Dark grey sky. A rumbled groan belched from within. Hard rain fell upon the world. Constance Loftus stood five feet away staring down at the open grave that was her husband's final resting place. She was dressed in black with a shawl over her face; her driver stood beside her holding an umbrella to her head. Rain drops splattered all around them.
The ceremony had been over for some minutes now; most of the invitees had their umbrellas open hurrying towards the cemetery's gate in search of their vehicles. Not Constance. She remained where she was, standing. Her eyes gave forth not a drop of tears, yet in her heart she cried. She mourned and cried. There lay her husband, Emmett G. Loftus. Sixty-one years old, dead of heart attack. City magnate, industrialist, vain work; imperious to his staff, proud father and aloof husband. There was a smaller hole cut out for where his gravestone would stand. Constance's eyes followed the coffin, watched as it was lowered down to the earth's bosom. The rain made splattering drops on its pristine brown surface; never would it see the dawn of light anymore. And wasn't that just sad? So sad it was.
A hand, light, came upon her shoulder. An old man's voice spoke to her—the reverend father.
"Mrs. Loftus, please, the rain's getting heavier by the minute."
Her head turned from her husband's grave to the sombre sky. "Yes, yes, it is so. Thank you, reverend. It was a most brilliant sermon."
"Your husband will be missed, Mrs. Loftus. I will continue to pray for his soul."
"Yes, thank you." She seemed for a moment at a loss at what to say, with whatever words to reply him with. Everything about her seemed resigned to the weather and the moment she was in. She knew he meant well, and she too had meant well about his sermon. Beyond that she couldn't care less. Ashes to ashes, as they say, yes, there is where her husband lay rested. Never ever more to return.
She shook the reverend father's hand one last time before turning around to take her leave.
Their limousine was the only vehicle remaining; everyone else had toddled off, as the saying goes. The driver opened the car door for her and she eased herself into the comfort of the vehicle while he came around to his side, closing back the umbrella and putting the car into gear and easing off out of the cemetery driveway. Constance's eyes followed the train of headstones on the sloppy fields of the cemetery. All of them looking like sentinel soldiers hovering in wait for a regimental call or something. She raised the shawl off her face, opened her handbag and rummaged for a handkerchief which he used to wipe her eyes clean.
Goodbye, Emmett. See you in another life. Johnny would have loved to see you.
She must have slept because when next she opened her eyes the limousine had come to a halt in front of her home. Someone tapped on the window glass from the other side. The driver's voice came through on the intercom: "We're here at Loftus Garden, ma'am."
"Of course, Bill. Thank you." She replaced the shawl over her face then opened the door.
Her top servant, Nigel, was there to welcome her. He had an umbrella over her head and walked alongside her up the lengthy wide steps that led into the monstrous Victorian-style mansion that was formerly her husband's throne. Loftus Garden. How the place seemed not to depress her than when he'd first brought her here thirteen years ago. Everything about her feelings for the place had changed and at the same time not everything about it had changed at all. The house remained a relic, a throwback to an age that's long faded from human existence. It was a symbol of man's zenith over others; a phallic extension, if one could see it that way. No one had been more acute at such forms of extension than her just departed husband.
Several other house servants stood in parallel lines, all of them donned in black attire, from the chief housemaid to the lowly caretaker of the stables, all of them looking solemn and teary-eyed as she came up the stairs, shaking hands with each other them, accepting their condolences and heat-felt wishes at the departure of their employer. She noted the hesitancy in their eyes. Perhaps they wondered what would become of them now she was both lord and mistress of the manor.
She stepped into the wide foyer of the building, and a pair of hands helped her out of her thick jacket and her hat. Up the stairs she went while Nigel dismissed everyone back to their former duties. She went in the direction of Johnny's bedroom, wondering if his fever was still raging on his skin. She made a mental note to call the doctor to come by later to check up on his again.
Constance opened the double doors into his large bedroom and sighted his bed, but as she approached, the smile that had been on her lips died away when she realised his bed was empty. She called out his name as she went to look in his bathroom but he wasn't there either. There was an envelope on his reading table next to his desktop. It bore the word 'Mum' on it. She picked it up and took out the single sheet of paper inside. She sat herself on the bed. The sheet of paper fell from her hand to the carpeted floor. The tears that had earlier filled her eyes, the same ones that never seemed to pour forth, suddenly came alive and fell down her pale skin.
"Johnny... Oh Johnny," she muttered as she cried.
Outside the rain continued its downpour.
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Thaddeus Black lounged back in his chair with his hands behind his head and thought: "Arrogant ass!" at the man who sat across his desk from him wearing a pin-striped grey suit that looked as if it had been cut from glass. From the moment the man stepped into his office to when they'd shook hands and he'd opened his mouth to comment on the state of his office, Thad had summarised just about everything he could about him, neither of them pleasant. The man sat there talking to him, his eyes made surreptitious glances about his small offices and the way he wrinkled his nose, Thad reckoned the bastard couldn't wait to finish despatching whatever message he'd arrived here with so he could be out of this dump. A dump that undoubtedly he reckoned only a black man such as himself would inhabit. Such people Thad wished he'd met during his boxing days. Back when he seldom gave a shit about anyone and he relied on his fists to do much of any talking. He would have loved nothing but to take such pompous ingrate downstairs out in the alley and crush that uppity nose of his till he breathed through a gas pipe. How such moments he longed for those days.
But those days were gone. Thaddeus Black had hung up his boxing gloves right after he'd finished his stint in the Marines, and now he ran his own detective agency. Boss, foot soldier and servant, all rolled into one ham. Business had been good and bad. He had some complains, and opportunities sunk down the drain. Good and bad all mixed into one. With what this ass had just laid before him, he was indecisive what to make of it: good or bad. He opted for bad.
"Look, mister, I'm sorry but I don't think I'm your man." He sat forward in his chair, taking his hands off the back of his head, pulling his jacket forward. "I don't solve missing people's stuff. I haven't sunk so low to want to take that type of offer. Go find the local cops to help you out."
The man seated across from him seem to stutter for loss of words. He raised his nose at him, his mind struggling to comprehend the audacity at being turned down. "But sir... I swear to you, this is of humble importance. The person whom I represent is very much inclined towards your handling this matter. It's very urgent that you do."
"I'm not here to argue with you on that, Mr—"
"Nigel," the man replied with smug stiffness. "Nigel Mavers, it is."
"Whatever. Anyway, like I said, that's not my line of work, finding missing persons. Not exactly my speciality."
"But I made credible enquiries that you'd be the right one for this."
"That's a lie they sold you. Whoever it was that sent you to me is grossly mistaken. Try the police, they'll find whoever it is for you."
"But sir, like I've already mentioned to you, the police mustn't be brought into this matter." The man ogled him with pained annoyance. Thad was enjoying himself seeing the way he now looked.
"So you've told me, and I'm telling you there's nothing I can do to help." He stood up from his chair, his way of signalling that such conversation was over, and for Thad, it's been over ten minutes ago. "You can try other detective agencies, I'm sure you'll find one that'll be willing to take up your offer. Good day to you, sir."
He offered a handshake, as if to say 'no hard feelings, asshole', but Nigel got up from his chair and glared at him for a moment before snapping about and leaving his office. He slammed his outer door with a loud bang; from where he stood, Thad could hear his footsteps going down the hall like thunder. He felt like laughing but in such cases no sign of mirth came to his lips. Just the thought that he'd lost another prospective client, thus money gone from his pocket. He went to the window that looked out the front of the building which was situated on B Street. From the second floor where he was, with the hot Tuesday sun beating down on his face, he waited for the man to exit the red-brick building. The man soon came out into the sun, putting on his hat and waiting for the traffic to ease up before scuttling across to the Sedan that was parked across the street. Thad took his face away from the window as the man got into the car and drove off.
"Pompous son-of-a-bitch," he muttered before returning to his desk.
------
The advert in the Cape City Guardian read:
WANTED:
Efficient Secretary
Age: 25 – 32yrs. Good-looking female
Fluent in taking notes and dictation
Apply in person at stated address below.
Thaddeus couldn't help but laugh every time he flipped through the newspaper and saw his advert emblazoned in the miscellaneous section. He'd had the advert running for the past three days and although the applicants had been few, he reasoned they were bound to pick up soon. One vital detail he'd left out was the fact that he desired them to be white. White because he was tired of prospective clients turning around scared when they knock at his door and find him standing there to welcome them as if they expected a white Sam Spade instead. But aside from that, Thaddeus couldn't hide the fact that he loved white women. He enjoyed wining and dining them out just as much as he loved fucking them. Married ones are the best; they always had a husband to return home to rather than expecting much from him. Such was the mode one or two of his clients had seemed fit to settle their bill after he'd rendered services for them.
He flipped over the pages and was deep in the sports section when there came a tap on his outer door. He took his feet off his table and leaned forward in his chair. There came the tap again, followed by someone, a woman, call out: "Excuse me, is anyone here?"
Casting the newspaper aside, Thaddeus pulled his feet off his desk and stood up. "Just a minute," he hollered out. "Be right there with you." He pushed down his jacket and redressed his tie. He opened the top side drawer of his desk and reached inside for a handheld mirror and did a quick check on his features before throwing it back in and shutting the drawer. He cleared his throat before approaching his door.
The woman tapped a third time just as he came and undid the outer door's lock and opened it for her.
"Hello there," he said to her. "Sorry I was busy getting something done. Please, come in."
"I didn't know if anyone was inside," she said as she stepped into the outer room first before entering his office. "I'm here in response to the advert I saw in the paper for a secretary's job. I hope I came to the right place."
