The Wolf Who Cried Boy

5. Henry

Paul had walked meekly into the kitchen, his hands folded in a shy, childlike way. But, instead of walking towards his own parents, who were seated at the breakfast table and had barely registered his entrance, Paul walked towards Mr. and Mrs. Sauvage, who were busily making breakfast at the stove in the corner.

He opened his mouth to speak and I knew already that he had made an error. Darting into the kitchen, I gripped Paul by the shoulders and led him towards Mr. and Mrs. Valise. "Try again," I whispered letting go of Paul's shoulders and walking out of the conversation.

"Mom, Dad," he began. Mr and Mrs Valise looked up as if annoyed that he had disturbed them. "I, I just wanted to say that I'm sorry for all the trouble I've caused you. I know I haven't been around for a long time and I'm sorry I haven't. But, I want to be now. I'm also sorry about being so difficult. I don't mean to be. I do so want to try and be good and useful."

The lump that had choked me the night before in Paul's room threatened to choke me again as I felt it in my throat. And the subtle sting of salt-water in the corners of my eyes threatened to burn. Paul's apology had nearly reduced me to a blubbering i***t. His childlike way of expressing himself should have melted the coldness of any heart. And the other families, who also heard the apology, seemed less hostile now towards Paul.

But, Mrs. Valise sat silently in her chair, regarding her son. Despite his humble and sincere tone, she still seemed to treat him with a vague animosity. She didn't stand up or wrap her arms around him – as I would like to have done – and though she looked him in the eye, it was a cold, dead stare rather than a soft, loving gaze.

Paul stepped away and stood beside me. "You did well," I whispered encouragingly, patting his arm. "You'll just need to be patient and give them time to adjust." Yet, even as I said it, I watched Mrs Valise look down at the magazine she was reading and my heart began to ache again. Would Mrs Valise never forgive Paul?

Still, breakfast was far less of an ordeal than it had been the previous mornings. Everyone seemed much more relaxed as we ate our bacon and eggs, with all the trimmings. Everyone that is except Mr and Mrs Valise. Though Mrs Knight had stopped giving Paul dirty looks whenever she happened to see him and Mr Sauvage stopped hmph-ing whenever Paul was nearby, Mr and Mrs Valise kept up a strong silence. And I could see by their mirrored expressions – with the firmly set jaw and the eyebrows that dipped in at the bridge of the nose – that neither of them had taken any of Paul's apology to heart.

"So," Mrs Knight said during a particularly long and awkward silence, as I dipped a corner of my toast into the yoke of my egg. "We've decided to spend the day at home, just relaxing. We've been out too much of late and I think we all just need a rest."

I wasn't sure whether the plan was good or bad. There seemed something ominous about keeping Paul and his parents trapped together in the same house all day. Would tempers flare? Would fury rise like a venomous snake? Or would a day with Paul make Mr and Mrs Valise see that he wasn't all bad? Would Paul's attitude to make things better triumph over his parents' anger?

As breakfast ended and I took the regular path back to my bedroom, my thoughts continued to dwell on Paul and his parents. I walked into my bedroom and sat down on my bed. Realising I was holding my breath, I exhaled. Then I stood up and walked to my dressing table. "Please let Paul and his parents get on today?" I whispered to my reflection.

I couldn't settle to anything that morning. Half my mind tried to focus on finding an activity to keep me busy while the other half strayed to the Valise family. I kept listening out for the smallest sound of trouble I could hear.

I was just about to head back to the kitchen for a mid-morning cup of tea when a booming voice made my heart stop for a second. Not waiting, I threw myself off the bed and slammed into the door. I twisted the doorknob and hurtled out into the passage. Mr Valise's voice was coming from the kitchen and he sounded more angry than I had ever heard him. "I don't understand why you keep doing this. Don't you think we've all had enough of this charade now? Of all the completely ridiculous…" Mr Valise's voice trailed off.

I hardly dared to stop. Instead, I slowed my pace to something that resembled calm and walked straight into the kitchen. I had the idea that I might be able to stop another bust-up by simply entering the room. Mr Valise would not want to cause a scene while I was there to witness it.

"Just coming to make a cup of tea," I sang as I walked into the kitchen and headed straight to the kettle with my head down. Yet, though I pretended not to notice, I saw the whole scene and could guess what had happened before my arrival. Paul sat at the table in the kitchen, his head in his hands. He looked quite helpless as Mr Valise stood over him. Mr Valise looked puce in the face. His jaw was firmly set as though he was hiding a scowl. His eyebrows met angrily in the middle. And though he said nothing, I could hear his breath coming out in rasps. He looked poised to pounce on his son again as soon as I left the kitchen.

The kettle boiled slowly. And I took as much time as I could, humming casually as I took a mug down from the cupboard. I had no desire to leave Paul alone with his father when he was in such a rage. I poured the boiling water onto my teabag as I heard Mr Valise's rasping get louder. Yet I still tried to take my time I fetched milk from the fridge, added sugar and gave my tea a good stir.

I knew as I put the milk back that I had to leave the kitchen. Yet I was still worried. I took ever ounce of brain-power to think of something as I casually began to mooch towards the door. "Oh," I said looking over my shoulder at Paul as though I'd just remembered something I'd meant to say. "Paul, I wonder if you could help me" Paul's face seemed to light up with relief already. "There's this box at the top of my cupboard that I need to get down but I'm just a shade too short to reach it. Would you please come and get it down for me?" This was Paul's cue to leave the kitchen and he knew it. With one leap he was out of his chair and with another he was out and away from his father's clutches.

When Paul had really pulled a box that was just out of my reach down from my cupboard, I made sure to send him straight to his room and not back to the kitchen where I knew his father was likely still waiting. "I know all you want is your parents' help but you've got to remember to take it easy on them," I said as I led Paul back to his room. "If you see they're starting to get a little tetchy, steer the conversation to something more casual and every-day."

Paul nodded. "I'll try," he mumbled. "It just seems like they keep trying to yell at me."

"I know," I responded beginning to feel a bit desperate. "But, remember, this is probably just as hard for your parents as it is for you." We stopped at his door. "And if they need to vent and get it out of their system, let them. It might be that's all they need and some of the things they say may help you."

Paul smiled at me again as he opened his door. "Thanks, Buttercup. I'll do my best." I opened my mouth to tell Paul he'd gotten my name hopelessly wrong again but he'd already shut the door on me.

It wasn't long before I saw Paul again at lunch. I was grateful he had, at least, starting eating meals again. But, lunch was a tense affair. Every time I looked up, I saw Mr Valise glare at his son. Laughter seemed inappropriate and a sombre attitude hung in the air like a tablecloth just above our heads. Even talkative Mrs Knight had clammed up. I couldn't speak to Paul again, though I saw how uncomfortable he was as his father glared at him. I just hoped he'd remember our conversation and take into account what I had told him to do.

I thought Paul would probably stay out of his father's way for the rest of the day as I returned to my room. But, I hadn't been sitting in my room for long when I heard the familiar booming voice that seemed to rattle the windows. Almost instinctively, this time, I threw myself to my feet and rushed at the door. Again, I tore it open. The voice was getting louder. It was coming from the living room. I ran in that direction.

But, I stopped, breathing heavily, when I saw that Paul wasn't the recipient of Mr Valise's puce fury but someone who was obscured by the front door. "I am Mr Valise and I didn't ask the likes of you to come. What are you selling anyway?" I heard the back end of Mr Valise's conversation.

"You miss understand me, Sir," a voice responded shortly. "I am here because I was contacted about my interest in a painting." I gasped involuntarily. "I was asked if I wanted to purchase the painting. And the man who contacted me was a," the man paused for a moment, as if looking something up, "Mr Valise."

"But I'm Valise and I don't remember talking to the likes of you. And I'm not looking to buy any paintings anyway."

I could tell by the man's irate "No, no, no," that tension was building and I rushed to Mr Valise's side. "Is everything alright?" I asked knowing now exactly what was going on but refusing to let on to Mr Valise.

"This oke," Mr Valise pointed to the man, "is trying to sell me something. Says I called him."

The man's brow wrinkled in frustration. "I said nothing of the sorts, Sir." The man began to defend himself. "I told you, I am here at the request of a man called Valise who has agreed to sell me a painting.”

I stepped in. "Mr Valise," I began and patted his arm. "Why don't you go and leave me to deal with this man?" I tried to put as much gentility and sweetness as possible. Mr Valise seemed to hesitate. "It's alright. I'll see what he wants and send him away."

Mr Valise moved away from the door but his hand that held the door knob seemed to be resisting. I gave him a reassuring nod. He hesitantly pulled his right hand off the knob and moved slowly, cautiously away from the door. I stepped up to the entrance and watched him leave. He kept wavering, kept turning back to see if I was alright. "Are you sure you'll be alright?" he asked before entering into the passage. I nodded again and he hesitantly walked out of sight.

I turned back to the man who stood at the door and had watched Mr Valise's tentative departure. "May I help you, Sir?" I asked with a smile, already knowing the reason for his presence and trying to hide my excitement that a mystery was about to be solved. The man was rather odd looking. He didn't look particularly old but he wore clothes that reminded me a bit of a Victorian detective. He wore a long tweed coat buttoned right to the top. His beige trousers were just visible between the bottom of the coat and his brown shoes. He wore a brown trilby on his head and held a wooden cane with a brass handle in his right hand. I wondered what business this man who looked like he was dressed in fancy-dress had buying paintings of pianos.

The man cleared his throat. He seemed to have lost some nerve to Mr Valise but he immediately regained it. "Actually," he spoke in what sounded like an Oxford English accent, "I was supposed to meet a Mr Valise about a certain painting he said he had in his possession but I think I may have been given the wrong name. That heathen," he pointed his cane in the direction Mr Valise had gone in, "told me that he was Mr Valise and he clearly knew nothing about art… or etiquette, for that matter." His voice was laced with a venom that could only have come from feeling disrespected.

"I apologise," I said, trying to sooth the man's aggression. "That is Mr Valise Senior. I believe the person you are looking for is Mr Valise Junior.”The man's brow unfurrowed a little. "Won't you come inside?”I found the man's aristocratic airs rubbing off on me.

The man walked in and sat down on in exactly the same armchair as Mr Thomas had done giving me a little de ja vu.

The moment I sat down, the man cleared his throat noisily. "I suppose I best introduce myself," he said in a most formal, businesslike tone. "My name is Mr George Henry. I am the curator of a rather elite art museum in London." I leaned forward, eager to learn more. "I shan't trouble you with the name. You won't have heard of it." I leaned back again. Mr Henry's arrogant assumption that his museum was too elite for me had caused me to dislike him, though I had only just met him. I tried to compose myself quickly. Mr Henry, though, hadn't noticed the offence and continued as before. I listened with only half an ear. "I'm here on Mr Valise's invitation to come and pick up the 'Marie' he offered to sell to me."

It was my turn now to look confused. "The 'Marie'?" I questioned. "Do you mean the painting of the piano?

Mr Henry gasped. His eyes bulged out further than I thought humanly possible. "You mean, you've actually seen it? What does it look like? Is beautiful beyond anyone's wildest dreams?" His questions and his staring made me uncomfortable. I wasn't sure how to answer. It was a painting of a piano, no more and no less.

"Perhaps I best get Mr Valise to bring the painting so you can see for yourself," I suggested, getting to my feet as quickly as I could. Mr Henry looked like a man possessed. But, I stopped before I could run off and turned back to Mr Henry. "Before I fetch him, I think I need to explain." Again, I launched into the story of Paul's amnesia and how he couldn't remember anything that had ever happened to him before the accident - that he couldn't even remember me, his oldest friend, or my name.

As I spoke, Mr Henry sat back pensively, with his index fingers lightly pressed together against his lips. It seemed like he was taking it all in. When I had finished my explanation, he sat forward again and made a questioning noise. “I see,” he said in a level voice. He paused and I wondered what his next utterance was going to be. He seemed too level-headed, considering I had basically just told him his impending business transaction had been forgotten. The words that eventually left his lips surprised me. “But, you have seen the painting, haven’t you?”

I looked at him questioningly. "Uh, if you mean the painting of the piano, yes I have. It was delivered to Paul the day after he was discharged from hospital. Mr Valise couldn't remember the painting at all and I didn't know why he had got it in the first place."

Most of what I'd said didn't seem to register. "Good. Good. Well, as long as you or Mr Valise has the painting I think we can still do our business." I stared at Mr Henry dumbfounded. Had I not just told him that Paul couldn’t remember having any business with him? But, Mr Henry seemed oblivious to my shock as he sat waiting impatiently for his business transaction to begin.

"Uh, I'll just go get Mr Valise." I was relieved to be walking out of the room. It seemed to me that Mr Henry was both arrogant and uncaring. How else would you describe someone who insults someone who has just invited them into their home and ignores the fact that someone has a problem? He had completely disregarded my every word because it didn't seem to affect his business.

I shook my head and knocked on Paul's bedroom door. The door opened a crack again and Paul peered out. "Oh. Hello, Bluebell," he smiled at me.

I didn't have time to correct him. There is a man in the TV room who wants to see you. He says he here about the painting.”

"Oh?" Paul raised an eyebrow in both curiosity and surprise. "Well, I'll get it."

I was about to follow Paul into his room when the door slammed shut. I blinked in surprise. And while I should have been suspicious about why Paul had closed the door instead of letting me in, my mind didn't seem to register.

Gullible, right?

In the time it took me to recover from my momentary shock, Paul had wrenched open the door again and was staggering out with the huge brown box in his arms. I took one end of the box and together we made the precarious journey back to the TV room.

Mr Henry was still perched at the edge of the armchair as we staggered in. He did not stand or offer to help us as we groped and finally placed the box on the couch but his eyes did grow wide once more.

It was then that he stood wide-eyed, looking at the box. "So, that's it, is it then?" he questioned with a kind of awe in his voice.

Paul and I nodded in unison and then opened the box to pull out the painting. As we finally managed to extricate the painting from its cardboard enclosure, Mr Henry gasped. "It's beautiful," he breathed and I thought I noticed the slightest glimmer of a tear.

He stuck his hand in his pocket and pulled out a small telescope that looked a little like the ones jewellers use to examine diamonds. "Do you mind?" he asked holding up the telescope. "I just need to authenticate it."

Paul and I stepped back allowing Mr Henry to step in front of the painting. With the telescope near his left eye, he began to move slowly across the painting as though he would examine every fleck of paint. "Watercolour. Fine texture. Look at how detailed the books are!" he muttered under his breath. "Yes. Yes. Unbelievable!" He pulled his head away from the telescope and looked at us. "This is the real thing," he announced. The genuine article."

Mr Henry stepped back and returned to the armchair. He still help the telescope in his hand and was twirling it apprehensively. "I can't believe – I simply can't believe that this is it. An actual 'Marie'. I never thought I'd see something like this in my lifetime."

"Mr Valise," Mr Henry addressed Paul though he hadn't bothered to introduce himself since Paul had entered the room. "However did you come across this beautiful creation?" I frowned feeling that the question was tactless. How could he ask such a question after I had just told him of Paul's amnesia. Paul opened his mouth to speak – probably to inform Mr Henry that he had no memory – but Mr Henry spoke again first. "Well, no matter where or how you found it. The point is, you have it and the museum has great interest in it."

Mr Henry sat up a little straighter and stuffed the telescope in his pocket. He seemed to have shaken the air of wonder and had resumed his business-like manner. "Now, Mr Valise, the young lady has informed me of your incapacity" – he waved a hand in my direction – "and, of course, if I were a less honourable man, I might use that to my advantage.” He took a deep sighing breath. "But, I pride myself on my honour and when we initially spoke, we did agree on a price. Of course, I felt it was a little too expensive but it is a one-of-a-kind 'Marie' and my museum is desirous to possess it. So, the figure remains. Four hundred thousand pounds will be in your account by this evening, Mr Valise."

For a moment, my didn't register what my ears had just heard. I stood rigid as my mind began to process. "F-four h – hundred th-thousand pounds?" I repeated feeling a ringing in my ears.

"Mm," Mr Henry answered. "Well, I suppose it's only ten thousand pounds off the thirty hundred and ninety thousand I was going to offer." He shrugged his shoulders.

"I was still shaking as Mr Henry rose from his seat. "Well, Mr Valise," Mr Henry said extending his hand for Paul to shake. “It has – as they say – been a pleasure doing business with you." He turned back to the paining. "If someone wouldn't mind helping get this glorious creation to the car…”

Between the three of us, we managed to gently lower the painting into the box, with Mr Henry's "careful, careful”ringing in our ears, and staggered out to Mr Henry's hire car. With the painting safely stowed on the back seat and strapped in place using all three seat belts, Mr Henry turned back to Paul. "Again, Mr Valise, it has been a pleasure," he said clasping Paul's hand once more before clambering into the driver's seat.

Paul and I watched in silence as he left. I was happy to watch the car disappear round a bend, not only because Mr Henry had been the most arrogant man I'd ever met – not bothering to even ask my name or shake my hand, though I had been the one who'd help him – but also because the back end of his car was like the tail end of a mystery. Now we knew what the mysterious painting was and why it was delivered to Paul.

I turned to face Paul who was still looking at where the car had vanished. "Four hundred thousand pounds, Paul," I exclaimed in awe. "That's almost enough money to set you up for the rest of your life."

Paul nodded as we turned to head back into the house but what had just happened didn't seem to register, at least not in his eyes. He walked through the front door in a daze and mumbled something about going to his room.

I watched him walk down the passage, feeling both excited and sorry for him. To have that kind of money is a thrill but it must be awful if your memory's so bad you can't enjoy it.

I told no one about what Mr Henry really wanted as we sat down to supper that night. Mr Valise hadn't asked any questions and I decided to leave it up to Paul whether he wanted to say anything.

A tension still hung in the air between Paul and his parents which seemed to cover the rest of us also. If anyone talked it was only to comment idly about the food or tomorrow's weather. No one laughed and if someone smiled it was an awkward, uncomfortable smile that faded almost instantly.

I was rather grateful to be getting away as I headed back to my bedroom for another early night. I glanced at my laptop lying on my dressing table. But with the mystery of Paul's painting solved, there was no longer a need for me search again. I smiled and climbed into bed. But my dreams that night were fraught with Sherlock-Holmes style detectives stealing our possessions until I woke with a start, my heart pounding in my ears.