"I've stolen something," Florian announced, the first words he'd spoken since entering Ray's study on invitation and taking up a formal pose in front of the desk.
"Have you?" Ray countered lightly, barely glancing up before resuming his paperwork.
By way of an answer, Florian placed a small leather-bound book down on the desk. Ray considered it for a moment before putting down his pen and picking up the book. It was a household accounts book detailing the cost of such mundanes as lamp oil and salt. The first quarter of the book was written in a masculine hand that became less steady before changing to writing that was distinctly feminine but without the usual flourishes Ray despised.
He turned to the very last pages but found nothing unusual, or even interesting. He set the book down and looked up at Florian.
"Is there some mysterious code hidden among the detailed accounting of potatoes and cheese that I am unable to decipher?"
"I suspect not," Florian replied, unable to suppress the hint of amusement in his tone. "It's merely an old household accounts book."
"Yet it was worth stealing?"
"Not particularly," Florian admitted. "I didn't expect it to be there, but I couldn't just leave it." He cleared his throat and shifted nervously, but shook his head when Ray gestured towards the nearest chair.
"The party last night at the Delacroix - Anna wanted me to see the new painting in her mother's morning room. On the way, we passed an old writing desk that reminded me of my father's."
"So that's where you disappeared to, leaving me with that half-deaf general and his wife."
"When I was a child, before Father became too ill to leave his bed, he would let me sit beside him at that desk while he worked. He showed me how to open the secret compartment and sometimes he'd leave trinkets there for me to find."
"So you had to see if the Delacroix desk had been your father's."
"Mother sold it years ago. I never expected to see it again. But yes, I had to know."
"You could have asked. I don't see how they would object to your having an old account book." Ray studied Florian's expression for a moment. "You didn't know what you'd find in that compartment, did you?"
"No," Florian admitted, finally shifting out of his rigid stance. "I don't know if Mother knew about the compartment. Father made me promise never to tell anyone about it. After he died, I'd sneak into the room and hide things there just to pretend... I didn't know Mother was going to sell the desk."
"She didn't know you had this, did she?" Ray rested his hand lightly on the book's cover.
"I thought she was going to burn it - that's what she usually did. So I took it and hid it in the desk. She was upset when she couldn't find it but I..." Florian looked down, blinking rapidly. He was dry-eyed when he looked up again. "She'd sold his belongings, everything but his ring and pocket watch - she kept those as long as she could. But eventually-"
Ray picked up the book and opened it to the first page. There was no name, nothing to indicate who it belonged to. Still, it was more than Ray had to remember his own father. Ray closed the book carefully and handed it to Florian.
"Tell Laila to sent the Delacroix a bottle of the '82 as a thank you for last night's party. I'll leave it to you to write a suitable thank you note."
Florian smiled softly, some of his tension finally easing. He leaned forward and straightened a small pile of books on the edge of Ray's desk.
"Do you want to sign the note or shall I forge your signature as usual?"
"Perhaps I'd better sign this one. I'm not sure I want to encourage these bad habits of yours."
"Perhaps not," Florian agreed, turning to go. He was almost to the door when he hesitated and turned back. "Does that apply to all of them?"
"Only the forgery and larceny. I intend to keep encouraging the rest of your bad habits, particularly this evening."
"I look forward to it," Florian promised, flashing a lascivious smile before strutting out of the room.
::end::