Chapter 13 #2
Charles shouldn’t read too much into any of it. He can’t grow convinced that he was special enough to hurt Loris, who’s now grieving their relationship. It would light up a noxious glimmer of hope.
Charles truly can’t afford to jump into this train of thought. He can’t, so naturally he’s riding it at full speed.
His thumb is shaking above the ‘like’ button, which Loris would perhaps read as ‘I’m stalking you, I miss you, you’re all that’s on my goddamn mind.’
Luckily, Elsy’s answer arrives, and when Charles touches the screen, it’s only to open it.
21:20 ELSY I’m all for this new-found passion for your job but I’ll soon storm Clifford’s office to reclaim my shares of Charles Ledwell because I invested in him before he was listed!
Clinging on to that safe and comical scene, Charles collects the apple he came to the kitchen for – but abandoned on the worktop upon discovering Loris’ post.
He will feel less of a liar if he’s actually in bed.
Unfortunately, he will need to come up with another lie before sleeping, to guarantee the success of the goal he’s set for the Christmas party thrown by Alex’s parents tomorrow.
He has to prevent Elsy from dragging him into an empty room.
When she did, a couple of days ago, Charles thought about Loris’ hands and lips a disturbing number of times.
Disturbing and unfair, therefore sickening and—
Here’s a good excuse to escape foreplay. Being sick. Food poisoning. It shouldn’t be hard to simulate. Feeling queasy has become second nature.
‘Come in here for a minute, Charles.’
Charles freezes in the entrance hall, glancing at the door of Milton’s study. His parents must have recently developed a sixth sense allowing them to guess when he’s in the worst state of mind to face them.
He takes a small bite of the apple, to avoid chewing his cheek into compote, and zigzags between the black tiles.
Can he feign instant food poisoning from a bad fruit?
‘You’re working late.’
‘Come closer, you need to read this.’
Milton looks abnormally chirpy above the screen of his computer, so Charles greets the option that he’s not in trouble and walks around the desk to stand behind his father.
‘Italian or automatic English translation?’
‘English, please. It’s been a neuron-extinguishing day.’
Milton laughs and Charles pinches his wrist above the watch. No, he’s not having a bizarre dream. His father is in a great mood.
He switches tabs and displays an article titled ‘Ustica’s art-collecting hermit succumbs to sickness.’
Charles jumps, lets go of the apple and barely catches it on the desk.
‘Sorry… Am I about to be psyched that… someone died?’
Milton pats his arm, sympathetic. ‘It will stay between us.’
‘Boston-born millionaire Donie Culver passed away this afternoon in his bunker villa on the East side of Ustica island, where he lived secluded.
Aged 72, Culver had been diagnosed with stage 3 bladder cancer in June and refused to undergo invasive treatment.
The nursing team who kept him comfortable gave notice of his death to local authorities.
Culver had cut ties with his family, including daughter Enrica Bianchi, theatre director in Florence. Nonetheless, as Culver’s lone descendant, Bianchi should inherit his fortune as well as the villa, rumoured to contain an art collection worth over 600 million euros.
Among dozens of pieces, Culver owned one of Amedeo Modigliani’s Head sculptures, a Leonardo Da Vinci sketch and a painting from Pavel Olwinski’s series The Lands of Wonders.
Legends around Culver’s secret collection have become fanciful around Ustica island over the years.
Many residents believe that the long-lost Caravaggio painting, Nativity with Saint Francis and Saint Lawrence, stolen in Palermo in 1969, is in the villa.
Bianchi has asked for privacy and hasn’t addressed the future of her father’s collection, but it’s already raising a lot of questions around Sicily and will soon become a bone of contention in art circles around the world.’
The most famous photo of the villa completes the article. A photo that was pinned on the ‘C&F Missions’ cork board hung in Fred’s bedroom, back when they were planning a heist to steal Kaunas. They gave up after they found out Culver had three Dobermanns.
‘What does that mean?’ Charles asks, feeling indeed psyched and awful for it. ‘Do we know anything about the daughter? Will she keep everything hidden in the villa? Or is she an Aunt Edith kind of nutcase who’ll try to cash in the collection?’
‘Unnecessary, Charles.’
‘Yes… It was, I’m sorry.’
‘Although that would be convenient if she were. We will find out soon enough. My contacts in Palermo will notify me of any whispers about Kaunas.’
‘So we can be the first to go and see it?’
‘So we can be the first to bid for it in case it is auctioned.’
Charles drops the apple again. ‘We’re buying Kaunas?!’
‘We will take a measured decision once all contingencies are—’
‘Kaunas could be ours?’ Charles starts hopping, his hands flat on his cheeks. ‘Kaunas might live here? Here, in— No! Sofia will move downstairs if her sister joins us. They’ll live downstairs in a special room! The best room. What’s our best room? The library is great!’
‘You are getting carried away.’
‘Yes, I am! I’ll slow down…’ Charles clenches the back of the chair, but his heart keeps on bouncing. ‘Can you please send me the link? And can you imagine if— I know, I said I’d slow down, but imagine! Sofia and Kaunas, reunited at our place and completing each other, just like they’re meant to.’
‘All the Lands complete each other. Alas, such a reunion will never happen.’
‘Yes, but those two especially. Pavel made it clear in his obscure and unclear ways. Matthew also pointed it out.’
‘Matthew?’
‘Matthew Burton. You know, his… friend. Pavel wrote about their conversations.’
‘This man’s opinion was not relevant enough to change mine. Pick up your fruit before it stains the carpet.’
Charles jumps at this opportunity to hide his sudden malaise. He pretends to look for the apple for a few seconds, then blows on its brown flesh, fiddling with his pendant. Milton is back on Google, searching for new Culver-related articles. The perfect cue for Charles to flee.
But a bout of frustration glues him where he stands.
‘Matthew’s opinion is relevant. He knew the secrets of the Lands, because he knew Pavel better than anyone else. They were together. They were… life partners…’
Milton spins his chair to face him. ‘Since when do you attach importance to the tissue of lies published by that greedy family?’
‘They weren’t lies. And I’m not talking about the letters. Pavel’s romantic feelings for Matthew are hinted at in The Mind of—’
‘Spare me this nonsense.’
Charles only catches a glimpse of his father’s deprecating expression before he returns to his computer screen, but it’s enough to transform the frustration into proper exasperation.
‘It’s real. It’s there in the book for us to understand—’
‘Even if there were any truth to it, there is a good reason why it was kept quiet.’
‘There was a good reason. But it’s 2018 now, society has evolved, we’re all fine with—’
‘Charles.’
‘What? Would you put Sofia on the market if it became public knowledge that Pavel was super gay?’
‘Enough!’
Milton pivots again, and his dark laser eyes poke through Charles’ soul to reduce his confidence to ashes.
To make him feel stupid for his words and ashamed of his thoughts.
And Charles’ brain smokes under this familiar assault.
A reflexive ‘I’m really sorry’ escapes his lips.
But when his heart resumes pounding after a few beats lost in panic, it’s not guilt that pumps it.
It’s a strong itch to throw the apple at his father’s head.
‘I hope you are sorry, for spoiling a joyful moment. Leave me alone now. And focus on preparing the meeting you have been granted the privilege to lead. It will be a better use of the time you apparently have to spare.’
His nails sunk into the fruit, Charles steps out of the study, biting his tongue to hold back the second apology he usually counts on for Milton to forgive and forget.
In the entrance hall, he stomps on the black tiles.
What was he trying to achieve, provoking the one bully he won’t fight? Did that pointless fit of rebelliousness stem from the Kaunas excitement? Or from the glimmer of messed-up hope he failed to squash in the kitchen? In any case, it’s all gone and he’s empty.
As empty as Fred’s eyes, in the central photo of the staircase display.
Charles’ ears start buzzing as he gazes into his brother’s haunting look. His mouth goes dry and his chest heaves in warning.
He manages to make it to his room before the anxiety attack strikes, only to realise it’s not anxiety. It’s sheer anger and none of it is directed at himself. He’s not stupid, he has nothing to be ashamed of, he wasn’t wrong. He’s not the problem.
He throws the apple against his bin that tips over and empties onto the floor.
That felt good. He should carry an apple at all times. Or an orange, as Loris’ made-up customer would recommend.
Charles takes his phone out of his sweatpants pocket, walks to his bed and drops on his stomach. Drumming the mattress with his feet, he types a few words, deletes them, types a couple of lines, deletes them too, then rolls on his back.
The three lamps of the room project a painting of shadows onto the ceiling. Charles knows it by heart, because his lampshades are always angled the same way, creating this steady sight he’s in control of and can lean on to find his bearings again.
But, tonight, it’s bland and irritating.
He rolls back on his stomach and reopens his chat with Loris.
21:40 Hi! I’m sorry for texting you out of the blue, but something came up, I’m freaking out (don’t judge me) and I have to share this with you!
He pastes the link his father emailed him, sends the message and leaves his phone on the mattress.
He puts the rubbish back into the bin and tilts the head of the floor lamp near his desk.
It doesn’t make much of a difference to the ceiling shadows, merely a slight distortion, but it might enlighten him.
After all, it’s enlightening to resent his father for being despicable instead of resenting himself for driving his father to be despicable.
Charles goes to the bathroom to brush his teeth and comes back to his bed.
21:43 WITH ONE L Thanks
There’s nothing else to read on his lock screen, so Charles displays the conversation, hoping to see Loris typing. But he was last online two minutes ago.
Thanks for what? Sharing the Olwinski news? Texting out of the blue? Leaving him alone forever now?
21:46 I’m not sure what it’ll mean for Kaunas but it’s exciting, isn’t it?
Loris comes back online instantly. He must be bored out of his mind at the pub. Thursday nights are likely dead at the North—
Loris isn’t online anymore.
It’s alright. Perhaps he had to serve a customer. Perhaps he hasn’t read the article yet. Perhaps he wants to be left alone forever.
Charles moves against his pillows and swaps his phone for his glasses and The Mind of Wonders.
He follows the outline of the title on the cover, every word of Fred’s note, then he skims over a few chapters to reach the one where Pavel recounted a winter afternoon spent with Matthew.
The connection between Sofia and Kaunas is highlighted in their exchanges.
Their feelings for each other are implicit between the lines.
Did Loris finish this passage before his reading was interrupted by Enzo invading his flat, then by Charles bolting out of it?
He takes back his phone. To check that his alarm is set. No reply.
He turns it upside down and moves on to his favourite three pages, in the sixth chapter. ‘Once, someone told me…’ Someone was Matthew. He showed Pavel all the poetry he could find in his fears and the many colours he could draw from his traumas.
Of course people are scarred and even more beautiful and interesting because of it.
The echo of Loris’ voice blows through the room. Charles grips his book tighter.
He reads the whole chapter dedicated to Kaunas and counts nine mentions of Sofia.
He knew there were nine, he just loves counting them.
He would count thirteen mentions of Kaunas in the Sofia chapter, but his eyes are getting tired.
His focus harder to maintain. The weight in his stomach impossible to ignore.
He puts away the book and flips his phone over. It’s almost eleven.
Loris isn’t replying.