Cheshire’ Chessie?”
“You’ve heard of her?”
“Of course. She’s, like, famous. She sells The Butt Sculptor in the States. Never seen her, though.”
“That’s the very Chessie. We’re none of us allowed to see her. I used to think it was typical Gert snobbery, but now I’m starting to think it’s something more specific. Especially if Daphne’s stories about armed guards are true. I
knew
it was a matter of time before she found us again. Come on.”
Ralph followed Beatrice downstairs to her favorite eavesdropping spot, a leaf-papered bench to one side of the window of Gert and Gideon’s study. It provided a wavy view of the occupants inside and, as the stone around the frame was centuries old and crumbling, transmitted a good amount of sound as well. They watched the shadow of Gert talk on the phone, unloading on an unfortunate friend the vicissitudes of various falling investments and the difficulties of hiring a new groundskeeper.
“I sit here sometimes and listen to how ridiculous she is with other people, so that when she gets cross with me I can remember that it’s nothing personal,” Beatrice said.
“How often do you sit out here?” Ralph asked.
“Oh, a lot. I bring a book sometimes, and spend the afternoon. No one bothers me.”
“Why does your mom want to avoid Chessie so much?”
“Surely you know! It’s probably the same reason your parents have kept you hidden away in New Jersey.”
Ralph shook his head.
“Chessie used to have a son. And seven years ago, he was suddenly
gone!’
“Gone?”
“We were all there, though we kids were too young to remember much. They were playing some silly game for her son’s sixteenth birthday. Chessie granted him a wish, and then the next day —
poof!
— he had disappeared. The papers said he was abducted, there was an international hunt — surely you heard about all this?”
“No, not at all.”
Beatrice was about to ask a question but then raised a finger. “Wait.”
They leaned in to spy better.
“— I will not have her anywhere near my children, do you hear me?” Gert was saying into the phone. “I don’t
care
if she’s driven all the way from London … and why
now?
… No, I will
never
be ready…. He
disappeared,
do you understand? It’s all so
medieval.
I’m sorry, it’s inexcusable. Stop her. Do whatever it takes, just stop her.” Gert slammed down the phone.
“Looks like Chessie’s coming to dinner,” Beatrice said.
CHAPTER IX
But Chessie didn’t come to dinner. The meal passed uneventfully: The food was unappetizing but impeccably prepared; the conversation was guarded and political and dominated throughout by the Battersby parents; all present yearned for it to be over as soon as possible.
Only one incident is really worth noting. Just as the entrée was served, a great ruckus arose on the lawn, ending with what sounded like a gunshot, causing Gideon to drop his salad fork into his wine. When Daphne exclaimed and Cecil asked if he could investigate, Gert informed them that they could settle down and start their candied venison instead.
If you’re wondering what Ralph was thinking at this point, we shouldn’t really know, as he was being so polite that his face revealed none of his thoughts — or at least he thought it didn’t. If we looked closely, though, we’d see that his expression was engaged but simultaneously a little distant, like your best friend’s when your story’s gone long. He was scared he didn’t know how to behave in front of minor aristocracy like the Battersbys, or especially in front of a true royal celebrity like Chessie, and he wasn’t sure if he especially liked Gert, or cared to find out whether he liked Gideon.
Beatrice looked closely enough to see these things on Ralph’s face, and so did Gideon, who told his wife what he saw later that night as they preparedfor bed. Not in the words I’ve set out, of course, but more like “not really our sort, is he?”
Gert,
Learning to Kill: Stories