“I wish I hadn’t asked,” Maya said. “I prefer ‘hope’ as in ‘hopeful’.” I thought that was true, too, but especially for Maya, who seemed chronically hopeful, yet destined to be disappointed in some way I couldn’t explain.
This had all been very interesting. I didn’t know what to think about it all, insofar as mad Bjarni was concerned, but it did say that poor Percy’s last words were not without precedent, except, of course, for the chalice part. What if, and this was a revolutionary thought, the skeptic, by which I meant me, was wrong and the dreamers like Willow and Kenny and possibly Percy, and even the con man looking for his big windfall, which is to say Trevor, had been right and there really was something to this Bjarni business? I tried to put such a ridiculous thought out of my head.
There was another important moment that evening, the full significance of which would not be apparent to me for a while. Maya was wearing the necklace I had coveted that evening at her home in Glasgow. We were standing in the hallway waiting for the gentlemen to join us to leave for home, and, really just making conversation, I told her I could not understand why it was around her neck and not mine. She laughed, and insisted I try it on.
“I don’t know anything about it,” Maya said. “I’d like to be more appreciative when Robert gives me these things, and just to be able to discuss his passion for antiques with him. He gave me the necklace on Valentine’s Day a couple of years ago, and I love it. It’s my favorite; simple, you know, but I always feel elegant when I wear it. I do adore it.”
“You should. It looks wonderful on you. I saw a very similar one a couple of years ago. Someone was thinking about buying it for his wife. That one was Liberty and Company. This one is, too,” I added, turning it over to check it out.
“It’s about a hundred years old.” I tried it on and admired myself in the hall mirror.
“All I know is that I like it. I’ll confess something, though. I’m afraid to wear it, although I do because I know Robert would be hurt if I didn’t. Quite by accident I found the bill for it. Okay, I’ll be honest. I was snooping. I was afraid he was giving me something that had belonged to Bev, you know, his first wife. We were very close friends, but, you know, I just didn’t want to have her jewelry. But he bought it just a short time before Valentine’s Day. I was relieved until I realized that he’d paid about a hundred thousand dollars for it. I was horrified.”
“Wow,” I said. I meant it, too. I wouldn’t have let anyone I knew pay a dime over ten thousand, maybe fifteen thousand tops. I would have thought Robert would be more discerning. There were several possible explanations for the rather startling figure. Perhaps it was simply that Maya needed glasses or that she’d been into the champagne to the extent that an extra zero appeared before her eyes, although I hadn’t seen any indication here that she drank too much. She had a couple of glasses of wine with dinner, and she certainly wasn’t even remotely sloshed when I found her in the garden. That evening in Glasgow could well have been an anomaly. She was essentially shy, and maybe having all those strangers in her home was a little too much for her. The third, less palatable option was that Robert had someone else for whom he was buying extraordinarily expensive necklaces, and Maya had merely assumed the invoice was for hers. I’m always a bit suspicious of the “darling this” and “darling that” type, but he did genuinely seem to adore her.
“Horrified by what, darling?” Robert said, coming up and putting his arm around his wife’s shoulders.
“We’re just sharing a girl story. By the way, Lara has been telling me all about the necklace you gave me,” she said. “She saw one very similar in Toronto. She says it’s a hundred years old.”
“I expect it is, darling.”
“You spoil me, Robert.”
“And why wouldn’t I, darling?”
At this point, I had taken the necklace off and was looking at it very carefully. It was remarkably similar to what I remembered about the piece Blair Bazillionaire had asked me to look at. I suppose one couldn’t be entirely certain at a distance of a couple of years, but really, the stones were the same, and the chain, which was rather distinctive, particularly the medallions of mother-of-pearl, was what I remembered as well. I really would not have thought there would be two of these. I handed it back with a smile, though, and told her I was envious. If Blair had bought one like it, I sure hoped he hadn’t paid what Robert had.
Later that night when all the lights were out in the house, at least all that I could see, I once again turned my binoculars on The Wasteland from the dark window of the sitting room off my bedroom. No light shone anywhere in the old house, although given the late hour that didn’t mean anything. There were, however, lights farther out, past the driving range. It could have been a boat of some kind, or just someone walking along the shore. As nice as the place was, I didn’t think I’d want to be out there by myself.
As I turned to go back to bed in the dark, I banged against a chair and heard something fall to the ground. I turned on the light, and reached to pick up a magazine that had fallen off the side table. It was then I noticed, really noticed, the chair. It was a rather unusual carved wood piece, probably by Antoni Gaudi. It looked very similar to one I had helped Blair Bazillionaire purchase, one that had once held pride of place in the holy of holies alcove in his home. We had bought it for tens of thousands less than the going rate because of a tiny cigarette burn on the seat. I tipped the lampshade up and had a really good look. It wasn’t similar to Blair’s chair, it was identical, right down to the tiny cigarette burn on the seat. I sat and looked at that chair for a very long time.
Chapter 9
Bjarni and his crew spent many months as guests of the man who had spared their lives, but Bjarni wasn’t happy, and when it was clear they were free to go whenever they wished, announced his intention to Svein, Oddi, and Goisvintha to move on. This was the occasion of much debate in the group, with Bjarni and Oddi taking opposite sides.
“I’ve been thinking, Bjarni,” Oddi said. “This is the most exciting place I’ve ever been, not that I’ve been very far until now. And I think I’m tired of traveling. I also can’t see taking Goisvintha with us, nor can I see her back in Orkney on our farm, with those cold wet nights and the stale air, I’m thinking now I’ve seen better, of our houses. I’ve been offered some work here should I choose to stay, and I believe with your permission, Brother, I will do just that. But I’m hoping you will stay, too.”
“I understand your feelings, Oddi,” Bjarni said. “And were I in your position I believe I would do the same. But I have a wife and sons in Orkney that I would like to see again. I’m told there are men of the North farther east, and it is my plan to find them. Perhaps I’ll find a ship making its way back, or a party going overland at least part of the way. So I’ll be off and wish you and Goisvintha good fortune.”
“If you’re back this way,” said Oddi. “I’ll be very pleased to see you.” And that, as they say, was that. Now laden with supplies and gifts from their generous host, Bjarni and Svein alone of the sixty or so who had sailed from Orkney, journeyed on.
Bjarni intended to go home, he really did, but he didn’t get the name the Wanderer for nothing. As planned, he and Svein met up with a group of Northmen in what is now southern France. But these men were not for going back to Orkney or Norway. They told tales of fabulous riches, silks, wine, spices, and jewels to be found in a place called Mikligardr, or Great City, more wonderful still than Cordoba. Frakokk and his sons forgotten, Bjarni threw in his lot with the others, and headed for Mikligardr, known also as Constantinople, the heart of the Byzantine Empire.