Chapter 65
Meg slid a note under my bedroom door while I slept. When I found it the day after she left for London, I hesitated to read the contents as I feared she somehow knew I had taken the letter from Christine meant for her.
Instead I found a brief thank-you for the check as well as an apology for cutting my son's hair. I placed it into my desk drawer along with the one from Christine, finding Meg's words far too flattering to discard.
Alex did not feel well the day Meg left. He was congested and wanted nothing more than to sleep the day away, preferably in my arms. Of course he asked for Meg, but it was half-hearted as he could barely keep his eyes open.
Weeks passed, which turned into months, and it was-ironically-the middle of May when Madeline knocked on my bedroom door and Alex, who was not only tall enough but fast as well, unlocked and opened the door for her.
My son not only grew by leaps and bounds, but he was insatiable when it came to exploration. With my music being accepted more widely and commissions pouring in, I had less time to dote on Alex, which left him bored. Madeline was not a patient teacher, but she kept him entertained as long as possible before he wanted more.
"I have a letter from Meg," Madeline announced, her tone hinting at devastating news.
I hastily scribbled down the melody in my head before I turned to face her.
Instead of reading the letter aloud, she handed me the note, which Alex attempted to take from me. I held the page above my head, twisting and turning until at last I stood.
Charles and his parents were not on good terms, and the discontent between Meg's in-laws and husband had gotten progressively worse. The result was an ultimatum. Either Charles dissolved his marriage to Meg or his parents would cut him out of their estate. From past experience I was quite familiar how well ultimatums worked and winced at the choices.
Once I turned the page over, I saw why Madeline had handed me the letter from her daughter.
Please ask Monsieur Kire on my behalf if his offer still stands. I do not know where else Charles and I would be able to live, at least not for a few months. Tell him I promise we will not be permanent fixtures in his home and that the living arrangement will most certainly be temporary. Also, please do not make it sound like we are in desperate need of a place to stay.
All the while I stood with the letter in hand, Alex attempted to climb up my leg. I handed the letter back to Madeline and picked up my son, who had been chanting Meg's name repeatedly in a low growl of a voice.
Quite frankly, the sooner Meg returned, the better as she had the most patience of anyone else in the house and enjoyed taking Alex with her on trips to the market, park, and shopping. Madeline was far too flustered half the time to keep track of my son and bring back whatever was on her shopping list, especially with how fast Alex could run.
Naturally I released a hard sigh that belied the sense of relief in Meg's imminent return. "Fine," I grumbled. "Temporary is fine."
Madeline turned her head to the side and gave me a narrow-eyed scowl. "I thought you would be happier," she said.
I turned away from her and sat at my desk again. "I am," I said, barely able to contain my smile of relief. Most of all, Alex would be much happier.
Madeline thumped me on the shoulder. "Shame on you."
"Indeed, Madame. For what am I to be shamed for this time?"
"For acting like you do not care."
"I act strictly on Alex's behalf," I answered.
Madeline stood over me with her hands on her hips while Alex slid off my lap and ran out the bedroom door. I looked from her scowl to Alex as he held onto the railing and crawled backward down the stairs with a smile on his face.
"You need to put the locks higher on the doors or he will be running the streets alone," Madeline warned. "I've already ordered the hardware."
She was correct. The moment he made it down the stairs, he ran toward the front door and proceeded to unlock it himself. His insatiable curiosity threatened to become problematic.
Meg returned a week later with her husband and a meager amount of their belongings. They arrived late in the evening, exhausted and starved from a delay at the train station. Alex had been asleep for hours when they arrived, but the sound of Meg's voice roused him, and from my room I heard Alex climb out of his crib and scamper across the hall to the foyer.
"Alex!" Meg exclaimed.
To my surprise, Alex did not yell her name in return.
"Alex? It's me. Surely you have not forgotten."
I walked out to the landing at the top of the stairs and watched Alex stand warily at a distance. He paid no mind to Meg; his attention was on Charles seated in a wheelchair far too small for a man of his size.
Two young men had carried Monsieur Lowry up the stairs and into the house. They solemnly avoided looking Meg's husband in the face and moved stiffly at his side. Charles looked from one to the other as if trying to catch their eye, but to no avail.
"Would you bring in our trunk?" Meg asked.
"Of course, Madame," one of the men answered. They disappeared for a brief moment, returned with a trunk and several bags, accepted payment from Meg, and left.
Pain was etched on Monsieur Lowry's face. His unwashed hair was longer than it had been the last time I had seen him, his eyes heavy-lidded and olive complexion ashen. He gazed around the foyer as though he had no interest in his surroundings but needed something to occupy his time.
Once the men were gone, Alex began to mumble to himself as he motioned Meg toward him.
"Alex," Charles said, his voice hollow. He leaned forward and reached out. "You have gotten so big."
Alex took a step back, traveling a wide arc away from Charles and toward Meg with his fingers in his mouth. He glanced at me once he noticed I had come out of my bedroom, then turned his attention back to Meg.
Charles sat back and folded his hands in his lap. He focused his attention elsewhere, a look of devastation on his face once Alex rejected his offer for a handshake. He was the sort of person most likely accustomed to being greeted with warmth by everyone he met. I imagined he was taken aback by Alex's response.
"What is wrong, Alex?" Meg asked. "You remember Charles, don't you? We talked about him when I came to visit you."
Alex nodded.
"Did you have a bad dream?"
Alex shook his head and found himself in Meg's arms a moment later, his gaze still focused on Charles. He started to point, and I knew precisely why he avoided Charles so vehemently: my son did not care for the wheelchair.
Meg must have sensed the reason for Alex's trepidation as she took his hand in hers before he could jab a finger in Charles' direction. Wisely she distracted him with a kiss and hugged him tight enough to make him giggle.
"Why don't I tuck you back in bed, hmmm?"
Alex continued to look warily at Charles until Meg gently touched his cheek and forced my son to look at her.
"Did you miss me? I have missed you." She looked over her shoulder at Charles before she whisked Alex off to his bedroom.
Charles sat awkwardly alone and scanned the foyer. He adjusted his posture, a grimace on his face when he lifted his amputated left leg and tucked his pant leg beneath the stump of his knee.
"Monsieur Kire," he said without looking in my direction.
His acknowledgment of my presence caught me off guard as I hadn't realized he noticed me at the top of the stairs. Of course I should have expected as much from a military man.
"Mr. Lowry," I replied in English.
Charles stared at his hand dangling off the armrest. "Alex," he said, switching back to English. His voice was much weaker than I recalled from his previous visit to Paris. "Your son does not care for me."
I wasn't sure how to respond. It was not so much that Alex didn't care for Charles but that he did not know what to make of the contraption he sat in. By morning I fully expected Alex would make a valiant effort to push Charles through the halls.
"I will keep my distance," Charles promised. "For your son's comfort."
I walked down to the bottom of the stairs and looked him over, this soldier turned feeble invalid. Had he not been seated in my home, I would not have recognized him on the street.
"That will not be necessary," I said.
Charles merely stared back, his eyes bloodshot. Now that I stood before him, I found the amount of weight he had lost alarming.
"What do I look like to you, Monsieur?" he asked.
He looked unwell, which was putting it lightly. Lost, angry, caught in the unyielding grip of physical agony...that was how Charles Lowry appeared. I had no desire to tell him as much.
"You look like a man who needs a challenge."
To that he snorted and leaned forward, both hands in tight fists. "Have I not been challenged enough?"
I fully recognized the bitterness in his voice. An acidic tone almost served as an accent when I spoke.
"Are you a scholar first or a soldier?" I asked brusquely.
Charles made an exaggerated gesture as though presenting his useless legs. "Hardly a soldier now, wouldn't you agree?"
I don't know why I found myself annoyed with his self deprecation, but I grew tired of his words.
Charles exhaled hard and tugged at his waistcoat as though the fabric made him uncomfortable. The vest was far too large for him considering how thin he had become in the last few months.
"I studied every book I could get my greedy hands on while I attended university. I bought books on my tour as well, all sorts of books in different languages. Astronomy, physics, music theory, history of obscure African tribes...always learning. Always striving to be better than the day before. I fully intended to sweep Meg off her feet and show her the world, Monsieur. Now what can I do?"
"My son will require a tutor of exceptional quality. If you feel you could possibly meet my standards, then I invite you for an interview tomorrow morning in my study at nine sharp."
My tone was more harsh than I intended, but the results were precisely as I desired. Charles Lowry sat up straighter like a man at attention of his superior. He breathed harder than before, his jaw twitching as his gaze darted back and forth.
"I...I will consider your offer," he replied without looking me in the eye. The corners of his mouth pulled up into a faint smile, the vacant expression in his eyes turning thoughtful.
"You have ten hours to give me an answer. I trust that will suffice." With a single nod, I turned on my heel, walked back to my room, and pulled up my mask to wipe my face.
"Damn it," I said under my breath. Now I had to consider how I would interview a man I fully intended to hire on as a tutor to my son.