Chapter Five #2
“There is nothing humorous about Gansey knits,” said David severely, possibly due to the fact that he was currently wearing one in a tasteful and flattering shade of charcoal gray.
“They are a classic style from a rich cultural tradition, and furthermore—” He stopped, realizing he’d allowed himself to become badly sidetracked.
Meredith, now wrapping several slices of cake, said, “I’ll take some of this down to Mrs. J. With only the two of us in the house now, we’re never going to finish it ourselves. Come along, Bianca.”
David suspected this to be a ploy to avoid the conversation altogether, but he was not so easily deterred.
Pulling on his heavy woolen peacoat, he followed Meredith and Bianca out of the cottage as they started down the hill; during the past hour, the sky had clouded over and the wind picked up a slight bite, a last reminder of winter. “About the wedding.”
“I’m not going,” said Meredith placidly.
“Listen to me,” growled David. “In all the time we’ve lived together, I’ve never asked you for a single thing except to pay your share of the rent on time. I am asking you for this now. Consider it a favor, if you like.”
“You ask me for all sorts of things,” objected Meredith.
Deepening his voice in imitation of David and putting on what could only be called a travesty of a Welsh accent, he went on, “Meri, put the kettle on. Meri, quit leaving your clothes lying around everywhere. Meri, clean up those ink stains before I have your head on a platter.”
“Why’ve you given me that ridiculous accent?” demanded David. He’d left Wales for Washington state with his parents at age nine, and he most assuredly had no such accent.
“That’s what you sound like.”
“That is not what I sound like,” said David, “and I have certainly never called you—look, none of this is the point.”
Meredith stopped abruptly on the footpath, forcing David to stumble in order to avoid trampling Bianca. “What is the point, David?”
David took a deep breath, quieting the slow-simmering anger that had been building inside him all morning. Why Meredith had to be such a difficult person, he didn’t know.
“The point,” said David, “as I have already explained, is to speak with Maitland Cartier.”
“If you want to speak with him so bad, why not just go to his office and schedule an appointment?”
“Ah, but it’s not that simple,” said David. “Mr. Cartier is a busy man. It’s not as if he personally oversees the Corner Store. And seeing him in the context of a social occasion—in the casual, relaxed, dare I say joyous atmosphere of his daughter’s wedding—is a different thing altogether.”
“You mean you want him to take notice of you.”
It sounded a bit pathetic and embarrassing, put like that, but there was certainly no harm in ensuring that he was top of mind for Cartier when he began the search for a replacement finance VP. “I want to work for him,” he corrected.
“But you already work for him.”
“Not directly. There’s a difference.”
Meredith folded his arms, failing to look the least bit convinced. “I know, Bianca, it’s sad, isn’t it? He really doesn’t know how to switch off business mode.” He started down the path once more.
“Listen.” David tried another approach. “Mr. Cartier is a well-known patron of the arts. As your soon-to-be uncle-in-law”—he was not at all sure if that was the proper relation—“he’d be kindly disposed toward you, perhaps inclined to finance a venture such as opening your own shop.”
“I don’t want my own shop,” objected Meredith. “I’m happy enough working for Thao at the Lost David’s curiosity was piqued in spite of himself. “What of?”
“Some old Nazi shit.” Then, bouncing back to his usual mindless good cheer, he said, “Perhaps Mrs. J will let us see the new kittens.”
#47: He can go from taxes to Nazis to kittens in the span of sixty seconds without batting an eye.
“Now, you may not want to get your hopes up there,” David cautioned. “From the sound of it earlier, things may not have gone well.”
“Oh, I know, one mustn’t go counting one’s kittens before they’ve hatched,” said Meredith, “but Mrs. J will make sure they’re all right, no question of that.”
David himself wasn’t so sure, especially when their knock at her front door went unanswered.
“That’s all right, she’ll be back soon enough.
” Meredith slipped the wrapped cake into the hanging basket on the witch’s front door.
“Well, I expect you’ve got something or other you’ll be wanting to get back to, but it’s such lovely weather out, I feel like a walk myself. In the Wood,” he added pointedly.
The weather was not lovely at all, and even if it had been, this was a transparent effort to get rid of him.
Under ordinary circumstances, David wouldn’t be willing to venture into the Midnight Wood a second time in one day—it was hardly the sort of place where any sensible person went for a leisurely stroll—but he was determined to settle this matter for good.
The two of them were going to Adalynn Cartier’s wedding, one way or another.
“Wonderful,” said David, “that’s just where I was planning to go myself.”