Part 4
There was an old plot of land out by the wood where the Kriticos boys had played as children. It wasn't far from their home - the borders of the family estate lay just at the other side of the wood, and they could see the house through the trees. It was a small clearing of lush green grass and wildflowers where they'd spent half their happy childhoods. Cyrus had always said he would buy that land one day. He was forty-two years old when he finally did it.
He hadn't set foot in the country for over five years by that the time the deal went through - he left his lawyers in charge. Franklin Moss, his father's lawyer, and his son Ben Moss, were the ones who bought the land, while Cyrus was out in Italy.
To be precise, at the time of the sale, Cyrus was in Venice. He had just arrived there from Rome, where he'd spent a little over three months. In fact, over the five years he'd been out of the country, Cyrus had travelled Europe almost in its entirety; Paris, Monaco, Barcelona, Madrid, Lisbon, Malaga, Valencia, Ankara, Istanbul, Odessa, Marseille, Turin, Milan, Naples, Bucharest, Budapest, Sofia, Kiev, Warsaw, Vienna, Salzburg, Berlin, Munich, Zurich, Bern, Geneva, London. He'd been to places that the family had never heard of.
No one was sure why he was travelling, not even his trusted lawyers. After the completion of his undergraduate degree in Theology, Cyrus had been expected to further his studies, perhaps in the masters' program or studying for a doctorate. He did neither, instead becoming a recluse, rarely setting foot outside of his estate. Then suddenly, the news came that he had not only left the estate but also travelled to Europe, where he remained, moving from city to city, for over five years. No information came through on what exactly he was doing there, aside from visits to all the usual tourist spots, and a few antique bookshops.
But the money kept rolling out. His accountants, though obliged to keep their client's affairs confidential, were friends of his brother William, and passed on what information they could. Most of the sums were simple if expensive hotel charges, but a few stood out; ten thousand dollars spent in three days in Lisbon seemed a little out of the ordinary, for a start. Then there was a cheque for thirty thousand written in Ankara, Turkey, followed by fifty thousand in Madrid and another fifty thousand in Barcelona. Cyrus spent a hundred thousand dollars in Toledo and three hundred thousand in Rome. And no one knew what it was that he was buying for these enormous sums of money, when all he ever shipped home were books for his library. Surely books, however rare and antique, couldn't be consuming the family fortune.
But at the time that the land came into his possession - after seven years of negotiation with the family - Cyrus was in Venice. He had, according to William's contacts in the city, spent all four days of his stay so far visiting with a restorer of antique books in a back street not far from the Piazza San Marco; no doubt he would have spent many weeks there in the city, speaking with many more dealers, or so the family thought. Still, as soon as he heard the news that his bid had been accepted and that the land was now his, Cyrus booked a first class seat on the first plane home.
Little did his family realise it, but his return was only partially sparked by the acquisition of the land. He'd found what he'd been looking for all those years. His long wait was over, as was his research. He knew what he had to do. Cyrus Kriticos was about to realise his lifelong dream.
***
There was an old plot of land out by the wood where the Kriticos boys had played as children. It wasn't far from their home - the borders of the family estate lay just at the other side of the wood, and they could see the house through the trees. It was a small clearing of lush green grass and wildflowers where they'd spent half their happy childhoods. Cyrus had always said he would buy that land one day. He was forty-two years old when he finally did it.
He hadn't set foot in the country for over five years by that the time the deal went through - he left his lawyers in charge. Franklin Moss, his father's lawyer, and his son Ben Moss, were the ones who bought the land, while Cyrus was out in Italy.
To be precise, at the time of the sale, Cyrus was in Venice. He had just arrived there from Rome, where he'd spent a little over three months. In fact, over the five years he'd been out of the country, Cyrus had travelled Europe almost in its entirety; Paris, Monaco, Barcelona, Madrid, Lisbon, Malaga, Valencia, Ankara, Istanbul, Odessa, Marseille, Turin, Milan, Naples, Bucharest, Budapest, Sofia, Kiev, Warsaw, Vienna, Salzburg, Berlin, Munich, Zurich, Bern, Geneva, London. He'd been to places that the family had never heard of.
No one was sure why he was travelling, not even his trusted lawyers. After the completion of his undergraduate degree in Theology, Cyrus had been expected to further his studies, perhaps in the masters' program or studying for a doctorate. He did neither, instead becoming a recluse, rarely setting foot outside of his estate. Then suddenly, the news came that he had not only left the estate but also travelled to Europe, where he remained, moving from city to city, for over five years. No information came through on what exactly he was doing there, aside from visits to all the usual tourist spots, and a few antique bookshops.
But the money kept rolling out. His accountants, though obliged to keep their client's affairs confidential, were friends of his brother William, and passed on what information they could. Most of the sums were simple if expensive hotel charges, but a few stood out; ten thousand dollars spent in three days in Lisbon seemed a little out of the ordinary, for a start. Then there was a cheque for thirty thousand written in Ankara, Turkey, followed by fifty thousand in Madrid and another fifty thousand in Barcelona. Cyrus spent a hundred thousand dollars in Toledo and three hundred thousand in Rome. And no one knew what it was that he was buying for these enormous sums of money, when all he ever shipped home were books for his library. Surely books, however rare and antique, couldn't be consuming the family fortune.
But at the time that the land came into his possession - after seven years of negotiation with the family - Cyrus was in Venice. He had, according to William's contacts in the city, spent all four days of his stay so far visiting with a restorer of antique books in a back street not far from the Piazza San Marco; no doubt he would have spent many weeks there in the city, speaking with many more dealers, or so the family thought. Still, as soon as he heard the news that his bid had been accepted and that the land was now his, Cyrus booked a first class seat on the first plane home.
Little did his family realise it, but his return was only partially sparked by the acquisition of the land. He'd found what he'd been looking for all those years. His long wait was over, as was his research. He knew what he had to do. Cyrus Kriticos was about to realise his lifelong dream.
***