Edward Lee - The Chosen

“Of course,” Feldspar granted, and then very inappropriately ordered a bottle of 1983 Montrachet.

Just what I need, Vera thought. More booze. I’ll wind up getting sloshed in front of my boss. I’ll be asking him how he got his start washing money for drug lords. “It just seemed a little curious,” she said. “When Chief Mulligan asked to see you, Kyle said you went to the airport.” She paused once more. “Why did he lie?”

Feldspar nodded, stroking his trimmed goatee. “A sound query, Ms. Abbot, and one to which you are entitled a sound answer.” He sipped the Montrachet, peered at it in the fine Cristal d’Arques glass. “I have somewhat of an aversion to police. And I’m sure you’ve been wondering, quite understandably, if I’ve ever been in any trouble with the law.”

“Oh, Mr. Feldspar, that’s not what I was thinking at all,” Vera…lied. Of course she had. Deep down she knew she’d been wondering about that all day. But—

“The answer, I’m afraid, is yes.”

Vera blinked. Holy shit, she thought. Now I’ve really done it! Next time keep your big mouth SHUT!

Feldspar didn’t seem at all fazed by the alcohol—he never did. Vera didn’t believe that it was the champagne and wine that had loosened his personal armor. Feldspar wasn’t a man to go blabbering on drink. Vera knew that type—the typical general manager. Feldspar’s high rank in the chain of command didn’t allow him to confide in anyone. So why is he confiding in me? she wondered.

“Quite some time ago, I held a similar post for an investment company quite like Magwyth Enterprises. It was an identical operation to what we’re doing here, and it was very successful. And I’m ashamed to have to admit, however, that it wasn’t entirely… clean. Money corrupts, Ms. Abbot, just like power. In many ways they’re very much the same.”

“Mr. Feldspar, you don’t have to tell me your personal b—”

“One thing led to another,” he went on. “Improprieties…I’m not creating excuses for my conduct, mind you. What I did was wrong.”

What! Vera thought with fervor. What did you do! She couldn’t ask, of course—that would be uncouth. But—Goddamn !—she wanted to know.

Feldspar smiled meekly across the table. His rings glittered as he poured more wine. “You’re wondering—naturally. I can tell. Who wouldn’t be, under such circumstances?”

“Really, Mr. Feldspar, I don’t—”

“I’m afraid I was accused of the very same offenses that our ever dutiful Chief Mulligan has accused me of now.”

Vera set down her fork. She tried not to appear floored, but she was. She tried to think of something diverting to say. “I don’t think Mulligan was accusing. Just implying.”

“You’re too kind.” Feldspar smiled again, very faintly. “I’ve told you that I was accused. Aren’t you going to inquire as to whether or not I was guilty?”

“No, that’s your—”

“I was, quite guilty. At least in an indirect sense. However, I was never charged.”

If he was never charged, why did he tell me all this? Vera now wondered. Why practically verify to me that Mulligan’s suspicions are right on the money? This made no sense at all.

“Which is hardly an excuse,” he continued. “Guilt is guilt. Guilt by association, in my case. Now, though, as I’ve stated, The Inn is absolutely legitimate, and I can guarantee you of the same in regard to Magwyth Enterprises, Ltd.”

Some dinner, she thought. Some date. She couldn’t imagine anything more awkward, or more difficult to maneuver through.

“I cannot prevaricate,” Feldspar said then. “Not to you, at any rate.”

“I don’t understand,” Vera told him, for lack of anything else.

“After all, you’ve made quite a sacrifice for me: coming here cold, running a restaurant for an enterprise you know nothing about, giving your all. It would be immoral of me to leave you uninformed. I appreciate your loyalty and discretion, and I’m grateful to you for handling this unpleasant business with the police. You know as well as I, loyalty is perhaps the most essential interpersonal element in this kind of business. Your loyalty will not go unrewarded, nor will your outstanding performance.”

At first, this depressed her, because it sounded as though he were merely patronizing her, for getting Mulligan off his back. But as she watched him, and continued to assess his demeanor, and the manner with which he expressed himself, she began to doubt that patronizing her had any part in what he’d just told her. But what is his motive then? she wondered, sipping her Montrachet.

Perhaps there was no ulterior motive at all. Perhaps he was coming clean with her for the reasons he’d just explained.

“So much for confessions.” Now Feldspar leaned back in the plush armchair, his smile going wan. He diddled with an ash in the ashtray, almost as if he felt embarrassed now. “It must not be an easy thing to reckon,” he said.

“What?”

“To suddenly become aware that your employer has a bit of a checkered past.”

But Vera couldn’t help continuing to think: Select cli entele. Mafioso, money laundering. “I don’t guess anybody’s slate is perfectly clean,” she excused.

“No, perhaps not.”

Another glass of the fine Montrachet. God, she thought. She was getting drunk. The wine left her buzzing, warm inside, but remotely unhappy. She had a parfait for dessert, while Feldspar ordered expresso and smoked. Afterward, he paid cash for the meal, which seemed odd. He owned The Carriage House. Why pay? Vera supposed he was just trying to seem gracious. It depressed her further, though. The meal had been outstanding, yet Feldspar made no comment whatever. At least Donna was happy. She bubbled enthusiasm in silence, upon discovering Feldspar’s fifty dollar cash tip in the leather tab book.

“I’d invite you to the convention with me,” Feldspar said next, “but I’m afraid that would leave The Inn a bit short in the management department. Kyle’s a very loyal, steadfast employee, but I wouldn’t be too keen on leaving him totally in charge. A bit uncultured, if you will.”

Vera had to backpedal on everything he’d said; the wine and champagne wasn’t mixing well. “Convention?” she queried.

“Oh, I mustn’t have mentioned it to you, sorry. I’ll be gone for several days. The East Coast Hotel/Motel Association is having their annual convention tomorrow, in Maryland. I’m expected to attend, not that I really want to. At any rate, you and Kyle will be in charge.”

“Okay,” Vera said. But she’d barely heard the words. Now it was her own distractions that diverted her, and of course the alcohol. This whole dinner thing had been a bust; it was obvious to her now that Feldspar’s only interest in her was professional. He was the boss giving the little restaurant manager a pat on the head.

“Well.” Feldspar rose; his bulky shape left the table enshadowed. “Your company was a pleasure, Ms. Abbot, and the meal outstanding…” He squinted forward. “Are you all right?”

No, I’m drunk, she felt inclined to say. “A little tired, that’s all.” She rose herself, and escorted Feldspar to the entry. “Thanks for dinner. I hope you have a good time at the convention.”

“Yes,” he said. “Oh, and forgive me for neglecting to mention one thing.”

“What’s that?”

His smile seemed distant. His entire self, in fact, all evening, seemed more and more distant. “You look lovely tonight,” he said.