Hell or High Passion

“This is it, my grave,” I thought as the taxi went uphill. Brought me even closer to three stories of Gilded Age greed and a house standing all alone in the wilderness. Even a day in there wouldn’t be short enough.

I felt like the sigh I let out, lugging my holdall onto the porch after the taxi had dropped me off under the porte-cochère since the snow had begun falling in a shower.

I pulled myself together.

Bucked up, reaching for the serpentine knocker.

At that moment, someone opened the door. She had to be the butler.

But she gave me a dirty look. “Who are you, and what are you doing here?”

I felt myself go red in the face, gawking at her.

“Who am I and what am I doing here?” I bumbled.

Lucky for me, something or someone over there behind me caught her eye. Thawed her expression.

I turned around to see whose power that was.

That was him. A stallion sitting high on another. Probably thought he was quite the buster.

At the fountain, he thudded down.

Seeing the wind play with his hair, copper so luxuriant, I remembered my boy; Rory. Rory helping me pack the holdall for the weeks the fraud I’d become might need to spend here. Rory saying, “Dunderhead, his blue eyes can make anyone weak at the knees. Last year he slaughtered fifty sheep, gave food to the homeless. But let that fool you, and guess which good guy will be forced to snuff you out before that varmint does.”

I’d laughed then. Despite the tears still on my lashes.

Here, I saw that Finn Belden was a beautiful man. There was no varmint in his anything as he strode toward us, no varmint as he talked to us before even reaching us, saying, “Evelyn, how and why have you still not shown my first ever PA the hospitality you would’ve loved to see heaped onto you?”

The statement tickled a chortle out of her throat.

When he was there with us, she said: “Finn, it’s because I resent this. Your not telling me you’re hiring a PA. Your ‘first-ever’ PA at that.”

Finn said, “You must be doing something wrong, Evelyn.”

“Maybe. You know, I can always tell my sister to stop making such adorable little babies. One can find herself dropping everything just to be the first one to see them.”

She and Finn giggled.

It reminded him that he was the reason I was standing on his porch.

“Will,” he said, “This is Evelyn, my estate manager. On some days she dresses like the butler, her husband.” And to Evelyn: “Pratchett, this is Will, the PA who made me go over your head.”

She smiled at me as though she hadn’t been quite the asshole earlier.

“Nice to meet you, Will”—she thrust her hand at me.

I shook it as though she hadn’t been quite the asshole earlier. “Great to meet you, Evelyn.”

“Finn is officially in your hands now.”

“Finn won’t regret coming into my hands.”

He turned his whole body to mine.

“The Finn you’re talking about answers only to Mr Belden,” he bantered. “Try not to get familiar with me.”

I said: “Sorry, Mr Belden. Don’t worry. I don’t see anything here that would challenge my professionalism.”

He, a man playful, looked like he did not to know how to feel about that.

It made him a man even handsomer than I’d thought.

In another place and time, even his friendship would’ve been enough for me.

When he gave me and Evelyn his back, returning to the horse, he said: “Putting him back in the barn. Take this man, who is already calling me by my first name, to the guest, Pratchett.”

She led me into the vestibule and the foyer, halls whose baroqueness was unlike anything I had ever seen before.

When we turned in the direction of the bifurcated stairway, images of my father hit me: him rushing down the stairs, to get away from Finn Belden and the rifle in his hand, and Finn Belden firing at him from the bifurcation and, with the force of the bullet, hurling him onto the metal and stone of the center table. Causing him to break his neck before darkening the rug with the blood pooling at his head.

I couldn’t breathe.

Evelyn felt that I was no longer at her kitten heels.

She turned around, impatient.

Worry reshaped her face when she saw my countenance.

“Will, are you alright?” she asked, hurrying to my aid.

The answer stared back at her.

But I blinked the sickness creeping onto me away, propitiated her concern with the twinkle I put in my eye.

“Being surrounded by wealth does this to me,” I said.

“You're in danger then.”

“I'll get used to it.”

We went on and up the stairs. Into what would be my bedroom.

My depositing the holdall onto the bed was her continuing to another door. “Mr Belden’s suite,” she said. “Naturally, there’ll be no closed doors between you two.”

“I’ll be the closest thing to the gentleman’s gentlemen who used to serve his ancestors.”

“I couldn’t have said it better,” she smiled, opening the door. “Let’s go see everything he’s been hiding in there.”

The thing was, between my bedroom and Mr Belden’s was a loggia. Rory’s voice played in my head: Dunderhead, your eyes must be on him always. His keyholes were made for your two ears.

Despite the pretentiousness of it all, his bedroom was a nest. Fire crackled in the hearth.

But Evelyn led me through this room too, and the closet and the bathroom—heading for another door, saying: “Winter’s almost here. Be that as it may, it won’t stop him from waking up earlier than even me. I need you to change that.”

“I won’t disappoint you.”

“You shouldn’t even think of it.” She opened the door.

Here was a sauna.

“When he’s not in the study,” she said, “he’s here.”

“Like the hard-working man he sounds like.”

“Like the hard-working man he is. Can you believe that he’s never gone on vacations, ever?”

“I read that he took over Lake Blue before he even turned eighteen.”

“Which explains your being here. To make his life easier. Can you do that?”

“I’m raring to start.”

She gave me a pat on the shoulder. “Welcome to Belden Hall, Mr Conway.”

“Thank you, ma’am.”

She turned to leave. But not before saying, “Finn is more than just my and my husband’s employer. What makes him happy makes us happy. What hurts him…” She left that to my intelligence.

Before I could assure her that no one would get hurt, she said, “Do only what you came here to do and no one will get hurt. Okay?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

She left.

I stayed there. Trying to wrap my head around what had just happened.

In what would be my room for only God knew how long, and after I’d transferred my clothes from the bag to the walk-in closet that had come with this room, I sat at the escritoire. Took the notebook out of the drawer to finally put what had only existed in my head until now on paper.

It was a teapot. It had the neck of an amphora. Beside it, I listed bullet points: “Dark, blueberry gray. Clay, unglazed.”

I didn’t realize I was thinking aloud until I heard Mr Belden say, “What’s going on here?” from behind me.

I startled.

But the guy wasn’t Mr Belden. His East Asian-ish eyes and vitiligo and Wild West outfit relaxed me.

Like an outlaw from that period but an outlaw from that period starring in a sketch, he extended his hand toward mine. “I’m Billy the Kid.”

“Good to meet you, Billy. I’m…” I didn’t know who. “Calamity Jane is the only name that comes to my mind. And her diamond tooth. Besides her, I don’t know anyone else.”

He looked disappointed.

Moving on, he took the notebook to see what I’d been doing.

Finding nothing interesting on that page, he put the book back down.

“You’re Finn’s PA,” he said.

“Right. Will.”

“My rapist stepsister’s namesake, minus the ma at the end of her name,” he deadpanned. “Can you believe the woman flew halfway across the globe, to make me bend her over a barrel the very minute I turned sixteen?”

I didn’t know what to say. “Sorry to hear this, Billy. Isn’t this a felony in most states?”

He wafted that away with his hand. “Don’t lose sleep over me. In rural Montana, mothers still scare their little children with my name. When I heard you crying for help, which is what I thought you were doing, my conscience wouldn’t let me pretend I hadn’t heard you. Forgive me for barging in?”

“These things happen.”

He said, “Let’s do this again then. My name is Owen. I hope I’m not bothering you.”

I shook my head. “Not at all, Owen. I’m new here, and you’ve been here since when. It’d be an honor to get under your wing.”

He grinned. “You mean become my friend, Will.”

“Yes, Owen.”

“Has anyone shown you around yet?”

“Evelyn has. A little.”

“She’s the nicest, isn’t she?” He grimaced.

“I don’t know her.”

“Rubbish. She’s got serious grudges against everyone. If she’s even nastier to you, it’s because—” he cut himself off.

I couldn’t just let it go. “It’s because what, Owen?”

He whispered it: “You look like Finn’s ex. The guy who broke his heart.”

“Really?”

“You didn’t hear it from me.”

I zipped my mouth, threw away the key. Wondering what else he could tell me.

“So, what do you do here?” I asked.

“I’m his groom.”

“As in, husband?”

“As in, stableman, country boy. I’m straight.”

“Good to meet you again then.”

“Same,” he smiled.

“Ever ridden a horse?” he asked.

“I spent the first five years of my life in a farm.”

“We aren’t the same. A race to the river sounded nice till you opened your pretty city-boy mouth.”

“We can still do it.” I got up.

“Okay then!” He threw his arm around my shoulder. “Since you’re eager to watch me run circles around you.”

Down the hill later, we were at the beginning of what looked like a farm: ripped potato fields and greenhouses and barns.

To Owen, as he took me to the only barn with an apartment over it, I said: “I didn’t know Mr Belden has a farm.”

“Nobody but us knows. Beyond the trees is another. Dairy. Surprises are his thing, yeah?”

Yeah. Danger was.

But to Owen I said, “I can’t wait to ride one of his donkeys.”

At night when everyone had to have gotten into their beds I got out of mine. Put sweats over my Andrew Christians and sneakers on my feet. In a house like this one, there must be evidence hidden or lying forgotten somewhere even after all these years.

I put my ears to keyholes and peeped in. Lost interest if it was the music room or a dining room. Turned the knob if it was a bedroom.

In the master bedroom on the second floor was Mr Belden’s mother. On a nursing bed. Hanging by the thread that was the ICU-looking things on her and at her bedside.

My optimism returned when I got to the study. With one of the keys I’d stolen from Mr Belden’s nightstand while he slept, I unlocked the door.

The books were what I searched first.

There was nothing behind them. Nothing under them either, nor in them.

I went to the desk and its drawers next. Financial statements and receipts were what was here. And, in the last drawer, a treasure chest.

I unlocked it with shaky hands.

Only to find that it was all letters. Linen paper.

Son, read one, what is a little fever to bones such as mine? Come home and see how strong I’ve become. Come home and see the summer cottage your brother built for us.

Another said, I have arrived in England, Annalise. I have met the earl. Although he is everything Father promised me he would be, it is someone else who has done to my heart what spring does to the river in which our brothers swim.

The letters irrelevant to what I wanted to achieve, I put them back where I’d found them.

“So”—this was Rory the moment I answered his call, closing the bedroom door behind me, coming back from my snooping. “Any progress?”

I sighed. “So far, so nothing.”

“I’m sorry, Dunderhead. You will find something. Your father will help you.”

“In the meantime I keep my phone on silent and I eavesdrop.”

“He’ll say something. Or lead you somewhere. Remember that true-crime series I liked so much, and you said that that made you wonder if I was okay up here?”

He made me smile. “Yes, baby.”

“No one ever gets away with the bad things they did to others.”

I hoped he was right.

My silence caused him to say, “Dunderhead, are you still there?”

I slumped down onto the edge of the bed. “Sorry, sweetheart. I’m just tired and disillusioned. Long days ahead.”

The following one saw me laying out his clothes (because why should a man important clutter his mornings opening and closing drawers looking for underwear or agonizing, torn between the navy double-breasted jacket and gray plaid one-buttoner) and, later, getting behind the wheel of his AMG to take us to town and Lake Blue headquarters, where I made him a businessman bigger than he already was; creating documents and presentations, answering phone calls and emails, taking messages.

I didn’t see time fly from morning to midday. And I didn’t hear him say “Go get us lunch, Conway” until he repeated it.

“What will you have?” I asked.

“The canteen never has anything that I like.” Then, when a smile came into his eye: “Surprise me.”

I came back with just coffees.

“I didn’t ask for this kind of surprise,” he said from the coffee table.

“I know what I’m doing,” I said, heading to my desk and the lunch box in my bag.

This time, it was him who surprised me. Not putting me back in my place but following me with eyes curious to see what was in the lunch box.

Finally, I sat down with him and opened it.

“Cinnamon coffee ca--” I didn’t finish it; his hand had descended on one of the pieces.

I waited for his verdict with bated breath.

He divvied the pieces between us.

“Even though nothing good has ever come out of a cake,” he said. “I’ll regret this.”

“Fat chance.”

He said, “Where I grew up, we believed that cakes are the enemy.”

“Sounds like one of those cases where we call Child Protective Services.”

“No, your parents let you grow like wild grass.”

“My grandma was the wild grass. She used to say”—I swallowed my cake to affect a voice raspy with years of yelling at farm hands—“the world is bigger and older, but what is your excuse for not having your cake and eating it, Tino?”

I froze in horror.

Mr Belden, unmindful of my panic, chuckled.

“The granny we all deserve,” he said.

Under different circumstances I would’ve replied, I’ll introduce you to her someday.

He went there without me. “I must meet your gran. Something tells me knowing her is loving her.”

“Even hearing of her is.”

He said, “I doubt someone else can sugarcoat her like you do.”

And I said: “I came here to work, not to exaggerate my grandma’s charm, Mr Belden.”

“It’s a shame then that I’ve got nothing else to put on your desk.”

“Let’s forget I said anything.”

“No. But thanks to your cake, I’ll indulge you. Thank you for it.”

“It’s just a cake. Thank you for making me feel at home, Mr Belden.”

He said, “About that, Conway, I’m doing it for me and my money.”

I laughed. “If that were the case you wouldn’t be saying that.”

“Maybe.”

I said, “Owen says you’re a good man.”

“What do you say?”

I couldn’t begrudge him the compliment. “It looks good on you.”

The hint of a blush appeared on his cheeks. He said, “Ah, I see. You’re manipulating me into letting you call me Finn.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, Mr Belden. I prefer calling you Mr Belden.”

“Calling one’s boss by his first name is the leveling up every PA dreams of.”

“I’m not every PA, Mr Belden.”

“Yeah, you wanna slave for me till the end.”

“Or the title is another thing that looks good on you.”

He laughed. “Don’t make me laugh.”

I stood up. “Let me continue making you and me richer than we were when I came in.”

As I walked back to my desk, he said: “Conway?”

I turned around.

He said, “There’ll be plenty of time on my hands now that you’re here.”

“You deserve it.”

He said, “Can you teach me how to make a cake like this one and other things you’re good at?”

I asked: “How did you know baking is something I’m good at and that I made this cake?”

“It’s the instinct of someone who likes treating his stomach to nice things.”

I could not not smile at such high praise. “We’ll start tonight if you want.”

“It’s a date,” he grinned.

It left a taste in my mouth, thinking I was playing games with my parent’s murderer.

However, a close relationship with him was the only way to getting the justice I was here for.

When he went to his own desk, he packed his bag.

“Finish what you’re doing,” he said. “Drive home without me. I’m going to a meeting even I had forgotten since I’ve been doing things like a mob boss.”

I grinned. “I’m here to change your life, Mr Belden. You won’t recognize it after I’m done with it.”

He left with a we’ll-see expression on his face.

I stepped into my bedroom in a hurry to choose what we’d bake tonight from the recipes in my notebook.

Just then, pain like a knife went through my stomach. Causing me to double up, clutching that stomach not enough for it, it took my consciousness too.

A knock on the door woke me up.

I got up, took out my phone and sat on the edge of the bed to scroll through my Instagram—an attempt at window dressing.

“Come in,” I said.

The door squeaked.

When I looked up from the screen and saw that it was Mr Belden who had come in, he hurried to my side, saying, “Conway, you look awful.”

I sighed.

He took my hand in his. “What’s wrong?”

“My stomach hurts.”

“Does Evelyn know?”

“Mr Belden, she’s dying to dance on my grave.”

“Maybe. However, you’re too ill to be fresh.”

“I’m not that ill.”

He got up. To take me up with him. “Let me take you to the hospital.”

I composed myself. “It’s nothing, I’ll be fine.”

He didn’t look convinced.

“Really, Mr Belden. Nothing a little lying down won’t fix.”

“If you’re sure.”

I was.

“My room’s right next to yours, should you need anything.”

“Thanks. Goodnight.”

He left.

If only this was everyone’s stomachache.

The first time my father visited me in a dream, he’d said, “What is a Marinelli, Santino my son? Avenge me. Destroy him. He killed me.”

While it might be true that Finn Belden had killed him, you didn’t walk up to a man and murder him, all because your father’s ghost told you to. So I said, “Let me get close to him, Daddy. Uncover what the police couldn’t. It’ll justify the things I’m about to do to him.”

Fast forward to the present and the clock on the nightstand saying twelve, my stomach still would not let me sleep.

There was nothing to justify.

I left my bed for the first floor, let myself into the armory.

Centuries’ worth of weapons.

A dagger drew me to itself.

I slid the edge of its blade across my palm to test it.

It made a fist out of my hand.

“You will go there,” my father had also said, “and you’ll think oh he’s this cherub. He isn’t. He’s just good at murdering people and talking out of both sides of his mouth. He must die.”