick out, and clenched it in her clammy palm. She slid the tool into her pocket and used the tissue to wipe the sweat from her hands and forehead. If the butler saw her sweating, he would surely suspect something.
May slipped through the connecting door into the small study, straightened her jacket, and exited out into the long corridor. Every step felt like an eternity, with May praying she wouldn’t cross paths with anyone. She reached the staircase and began the climb down, treading lightly to avoid any attention. All the while, she tried to keep calm and measured in the event she ran into the butler and had to explain that she could wait for Miss Verdier no longer and would have to come back another time.
But her luck held: the foyer was deserted. May reached the service door and stepped outside, her heart still hammering inside her chest. Sally-Anne hadn’t budged an inch, watching from the very same spot astride the Triumph. For an awful moment, May thought her legs wouldn’t move another step. But they did, carrying her all the way to the parking lot. Sally-Anne handed May her helmet. May mounted the motorbike, the engine roared, and they were on the move again.
As the bike rounded the sharp curve once more, they passed Miss Verdier’s Ford on its way back to the estate. Sally-Anne caught a glimpse of the driver, all fresh, aglow with a naughty little smile on her face. She matched it with her own devilish grin, albeit for entirely different reasons.
6
ELEANOR-RIGBY
October 2016, Beckenham
We had already been sitting around the table for a half hour and Maggie had yet to announce her engagement to Fred, the strapping young lad who ran a gastropub in Primrose Hill.
Michel couldn’t have been more thrilled. First of all, he got to watch our father be so happy and excited he could hardly sit still, all fidgety, barely eating. The fact that Dad wasn’t ravaging his pizza meant he had a lot on his mind, and Michel knew it was because he must have been wondering if he had been wrong about Maggie marrying Fred. But Michel was relieved that it seemed our father was wrong, because the engagement had been worrying him the whole way over. He didn’t actually like good old Fred as much as he had claimed. Fred made Michel uncomfortable. There was something about his kindness that felt forced and insincere. Michel detected an underlying sense of superiority that was off-putting.
Michel had enjoyed the food at Fred’s pub, but his appetite for food was nothing compared to his ravenous appetite for books at the library. Michel knew nearly every title by heart and had memorized them alphabetically, which perhaps wasn’t all that extraordinary considering it was his responsibility to sort them into the proper order to begin with. Michel enjoyed his job at the library, where silence reigned. He couldn’t have found a more tranquil place to work. Most library visitors were pleasant enough, and helping them find what they were looking for as quickly as possible gave Michel a proud sense of purpose. The only part that bothered him was seeing the books sitting abandoned on the tables at the end of the day. On the other hand, if library visitors were less messy, Michel would have less work to do. It was very logical.
Before the library, Michel had worked in a laboratory, a position he landed after receiving high marks in his final exams at university. Michel had a knack for chemistry, and the periodic table of the elements felt like a second language to him. Yet his promising career quickly came to an end when his enthusiasm for experimenting with all the endless combinations of chemicals at his disposal became a safety issue. Dad had howled at the injustice and cursed Michel’s narrow-minded employers, but there was nothing to be done. After a period of seclusion at home, Michel decided to get back to work. He connected with Vera Morton, manager of a small local library, who told Michel she was willing to give him a chance. He solemnly vowed to never let her down. The speed and accessibility of the internet had caused library attendance to drop to the point where a whole day might go by without anyone walking through the door. Michel took advantage of the time to read, mainly works on chemistry and biographies.
As I quietly observed my father throughout the meal, Maggie delivered a constant stream of nonsense that certainly didn’t justify hogging the spotlight. Her blabbering didn’t sit well at all with Michel, who suspected she had the jitters about the impending announcement that he was dreading. When Maggie sat down across from Dad and took his hand in her own, Michel interpreted the out-of-character move as an attempt to reassure him. Maggie certainly wasn’t the touchy-feely type. Every time Michel went to hug her, she would make a fuss and accuse him of smothering her. Michel was careful not to, and had concluded that it was just a strategy to cut short any physical contact. Because logically, what kind of sister wouldn’t want to hug her own brother?
Maggie’s show of affection caught Dad off guard, and he held his breath and waited for the big news to drop. Maggie getting engaged was a given, of course. What had Dad on the edge of his seat was when the marriage would take place.
“Okay, darling. That’s enough. If I listen to you babble for one more minute, the anxiety might kill me. Tell us: When’s the big day? If you ask me, three months would be ideal. Two per month is reasonable, since as you know they’re not so easy to shed at my age!”
“I’m sorry,” Maggie replied. “But what are you talking about?”