"We are going to visit Valerie today," Carl Kent said into his phone. "Please be kind enough to come for me at school at a quarter to noon. As usual we will use your car."
Frank had every reason to accommodate his boss at the school. From being a kid brought up by a single mother, he had, in a matter of five years, become the highly respected director of music at the Raytheon Preparatory School in the leafy suburb of Kingsbridge. His pupils were highly sought-after, and scores of them had earned musical scholarships into their high schools. Frank's mother was a writer whose children's books that had caught the eye of Carl Kent, the owner of Raytheon. Even though the books were of a very high standard they could not fit into the curriculum of Raytheon, since the Heads Association of Preparatory Schools made those selections. So Carl had instead offered Frank a job at the school, hoping that he would pass the interview conducted by the Headmaster and his senior management team.
He had every confidence the boy would suitably impress the SMT and be offered the job. Frank had gone to Hospital Hill Primary, one of the top public schools in the country, and then attended Duke of York High School, a Grade 'A' school, gaining a Division One in his final examinations. He had earned his 'teacher's wings' at Highridge Teachers' College, so was uniquely suited to Raytheon. As he indeed proved.
He quickly established himself as a highly organised worker. Within the first term, he had established routines to be followed in the Music Centre's numerous rooms where various instruments were taught. He initiated a programme of bringing in some of the most qualified musicians in the city to teach the children, a web at whose center Frank sat overseeing every little detail. Soon it became known that staff members went to the Music Centre with very clear purposes if they did want to earn a reproof from its director. The musical achievements of Raytheon's children continued to rise and rise without any end in sight.
On this fine Saturday Frank drove from his flat not far from the school, parked two spaces away from Carl in the staff parking, and called him. It was 11:42.
"I am here."
"Give me two minutes."
It did not even take Carl all of that time. He opened the passenger door, and was seated before he greeted his protege.
"Good morning Frank!" he said softly. "It is good of you to come. Last night Sheila was hospitalised at Midwest Nursing Home. We are not at all hopeful that she will make it out of there this time." His voice was wistful, laced with heavy sadness.
Frank waited for a few seconds for his boss and mentor to regain his composure.
Then,"Let's go now."
The younger man started the car and drove out at a sedate pace, as if even the car was sad. Not many words were exchanged on the twenty-minute drive to Valerie's Riverside mansion. It stood back from the road behind a massive grey gate with gold embellishments. They drove in when the gate opened. Frank negotiated the tiny roundabout in front of the house, and stopped in front of the richly lacquered main door.
Carl turned and told Frank, "I will call you at a little before five."
"Yes, I will place myself in the vicinity about that time."
"Thank you." With that Carl pulled himself out of the car, closed the car door and started up the curved steps leading to the door.
Before he could even press the bell, the door opened and he found himself face to face with Kasim. This tall, light-skinned Pakistani had served the Hartley household since they first came as expatriates in this country some twelve years earlier.
