Klempner – The Present
My door stands open and a figure in uniform appears, Sutcliffe. He taps knuckles, quietly, onto the metal. “Mr Klempner, do you have a moment?”
Lying on the bed, I lower my novel. “I have no other appointments today, Sutcliffe. What can I do for you?”
His eyes dart right and left along the corridor then he steps inside the cell. “Sir, that woman you’re interested in… They’ve found her.”
Jolting, I drop the book to the floor, then swing my legs down to sit upright. “Her? Mitch? Michelle Kimberley?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Where is she?”
“With them.”
With them?
“Them? You mean Summerford and Alexanders?”
“Yes, sir. She’s with them and… and your daughter…” He speaks the last word uncertainly. “… She’s staying in their home.”
“The place in the mountains?”
“So I understand, sir.”
I pluck at a lip. “Why would she do that?” I’m not really talking to Sutcliffe, but he replies anyway.
“If they’re the long-lost mother and daughter, that might be reason enough.”
“Mmm… Would you invite the mother-in-law to come live with you the moment you met her? Especially given the living arrangements the three of them have. Alexanders is older than she is…”
Sutcliffe’s lips twitch. “Um… perhaps not sir. But there’s something else you should know. And I think you’ll find this a surprise.”
“Yes?”
“Your woman, Mitch. She’s left her husband. She was living with Conners.”
?
“Conners? Frank Conners?”
“Yes, sir. Frank Conners.”
I’m on my feet.
When did I stand?
“He’s supposed to have been dead the last twenty years. Are you sure?”
“Well, it’s hard for me to say, sir, but they seem to believe it.”
He went over the bridge…
I watched him fall…
Could he have escaped?
He was bagged…
Chained…
“Sutcliffe, I want you to get a message to Baxter.”
“Yes, sir.”
*****
Michael
I tap on the door. “Charlotte? You there?”
No reply.
Opening the door, I step inside: Charlotte’s room. Her private space.
She’s made the most of it, given that her definition of ‘most’ is bookshelves everywhere it’s humanly possible to fit them, leaving just enough room for a desk, with an armchair by the window to look down at the view over the lake.
Sunshine slants in, and even without the heating the room is warm and welcoming.
Must sort myself out with a home office…
Not as if we don’t have the space…
But I see what I came in looking for, sitting atop her desk along with pens, calculator and other office paraphernalia and her laptop beside some textbook lying open. I crane my neck at the title: ‘Principles of Metallurgical Thermodynamics.’
What fun…
I cast around, examining this space my wife has made her own. I’m seldom in here except for when she asks me to build more bookshelves. Even now, scanning the space, I can see another request for more shelves looming with the current space almost full. Large books, small books, thin books, thick books; books on engineering, astronomy, geology, mythology. Books of fantasy, science fiction…
All save on one shelf, close to her desk. That single space holds other things; some I recognise. Some are mysteries. I know the copy of ‘Tales of the Arabian Nights’. I gave it to her myself. There’s a picture of her mother, very old, looking tired and washed out.
Her treasures…
There’s another photo of Mitch, again old, looking much better but sitting with Conners and Klempner. Noticeably, it’s to the back of the shelf.
A stack of what look like working papers are held down with a pebble; large enough to fit a man’s hand, smooth and round, striped in terracotta and dark green.
What’s the rock about?
A mystery for some other time.
Close by; a wall calendar. Odd circles and notes inked on a month-a view page. Idly, I flick over the sheet.
‘Visit to City-Tech Inc.’
‘Exams’
Red-circled, ‘P’
What’s P?
?
?
Ahh…
I flick back to the previous sheet…
Again, ‘P’
*Quick count*
Twenty-eight days apart…
Flick back again, counting…
Twenty-eight days….
P…
Flick forward again…
Most recent ‘P’…
Count…
Thirty-six days…
From beyond the door, footsteps…
Hastily, I smooth down the calendar and head for the desk. Charlotte enters. “Hi?” She frowns at where I am rummaging over her desk-top.
“Hole-punch,” I say, holding up the offending item.
“You really should get yourself a desk set up you know…” But she’s smiling… “… instead of constantly raiding everyone else’s for stuff you should have.”
“I know. I’m converting one of the outside buildings into my own den. Overlooking the back garden.”
“And until then I constantly have mice raiding the cheese in my study?”
“That’s right.” I peck her on the cheek.
Her gaze slides to mine. “What? What is it?”
I hook hands into pockets. “What’s what?”
“You seem very happy.”
“I have a lot to be happy about.” I kiss her again, toss the hole-punch in my hand, snapping fingers around to catch it again, and leave, humming.
*****
Even in tee-shirt and jeans, she’s beautiful, but today she’s made an effort. The skirt is long and flowing, swishing around her calves in folds of deep moss green. The blouse is plain white but tightly tailored to her full figure and she’s belted, emphasising her waist. Over the blouse, she wears a finely knit silky cardigan. She’s taken some trouble over her makeup too; her eyes full and dark, lips lightly glossed and a kiss of rose on her cheekbones.
“Well, look at you,” I say. “All dressed up.”
She flushes and drops her eyes, sucking at her lips.
“Are we celebrating something?”
As if I didn’t know…
But I wouldn’t dream of stealing her thunder on this one.
Instead, I turn on the music system, something light and rhythmic, then settle my hands on her waist. “Dance with me.”
She blinks, then her lips curve and one hand slides up and to my shoulder, the other settling to my torso.
“So, are you going to tell me?”
She whispers the words. “I’m late.”
I keep my face straight, make as though to head for the door. “I’ll get the car out. But don’t you think you’re a bit overdressed for work?”
“No, not for work. It’s Saturday….”
As if I didn’t know…
“I mean, late.” She looks up to my face, then grimaces. “You were joking. You knew what I meant.”
“Of course I knew. I’ve been waiting for it. How late?”
“About a week.”
“Are you okay about it?”
She bites her lower lip. “Are you?”
She’s nervous…
I fingertip under her chin to tilt her face to mine, I press my lips to hers. “Yes, I’m okay. More than okay. We discussed this.” Her smile blooms. “When are you going to tell him?”
Footsteps sound along the hall, drawing closer. Her head turns to the clicking of shoe on tile beyond the door, and James enters, pausing as he sees us. “Am I interrupting something?”
“Not at all,” I say, releasing her and moving to sit…
… and watch…
Wouldn’t miss this…
“Master, I… We…” She turns back, looks to me, then back again. She lowers her face, moving to stand in front of him, then to his startled gaze, smoothly falls to her knees. “We… have something for you.”
“Oh? What kind of a something?”
“A present… A… a gift.”
James’ forehead crinkles to a vee. His eyes shift to mine.
I raise my hands. “Not a word from me.”
His expression morphs to worry. “Charlotte, what is it?”
She reaches into a pocket of the cardigan, takes something out, offers it to him. Then, her chest rising and falling steadily, watches him as he registers what he is holding.
He stares. “This is a pregnancy test.”
I’m fighting to keep my face bland. “Well spotted,” I comment. “Full marks.”
He still just stares. “It’s showing positive.”
“Yes, Master.”
His face breaks a slow smile, his mouth opens, closes, then his eyes dart to hers. “You’re happy about this?”
“Yes, Master. I’m very happy. It’s what I wanted. What I was hoping for.”
James’ jaw opens, closes. He swallows. “But your university work… Your position with Haswell… All the things you wanted to do…”
“I’ve my whole life for those. This is something I wanted to do now.”
James’ smile broadens again. “Oh, that’s marvelous, Charlotte.” He stoops, hooks hands under her arms and pulls her upright. Then, flinging arms around her swings her from side to side. Over her shoulder, he beams to me. “Well, what do you know? We’re going to be fathers.”
I shift in my seat, sling an ankle up onto my knee, inspect my nails. “In general terms, yes. We are. But I get the next one. This one is yours.”
He stills, releases Charlotte. “You can’t possibly know that, Michael. We both…”
I’m still beating my grin down with a bat. “You’ve not been paying attention, have you?”
“Attention?” His expression goes slack, gaze turning distant, eyes opaque… “You… You haven’t…”
“No, I haven’t. I haven’t come inside her for weeks. It’s your little swimmers that reached the finishing post this time.”
Realisation dawns over his face. His eyes dart between me and Charlotte. “You arranged it between yourselves? The pair of you? Between you?”
“Yup.”
He’s blinking hard. “Why?”
She lays fingers on his chest. “Master, I wanted to give you your daughter back. I mean… I can’t guarantee it’s a daughter, but I wanted to give you as much as you’ve given me.”
I stand, move to take her hand in mine, face James. “And since that’s what she wanted, I thought it was only fair that I helped.”
James pales. “You did that for me? The pair of you?”
Charlotte moves close to him, very close. Laying her palms on his chest, she reaches up to kiss him on the lips. “Yes, Master. We did.”
“Oh, God,” His voice chokes. “What did I do to deserve you?” He holds her tight, swinging her again in his arms, then strides across to me. He hesitates then drops his palms on my shoulders. “Both of you. Thank you.”
I drop a hand on his arm. “Pleasure.”
There’s a tap on the door. “May I come in?”
James swirls. “Of course you may, Mitch. And you don’t have to ask. Charlotte has some news for you.”
Her brow wrinkles. “News?”
“Mom, I’m… I’m pregnant.”
Mitch’s eyes fling wide and she throws a wild look at me then James, then back to me again. “Pregnant? As in, going to have a baby?”
I lift a finger-tip to my lips. “You know another meaning for the word?”
“Yes,” says Charlotte. “I’m going to have a baby.”
“There you go, Mitch. In less than a week, not just a daughter, but a grandchild too.”
She throws herself at Charlotte, hugs her tightly, then bursts into tears.
I stand beside James, watching the drama. “Like I said, why do women cry when they’re happy?”
He says nothing, instead looking away, wiping a mote of dust from the corner of his eye.
*****