The Chocolatier's Wife (37 page)

But
now,
William
was
in
a
foul
mood.
A
truly
foul
mood.
His
very gaze would melt paint,
he was certain.
Pity it would do him
no
good.

“But,”
he
explained
patiently,
“those
are my
stores.
Put
here
for me
by my
brother.
In
my
father’s
storage
house.
You
used
to
work
for
me.
I hired you
myself.
Don’t you
bloody
recall?”
He
smiled
as
he
spoke,
but
his
tone was hard.

The
clerk
swallowed
heavily
and
said,
“Well, yes,
indeed.
And
I
know well
who
you
are,
sir,
I
could
not
doubt
it
a
moment,
yet
I
tell
you,
there is
nothing
marked
here
as
belonging
to
you. Even
if
it
was
marked
as
your brother’s,
I’d
give it to you,
but I
have
nothing at all.”

“Then
it
must
not
have
been
marked
in
the
ledgers.
Maybe
Andrew even
su
g
gested
it
not
be
marked. Let
me
take
a
look
around. I
know
what the crates should look
like.
They have
a
blue seal.”

“I’m
sorry,
sir, we’ve
been
through
this.
You
are
no longer
a
part
of
the company,
I
cannot
let
you
in.
Besides,
I’ve
not
seen
anything
marked
as
you described.”

“I
shall
speak
to
my
brother,
then.”
He
gave
his
best
imitation of
a smile, and
said
:
“Thank
you for
your time,
Philip,
I
am
glad to see I
left the warehouse in
such capable hands.”

The
other
man
relaxed
visibly, a
bit
too
visibly. Did
he
really
think
the matter over?
He certainly had no
reason
to.

So,
William went
to
another
warehouse
and
asked
to
see
if
anything was
being
held
for
him. This time
he
asked
with
much
less
insistence, simply because he did not wish to replay the same undefeatable argument everywhere
he
went.
He
thought
he’d
caught
a bit
of
luck
at
the
portside dock. “We
are
holding
something
for
you,
sir.
We
were
wondering
when you
would
come
and
get
it.”
And
found
himself
the
owner,
again,
of
a
set of
nested
mixing
bowls,
wreathed
with
blue
flowers
that
he
had
bought
for some
long
ago
matronly
birthday
and
thought
lost.
He
carried
them
under his
arm, half
hoping
someone—preferably
large
and
brutish—would
jostle his arm and he could use the broken crockery as an excuse to start a fight.

It
was
her
laughter
he
heard
first,
unexpected
and
rather
lovely.
He sought
her,
surprised
that
he
should
meet
her
by
mistake. Technically
he was supposed to leave the area,
but he was tired of technicalities.

He
finally
found
her.
Tasmin
was
trying
on
masks
with
his
sister-in-law
and
Bonny
pointed
him
out,
gesturing
that
they
should
go
into
a dressmaker’s
shop and
let him
pass.

William
felt
a
bit
like
a
dullard,
overheated
despite
the
chill
in
the air,
and
a
mess
from
walking
from
one
corner
of
the
town
to
the
other, his
stockings
filthy. Yet
those
same
feet
were
frozen
in
place,
partly
from surprise,
for
the
thought
of
being
ashamed
of
his
disarray
had
never
before occurred
to
him.
It
was
a
novel
notion,
i
n
deed
more
novel
still
was
the feeling
he
couldn’t
place
as
she
turned
to
look at
him, lowering
the
mask from
her eyes and
smiling at him.

She
took
a
step
forward
and
Bonny reached
for
her,
but
she
thrust
the mask
into Bonny’s
hands and
walked swiftly, half skipping once,
to him.

“Mister Almsley! A
grand
day,
is it not?”

He nodded, grinning
like a
fool.
“Fare met, milady.”

She sketched a
curtsey. “So?
What
do you have
there?”

He
didn’t
really
know
what
to
say,
so
he
just
moved
the
box
so
she
could open
it
and see
for
herself.
He
didn’t
want
to
confess
that
they
had
been meant for
his mother,
e
s
pecially not when he saw the look
in
her eyes.

“These
are
very
fine
,
”
s
he
said.
“Beautiful
but
practical.
They
have
a
lovely feel to them, perfect weight. Did you choose them?”

H
e
nodded
.
“
I
though
t
someon
e
migh
t
f
in
d
the
m
usefu
l
i
n
ou
r
kitchen,
”
h
e
s
a
i
d
softly
,
an
d
sh
e
g
av
e
hi
m
th
e
m
os
t
ple
a
se
d
s
m
ile
,
s
o
ple
a
se
d
h
e
h
a
d
t
o
r
etu
r
n
it
.

“You’re
different,
away
from
the
house,”
she
said
approvingly.
They both
looked
at
Bonny,
who
was
taking
a
turn
as
an
actress,
pretending to
be
sincerely
inte
r
ested
in
some
cloaks while
she
kept
an
eye
on
the proceedings.

“
Well
.
I
d
o
no
t
hav
e
t
o
explai
n
why
,
”
h
e
said
,
the
y
bot
h
kne
w
th
e
hous
e
wa
s
no
t
th
e
mos
t
pleasan
t
o
f
place
s
fo
r
hi
m
t
o
visit
.
“W
e
hav
e
n
o
time
.
I
.
.
.
”
H
e swallowed.
He felt
unnerved,
half disbelieving
what
he
was about
to
say, but
as
the
words
tumbled
out,
they
made
sense,
and seemed to
be
the
only
thing
he
could
say. “I
hate
to
be
abrupt,
but
time
is
not
with us. I am not satisfied
as to the conclusion of recent events.”