Chapter 38
Dear Dr. Chopra,
I hope you’re enjoying your time in our country. I am one of the attorneys responsible for the care and management of Alston Hall. In that capacity, I have been asked to extend the invitation to you, to come visit the estate.
I am currently staying on the Isle of Wight, so if you would like to accept the invitation, simply call the number listed below, and we will make all the arrangements for a visit.
Regards,
David Maynard
The Alston Hall Trust
What? I get up and make a circle to look around the lobby, wondering if I’m being watched right now. How do they know I’m here? Why do they want me to come to the house? To Leo’s home. Who asked them to invite me?
Maybe Leo left me a letter, and instructions to find me when he knows I’m in England. To let me know he had a good life. Maybe he left some historical insights or an old book; he knows how much I would love that.
But I can’t ignore that the only other way this could have been more tailor-made to lure me to a kidnapping would be if they had included the promise of English bulldogs, primary sources of the Indian experience in England, or one of those elaborate milkshakes with pieces of cake to top them off.
So even though this may be how I get kidnapped, I’m calling that damn number.
My fingers shake as I type the number from the letter into my phone.
I realize too late to do anything about it that it’s almost midnight and people with good work-life balance, especially Europeans, might not answer their phones after hours, but I can’t stop myself any more than I can resist getting a side order of fries whenever it’s a possibility.
But someone answers the phone, although he does sound tired. “Hello. This is David Maynard.”
“Uh, hi. Sorry about the late hour, I just received your letter. This is Meera Chopra.”
“Dr. Chopra, so lovely to hear from you! Please, don’t worry about the time at all.” Now the voice sounds alert.
“I was surprised to get the letter. What is this about?” A very delayed self-preservation instinct finally rears its head, pushing me to get some information before I cheerfully hop into the windowless van full of my personal catnip.
“I can’t go into the details over the phone. There are things I need to show you and give you.”
“Right. But I don’t know you. And I don’t know what the Trust would want with me. I have no connection to it.” Well, not one that I can explain to you. Not one you would believe.
“That’s fair. I have a very specific set of instructions and can only request fervently that you visit the house. We can make all the arrangements for you and send a car. It will all make sense at Alston Hall.”
Mysterious. And since it’s in my job and nature to be curious, I’m going to make the irresponsible choice. “Can I bring a friend?” I do have a little self-preservation. Not enough to not go, but still, it exists.
“Yes, of course. I’m not trying to kidnap you.”
“Haha.” He gets a forced laugh. “I would never think that.” Or at least I would never tell you I thought about it. “Let me check with my friend if he’s available and then I’ll give you an answer?” Frankly, I’m going regardless, but I will not be letting them make my travel plans if I’m going alone.
“Splendid. Please call or text when you know, and I can arrange everything.”
“Will do. Thanks.” I end the call, then stare at the phone for a little bit longer. Then I make another call.
* * *
“Why did they call you again?” Luis asks me the next morning, too bright and too early, as we wait outside the hotel for a car to pick us up and whisk us away to Alston Hall.
“They were sparse on the details.” So sparse they provided no details.
“What if they read something I did and want me to look at their archives? The family did have an Indian member, and subsequent part-Indian members and I am an expert in the field.” Probably because there’s so few of us studying it.
“We’re heading into the English countryside, in a car driven by a stranger, and we don’t know why exactly?”
“Yes. Where’s your sense of adventure?” And this is Leo’s house. I would never say no to Leo’s house, no matter how sketchy the invitation.
“I’m a historian. The only adventures I like are the ones I can read about.”
“Then this will be good for us. Give us a better perspective on the adventurers that we study.”
“It’s a good thing I scheduled some extra time in England.
” Luis gives me a look that suggests he isn’t swayed by my arguments, but he’s going so I don’t go alone.
And because he wants a free ride to get closer to his boyfriend at Cambridge.
But I need him to stop asking questions, because I can’t explain to him why this particular invitation isn’t as random as it seems.
“Thank you. You’re my favorite and this will be reflected in your Christmas present this year.”
A sleek car pulls up to the hotel, and the driver gets out. “Dr. Chopra?” he asks.
“Yes. That’s me.”
He reaches for my bag. “Mr. Maynard is meeting us at the estate, and I will take you to the hotel near the house to drop your things off and freshen up if you would like. Then it’ll be on to the house.”
“Sounds good.”
The driver puts our luggage into the trunk as we get comfortable. Soft leather seats greet us, with drinks in a cooler and a host of buttons letting me know I can control every part of my experience in this car, from the lighting to the temperature of the seats.
“Explain to me again what’s happening right now.” None of the excess has escaped Luis’s attention.
“I’m getting your trip to the English countryside paid for, along with a night in a fancy hotel with a many-starred restaurant you can enjoy with your boyfriend. Because of my wonderful historian powers.”
“Those aren’t a real thing. But I can’t argue with these snacks.” He rummages in a box on the floor, getting out some salt and vinegar chips. Thankfully, the chips stop the questions that I can’t answer.
Five hours, one ferry ride, too much traffic, and a stop for lunch later, we pull up to a hotel. After an efficient check-in and time to freshen up, we get back in the car, my body protesting the confinement after its recent freedom.
It’s gotten later, even though the sun is in no danger of going down any time soon (thanks, summer in England). We pass cars leaving the estate as we drive through the welcoming gates, me for the second time, and past an almost empty parking lot.
Then we’re at the house, and I almost create even more questions in Luis’s mind by crying, but I hold back the tears. Because I don’t know how to explain crying in reaction to a museum that I said I had no connection to.
But I can’t stop my heart from aching as the numerous windows wink at me in the bright sun, welcoming me back.
And then it aches at the thought that the building is still there, but the lord of this manor, the man I love, is long gone.
The only comfort I can get is walking the same hallways and rooms that I walked with Leo, and seeing the same furniture.
If it hasn’t been sold or replaced by now.
I didn’t realize how much I would be affected by seeing the house again, or I would have prepared for it better.
Luis breaks into my thoughts. “It’s a nice pile.”
“Yeah. It really is.”
The driver pulls up to the main entrance. “Mr. Maynard will meet you inside the house.”
“Thank you.”
I get out of the car, walking up to the impressive facade and trying not to remember the last time I did this, while Luis follows behind. The front door is cracked open and I push it the rest of the way in.
“Dr. Chopra! I’m so glad you took us up on our offer.” An older British man, outfitted in too many items made of tweed, just in case we had the nerve to mistake him for a city dweller, welcomes us into the building. He’s got a large smile on his face, projecting affable grandpa.
“Well, I’m very curious to find out what this is all about. My family was so excited when I told them where I was going,” I say, so he knows that people know I’m here. They don’t, because I didn’t think of that till now, but that would have been the smart thing to do.
“Let’s not waste another moment. We’ll borrow an administrative office to have our meeting.”
He leads us up the stairs, and to the right. Even though this house is giant and I have a terrible sense of direction, I do know that a left at the top of the steps would have taken me to the Rose Room. I swallow and force myself to turn away and follow David in the opposite direction.
“Please, have a seat.” David sits behind a Victorian desk and indicates the Louis XVI armchairs in front of it. We do what he says, but I sit a little closer to the edge than normal, wanting him to get on with it already. “Would you like some refreshments?”
“No,” I say as Luis says, “Yes.”
“We’ll eat after,” I say to Luis. But right now, I want to hear and see whatever David has for me.
“Are you sure you don’t want to be alone for this?” David looks at Luis.
“No, it’s fine.” I don’t even want to wait the time it would take for Luis to leave the room.
“Then let’s get to it.” David shuffles his papers around on the desk.
Ahh, more stalling. Stop torturing me!