Gwyn had more suitors than a bloodhound has fleas. “Unlucky in love” was what all her friends said, but she had learned that her star-crossed love life, or lack of one, had nothing to do with destiny or fate, but rather her refusal to give it up early in a relationship. Consequently, none of the suitors persisted for long. Dozens of guys had come and gone. All handsome, some rich, some talented and some funny, but none of them shared her values and none of them had been willing to keep the relationship going once they found out that she was not just being coy, but that she really was not going to allow them to score.
She had read Pinker’s book right after a particularly promising relationship came to a heartbreaking end. The book had been such a blow to her world-view that she decided she had to sit down and talk with her mother about it. It was hard for her at twenty-four to bring up the “birds and the bees” with a mother battling cancer and suffering the agonies of chemotherapy, but she knew she had to do it before she was gone. She would never have the chance again.
That four-hour talk with her mom had probably been the most important event in her adult life. Her mother had always been fairly prim and proper, so Gwyn was very hesitant to even bring it up. She did not know how her mother would respond. After all, her mother had not been particularly open about sex in Gwyn’s teenage years, though she had dutifully given Gwyn “the talk”. However, when Gwyn told her about the book, the doubts it had generated and how her experience with men and the thesis of the book had combined to deal her lofty ideals a “below the belt” blow, her mother was unexpectedly candid.
The first thing she had done was ask Gwyn a simple question. ‘Does your dad love me?’ It was an easy question. Her dad had been devastated by the cancer diagnosis, but over the last year and half, his love for Patricia was the light that lit the darkness for all of them. He was more romantic, gentle, supportive, encouraging and positive than anyone she had ever seen. He brought her mother fresh flowers every week. In between her chemo treatments, he took her to Jamaica to relive their honeymoon, to Rome to celebrate their anniversary, and then to Dublin to work on their family tree.
He saw to it that she didn’t have to deal with the mundane affairs of life. No housework, no bills, no errands. She spent her time reading poetry or books that she had never found the time for while raising three children. Her friends took her to the museums in London when she was well enough, or came and drank coffee with her when she was too weak to leave the house. Ian taught his classes, and when he came home, he was at Patricia’s side for as long as her mother was awake. When she went to sleep, he stayed up late doing the dishes, paying bills and cleaning house. No, there was no question, her dad loved her mother.
Then her mother proceeded to describe how her dad had demonstrated from the first day of their relationship that he was interested in her as a person and not as a concubine. Maybe it was the chemo, maybe it was her approaching death, and an awareness that she would not be there for her daughter when she got married and began her own adventure, but whatever the case, her mom had shared openly about the sexual intimacy she had enjoyed with her husband.
At first, Gwyn had listened to her mother in absolute shock, but the more she talked, the more she realized the depth of the passion in her parent’s marriage. Gwyn had determined right then and there that she wanted the same experience and would not settle for anything less. For her, the jury had rendered its verdict, but life had a way of continuing to plant seeds of suspicion and there were certainly moments when she still wondered why God had allowed Pinker to be right about so many things.
Her mother had not stopped there, though. Gwyn had never talked with her dad about sex. He had left that to her mother, but her mother went on to tell Gwyn what he had taught the boys and her respect for him was bumped up a few more notches, which actually took it completely off the scale. She had viewed him as a superhero before; now he was elevated to angel status. According to her mother, Gilbert had received his first talk several years after the scrap with the rooster, when it was obvious that the hormones of puberty were coursing through his veins.
It had been during their vacation at the farm. Dad had made a pitcher of lemonade and taken Gilbert out to the chicken pen. They sat down in the shade of the big oak tree and sipped their lemonade. After ten minutes of chitchat, Dad gave Gilbert a small notepad and pen and told him he had an assignment. He was to watch the cock for the next two hours and note everything he did.
When Dad returned two hours later, he asked a pointed question: “How many hens did the rooster have sex with?” Gilbert’s cheeks flushed, but he answered directly, “Eight.” Dad’s response was straight and to the point. “That is why we call them animals, Gilbert. Don’t forget it.” The lesson had stuck too. Gwyn was proud of how her brothers treated women.
Why can’t I find someone like that
?
She reached for her iPhone and checked her email, but there was nothing from Gilbert. She reached for her laptop and turned it on. It was time to do a little research on this document.
CHAPTER
26
L
ONDON
A morgue attendant led Gilbert and Gary though swinging stainless steel doors into a room that was clearly several degrees cooler than the hallway had been.
“Are you sure you want to do this?” he asked.
Gilbert nodded in the affirmative. The attendant turned to Gary,
“And what about you?”
“Yep, let’s get it over with.”
“This is harder than most people realize,” he responded. He knew there was a fifty percent chance that both of these men would be bawling like babies in the next sixty seconds.
At least the chap wasn’t smashed in a car accident. That at least makes it easier.
He opened the door and pulled the slab out of its repository, unzipping the black body bag to reveal the man’s face and looked up at the two brothers. Their faces were almost as cold as the body in front of them.
Gary moved closer and Gilbert stood there fixed on the face of the father who had instilled him with character and values. Grief. Loss. Regret. The emotions welled up inside too fast for him to even name. Just a few days ago, life had twinkled in those eyes and laughter had rolled from his mouth. He could feel his eyes start to water and then the hot tears coursing down his cheeks. Gary, on the other hand, was intent on the body and without looking up addressed the attendant.
“If you don’t mind, we’d like you to unzip it all the way.”
“But, he is naked, sir. We don’t . . .”
“I’m well aware of the fact that he is unclothed.”
Gilbert studied his brother’s face. It was grim, expressionless and cold. The attendant unzipped the bag and Gary picked up his father’s hand. Rigor mortis was fully developed so the entire arm was raised with it. It was unnatural, and Gary set the hand back down, sorry that he had even picked it up. He did not, however, move his own hand. From the corner of his eye he saw the stainless steel doors at the other end of the room swing open.
“Is Gilbert O’Brien here?”
They turned to see a slightly balding, but well-built man in his mid-50s in a white lab coat walking towards them.
“That would be me,” said Gilbert.
“Allow me to offer my condolences. I’m Dr. Timothy White. The chairman of the board of directors called me himself. He told me that I’d find you here. What’s going on?”
Gilbert pointed to Gary and said, “This is my younger brother.”
“Pleased to meet you.”
“Thanks.”
Gilbert cleared his throat and struggled to get his emotions under control so that his voice didn’t crack.
“Look, Doctor, we really appreciate you coming.”
“Don’t mention it. As you know, this company is like family. We have to be there for one another. I assume that there is some doubt as to the cause of death, or you wouldn’t have called for me.”
“That’s right, sir. I don’t want to go into the details here, but my father’s death is surrounded by a number of suspicious events. The police initially said it was a heart attack, but we think there may be more to it.”
“So, if I understand correctly, my purpose in being here is to provide a second opinion of the autopsy.”
“Exactly, I want to be absolutely sure about this.”
“Well, to be as thorough as possible, it would help to have his complete medical history from your family physician and any prescription drugs he might have been taking.”
“We can manage that easily enough. How soon can we have the results?”
“If the chaps here at the Hornsey Public Mortuary can get started soon, then I can have the results for you tomorrow.”
“Excellent. My brother and I will be staying at the Bonnington Hotel until the police finish their work at my dad’s place.”
“I will call you as soon as I know something.”
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C
AIRO
Ahmet looked down at Nafrit’s beautiful body stretched out on the bed among the tangled sheets. She was light-skinned, but had long, beautiful, kinky hair that belied the Negro blood coursing in her veins. Her charms were more than magical, they were bewitching and had kept him from sleeping more than a couple of hours the whole night. He was late for work and she was the reason. He couldn’t think of a better one.
Ahmet was the paragon of a perfectionist. Everything he touched turned to gold, every endeavor was a success, everything that was, but love. He had been with Nafrit for almost two and half years, which was about the average length of a marriage for him. She was the eighth girl he had married since leaving Istanbul almost nineteen years ago, and she was seventeen years younger than he was.
He never got married with any intention of getting a divorce. He enjoyed female companionship too much for that, but something always seemed to snuff out that initial spark. The truth was he had no patience for petty, insubordinate or manipulative women, and that is where the relationship always seemed to end, so they ended up on the street and he ended up shopping around for someone new.
It wasn’t difficult. In the poverty of the Middle East, his paycheck made finding a beautiful girl almost as easy as hailing a cab. In fact, he was amazed at how many women would surrender themselves for the opportunity to live in comfort. It bothered him too. His approach to everything was unapologetically pragmatic, and still he entertained the most unabashedly romantic notions when it came to love. What was even stranger was that the contradiction didn’t trouble him in the least.
He bent down and gave her a kiss on the cheek. She rolled in the lush satin sheets, grabbed his shirt, and said, “Don’t go, Ahmet.”
She pouted with a luscious lower lip hanging like fruit from a pomegranate tree.
“What could there possibly be at the office that could be as much fun as staying here with me?”
He smiled and removed her hand. She stood up in the bed pulling the sheet with her to cover one half of her naked body and beckoned seductively with her finger.
“You know I would gladly stay, but we are in the middle of an important project. Do you have any plans today?”
She let the sheet drop back to the bed. Yearning stirred deep down, and he remembered the hadith of the Prophet ‘The woman comes and retires in the shape of a devil.’
Is there anything else that could drive a man to do the things a woman could? I look upon the devil himself and am driven mad with desire. How mysterious are the ways of Allah.
Life was a test and no one believed that more than he did.
Nafrit stepped off the bed and headed for the bathroom to perform, for the third time, the ritual washing required after intimacy.
“I feel like just having a lazy day here at the house. It’s far too hot to be outside.”