Stain of the Berry (25 page)

Perhaps..." He stopped there and studied my face, "...perhaps I did manage to teach you a thing or two after all." He chuckled lightly. "But even I have learned to police my tongue, if not my brain, at times." He stopped for a sip of water then started talking, as if from a fresh page of text. "Maheesh is my spouse.

Alex Canyon is our security officer. Ms. Gauntlus works with Alex. I instructed Alex to send Grette to watch you, several months ago."

"Months?" I was startled by the news. How had I missed her for that long?

"I wanted to see what you were up to, my boy."

"You could have just asked," I said, a little crankiness sneaking into my tone.

My uncle simply lolled his head to one side in response to my suggestion. "Eventually it became necessary to send Alex to check on the situation and dissuade you from looking any further into Candace..

.Sereena's disappearance. Knowing you as I do, however, I suspected he would fail. Then I sent Maheesh to bring you to me."

"I don't understand," I said plaintively.

"Sereena Orion Smith was first known to me several years ago as Candace Ashbourne. Arthur Ashbourne and I were best friends. When they were married, Sereena and I immediately liked each other, especially once we discovered our shared Saskatchewan past. Arthur and I had met years earlier at 104 of 163

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business school in London; he was a professor and I was the young colt intent on becoming a man of power and influence." He chuckled, and as he recalled this time in his life the deep lines in his face seemed to soften and disappear.

"I came away with more than high education and ideals; I came away with a lifelong friend, despite the difference in our ages. This friendship saw us through all the extraordinary highs and lows of lives well-lived. When Arthur and Candace were married, I was their witness. Although many in Arthur's circle were suspicious of Candace, I approved. She and I saw the world the same way. And there is an immediate-oh, what to call it?- connection I would say, between two people who care for the same person.

I saw it in her, she saw it in me. We both loved Arthur very much. Don't mistake me, I didn't hope to love him as a man-I knew that was impossible-but I cherished him as the best friend a man could ever wish for.

He was so dear."

"Maheesh told me about Sereena's travails. I'm glad she had a friend in you," I said, still trying to believe that these two people, both so important to me at completely different times, knew each other.

He looked at me with hooded eyes. "And she always will have.

"After the horror of losing the babies and then Arthur, Sereena fell into a great malaise followed by great extravagances meant to blunt her depthless depression. I lived through it with her, or at least I tried.

It was around that time that we bought the Kismet together. In what must have been a drunken state of euphoria, we decided to purchase a luxury yacht and spend the rest of our time on this marvellous earth sailing the seas and sampling only the ripest fruits offered at each exotic port." I saw a hint of smile as he remembered those halcyon days.

"Sounds wonderful."

He nodded. "But wholly unrealistic and, in the end, barely a Band-Aid for the gaping wound that was Candace's heart. Maheesh and I had been playing on the outskirts of a burgeoning relationship during these years and he also developed a close relationship with Sereena. He suggested the extended trip to India, and, as it turned out, that decision changed all our lives forever."

I nodded, already knowing some of what came next...except for how my uncle was involved.

"Russell," he said with a hand on my thigh, "it's become a bit chill. Let's head back. You must be exhausted and starving too."

"I want to know what happened next," I said in a voice that sounded a little like an order. "I want to know what happened to you and to Sereena after the murder of her husband."

My uncle gave me a disapproving look. I don't know why I felt I could speak to him that way. It was not at all indicative of our former relationship-the one before he was dead. I cherished my uncle, looked up to him, respected him. Maybe.. .maybe it was simply that I wasn't quite convinced that this man before me was really him. But of course it was. This wasn't an afternoon soap opera or a hanky-a-minute movie-of-the-week.

"I'm cold now," he stated and, with some effort, raised himself into a standing position.

As we headed back, my uncle spoke of little but the fine weather we were experiencing, he pointed out a tiny fox scampering in the distance and suggested I hike to Triple Waterfalls, a nearby five-storey torrent of free-falling water. When we reached the lodge, he directed me to my room, a large suite on the second floor, and excused himself with the promise to meet again over dinner at 8:00.

After a brief nap, I was surprisingly refreshed and decided to investigate my surroundings. I left by the 105 of 163

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front door and took a moment to study the sky, still bright with a sun that looked like an egg yolk diluted in a pool of clear gelatin. I circled the building and found myself at the edge of the river over which the house was perched and near where my uncle and I had begun our walk. I pointed myself in the direction opposite to the one we had taken and followed the river's lead. Although seemingly flat, like an endless desert of stone, I soon found that this land was capable of great deception; arctic plain could become dangerously craggy with alarming suddenness where erosion had created strange hidden gullies of dramatic proportion. It was at the bottom of one of these lesser gullies that I discovered a pristine looking basin of water, one of countless I'd glimpsed on our descent into Somerset Island. It looked so inviting, but the weather was hardly warm enough for swimming so I resisted the urge to jump in. However, someone else had not.

I might have missed him had it not been for the pile of clothing I almost tripped over. I scanned the water's surface, shiny and silvery like a fish belly, and after a few seconds witnessed a head, then shoulders rise up from beneath it and make for shore. It was Alex Canyon. As he came closer and the water sluiced off his finely molded body, it became boldly apparent that the man was completely naked.

He couldn't help but see me where I stood my ground, protecting his clothes from the possibility of an attack by a marauding bear. (Well, you never know.)

Watching him approach, I felt myself grow weak at the knees. This was a man whose job it was to keep his body in top physical condition, which he'd accomplished with resounding success. As for those physical items over which he'd had no control, well, he just lucked out. This was most readily apparent even after emerging from water that must have been frigidly cold. You see, when it comes to men and their finest of appendages, there are two distinct categories: showers and grow-ers. Grow-ers require certain stimulation and a consummate situation to reveal their ultimate potential (I'd been fooled before), whereas showers are always already more than halfway there. Alex Canyon was most definitely a show-er.

"Mr. Quant," he addressed me when he arrived, doing nothing to cover himself and showing no signs of consternation at my finding him in the altogether.

"The water looks a little chilly," I commented.

"It was fine," he answered matter-of-factly, probably lying through his chattering teeth.

Now that I knew a little more about Alex Canyon and his role as a security officer for my uncle and Maheesh, I had something to work with in terms of getting a conversation going with the big lug.

"Shouldn't you be patrolling the grounds or something?"

"Gauntlus has that well in hand for now."

Ah yes, the Amazon. "She's quite the woman."

"That she is."

"Are you and she...?"

He gave me a look as if he didn't understand my meaning, when of course he did.

"Are you a couple then?" he forced me to ask, every word coming out sounding awkward.

His face broke into a playful grin. It was one of those rare grins that by its mere presence will cause a face to transform. Suddenly granite became clay, impenetrable wall became an open door, Alex Canyon was a beautiful boy when he smiled. "No, Russell," he told me, my name slipping sensually through his lips. "My type falls more into the category of someone like you."

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Gulp.

Did I hear right?

He was the one without clothing, yet I was feeling naked.

Alex Canyon bent low to retrieve his underwear which he pulled up over muscular calves and ham hock thighs to where they belonged, sitting low over narrow hips. He worked on his socks, then pants and shirt. Not a stitch of modesty from this guy. As is my habit with direct pronouncements of attraction, I did my best to throw it off track. Don't know why. Just my way. "Why do my uncle and Maheesh Ganesh require protection? Why do they need you and Dauntless Gauntlus?"

'She hates when you call her names," Alex answered with a cocked eyebrow, as if on to my game. He slipped on shoes that had tractor-tire grip. "She knows that you do."

"The question stands," I persisted.

"Mr. Wistonchuk will answer all your questions about that. Is that all? Is there anything else you'd like to say to me?"

"I wished you'd warned me that Grette was your playmate."

"There was no need."

"It would have saved me a heart attack this morning when I arrived at the plane."

"Anything else?"

"Uh, I guess not." What a loser. I could have said something encouraging like, you're my type too, handsome.

"Dinner's at eight," he said to me over a well-rounded shoulder as he walked away. "Don't be late."

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Dinner was served in an octagonal room that jutted out from the east side of the house with a splendid, panoramic view of the seemingly endless plateau that surrounded us. When I walked in, Uncle Lawrence and Maheesh were standing arm in arm at the window, their backs to me, Uncle Lawrence's head resting on the ledge of Maheesh's narrow shoulder. It was to be the three of us. No Alex Canyon and, thankfully, no Grette Gauntlus. Well the three of us, two serving staff, a kitchen person and a many-titled, much-sought-after chef, all of whom were flown in at the owner's pleasure. Fortunately his pleasure was to host us in style.

When they heard me behind them, they turned and greeted me warmly, as if we were simply three men on holiday together, meeting for dinner after a happy day at the beach. Although the sun still shone bright, at the touch of a pad Maheesh dimmed its intensity by half as the windows frosted over, throwing the room into a pleasant dusk. Then, like a family, we took our seats around a spectacularly set round table in the centre of the room. We began with fresh Arctic char sushi, followed by a creamy French Canadian pea soup served with fresh-baked breads, then grilled musk ox accompanied by fantastically flavoured, oven-roasted vegetables mixed with semi-sweet local berries. Each course was paired with a magnificent wine.

It wasn't until we were savouring the last of the musk ox that Uncle Lawrence finally seemed prepared to continue with his tale. He was the type of man who felt that the conversation during a meal affected its taste as much as the seasoning used in its preparation and the wine you imbibed with it. I tend to agree, and, by that point, I'd learned not to push either man into telling a tale they weren't yet ready to tell.

"Maheesh has told you about the night Akhilesh Batten was killed," he began.

I nodded. "I know that he was there that night, and that Sereena killed her husband in a fit of rage after learning he'd abused and killed their daughter."

"I cannot dwell on this part of the story too long," Uncle Lawrence said quickly. I guessed he'd used the time since our walk to have a rest; he looked better than he had earlier, refreshed. "But I will say that I too was there that night. I must tell you that, because it was the cause of my own 'death.' You see, Maheesh and I were staying with the Batten's at their house near Delhi after our ski trip." The infamous ski trip.

"We'd had a pleasant evening together, dinner, conversation, a few laughs, perhaps too much to drink.

Maheesh and I were in our bedroom when we heard the commotion. It was horrid, the screaming, wailing...almost...inhuman. But, just as Sereena was too late to stop Akhilesh, we were too late to stop her.

By the time we arrived at that hideous scene, it was all done. Sangita was dead, and so was Akkie."

Maheesh laid a comforting hand on his lover's shaking one and continued for him. "Fortunately I know much of life in India, and how things work in this country, Russell, particularly in matters concerning the police and matters concerning the Batten family, both powerful authorities in their own ways, you understand?"

"There was, of course, every chance the police would demonstrate a certain amount of leniency towards Sereena. She had obviously been driven insane by the transgressions of her husband against their own daughter, but the same could not reasonably be expected from Akhilesh's family."

My face reflected my disdain at what I'd just heard. "Are you saying they would have neglected the fact that their son was a child molester who killed their own grandchild, and blamed Sereena for what happened?" I asked, stunned at the thought.

"They simply would not have believed her, you see. Akhilesh had told his lies well. He'd been hinting for ages that Sereena was the unstable one, and he said he worried that
she
would harm Sangita. Akhilesh was their golden son. In their eyes, he could do no wrong. Regardless of how the facts appeared, they would believe Sereena was somehow responsible, and that with her actions she had murdered their future, their reputation, their very livelihood. They would seek revenge. And possibly, I must admit to you, the 108 of 163