Still intent on following Joanne Earle’s advice from their conversation in the muddy ice of Newfoundland during the Alexander the Great discovery, Purdue made an appeal to Sam. “Just, please, Sam, let us do this my way. I have a reason for all this.”
“I promise, we can do this your way, but if things get out of hand, Purdue, I’m calling in the Brigade Apostate to back us up. This Karsten has power we can’t fight alone. There’s usually a relatively impenetrable shield at the top offices of military intelligence, if you know what I mean,” Sam warned. “These people are as mighty as the Queen’s word, Purdue. This bastard can do utterly detestable things to us and cover it up like he was a cat taking a shit in the litter box. Nobody will ever know. And whoever makes claims can be crossed out quickly.”
“Yes, I know. Trust me, I am fully aware of the damage he can do,” Purdue admitted. “But I do not want him dead unless I have no other way out. For now, I’ll use Patrick and my legal team to keep Karsten at bay as long as I can.”
“Right, let me look into some history, ownership certificates, tax records, and all that. The more we know about this fucker, the more we’ll have to trap him with.” Sam now had all of his notes in order, and now that he knew the extent of the trouble Purdue was wading through, he was adamant to use his cunning for its opposition.
“Good man,” Purdue exhaled, relieved to have told someone like Sam, someone he could rely on to step on the right toes with expert precision. “Now, I suppose the vultures outside this door need to see you and Patrick conclude my medical examination.”
With Sam in his guise as Dr. Beach and Patrick Smith feeding the ruse, Purdue said goodbye from his bedroom doorway. Sam looked back. “Hemorrhoids are common for this kind of sexual practice, Mr. Purdue. I have seen it mostly in politicians and… intelligence agents… but it is nothing to fret over. Keep well and I’ll see you soon.”
Purdue disappeared into his room to laugh, while Sam was the subject of some resentful leers on his way to the front doors. With a courteous nod he exited the manor with his childhood friend in tail. Patrick was used to Sam’s outbursts, but he’d had the damnedest trouble maintaining his strictly professional demeanor this day, at least until they’d gotten into his Volvo and departed the estate — in stitches.
5
Distress in the Walls of Villa d’Chantal
The mild evening barely kept Madame Chantal’s feet warm as she put on yet another pair of stockings over her silk pantyhose. It was autumn, yet to her the chills of winter were already prevalent wherever she went.
“I fear you might be coming down with something, darling,” her husband speculated as he checked his tie for the umpteenth time. “Are you sure you cannot just bear with your cold for tonight and come with me? You know, if people keep seeing me arrive at banquets alone they might begin to suspect things are not going well between us.”
He looked at her with concern. “They can’t know that we are practically bankrupt, you realize? You not being there with me could incite gossip and draw attention to us. The wrong people might investigate our situation just to still their curiosity. You do know that I am terribly worried and that I have to keep the favor of the Minister and his share holders or else we’re done for.”
“Oui, of course I do. Just trust me when I say that soon we will not have to worry about keeping the property or the holdings,” she assured him in a weak voice.
“What does that mean? I told you — I’m not selling the diamonds. It is the only proof of our status left!” he said emphatically, though his words came more from of anxiety, not anger. “Come with me tonight and wear something extravagant just to help me look the part — the part I am supposed to play authentically as a successful business man.”
“Henri, I promise I will accompany you to the next one. I just don’t feel I could maintain my cheerful face for that long while I fight the onslaught of fever and pain.” Chantal approached her husband with a laborious gait, smiling. She fixed his tie for him and gave him a peck on the cheek. He placed the back of his hand on her forehead to check her temperature, then visibly recoiled.
“What?” she asked.
“My God, Chantal. I don’t know what sort of fever you have, but it seems to run in reverse. You are as cold as… a corpse,” he eventually forced out the ugly comparison.
“I told you,” she replied lightly, “I do not feel well enough to decorate your side as a Baron’s wife should. Now hurry, you are going to be late and that is completely unacceptable.”
“Yes, my lady,” Henri smiled, but his heart still raced from the shock of feeling his wife’s skin, so low in temperature that he could not fathom that color still flushed in her cheeks and lips. The Baron was good at hiding his feelings. It was a prerequisite of his title and an order of business. He left soon after, desperate to glance back once more at his wife waving goodbye from the open front door of their Belle Époque chateau, but he opted for keeping up appearances.
Under the April evening’s moderate skies, the Baron de Martine left his home reluctantly, but his wife was only too glad for the solitude. It was not for the sake of being alone, however. Hurriedly she prepared for her guest after procuring the three diamonds from her husband’s safe. The Celeste was magnificent, so breathtaking that she did not want to part with it, but what she wanted from the alchemist was so much more important.
“Tonight, I will save us, my dear Henri,” she whispered as she placed the diamonds on a green velvet napkin, a cut piece from a dress she used to wear to banquets like the one her husband just left for. Rubbing her frigid hands profusely, Chantal held them out to the fire in the hearth to warm. The steady heartbeat of the mantle clock paced in the quiet house, making its way to the second half of its face. She had thirty minutes left before he would come. Her housekeeper already knew his face, as did her assistant, yet they had not yet announced his arrival.
In her diary, she made the day’s entry, mentioning her condition. Chantal was a record keeper, an avid photographer and writer. She wrote poetry for every occasion, even in the simplest moments of amusement or pleasure she would pen verses to commemorate it. Memories of the anniversary of every day were looked up in the previous journals to sate her nostalgia. A great admirer of privacy and antiquity, Chantal kept her diaries in expensively bound books and took real pleasure in writing down her thoughts.
14 Avril 2016 — Entrevaux
I think I’m getting sick. My body is cold beyond belief, even though it’s hardly below 19 degrees outside. Even the fire beside me seems only an illusion of my eyes; I see flames while feeling no heat. Had it not been for my emergency I would have canceled tonight’s meeting. But I cannot. I just have to make do with warm clothes and wine to keep me from going insane with cold.
We have sold off all we could to keep the business afloat and I fear for my dear Henri’s health. He does not sleep and is generally distant emotionally. I have not much time to write more, but I know that what I am about to do will dig us out of the financial pit we’ve fallen into.
Mr. Raya, an Egyptian alchemist who has an impeccable reputation among his clients, is paying me a visit tonight. With his help, we will enhance the value of the few jewels I have left, which will fetch a much higher price when I sell them. As fee, I am giving him the Celeste, a dreadful deed, especially toward my beloved Henri whose family considers the stone holy and have owned it since forever. But it’s a small item to relinquish in return for the purification and elevation of the value of the other diamonds that will restore us financially and help my husband keep his Barony and his land.