Jane Vows Vengeance

“Sam?” said Walter.

“Do you know him?” Jane asked, detecting something in Walter’s voice suggesting familiarity.

“Her,” Walter answered. “Sam’s a woman. We worked together on a couple of projects when we were both starting out, but I haven’t seen her in, oh, fifteen years or so.” He looked around, and Jane, to her surprise, felt a pang of jealousy. “I didn’t see her name on the list.”

“She was a last-minute addition,” Brodie told Walter. “But she isn’t here yet. Comes in tomorrow.”

“Sam Wax,” Walter said. “Wow. It will be nice to see her again.”

“Too bad we’re getting married tomorrow,” Jane said, rattling the ice in her now empty glass.

“What?” said Walter, looking up. “Oh. Yes. We are.”

“Married?” Brodie said.

“Yes,” said Walter. “I’ve arranged for us to be married in the chapel in—”

“Walter Fletcher?” said a woman’s voice.

The woman who had been talking with Orsino Castano now stood beside the table. As Jane had thought, she was wearing a kimono. It was made of red silk and embroidered with dragons done in white and yellow thread. The woman’s jet-black hair was pulled back into a thick ponytail secured with a circle of leather pierced by a single ivory pin. The delicate bones of her face were covered by flawless skin, and for a moment Jane thought she might be wearing white powder.

“That would be me,” Walter said.

“I’m very pleased to meet you,” the woman said. “I am Suzu.”

“Suzu,” Walter repeated. “What a lovely name.”

“Thank you,” said Suzu. “I just wanted to tell you how much I enjoy your work. I saw the article about you in Spaces last year and thought what you did with that house was wonderful.”

“I didn’t know anybody actually read that magazine,” Walter joked.

“I do,” Suzu said, her tone so soft that she might have been apologizing.

“If you don’t mind my asking, how did you get mixed up with us lot?” asked Brodie. “Pardon me for saying so, but you don’t seem like an architect.”

“You mean you’ve never heard of me,” Suzu said, smiling lightly.

“That’s precisely what I mean,” Brodie admitted. “So who are you?”

“I teach aesthetics at Kumamoto University,” said Suzu.

“Ah,” Brodie said. “A professor.”

“Yes,” Suzu said. “Well, good night. I’m sure we’ll be seeing more of each other in the days to come.”

They said their good nights and watched as Suzu left the bar. When she was out of earshot Brodie looked at Walter and Jane. “I still have no idea why she’s here.”

“Is it so odd that a professor would be invited?” asked Jane.

“Not if she was a professor of something useful,” said Brodie.

“Aesthetics is useful,” Walter countered, although he sounded less than convinced himself.

Brodie shot him a look. “Like I said, must be a friend of Enid’s.”

“Well, she seems sweet enough,” said Walter.

“Careful,” said Brodie. “She’s the enemy.”

“Enemy?” Walter said. “Oh, you mean the whole Chumsley-versus-Enid thing.” He laughed. “I’ll be careful not to share any state secrets with her, then.”

More drinks were produced, and Jane listened as Brodie and Walter exchanged stories about people she didn’t know doing things she cared little about. Still, she was having a good time. Chumsley and Enid had, she thought, assembled quite an interesting cast of characters. With a bit of luck they would provide entertaining company for the next two weeks.

Suddenly a hush fell over the room. The piano player, who was halfway through “Happiness Is a Thing Called Joe,” hit a wrong note and stopped. Even the ice ceased its tinkling. Jane looked around to see what was happening and saw the guests looking in opposite directions—half toward the front of the bar and half toward the back.

At the front stood a short, stout woman, her graying hair cut in an unflattering shag. She wore a plaid skirt that did little to flatter her figure, a bulky sweater of green wool that was equally unhelpful, and heavy black shoes that could only be described as sensible. That must be Enid, Jane thought.

Enid—along with half of the guests—was staring at a man who Jane assumed to be Chumsley. He was all that his name implied. As short and stout as his ex-wife, he too had gray hair, although less of it. Curiously, he was dressed in what appeared to be some kind of riding outfit, including brown twill breeches tucked into leather boots, a yellow high-collared shirt beneath a red vest, and a herringbone ivy cap.

“Is he carrying a crop?” Jane whispered to Walter.

“And here we go,” Brodie said as Enid and Chumsley advanced on each other. They stopped when they were about a yard apart and as if by some unspoken cue turned so that they were back to back.

“Welcome, friends,” they said in unison. Oddly, it was impossible to tell their voices apart.

“We have a terrific trip planned,” Chumsley continued.

“We’ve each selected our favorite homes to show you,” said Enid.

“Some of which are more exciting than others,” Chumsley added.

“Indeed,” said Enid icily.

“Our tour will begin on Wednesday, when I take you to one of the finest homes in all of England,” Chumsley announced. “It’s one that is seldom visited, as the owner is a reluctant host. But as it happens, he is a good friend of mine and has graciously allowed us a visit. We’ll journey by railway to the village of Cripple Minton in Warwickshire and spend the day touring the house. That evening, following a delightful dinner, we’ll board another train, which will take us through the night to arrive the next morning in Pembroke, Wales, where we’ll catch a ferry to Rosslare, Ireland.”

He said Ireland as if he were naming a particularly vile type of pudding, and Jane caught his eyes cutting to a lanky, red-haired man leaning against the wall behind Enid. That must be Ryan McGuinness, she thought. Oh, this will be fun.

“And that is where the tour will truly begin,” Enid said loudly. “But enough of what’s to come. Let us enjoy the rest of the evening together.”

She and Chumsley exchanged curt nods and walked to separate parts of the room. Chumsley, seeing Walter and Brodie, came over to their table.

“Gentlemen,” he said expansively. “So good to see you.”

“And you, Chumsley,” said Walter, shaking the man’s hand.

“Chumsley,” said Brodie, “you appear to have lost your horse.”

Chumsley tapped him on the shoulder with his crop. “Enough out of you, you cheeky bastard,” he said. “You know I wear this only to annoy Enid.” He looked at Walter and Jane. “My ex-wife is deeply afraid of horses,” he explained. “As a child she was nipped quite badly by an Icelandic fjord pony, and ever since has harbored a fear that she might be eaten by one. If you want to give her a good fright, sneak up behind her and give a little whinny. She’ll likely soil her knickers.”

Jane laughed despite herself, earning a smile from Chumsley. “A lady with a wicked sense of humor,” he said. “I like you already.”

“That fine young lady is soon to be Walter’s wife,” Brodie informed him. “Tomorrow, to be exact.”

“A lucky man he is, then,” said Chumsley. “I’ll drink your health as soon as I can find someone to give me a whiskey. Will you all join me?”

Walter glanced at his watch. “I’m afraid we should be getting to bed,” he said. “We have a big day tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow night, then,” said Chumsley. “Once you’re properly married. We’ll have dinner at the Lord and Lamb.”

“I look forward to it,” said Walter.

“As do I,” Jane said.

“And I,” said Brodie.

Chumsley looked at him. “Who said you were invited?”

“I suppose I could always go with Enid’s group,” said Brodie. “They seem like a jolly bunch.”