Conduct in Question

Chapter 44

Later in the week, Harry stood at his library window, staring down into the alleyway below. Only another month and he would be out of the premises, which the firm had occupied for more than fifty years. He would not miss the gray, rusted scene of fire escapes, peeling paint, and garbage cans. He shook his head, as if to dispel years of apparitions.

Within the hour, Suzannah, Katharine, and Gerry would meet in this room to settle Marjorie’s estate. Copies of her wills were stacked on the boardroom table. The first one divided the estate equally among the three of them; the second gave Suzannah the house and split the cash three ways. Natasha thought the fair market value of the house was two million, five hundred thousand. With the cash adding up to three million, there was plenty to fight over. Would they insist on litigation to settle ancient family scores?

Harry strode from the library. “Miss Giveny?”

“Yes?”

“Please have coffee ready for the Deightons. I’m going to take a walk before they arrive.”

Outside, he turned east toward the grassy lawns around the cathedral, where office workers were packing up remains of their lunches and heading back to work. The street shimmered in the early-afternoon heat. Harry turned northward up Victoria Street, seeking the shade of the buildings. He watched as an ambulance pulled under the portico of St. Michael’s Hospital. Further north, parking lots sprawled on either side of the road, creating a desolate scene.

He stopped and smiled. Only a block further, he saw the large overhanging street sign. Massey Hall, it read in huge gold letters on black. It had been one of Marjorie’s favorite places. Suzannah had recounted her aunt’s haunting dream so vividly that he saw it before him. She struggled to be free of the tubes snaking about her, to rush to the door of Massey Hall. Running toward the music. He breathed deeply and thought of Marjorie marching to the sounds of “Pomp and Circumstance” in her parlor.

He loved her spirit, her desire to be free. Marjorie, the maiden aunt, had fallen helplessly in love with an older married man, his partner. When he had gazed at her face, peaceful and stilled by death, he had not been able to conceive of such wild passion stirring within her breast. But then, it needn’t make sense to him. Despite the restrictions of the Victorian era, she had found her own way. After bearing the child, Marjorie had made proper arrangements for her and remained close at hand as she grew up. Reflecting on the upheaval in his own life, he knew how hard it was to break free, to be yourself. He opened the tall, heavy doors of the concert hall, to see a lone figure sweeping away paper cups and empty soda cans.

Beyond the next set of doors, he could hear the somber tones of a chamber ensemble in rehearsal. Sometimes his life seemed spent in doorways, looking beyond to the future, longing to step forward into the light, but fearing to do so. And so he had spent years clinging to a dead marriage and a hopeless position under Crawford’s thumb. What was the old adage? The only regret is the risk not taken.

Gently, he pressed his hand upon the ornately scrolled door. Silently, it opened. Smiling, he gazed into the auditorium, darkened except for the stage. The music stopped. The conductor began to laugh at some wonderful private joke. The musicians set down their instruments and began laughing quietly with him. Soon their jokes and comfortable chitchat rippled within the auditorium. Delighted, he let the sounds flow over him for long moments, and then closed the door and hurried from Massey Hall.

With the horrendous events of the past two weeks, he thought, surely to God, some good can come from such an unholy mess.

When he arrived back at the office, Gerry Deighton was in the foyer, fussing with his calculator.