Barbara Silkstone - Wendy Darlin 02 - London Broil (3 page)

A bar of my favorite hand-milled eucalyptus soap rested in a gold dish on a tiny ledge in the shower. Had Benny been researching me? A sensuous lathering brought Roger to mind. A cold rinse cured that. I grabbed a pure white towel that weighed more than I did and smoothed it over my face and body. It was luscious; I could have a love affair with this towel.

I pulled some undies from my suitcase and then threw on the white dress and a pair of Gucci sandals, a smattering of makeup, and a brush through my shoulder-length hair, and I was ready to go insert myself in Benny Hannah’s life.

The foyer area of the bedroom was dimly lit. As I touched the doorknob to leave, something bit my toes. I yelped as I jerked my foot back and lost my sandal. The shoe was wedged in the jaw of a lion’s head, a dead lion, thankfully. The head with a full mane and green glass eyes was connected to a full hide complete with paws.

Squatting down on the skin, I looked into its mouth. In the dim light I could see where the strap of my shoe was hung up on one of the lion’s huge back teeth. I wiggled the strap, freeing the sandal.

I wouldn’t be able to sleep a wink with a dead animal staring at me. Shit, I could have sworn it just moved toward me. How do I request the removal of this slaughtered creature? Was it rude to ask my host to redecorate for one night? Was Benny Hannah the kind of person who slaughtered animals for sport? Time to find out.

I took some cautious steps down the staircase feeling as if the lion was following me. Benny was in the library. He smiled as he held my hand in his and covered it with his other hand. “I took the liberty of calling Roger to let him know you arrived safely.”

“He knows I’m here, then? Not at my hotel?”

“Hmm. I told him you got in late and it was safer for you to spend the night here.”

“Can we call him back?”

He grinned. “Do I detect a romance?”

“No romance. Roger’s just a business associate.”

“Ah yes… the thirteenth Shadow. Thank you for helping my favorite archaeologist with this case. It’s very important to me.”

“Benny, why is it safer for me here than at my hotel?”

“I like that in a woman. No mincing words. Shall we have some port?” He turned to a black marble credenza and reached for a shimmering glass decanter containing a rich purple liquid.

“You didn’t answer my question.”

“I’d like to share some background with you. It will help you understand my passion for bringing the Lost Boys together again.”

“Could I call Roger first?”

He shook his head. “Our friend said not to call back; he was shutting his phone as he’s in transit. We’ll see him soon enough.”

A chill tickled the back of my neck. I watched my host as he poured our drinks. Benny Hannah hid his controlling manner in a kind façade.

He handed me a crystal glass of port. “Try this. I think you’ll enjoy it.”

Benny settled into a leather porter’s chair with his glass and all but disappeared, his cocoa colored complexion blending with the sides and top of the chair.

The suede sofa was the nearest seat. I took it.

“Is your room comfortable? I have a very good central air conditioning system and tend to keep it rather nippy in here. It’s important to keep my artifacts in the proper temperature and humidity. Did you know our temperature in London went over 40 Celsius today? That’s equivalent to 104 degrees Fahrenheit in the US.”

“It’s much hotter than Miami. But it’s pleasant in here – actually chilly. However, the company is warm and charming. I’d love to hear your story.”

“Where to begin?” He sipped from the lip of a tiny glass. “Many years ago…” he looked at me and past me, as if drifting on a sea of memories. “It’s frightening how quickly time slips by… I was a bookish young man, a scholar and the oldest of nine sons. And I was the director of antiquities for Uganda.”

I sipped. “Oh that’s nice,” I said, as I savored the mellow taste.

He smiled. “Glad you like the port.” Benny adjusted a pillow behind his back and placed his feet on a brocade ottoman.

“It’s impressive you had so much responsibility at such a young age.”

He smiled. “It came with a heavy price. Uganda is now called the Pearl of Africa. When I was there, it was a death camp. My former country is where the East African savannah meets the West African jungle… the most lethal spot on earth. I worked in Kampala sorting and preserving antiquities. It was a crossroad for dozens of cultures with exotic histories. One day my office door was kicked open, and there stood the most terrifying sight, Idi Amin. He stomped into the room, followed by four vile-looking body guards.”

I shuddered. “Was he really a cannibal?”

Chapter 7

B
enny nodded, his eyes growing dark. “Amin demanded scotch. Somehow he knew I kept my long-deceased father’s bottle of rare scotch in the desk drawer. It had never been opened. I kept it purely as a remembrance of a good man. Amin’s order carried a hidden threat. I dared not refuse to join him, as he poured glass after glass until the bottle was empty. Only then did he give me a choice.”

Perched on the edge of my chair, I tried to imagine what that choice might have been.

“I would help him move all the gold and ivory he had plundered from Uganda to Switzerland under the guise of antiquities, or I would face a firing squad. There was a man in Switzerland who brokered the stolen goods to raise gun money for terrorists.”

A shiver ran from my earlobes to my toes. I was sitting this close to a man who sat that close to a killer-cannibal.

Benny lifted his glass and held it up to the light, turning it slowly. “Every morning I prayed my family would be spared if I did as I was told. Then one day as I was landing at Entebbe airport, I got word that the Butcher of Uganda, Idi Amin Dada, had slaughtered my entire family. All my younger brothers were murdered.”

He paused to clear his throat. His eyes were dry. “I believe that is why I’m so captivated by the Lost Boys. They represent unimaginable loss. For me, I can understand the pain Pharaoh Kjoser must have felt losing his sons… I lost nine brothers.”

I chugged my port and offered my glass for more. “Oh, Benny. I’m so sorry. Why did he…”

Lifting the crystal decanter, he poured two inches of the deep purple wine. “Can there ever be any justification for the taking of even one human life? I went after the Butcher, and I almost killed him. My attempt was ill conceived; my emotions overtook my common sense. I escaped, but he swore vengeance.”

“Are you in danger?”

“Yes and no. I’m safe from Idi Amin. He’s dead.” Benny looked away for a beat, his eyes were hooded as he turned back to me. “But I’ve been receiving death threats in connection with the last Lost Boy. That’s why I felt it would be better for you to stay here with Samuel and me until Roger gets here. The hotel is secure, but you’re safer here with us where we can protect you. I have an excellent security system and Samuel is a seasoned bodyguard.”

“Death threats? Why would anyone want to kill you for offering a reward?”

Benny shook his head. “The reward is ten million dollars. It’s held in trust for whoever returns all thirteen Boys to the museum. Roger, with your help, has returned all but one.” He sipped his drink.

It took a moment for the room to stop spinning. Ten million dollars! I was thinking it was more in the neighborhood of one million. Why hadn’t Roger told me?

“Perhaps my favoritism for our good friend shows. Someone has discovered I’m close to learning where the missing Lost Boy is and wants to prevent me from aiding Roger in its recovery.”

“Why hasn’t the thief come forward to return the last Shadow and claim the reward?”

“Because she knows I won’t pay her. I shall do everything in my power to make sure she doesn’t profit from her crime.”

“She?”

“She. I thought Roger told you.”

“That’s right, he did tell me the thief was a woman.” I bit my lip trying to contain my curiosity. It didn’t work. “You have a lead on where the last Lost Boy is?”

“Yes. But let’s wait for Roger to get here. It’s going to be tricky to retrieve it.” He took another sip, paused, and pinned me with his eyes. “I would be endangering you if I shared my hunch with you.”

“So it’s here in London?”

“My dear! No more until Roger gets here.” He popped from his chair. “Shall I show you my home?”

I followed Benny, being careful not to spill the port on my white dress. His tour was practiced. I imagined he had given it many times in the past. We left the library and entered the formal dining room.

His home was a mini-museum of art deco antiques, Murano glass, and amazing Egyptian artifacts. The dark wood floors were covered with custom-made wool rugs and furniture upholstered in cashmere and ultra-suede. There were old photographs and marble sculptures. Each room we visited had sleek oak paneling, streamlined brass radiators, and an exotic animal hide rug. In the dining room, I was stunned to see a still life in oil and sand by Picasso. There was a Cezanne watercolor of a scene in Paris and, on the sideboard, an alabaster lion at rest.

“This is where Samuel does his magic.” He waved his hand as we entered the kitchen, which reeked of curry. “I believe centuries from now, when archaeologists discover my house under cities of the future… the scent of curry will still be in these walls.” He laughed.

“It does sort of bowl one over, doesn’t it?”

Benny leaned over and whispered, “I must caution you. Samuel makes a curry stew every morning. There’s no escaping the smell.” He edged me into the hall, pulling the door closed. “We must be kind to Samuel. He’s very sensitive and very devoted. He’s been with me since I arrived in England, my constant companion. When we first met, he was a research assistant at the British Museum. Now he is my houseman, my chauffeur, bodyguard, and good friend.”

“In other words, don’t say anything about the smell of the curry.”

He smiled. “Exactly.”

“I could show you the wine cellar,” he pointed to a wooden door on our left, “but it’s dark and tomb-like, I’m uneasy down there. Shall we go upstairs?” I led and he followed up the ornate staircase.

We visited each room, ending on the sixth level. Benny’s bedroom took up the entire top floor of the townhouse. The walls were painted a tranquil shade of green… celadon. The woodwork was a rich cherry. There was a Persian rug in shades of tea and ivory in the entryway, and in front of the fireplace was a leopard skin with vivid black and tan spots. Ming Dynasty animal sculptures stood alert on the mantel. The walls held two paintings by Klee, one of Manet’s earlier portraits, and a single Gauguin. There was a lily motif mirror crafted in bronze and copper above the dry sink. On the night table next to his bed, a framed photo of the Hannah family history was captured. The sepia picture showed a group of young boys gathered in front of a concrete building built in a Moorish style.

Benny touched the picture. “My brothers,” he said, hesitating. He looked around the room. “My collection is now my world, small and contained. I prefer to travel in my imagination. I found real places to be exhausting, dangerous, and frequently disappointing. That’s why I surround myself with things of beauty and travel no more.”

When we came upon a panther skin in the back hall on the first floor, I found my voice again. The words just popped out of my mouth. “Did you… kill all these animals?”

He looked down at the black fur hide beneath his feet. “It is against my beliefs to take a life… except for revenge. Over the years, I’ve discovered the remains of many poor creatures in my travels. Because they died before their time, their souls can never be at peace, but at least I’ve given their bodies a comfortable resting place.”

“Doesn’t it disturb you to surround yourself with all this death?”

“Would it not be much worse to know the remains of these creatures are under the feet of someone who has no compassion for the loss of their lives?”

“I understand. It upsets me to see them, but I get it.”

“Death is the sad conclusion to life. And frequently death is violent.”

My host walked me to my bedroom door. “One of the great joys in talking with you has been the reward of experiencing your intelligence. I was always taught that empathy is a quality of an intelligent mind, and humor the intelligent soul. You have both in abundance.” He bent and kissed my hand. “I’d like to take you to dinner tomorrow, if that pleases you.”

“But Roger…”

“Our partner in reuniting the Lost Boys won’t be back in old Blighty until the day after tomorrow, at the earliest. We’ll dine at the Savoy Grill tomorrow at nine. But I’ll see you in the morning. Sleep late if it pleases you. Lock your door.”

Chapter 8

I
woke the next morning to the smell of curry. Not quite the same wake-up scent as a sea breeze in Miami. Slipping into a pair of flowing trousers and a tank top, the one summer-weight outfit in my huge bag, I followed the spicy aroma to the kitchen. There was an underlying scent that had my mouth watering… popcorn?

The house was quiet. There was a Krups coffee maker on the counter next to a cup and saucer. I poured the freshly brewed coffee, sipped off a little, and added some cream. The birds in the garden were singing in a happy chorus. I wandered outside, wondering where on the globe Roger was at the moment and when I would feel his arms around me again.

A path led through the garden, toward a small, quaint sitting area. I wandered in that direction. It was still cool. The mist was just lifting, struggling against the heat that was dropping like a curtain on London. Benny’s garden was a traditional English delight with delicate roses in shades of pink, coral, and yellow. A collage of flowers: lilies of the valley, violets, and forget-me-nots danced along the white pavers that wound away from the house and disappeared past an arbor covered in graceful ivy.

Honk! Honk!

I jumped three feet in the air, splashing my coffee down the front of my trousers. Pale pink silk… ruined. Two giant grey birds with yellow beaks careened by me and toward the kitchen door. They were at least three feet tall and balanced on paddle-size yellow feet. My hands were shaking from the poultry surprise.