Chapter 20: Say It In The House

I held the page up so my father could see it.

"That's your handwriting," I said.

He stood in the frost in his shirtsleeves with the fire trucks behind him.

He didn't deny it.

"She slid it under my study door the night before," he said.

"She wrote the time, and where to stand. I wrote back."

"You said, I'll be there."

"Yes."

"You weren't a man who stumbled on it," I said.

"You were told when to come and you came. You raised your finger on her schedule."

"Yes."

Edgar made a noise behind me, low and raw.

My father didn't look at him.

"I have no defense," my father said.

"I've had five years to think of one."

"Then don't give me one," I said.

"Give me what I came for."

He looked up.

"Inside," I said.

By dusk the fire was out, and the guesthouse was a black shell.

The staff stood in the front hall in their coats, because I had asked every one of them to come.

The cook, the gardener, four housekeepers, three guards and the new man from the gate.

Torsten stood beside the stairs with a fresh dressing on his arm.

My mother sat on the bottom step in a borrowed sweater.

Edgar stood near her.

My father stood alone in the middle of the marble floor, where I had been marched across it four weeks ago.

I had put the notice on the hall table.

Next to it was a deed transfer, written up by my own lawyer that afternoon.

Edgar had witnessed it.

"Sign," I said.

My father picked up the pen.

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