Chapter 68

Stanley looked at me for a time before answering.

“Do you know why negotiations are often carried out late at night?” he asked.

“Attrition?”

“Exactly. Slowly our barriers are eroded. It is a tactic I have observed in my employers. Eventually, we give up and compromises become possible. The only danger is our reaction the next morning, when we’re filled with doubts and second thoughts as to the merit of the agreements reached the night before.”

“I’ve experienced that firsthand,” I told him. “It could happen, but this is not a one-night stand — all or nothing. I expect there’ll be many more discussions and renegotiations. It’s a process, not an event. All I desire is that we be willing to start and build a foundation for a better relationship. Nothing more.”

“You’re an optimist.”

“Actually, I’m quite the opposite, but I’m aware of my pessimism and try to balance it. I have low expectations; therefore, I’m not disappointed. We could set our sights lower. We could simply talk.”

“We could, but you asked if I agree to at least try. It is a reasonable request, and I will acquiesce to it. You may wonder at my reluctance. Her ladyship said over and over to me that you and I would become good friends. She told Dagmar as well. She told Johnny’s parents. They would tell me of their conversations with her on numerous occasions. Each time, I would wonder if it was simply her wish, rather than something set in the future. Dagmar is convinced her sight in this was genuine. She is often correct. If and when you marry, you will discover for yourself how often the other half is wiser than we are. Frankly, I find it disturbing. Perhaps it is the male tendency to want to be correct in all things — in which case, it is hubris. We can rail all we want, but at some point, we must resign ourselves to our fate of having to surrender to powers greater than our own. I could howl my protest, and have, many times. It would perhaps be better to simply agree at the beginning. It is something to consider, but where is at least the illusion of control and a small nod to our manhood? In the end, we must capitulate. I do so now.”

Stanley looked down at his desk for a few moments and then looked up at me before continuing. “So…here we are. I think I know where this is headed. You want to know the specifics of her ladyship’s death. It is perhaps the height of irony that it is the opposite of what you probably think. I will tell you, but I am not sure having the details will fully resolve the matter for either of us. That being said, confession is supposed to be good for the soul. Mine has been locked away for a long time. Someone should know. Perhaps that is why I offered to tell you and Johnny her story — to get to this moment. It might as well be you who hears it. The gods speak in peculiar ways.”

He smiled and looked at me.

“The irony is thick. You are his son.” He shook his head. “I can hardly believe it. Life indeed may be circular, but I digress.” He looked right at me and said, “My sin is not that I killed her, in case that is what you are thinking, nor is it that I assisted in her suicide. Nor is it your father’s. In the end, I could not do what she asked or, more accurately, begged me to do. I broke my oath. I could not kill her. It was beyond my capacity, and in that, I failed both of us utterly.”

There was silence in the room for quite some time.

“Care for a drink?” he asked.

“I’d welcome one.”

I did not comment on what he’d said. He would get around to the details in his own way. I had thought he might have killed her or had played a part. I always assumed the worst in people. Stanley more than others. The boundaries that might restrain many did not exist for him. I was not so cold and calculating, but we weren’t so far apart, knowing my lineage. We had both protested as fate dragged us along. Surrender was the only answer for him and for me. I could feel the house singing. Everything that was supposed to happen of importance had just occurred.

I realized that I had finally reached maturity through my surrender and subsequent acceptance of who I was, including the bad that was my heritage. I would be who I was no more, no less. I now understood Stanley better. More importantly, we had bridged the abyss that had separated us through our mutual surrender to our respective destinies.

Stanley got up and poured a measure of his private reserve into two glasses of cut crystal and handed me one before he sat back down. The pattern of the glass was so sharp it almost hurt to hold. We continued as if nothing had happened, when we both knew otherwise.

“Cheers,” he said. We drank. The whiskey was even better than I remembered. “You might want to try one of these.” He offered me a plate of small snacks that Dagmar had made for our meeting.

I ate one and then another. “Thank you. They’re out of this world. Dagmar has a way.”

“She does. Are you ready?”

“Please.”

“Her ladyship was keen to make another attempt, like she did at the Carlyle. We had few secrets. She told me what she was doing on a regular basis. One day toward the end, she asked for me and stated that she had been to see several doctors on Park Avenue. They all concurred. She had heart disease. How long she had left, they didn’t know. A year was the most optimistic prognosis.

“Aware of her impending death, she escalated her involvement into the realm of the shamans. It was a frightening development. I was to take Marianne’s place as her guide. She was not certain she would survive and made preparations. She wrote the letter I gave you earlier today. She left her day-to-day financial affairs in disarray for fear that if they were in order, it might appear that she had committed suicide. She justified this by telling me that certain insurance policies would be invalidated if suicide was ruled the cause of death. In doing that, she failed to consider the alternative interpretation, which was that she was murdered.

“She became obsessed with ensuring that her death should appear as anything other than done by her own hand, which of course led me to believe that that was what she intended. That she would have been able to survive the effects of the drugs and the violent results they would trigger in her body was simply not credible. I was to force it down her throat, using any means necessary. This she commanded me to do. The night she had determined as the most favorable eventually came to pass as all such singular events relentlessly come about. The hours slipped toward the hour, and then the minutes became the moment. For me, it was like an approaching execution. The week before, she had made me swear an oath. I confess to you it was with the same book and small chased green bottle that we drank from the other night. You can understand the seriousness of it. I cringe just thinking about it.

“She had dressed in her Egyptian clothes, along with every talisman, artifact, and piece of ancient jewelry that she possessed. She had prepared the potion in her bathroom using a hot plate. It was late, and everyone else was asleep. She handed me a funnel and a large cup filled with the foul-smelling liquid before she lay down on the floor. She looked up at me and told me to pour the entire mixture down her throat. I was to use force if needed and not hold back.

“There is love between a man and a woman, a husband and wife. It is physical, intimate, and fulfilling. There is another love between a collector and a particular piece of art. One experiences in the object an ideal, something unworldly, something divine. Looking down at her at that moment, whatever illusion I had harbored for all those years shattered. I saw her fully for the first time. I saw an ordinary human being but one that nonetheless held my heart since we had first met. I shrank back. She must have realized that I could not go through with it. She grabbed my wrists with each hand to force me. A struggle ensued. She cursed me as her face turned purple…and in a second she was gone.

“I cannot tell you the relief I felt. I was overjoyed at my escape. I threw the mixture down the toilet and cleaned up where it had sloshed about. I ran to the next room and sat on the bed. I was aghast and elated. It was my elation that shamed me. It still does, but there were other consequences. No lightning struck me. I was not turned to stone, but in some ways, it would have been just as well. I changed. My heart became frozen, joy evaporated, and happiness was not to be found in the everyday things I had loved most. As you said — a light had gone out. I cursed my circumstances. Drink became easier. Accounts that had been so faithfully followed grew sloppy. A hole opened up, and it swallowed me. I may have slowly bankrupted this place. I don’t know. It’s now up to others to salvage what I cannot.”

Tears dropped from his eyes. He said no more.

I said nothing. I couldn’t. I had been in the dark place he found himself. Perhaps it was a type of curse after all. Alice must have struggled under the weight of something similar. I tried to reason how it was that I had managed to escape my own darkness. It was Johnny who had done that for me. For every black cloud I threw at him, he countered with an optimism that seemed to dispel the darkness. When our partnership died, I went off to California, but the memories of him kept me company. I was not Johnny. I could not reverse the downward path Stanley was on in an evening, but we had made a start. I would help him all I could. He was the best of men. I harbored only good will toward him.

“Stanley, I trust you. I didn’t before, but I do now. We will see it through. All I can say is thank you for confiding in me. I will try and live up to that confidence. We have talked, and that is a start. To me, you’re worth your weight in gold. Did you study all those books to see if there was a means to lift the curse?”

He nodded.

“If I might ask, what did you promise exactly?”

“That I would help her complete the ritual.”

“Did you promise that it would be successful?”

“No. I assumed complete meant finished, and it wasn’t.”

“I’m sure you looked at this, but if she died in the middle of it, how are you responsible? The specificity and exactness of a curse, a spell, an oath, or even a legal document, are important. Perhaps you have assumed too wide an interpretation.”

“There is the spirit of the law.”

“There is, but that’s why there are judges. Poor wording or improperly drawn-up contracts can create problems in the enforcement area, and there is no excuse for it. That’s why we pay so much to have a good attorney.”

“I have looked at that, of course, but you have a different take on it. There are no judges for this kind of thing.”

“Perhaps it’s because we judge ourselves, but I’m willing to argue the case in your favor until you are convinced. There is one other point. In Alice’s notes, she mentioned that the Eye of the Moon made no guarantee that she would return once she passed into the afterlife, only that she would pass safely into it. Putting aside Sir Henry’s dream, perhaps she was successful? We don’t know the answer to that. Sometimes even the gods are loath to say the whole truth when it will disappoint. In any event, I will be your advocate. Would you be willing to work with me?”

Stanley looked at me. He pulled out a handkerchief and blew his nose. “I don’t want charity.”

“I was never under the impression this was a charity-type organization.”

“I suppose not.” He sighed. “We have talked. It is a start. I feel lighter. I never told anyone. I suppose there was never anyone to tell until now. I agree to hold everything in abeyance. No decision concerning my employment is the best I can offer.”

“That’s more than adequate. It will all work out. Get some sleep. I have a couple of visits to make before this night ends. No rest for the wicked. I’ll send you my bill in the morning.”

He smiled as we rose from our seats. “I might even pay it.”

I held out my hand. He shook it willingly. It was a beginning.