Milo ...Trust

        By Pattie Lawler

 

            “Don’t watch your hands!”

            Heedless of this injunction, Albany’s gaze rested on her fingers as they flew over the ivory keys. They were on autopilot, and it was a pleasure to watch. She could recall with frightening clarity the hours of practice, memorization, scolding and rebellion that were the snapshots of piano lessons. The teacher had never liked her, but then, Albany was sure he didn’t like any of his students. He was searching for a diamond in the coal room and stepping over rubies in his manic search.

            Not that her playing was concert quality. She suffered his influence because her singing instructor insisted, and what Martha Blackwell even hinted at was gospel to Albany. The woman could have told Albany to dye her hair pink, and she would have done so the same day.

No questions asked.

That was the measure of trust Albany bestowed upon the woman who had the crafting of her future. A trust that was never betrayed.

Her fingers missed a note.

Snapped out of her reverie by the omission, Albany automatically lifted her hands to gather her thoughts. The resulting silence echoed with reprimands.

“You can’t stop in concert. You can’t hesitate. Attack each piece. Know your music! Know your audience! There are no excuses!”

She smiled, her fingers resting on the cool keys.

The only people who watch belly dancers, she thought, are other belly dancers. The only people who go to the opera are opera buffs. No one wanders into an opera house, plops down premiums and hasn’t a clue what to expect. No one goes to a concert unless they’re familiar with the composer, piece, conductor, or orchestra. And as a performer, Albany knew mistakes were unacceptable because the audience wasn’t full of little old grandma-types, but piranhas who waited, like spectators at an auto race, for the accident to happen.

Every seat in the house was warmed by a critic. Every note was scrutinized; every gesture, every breath, every exhale.

Albany learned to take dissection in stride. But she also knew that if she rewarded the audiences’ latent trust, the outpouring of gratitude was finer than wine. She would deliver; the audience would feast and be lured to her side. And when a new round of piranhas criticized her, there would be more than a few willing champions battling on her behalf.

All born from the trust between singer and audience.

Her fingers resumed playing, and her gaze moved around the well-appointed room.

She was alone and had asked to not be disturbed. Too many things to think about and no space to think in had driven her to the music room. Mrs. Sylver assured her that Milo and Fanny alone would be granted access before closing the door almost three hours ago.

Funny how it felt like only five minutes had passed. A smile tugged at her lips as she resumed her survey of the room.

It was the epitome of refined taste. Every where she looked was Architectural Digest photo ready. She could tell, however, what Milo had added and what he had inherited. As her fingers began their next musical choice, she reflected on the four months of their acquaintance and how well she knew, understood and appreciated Milo Beacon St. Clare Scarlet.

She was almost halfway through the next sonata when she began playing much softer.

“Yes,” she said, knowing she was no longer alone, “I came here because I was mad.”

“I’m very sorry.”

“I know you are, Milo. And I am, too.” The music became more demanding, and she bent over the keyboard. “I’m sorry that you didn’t trust in my trust enough.”

“It’s just that there’s so much...and I was afraid.”

She nodded. “We come from very different worlds, it’s true. I couldn’t hope to know all of you in a mere hundred and twenty days. I’m not so naïve. But it isn’t even that…so much as the children that will come from a capital city. Is being a Demon Eater hereditary? Will our children have to guard the Eagle, subdue demons and suffer some other duty that there hasn’t been time to reveal? You’ll forgive me for my hesitation.”

“Shall I leave you alone?”

“For a little longer, please.”

“I’ll be dying in my office.”

She shook her head. “Don’t die, silly. I’ll look for the You Are Here maps when I’m ready to join you.”

<0>

Half an hour later, Albany opened the door to find Milo seated on the floor across the hall. His knees were drawn up to a point that his elbows could rest atop and his gloved hands dangled. He was looking down the hall and didn’t turn toward her.

“Your office could do with a desk,” she murmured.

He didn’t look at her. “I’ve spent this time racking my brains for things I have yet to tell you.”

She crossed the hall, squatted before him and hugged her knees. “And?”

“And I haven’t told you that I’m titled.”

“Oh?”

He nodded, finally turning to face her. “Along with my properties and duties, I inherited two titles and had a third bestowed. I’m Earl of Nottingham, Viscount Owswell, Baron of Wysall.”

“And what will that make me?”

“Lady Albany Scarlet.”

“And our children?”

“Likewise.”

Albany dropped her cheek down on her arm, considering. “I can live with that. And the demon thing?”

“I meant it when I said no one knows how a Demon Eater is chosen, but there has been a Scarlet Demon Eater since 1793.”

“So there’s a really good chance your child—”

“Our child.”

“Our child will be one. What about Fanny?”

“I didn’t know about her before last night.”

“Bit of a shock?”

“You can’t imagine.”

“Actually, I can. My fiancé dropped that bomb on me only this morning.”

He averted his gaze. “I’m really sorry.”

Albany rocked forward, worming herself between his legs before joining him on the floor. “It’s alright, Milo, but it has to be the last time.” She leaned into him, and his arms closed around her. He pressed his lips to her head.

“I swear, to the best of my ability and to the depths of my knowledge, you now know everything I do with regards to external influences on my life.”

“And I believe you.”

“Thank you.” He hugged her. “I love you.”

“I love you, too. One last question and then I need to be fed.”

“Okay.”

“Are you a millionaire?”

“No.”

She sagged against him. “God, I was so afraid you were going to say that.”

“You know,” he hugged her harder, “most women want to marry a billionaire.”

“Most women don’t have the background I do. Most women had a loving family, or at least daddy’s credit cards, for comfort.”

“Are you afraid of losing your edge?”

“I’m afraid of taking things for granted.”

“Will you let me guide you?”

“You’re going to have to! I haven’t a clue how to be rich!”

He laughed, hugging her again. “When you’re rich, like you are now, it doesn’t matter how you are because no one can tell you to act differently.”

“Be that as it may, I want to go on record, once again, and say I want to marry Milo.”

“Which thrills me no to end. Now, let’s go see what’s for dinner.”

<0>

They were seated in the library after dinner when Simon found them. “Cameron Phillips’ uncle, William Phillips is here to see you.”

Milo glanced at Albany then back to Simon as he rose. “Am I expecting him?”

“Seems he missed you while in New York.”

“Ah.” He turned to Albany. “Do you mind?”

“Not at all. I’ll be in the music room.”

Simon held the door for her. “I’ll have Mrs. Sylver show you the best way there.”

She chuckled as she passed. “That’s alright. I’m looking forward to getting lost.”

Milo rang for more coffee as Simon returned, William Phillips at his side.

“Mr. Scarlet,” Phillips said, his hand out.

Shaking his hand, Milo gestured to the pair of couches. “I’m very sorry for your loss, Mr. Phillips. Please accept my sincere condolences.”

“Thank you. It’s all a bit of a shock, as you can imagine.” He sank onto the cushions while reaching for a handkerchief.

Milo took the opportunity to look at Simon. “Please send Jason to his post and would you be so kind as to call Lawrence, I think I’ll need him.” Simon frowned, and then nodded to Milo as he reached into his breast pocket. Pulling out his BlackBerry, he stepped out, closing the door behind him. “I’ve ordered coffee,” Milo said, turning back to Phillips and observing his moist eyes, “but perhaps something stronger?”

Phillips waved this away. “I don’t wish to linger. Too many things to deal with and far too many questions.”

Milo settled himself on the opposite couch. “I’m yours to command.”

“The night you saw him, the night before he was murdered, the police said that Cameron came to you with an acquisition.”

Milo nodded. “A Tear Spell.”

“What did he tell you about it?”

“Not much. He wouldn’t say where, when, or how he acquired it. He was anxious to know if it was genuine and wanted a possible date. I confirmed its authenticity and placed it mid-Fifteenth century, Northern Italian.”

“And did he tell you it was the pointer of a triptych?” Phillips sat back as a knock was heard. Simon held the door for Lawrence as he deposited a coffee service on the table between the two men and retreated to the door where Simon stood.

Milo allowed his gaze to rest on the coffee pot as he spoke. “There was no need. I am the leading authority on medieval manuscripts, after all.” He looked up. “But how did you know, I have to wonder? It’s clear that you did some of your homework, but not all.”

Phillips blinked at him.

“I’m not going to bother pouring as you’ll be leaving,” Milo continued. “You see, Cameron Phillips does have an uncle, it’s true, but he’s the product of a third marriage and is actually two years younger than Cameron. Clearly, you assumed he would be older.” Milo nodded toward Simon who produced PlastiCuffs from his pocket and moved to stand behind Phillips. “Lawrence, call the police, please.”

“Mr. Scarlet,” Phillips protested. “You are mistaken!”

“Then you won’t mind waiting for the constable,” Milo replied. “Our conversation can happen in their presence as well as alone, if what you say is true.”

Phillips looked for his nearest escape, saw it was pointless, and then sagged. “I could use a cup of coffee, if you don’t mind.”

Milo sat forward, reaching for the pot. “Your name?”

“Jonathan Cook.”

“Are you alone, Mr. Cook?”

“I have a driver.”

Milo looked at Simon. “Have Jason report, please, and tell Joe to check the perimeters.”

Simon nodded, backing away enough to make his call.

“I assume you are after the spell Cameron had?”

Cook accepted a cup and saucer, nodding. “I was hoping you had it and that I might get a look at it.”

“To what end?”

“Like you, I’m a collector.”

“No, Mr. Cook. You’re nothing like me. You’re a forger, aren’t you, hoping to expand your stock?”

Cook laughed. “Why do you say that?”

Milo pointed to the pile of art books on the table beside his couch. “The top two books are by Jonathan Stewart and Barry Cook.”

“You don’t miss a trick, do you?”

“No. So stop wasting my time.”

“Fine. Yes, I’m a forger.”

“You sold a Tear Spell to Noah Brooks.”

The man brightened. “You’ve seen my work?”

“I’ve seen through your work. You really need to do more research.”  Simon stepped forward and Milo looked up. “Are the police here?”

“Yes, and everything is clear.”

“Good.” He rose. “Should you decide to go legit, Mr. Forger, I’m always on the lookout for artists. When you’re released from prison, contact my secretary.” Simon took the man’s arms, leading him toward the door. Just as they would have passed out of the room, Milo stopped them. “Mr. Forger,” he said. “Something you should know.” The man turned to face Milo, who smiled. “I made up that bit about Cameron’s uncle.”

<0>

Both Albany and Simon returned to the library at the same time. Milo offered them coffee as they joined him on the couches.

“That was a bold gamble on his part,” Milo concluded, after filling Albany in on the event. “I’m actually impressed.”

“And you’re right,” Albany said. “How could he have known Cameron had the pointer? I sincerely doubt it was part of the police report, and even if it was, it’s an ongoing trial, none of that information is public knowledge.”

Milo nodded. “So our forger has insider information from a leak that we need to find.”

“No, we don’t” Simon said. “We need to tell Jameson and let him do his job.”

Milo smiled. “Killjoy.”

“Just doin’ my job.”

 <0>

They said goodnight to Simon and Milo took Albany by the hand as he led her through the manor. “None this is going as I imagined.”

“You mean things like showing off your houses and telling me you’re a Demon Eater?”

“Exactly. I didn’t get to see your look of astonished pleasure at seeing Owswell for the first time, and then Betty put the kibosh not only on exploring Fairbanks with me, but on my sharing my position as Demon Eater. I must have really annoyed one of the Fates.”

“Well, if it makes you feel any better, part of me is glad, and part of me shares your annoyance.”

“Oh?”

She nodded as he closed the door to his suite. “Both times, here and at Owswell, I was spared the ceremony of being presented.” She put her hand out to an imaginary person. “Hi, I’m Albany. You don’t know me from Adam, but I’m your new boss.”  Dropping her hand, she smiled at him. “Not that I think anyone here is less than thrilled to see you getting married. Everyone was smiling at me like they were going to explode with excitement.”

He chuckled and held out his hands for her to remove his gloves. “I am surrounded by the best people, believe it.”

She kissed his palm. “I do, totally. You inspire people.”

“What a nice compliment.”

“Take me to bed, and I’ll pay you some more.”

 

Previous   Home   Next