Mark Lee - The Canal House

“Very good, sir. I have just received a letter from your American government.” Digran took a fax out of his coat pocket and carefully unfolded it. “It will give me a visa to go to the United States. My niece and her family live in Hollywood.”

“A lot of Armenians live in Hollywood these days. It’s a nice place, but don’t expect to meet any movie stars.”

“I don’t care about movies. Are there any gardens in Hollywood?”

“Sure. You can grow anything in southern California.”

“I will become an old man, sitting in his garden. That’s what happened to Dante. Maybe I’ll write a poem there. Do you think it’s possible?”

“You’ll write a lot of them.”

I decided not to tell Digran about the Los Angeles smog, the traffic, and the earthquakes. After we finished talking, I crossed the moat and strolled through the sheep pasture. Charlie Drayton, the actor turned shepherd, was sitting on a stump while his rented flock was scattered in front of him. He held a cell phone in one hand and was studying the buttons.

“Good morning, Mr. Drayton.”

“Morning, sir. You a guest at the castle?”

I nodded and introduced myself. “So how are the sheep doing?”

“The sheep are fine. All they do is eat and look stupid.” He glared at his cell phone. “I’m the one with the problems.”

“Phone doesn’t work?”

“Me manager left a message on me answerin’ machine. Said I’m not gonna be Captain Maslow. You know what I’m talkin’ about, sir? Face on the cracker box.”

I vaguely recalled a bearded sea captain on a brand of English crackers.

“Company wants a new face so I auditioned. It’s only five hundred pounds for all rights, but there are buckets of gravy. I’d get paid extra for TV ads. Paid extra for store appearances. And they were talkin’ about a trip to America.” Charlie closed his eyes and sighed. “It would be a grand thing to be Captain Maslow.”

“But you weren’t chosen.”

“Didn’t get the callback. Don’t know why.” Charlie resumed dialing. “Now, I can’t get hold of me manager.”

I continued across the pasture and the sheep shied away from me. “Good luck, Mr. Drayton. I hope it all works out.”

“If they hired that wanker Joe Emery, I’m going to be angry. He showed up smokin’ a pipe and wearing rubber boots, but he’s as much a sea captain as one of these bloody sheep.”

I TOOK A LONG walk to the edge of the estate and when I got back a tour bus was trying to squeeze through the barbican gate. Miss Hedges stopped the bus and unloaded the passengers—over two dozen young men and women. “Follow me,” she chirped. “Right this way!” Miss Hedges led them into the bumper-car tent where rows of folding chairs faced a large TV monitor. I lingered near the opening while she snapped a cassette into a VCR machine.

The monitor began to play a video that showed a waiter pouring wine and serving dinner. “As you notice, he always takes the plate from the right side,” Miss Hedges said, then stopped the tape and pointed at each detail. There was something unusual about the group and I realized that none of them had displayed a mustache, tattoo, or nose ring. The young men and women leaned forward as if they were watching a crucial lecture for their A levels. As the documentary began to show an elderly waitress serving hors d’oeuvres, Miss Hedges hurried over to me.

“Now Mr. Bettencourt. This isn’t for your eyes.”

“Call me, Nicky.”

“Better get dressed, Nicky. The party starts at six o’clock.”

“Will you eat dinner with me?”

“I’ll be much too busy for that.”

“What about a drink?”

Miss Hedges guided me out of the tent and began to close the canvas flap. “It’s possible. We’ll see.”

My shoes had been shined and my new tuxedo had been brushed and laid out on the bed. I got dressed and inspected myself in the mirror, then sat by the window and watched as several helicopters swooped over and landed on the pasture. Richard’s guests were arriving. Limousines and black sedans rolled through the barbican and stopped in the courtyard. It was just a party, but I felt like I was walking toward gunfire.

I stepped out into the hallway and saw Julia standing in front of Daniel’s door. She wore a red off-the-shoulder dress that rustled when she moved. The floor creaked and she turned toward me, looking surprised.

“I’m looking for Daniel. He’s not in his room.”

“Sorry. I haven’t seen him.”

“The man who runs the estate garage said that Daniel borrowed the motorcycle. I don’t suppose you know where he went.”

“No.”

“Do you think he decided to return to London?”

“Anything’s possible. But he probably would have told me.”

“Yes. He said you were his best friend.”

I wanted to ask Julia about that comment, but Billy appeared in the hallway. His muscular arms and chest were stuffed into a tuxedo and he reminded me of a bouncer at one of the London casinos.

“Julia! I’ve been looking all over for you. Richard wants to see you in his office.”

“I’m sorry. I dropped by to see Nicky.”

We all smiled at each other, chums forever, then Billy jerked his head slightly. “Better go.”

“Why don’t you come along and look at the tower office, Nicky? It’s quite wonderful.”

Julia touched my arm and we followed Billy down the hallway. The hem of her dress brushed against the banisters as we climbed a narrow staircase up to the third floor. Fat little cherubs were painted on the ceiling above us and a cast-iron snake was twined around the railing.

We entered a circular room with three slit windows that overlooked the front courtyard. Halogen lighting fixtures set into the ceiling illuminated a desk with a steel column attached to each end. Both columns had segmented arms with thin computer screens that could be swiveled into different positions. In his dress shirt and black bowtie, Richard sat at the desk glancing at the images on four different monitors. Somewhere in the universe of the Riverside Bank, a research assistant was evaluating a takeover target, a real estate agent was searching for a place to put a branch office, and a man in Tokyo was selling millions of yen.

“There you are, darling.” Richard typed something and the monitor screens began to go blank. “We lost track of your location.”

“I ran into Nicky. We were just about to go downstairs.”

Richard pushed back his office chair and stood up. “Take mental notes, Nicky. I’ll be curious to get your reaction tomorrow morning. Julia thinks that the party is nonsense, but you have to make people feel good about giving you money.”

“Whatever works.”

“Exactly.” Richard walked over to a file cabinet, opened a drawer, and took out crocodile-skin jewelry case. “I’m afraid this isn’t a gift, Julia. It’s just a loan from Asprey and Garrard. I told Billy to take photographs of that dress you’re wearing and he e-mailed the images to London. The manager at Asprey thought this would match.”

He opened the jewelry case to reveal an emerald necklace and matching earrings. The emeralds were so large that they looked like chips of bottle glass. Richard moved his wrist slightly and the green stones seemed to glow with their own power.

“The big one in the middle actually has a name,” Richard said. “It’s called La Dorado . That’s a village in the mountains of Columbia.”

“I can’t wear that, Richard. We’re asking people for donations tonight. Aren’t they going to look at this necklace and wonder why we don’t sell it?”

“Our guests are going to look at you and this necklace and think, ‘How beautiful she is, how attractive.’ They don’t give money to beggars on the street. They give it to people who look just like them, only better.”