Lady Sativa (5 page)

Orient could see that she was maintaining her composure by a sheer effort of will. Deep shadows of grief and fatigue lined her pale face. When he took her hand her skin felt damp. “You have my deepest sympathy,” he murmured.

She nodded absently, took Neilson’s arm, and began walking slowly to the stairs. Sybelle moved to assist her but Neilson frowned and put a finger to his lips. She came back to Orient’s side.

“I can’t believe it,” she whispered, looking at Germaine. “How did it happen?”

“Suicide. Carl shot himself.” His full mouth tightened into a regretful smile, but his eyes were oddly flat, like pieces of gray slate. Orient studied the man who had appeared in his innermost consciousness, weeks before, as a looming image.

Count Germaine was tall. He held his slender frame erect and straight with an almost determined dignity. Near sixty, he had the, supple grace of an expert skier or swordsman. He betrayed a guttural, non-European accent under his flawless English when he spoke.

“I’m sure we could all use a drink. Why don’t-you come inside and join the others? We can take care of your bags later.”

“That’s a divine idea,” Sybelle said, taking Germaine’s arm. She smiled wistfully at him. “I’m absolutely shattered.”

“I understand,” Germaine said as they walked to the room at the end of the stairs. “Carl was a dear friend. I shall miss him. But let us remember that he believed, as we all do, that death is merely a transition -like birth.”

“Hannah will be lonely.”

“All things must pass,” Germaine said softly.

The first person Orient saw when he entered the library was Anthony Bestman, sitting behind a massive desk, his jutting, aggressive chin resting on his hairy fists. His eyes were dark swirls of anger as he watched them enter.

Germaine ignored the stare and guided them to a couch on the other side of the room. All three of the armchairs around the couch were occupied, by two men and a girl. Both men rose as they approached. “Sybelle, you already know Maxwell and Daniel,” Germaine was saying, “but I’d like you to meet a new friend, Lady Lilith Sativa.”

“Please call me Lily,” the girl said as she uncoiled her body and rose from her chair.

For the second time since he’d entered the house, Orient found it difficult to breathe.

Her hair had the burnished bronze color of fall leaves. Shades of rust and glints of red weaved through the thick strands cascading down the back of her jade-green velvet dress. The headband made of beads lent a savage highlight to her yellow-flecked, amber eyes. Her face was finely featured, but there was a reckless curl to her sculptured hips. Full breasts widened the deep opening of her neckline, thrusting against the soft fabric of her dress. The only flaws on her golden skin were a trio of freckles on the edge of her small, straight nose. “Lily Sativa,” she said. Her voice was as warm as the fingers that gripped his hand.

“Owen Orient,” he replied, his senses activated by her touch.

She looked at him with curiosity. She was about to speak when Germaine interrupted. “Lily is my latest discovery. Like your Dr. Orient.”

“Looks like you’ve lost her to Owen,” a high, mocking voice observed. Orient realized he was still holding Lily’s fingers. He let go of her hand and turned in the direction of the voice.

“If it should matter to you, and I’m sure it doesn’t, my name is Maxwell Andersen,” a pudgy youth was saying. He held out a round, pink hand that was covered with rings.

His expression was hidden behind a pouting smile, and reflecting sunglasses. The hand he offered was limp.

Orient grinned. “You’re very observant, Maxwell.”

“Now that you’ve all finished introducing yourselves,” Anthony Bestman barked from across the room, “perhaps you’d all be so gracious as to leave my brother’s study. There’s no longer any reason to be here. Your meeting is finished.” He folded his arms across his chest. “You’re all crazy, anyhow. Do better to book yourselves in a good rest home.”

“You’re mistaken, Mr. Bestman,” Germaine told him, a slight rueful smile playing at the edge of his words. “We are not finished. Dr. Orient hasn’t yet been introduced to Professor Hazer. Daniel, this is our eminent young physician from New York. Sybelle’s candidate.”

A bent, rumpled old man wearing a dusty blue suit’ stepped forward and stiffly grasped Orient’s hand. “Daniel Hazer,” he said curtly, squinting his rheumy blue eyes through thick glasses.

As he went through the strained charade of introduction, Orient could feel Bestman’s angry stare on his back.

“Daniel has had the most fascinating career,*’ Sybelle said sweetly, breaking the tension.”Do get him to tell you about his methods.” She looked up. “Wasn’t someone going to get me a drink?”

Bestman slammed a big hand down on the desk. “You forget that a man is dead m this house.”

Germaine looked at him and shrugged. “We are perhaps more sensitive to that fact than you might imagine.”

Please, Anthony,” Neilson rumbled. The squat lawyer was standing in the doorway. “Everything is according to your brother’s wishes.” He walked over to the desk “and handed Bestman an envelope.”This is a copy of a letter dated six months ago.” He turned and came over to the couch. “Be seated,” he said gruffly. “There is something I must discuss. Please pour me a brandy, Count Germaine.”

As Germaine went to the cabinet, Bestman crumpled the letter he was reading into a ball, threw it on the floor, and left the room.

“What a relief.” Sybelle patted the cushion next to her. “Do join me,” she said, beaming at Neilson. The others sat down in a circle around the lawyer.

Orient accepted Maxwell’s armchair then was vaguely disturbed when the young man perched on the edge of Lily’s chair. He wondered if he was jealous. She smiled at something Maxwell was whispering in her ear.

Neilson waited until Germaine had served all of them before speaking. He extended his neck and looked around. “Here’s to Carl Bestman, may he rest in peace.
Skoal.1*
He took a long swallow of his brandy. “Now let us go over the matters that concern us here.” He took an envelope from his pocket and gave it to Germaine. The tall man set down his snifter and extracted two folded sheets of paper. “It’s dated April 15 of this year,” he murmured. After a moment’s hesitation, he began reading.

Esteemed
friends of the highest path I greet you. I write this so that if something unforeseen should occur, our efforts will continue. I wish to entrust Count Germaine of Amsterdam, a great spiritual force in my life, with the management of SEE’s financial and scientific welfare. In the event that SEE should cease to function for lack of membership, all assets should revert to the maintenance of our library in Amsterdam as a permanent archive.

In my main will I’ve bequeathed half my liquid estate, as well as all my properties, to my wife Hannah. To SEE I’ve left the other half of the liquid assets (list attached to Will) and I ask Count Germaine to accept this trust in my behalf.

I also leave to SEE the grounds on which our library stands in hope that a workshop can be maintained on the site.

To Sybelle Lean, our most gracious and lovely medium, I bequeath my collection of Crystal Skrying Globes, in hopes that she might discover more happiness there than their previous owner.

To Professor Daniel Hazer I leave my camera equipment and all fond wishes for his devoted healing of man’s weak, pitiful body.

To Maxwell Andersen, brilliant and headstrong young colleague, I leave my carved bone Nepalese chess set and this advice: listen very carefully before you speak and study the board well before you move.

I request that our membership be enlarged immediately to five, and even more if dedicated seekers are available, in order that our work continues to grow.

To SEE’s archives I leave my unpublished thesis detailing my fifteen-year research into the nature, cause, and cure of Lycanthropic Schizophrenia. I ask that copies of this thesis be distributed to the surviving members of SEE in hopes that my work in this field will be continued.

I request that my Lawyer and trusted friend, Nels Neilson, be allowed to take my place, at subsequent meetings until a fifth member is named.

I finally, urgently request that a séance be held, in hopes that perhaps I can once more communicate with my beloved associates.

Germaine looked up. “It’s signed by Carl.”

“He was such a dedicated man,” Sybelle sniffed.

Professor Hazer took a gray, tattered handkerchief from his pocket and wiped his glasses. “Were it not for Carl, I could have never erected my clinic. There are so few men in the world like him.”

“I’m sure I speak for all of us,” Germaine said softly, “when I say that every one of Carl’s wishes will be carried out to our utmost ability.”

Neilson nodded. “I’m sure. I was close to Carl and he told me a great deal about your fine work. You now have the responsibility of managing a trust of eight million dollars m cash and negotiable securities. Use it well.”

“Well, Carl certainly wasn’t one of your bloody Swedish tightwads, was he?” Maxwell poked Lily. “That’s rather heavy bread.”

“Now, now,” Hazer clucked gently. He placed his glasses on the bridge of his nose and squinted at Andersen. “Carl was a rare man. That’s to be respected.”

Maxwell frowned and flicked an imaginary ash from his lapel. “I have all respect for Carl, but it doesn’t mean that I should respond to tribal, emotional conditioning and revert to crude ritualistic behavior in the face of death,” he said in a bored flat voice. “Carl believed, as all of us in SEE do, that death is a transition to a more efficient existence. Perhaps you haven’t exorcised the primitive fears we’ve inherited Professor, but those who have shouldn’t be expected to give up their franchise on freedom.”

Sybelle hurried to break the awkward silence that followed. “But how did this horrible thing happen? On you tell me Mr. Neilson. Was
anyone
here?”

Neilson pulled his bald head in closer to his body. “Just Hannah. Carl shot himself with a hunting rifle two days ago. Hannah found him and called the police.”

Sybelle frowned. “I didn’t know Carl owned a
hunting
rifle.”

“Apparently, it was Anthony’s.” Sybelle nodded as if the fact held great significance for her. “And where was Anthony when it happened?”

Neilson smiled. “In
my
office, Miss Lean.”

“Oh,” she said in a small voice.

“The police were quite satisfied,” Neilson went on, “and so was I. Carl had been extremely despondent lately.”

“That’s right,” Germaine put in quickly. “I’ve never seen him so—” he hesitated, searching for the proper word—”melancholy. He sent me three letters early this year, each time repeating he was desperately tired.”

Orient glanced at Lily. She was watching Germaine from under blue-shadowed eyelids. She could have been listening to a description or a dinner party. But even composed and relaxed, her lithe body seemed to be poised at the edge of explosive motion.

Maxwell’s plump, jeweled fingertips rested lightly on her shoulder. Orient wondered if they were good friends. He hoped not. He’d already decided that Lily was too much of a good thing.

Lily turned and saw him staring at her. Her lovely face never changed its expression of serene indifference.

“Perhaps we should have our regular meeting after lunch tomorrow. Afterwards, we can hold a séance for Carl tomorrow night.” He looked around at the others. “Do you agree? That way we can leave promptly and not disturb Hannah any more than necessary.”

“I agree.” Hazer pulled a battered pipe from his pocket. “Hannah’s under a great strain. I could feel it when I first saw her this morning.” He produced a worn pouch from another pocket and began filling the pipe, spilling crumbs of tobacco over his wrinkled suit. She needs a long rest.”

“What do you mean, Daniel?” Sybelle asked nervously.

He looked at her over the bowl of his pipe. “She’s completely exhausted.” He struck a match. “Sea air and sun is what she needs. Plenty of liver, figs, and herbs. Maybe Italy.”

Germaine turned to Neilson. “Professor Hazer has the gift of healing. He’s able to diagnose physical illness even, from photographs sent to him.”

“Yes,” Neilson said, looking shrewdly at Hazer. “Carl told me a great deal about the members of SEE. I myself have no special gifts in the, er... psychic field, but I’m very interested in your work.” He looked up at Orient and Lily. “Carl even told me a little of the two young people who are candidates for his award.” He smiled. I’m looking forward to seeing your talents.”

“I heard that Dr. Orient was going to revolutionize the concept of the human brain.” He studied the rings on his hands. “Is that true, Sybelle? Perhaps you can give us a sneak preview.”

“Oh, Maxwell, darling, do be patient,” she scolded. “Owen is exhausted and so am I. As a matter of fact, I’d like to go to bed if there’s no other business.”

“Yes, all of us have had a long, hard day,” Germaine stood up. “Will you be staying overnight, Mr. Neilson?”

“No. I have a place a few kilometers from here.” He got to his feet. “I’ll see you all tomorrow afternoon. At the meeting.”

Sybelle came over to Orient’s chair as Germaine went with Neilson to the door. “Let’s get our bags and go upstairs,” she whispered. She looked at him knowingly. “I want to talk to you.”