Ben Halpern and his bit on the side

Chapter 5

Senator Lorcan Calder, in his early 70s with his flowing white hair and trade mark fur hat worn at the usual jaunty angle, cut a fine figure. Not even the record breaking heat persuaded him to forgo his favourite sartorial vanity. His bedroom blue eyes still shone, even though age, decorum and political office had combined to somewhat limit his sexual adventures. As much was even more the case into Lorcan’s sixth year as President of the  upper chamber of the Triesenbourg National Assembly. But the flight from Belfast had been pleasant and now in East Midlands Airport, he looked for the one whom he had helped into the world 29 years ago and had been ever since rewarded with the esteem of the child’s parents and the status of  Godparent to the infant.

Marius Hance Sebastian Lorcan Metanin the infant in question was now a handsome worldly young man with saturnine good looks not untypical of Fiorentine men and women.
Marius greeted his Godparent with warmth and affection. Hugs, followed by continental kisses on each cheek and then an exchange of hand kisses unique to Fiorentine culture; and which in the their particular pattern essayed mutual devotion and the just right degree of deference paid by the younger man to the older.
“It’s obvious you’ve been back to Northern Ireland,” smiled Marius gathering up Lorcan’s luggage.

“Ah,” replied Lorcan, following Marius’s cue and speaking in Fiorentine rather than English. He knew exactly what his Godson meant. For more than 50 years Lorcan’s Ulster accented Fiorentine had been a matter of public comment; and after he became a Triesenbourg national and had entered politics, a matter of satirical amusement as well.

“It always happens for a wee while when I have been to visit my relatives. The accent becomes stronger.”

The two exchanged news and gossip, as they passed through the airport into the carpark, with Lorcan keeping his eyes open for Marius’s aging Peugeot and enjoying the quizzical glances as passers-by tried to work out what language it was that the two men were speaking.

“I thought I’d introduce you to Rosie,” announced Marius, as a rather magnificent Daimler DS420 Limousine, came into view. “Much more comfortable for you than my Peugeot.”
“Yes indeed, I’m impressed and on behalf of my ancient bones, let me say how grateful I am.”

So this was the motor left to Marius by the late Mr. and Mrs. Parslow as a thank-you for caring for them for two years, thought Lorcan as he sank gratefully into the comfort of the back seat.
What was it about this Daimler, that was oddly familiar, wondered Lorcan?
“And Appleton House,” asked Lorcan, cautiously recalling something, but not remembering quite what.

With Marius at the wheel, the black and burgundy limousine glided effortlessly towards Eastamptonshire. Even with all the windows open, 40 degrees centigrade of heat was scarcely mitigated.

“Well apparently the Parslow family are not going to contest the Will, so I am able to live there rent free for the next 12 months.”

“And then return home to Triesenbourg?”

“That’s the plan,” confirmed Marius, “taking Rosie here with me. But whilst you are here beloved Lorcan, I want you to meet my good friend Frazer Shaw, at long last. You would like him, as I keep saying.”

“My predecessor president of the senate and of  happy memory, had a limousine just like this one,” said Lorcan, suddenly recalling what it was that was familiar to him about the car.

Whatever else he was going to say was forgotten as Marius and he became aware of a police car travelling along side them, with one of its occupants gesticulating wildly through an open window.
“I think he wants us to pull over,” was Marius’s dry observation.
“I rather think he does,” Lorcan agreed.- “So perhaps we should.”
The gesticulating police officer walked around the front of the Daimler, pausing to glare at Marius as he did so.

An altogether calmer police sergeant approached Lorcan.
“Has someone died,” asked he, before correcting himself and repeating his question in English.

The sergeant looked at him, for a moment perplexed.

“No sir. Not so far as we know,” she said. “We have been instructed to escort you to RAF Leafield Hill and to ask you to contact your embassy in London without delay.”

RAF Leafield Hill! The words sent a shaft of grief through Lorcan’s body as if it were 1970 all over again with his affair with Robbie Price coming to its painful end, and being made real again. Quickly the Senator gathered himself.
“Thank-you Sergeant..er..”

“Dodswell, sir.”

“Thank-you sergeant Dodswell. If you and your colleague will lead the way.”

“I’ve checked on social media for what it’s worth,” said Marius, as they watched the two officers get into their police car. “The Triesenbourg Government coalition has collapsed; the Prime Minister has fallen down some stairs and broken her hips and the Minister of Finance had a nervous breakdown and started chewing his office carpet when someone said to him that he might be the next Prime Minister.”

As they followed the escorting police car to RAF Leafield Hill, the substance of what was being reported on line was confirmed for Senator Calder by the Ambassador in London.

“But dear God, Maria-Christina,” said Lorcan as they concluded their phone conversation. “Fiorentine Government’s don’t fall apart in August; they go on their holidays, like everybody else.”

Two hours later the President of the Senate was in an RAF aircraft being flown to Triesenbourg.

So it was that Marius Metanin and Rosie his Daimler limousine, were available for Ben to take  Oliver for a very special ride.

As he showered and dressed, Oliver wondered about the night he had so recently spent with Ben. Come to that where was Ben? Sexually great was his verdict on what had passed between them. -And bit more than  a one night stand, clearly. He sniffed Ben’s black bomber jacket and held it close. Tonight, he would sleep in this, he promised himself. Essences of Ben assailed his brain and stirred his desire, as he moved around his Housing Co-operative flat, pretending that he was dancing and that Ben was taking the lead.
Dancing was not something Oliver did. It was the only social activity that made him self conscious about his cerebral palsy. He looked at himself in the mirror. His blond hair and fringe, was a bit longer than usual, but added something, he decided, as he gazed through the fringe into his brown eyes.

Pleased with his appearance, Oliver swished and turned, his mind on how long would their relationship last?; did he want it to last and where would it lead, if it did? He swished again, too quickly this time, and fell cursing to the floor.

He cursed again as getting himself to his feet, just managed to reach his buzzing phone. It was Ben. Instantly Oliver’s annoyance with himself vanished.

“Hi handsome,” said Ben’s voice, “how’s things?”
“Totally fine now.” Oliver tried not to sound as overjoyed as he actually was,- and did not care very much that he failed.
“Sorry its been nearly three days,” Ben continued, his words a symphony to Oliver’s ears. “But I’ve been thinking about us a lot.”

“Me too.” And by the way, do you know you left your earrings and your necklace in my bedside draw?”
“Sure do sweetheart. Give them to me tomorrow.”
“Tomorrow?”
“Yes tomorrow. Put on your glad rags Oliver. I’ll be at your place at 6 with a big beautiful motor to take you wherever you want to go”

“What?”

“Must go, Oliver. Got to see the tall dark handsome chauffeur to discuss the details.”

The figure approaching Ben didn’t look like a chauffeur at the moment, but in all other respects he matched Frazer’s description.
“You must be Marius,” said Ben, rising and offering his hand.

“And you must be Ben Halpern,” said the other with an almost imperceptible bow as he took the outstretched hand.

“A pleasant little coffee shop this,” said Marius, pausing to wordlessly acknowledge a fellow customer. “I like to meet here sometimes to finalise details.”
“I have seen you and your Daimler round and about Eastamptonshire. How old is it by the way.”

Marius was always pleased when someone took an interest in Rosie and it would not take a moment to describe her.

“A 1992 Daimler DS420. The only one in the county, I believe. I’ve seen you out and about in your van,” he added.

There was something about the way Marius spoke and the way he now looked at Ben. He suddenly felt ill at ease.
“I’m not really clear why we are here,” he ventured cautiously. “We have agreed terms, haven’t we?”

“We have indeed.” Marius paused, pretending to search for the correct English idiom. ‘Mates rates,’ as our mutual friend Frazer would have it, I think.”

“And you are happy with our arrangement?”

“I am indeed Mr. Halpern. I checked my business account a few minutes ago and I’m pleased to report that the agreed sum is there,- If that’s what is troubling you.- And something is troubling you, isn’t it?”

Even if there had not been anything already making Ben feel ill at ease, there was now. The dark eyes that had at first been strange to behold, but welcoming, had become just dark,- and menacing.

“Look,” said Marius sounding most amiable, “Why don’t you buy coffee for us? Make mine Turkish and be certain to tell Sandra that is for me.-She will make sure it is good and strong.

A few minutes later Marius and Ben were drinking their coffee.

“In 30 years of occupation, it is they only thing the Turks give we Fiorentines that was worth having.” Ben had the impression from the bitterness in his voice that his interlocutor might have been describing events brought to an end last Thursday, rather than in 1460.

Ben seriously considered cancelling the hiring of Marius Metanin and his Daimler and losing the fee. He just wanted to get away from this man. Something was not right.

“You are contemplating cutting your losses and getting the hell out of here?”

Ben managed to supress a shoulder. It was almost as though the other man could read his mind.

“I won’t deny it.” Ben spoke in matter of fact tones in hope that his surprise was not made too apparent. “But if I do it will so disappoint my friend.- He loves old motor cars and I truly love him.”

“Yes. I know. Oliver Groves and his father Peter matter a great deal to me and to my late father and to my very much still living mother in Triesenbourg.”

This time, there was no hiding Ben’s complete and utter surprise. He seemed frozen for a moment, his lips moving but not a word coming forth.

“People will tell you that if you harm Oliver in any way, Peter will,..” And here Marius did have genuine difficulty in recalling the English Idiom he wanted, “..’Will have your guts for garters.’ Except that is, if you do harm Oliver, I will get to you first, on behalf of both of them.”

Leaving the stunned Ben to meditate upon his words, Marius went for more coffee. At Marius’s return, Ben had rediscovered the power of speech. He was no longer afraid of Marius,- or attempted, at least a facsimile that state.

“Why the fuck do you think I would want to harm Oliver?”

Marius shrugged in the way that Fiorentines often do and that others think it a mark of sophistication to copy.

“My good friend Frazer Shaw, is a good and kind man. The very best of souls, I think. But you know that for yourself. We are here now because of his intersession. It is because of the high regard I have for Frazer that I have agreed to your hiring tomorrow.”

“So what,” snapped Ben.

The coldness in Marius’s features returned; his eyes once again darker than the jet black hair on his head.

“The so what, Mr. Halpern is that that you are a thief. A pickpocket: A burglar with aspirations above his abilities, from what I hear.”

Ben’s short lived foray into belligerence drained with the colouring from his usually handsome features. A slightly raised hand forestalled what protest it was Ben was about to make.

“My guess is that Frazer knows of your life of crime,- only in general terms of course and no doubt conscientiously believes that you would not steal from friends, or the poor.

“And now you apparently want to attach yourself to Oliver! And what? rob him? live off him whilst proclaiming undying love?”

“No! No Never,” hissed Ben. Surely Frazer cannot have betrayed his confidence and repeated all of their conversations at Fixby, to this man?.

Once more, it seemed as though Ben’s mind was being read.

“Frazer did not betray you. He loves you far too much,-as a friend I am assuming- to do such a thing. Though heaven only knows why he wants anything to do with you.”
“You are not the police then?” Ben could hardly speak the words, lest saying them would make them true.

Another of those shrugs, but this time with a hollow laugh. At that instant, the penny dropped.

You are a criminal like I am; or like I was, Ben thought to himself.

“Don’t say what I feel sure you are about to say, Mr. Halpern,” advised Marius with an air of concern: “After all, it might be untrue. I would not want us to fall out, if it can be avoided. Walk with me.”

So saying Marius rose to leave and Ben followed.

In the light and warmth of the late August evening, the two looked to be a companionable pair, as they leant against Marius’s unimpressive Peugeot.

“I see your Queen Elizabeth is very ill,” announced Marius glancing casually at his news feed. “Close to death according to this. Look.”

“What,” said Ben incredulously. “You get me here on the pretext of wanting to confirm the hiring of your Daimler; to tell me I’m a thief wanting to,- I don’t know,- live off Oliver,- and then prattle on about the Queen being close to dying.”

“I know you are a thief. I know about the 6 golden spoons. I know how you acquired them. I know about Sidney Tate; everyone knows about Sidney Tate. And I know how  roughly what Tate paid you.”

Ben Halpern did not smoke and had not lit a cigarette since he was 12 years old watched in mild curiosity as Marius opened an obviously expensive and crested cigarette case.

“The family crest,” said he noting the other’s interest. He lit a thin cigarette rolled a dark brown leaf of some sort.

“Before the 1848 revolution we owned 300 hectares of land,” continued Marius Metanin, his dark eyes smiling at Ben for the first time. “Then Leopold  prudently swapped sides in mid battle,  led the revolution, saved the royal house of Flandin and went on to reign as our most popular monarch with queen Isabella at his side, until they both succumbed to the influenza epidemic in 1920.

He took a long draw on his cigarette. For a moment Marius was lost in a wistful mediation of his status as Fiorentine aristocrat with but a title, a small manor house and 27 hectares of land to his name.

“Try this.” He passed the cigarette to the by now bemused, if less fearful Ben. “I grow the tobacco  on my land in Triesenbourg. Or to be more precise, my mother the Countess and the gardener grow it.”

Ben inhaled the tobacco and allowed a pleasant dizziness to overcome him as he spoke.

“I have been called the cat burglar.-But I’m not of course” he said, only mildly surprised, at the words coming unbidden to his lips.

“You shouldn’t watch so many Hitchcock films,” replied Marius lighting another cigarette, this one for himself. “Anyway, I know that you are not the cat burglar: If you where he, you would have supped with the Sidney Tate using a much longer spoon than the ones you sold to him.”

“H..H..How do you know about me and…”

“Your criminal activities?”

“Well..er…yes. Activities I swear to you and will swear to Oliver, that  I have given up.

“Well,” continued Marius, as he observed the effects the Fiorentine tabaco was having on his companion, “No doubt the beating Tate’s thugs gave you is bound to concentrate any sensible mind.”

“I made up my mind to give up crime thanks to meeting Oliver and BEFORE, Tate’s men beat me up and took the money back.” Ben had tried to sound indignant in his own defence. But in his strangely relaxed state, he simply could not manage it.

He stared perplexedly at the tab end of his cigarette and flicking it to the ground said: “You still haven’t told me how you know of my now former activities, Marius.”

“Ah,” Marius appeared to ponder the matter. His foreign accent more pronounced it seemed.

“Ah. No. It is as you say. For now, let us agree that I am satisfied that you mean no harm to either Oliver or to Frazer. Believe me when I say to you Mr. Halpern, that is what matters right now from your point of view.”

The renewed note of menace was not lost on Ben. So when it was again replaced by pleasant concern, he could help but breath a sigh of relief.

“You clearly cannot drive yourself home in your present state. And I have things to do.”

Twenty minutes later, Marius Metanin had had summoned a motor car. Marius saw the fleeting concern crease Ben’s features.

“Fiorentines are loyal to each other and also to our friends,” he said in a gentle tone, that Ben had simply not expected. One minute the saturnine man with the darkest eyes Ben had ever seen was sending shivers of fear down Ben’s spine. The next, shivers of appreciation.

Marius spoke briefly to the two men in what Ben guessed was Fiorentine.

“Ludo will drive you home. Sebastian will follow in your motor car. And I of course will see you tomorrow with Oliver.”

In parting, Marius took Ben’s hand. Kissed it lightly on the palm. Gave a slight bow, turned and in less than a minute was gone.

To Be Continued.