CHAPTER 4
1097 Words
Chapter Four
Mr Austin's POV
It took two days for Frankie to get back to me. But Desmond Dean had agreed to see me at his villa on Friday at two pm. On the appointed day, I didn't bother going to my company. I spent most of the morning rehearsing what I would say and predicting Desmond's reaction to my every sentence. It seemed that the fate of my company and my freedom as well both hinged on Desmond's response to me.
Roshni came to knock on my door. "Are you in there, father?"
"Yea, Roshni. Do you need me?"
"What I need from you is to come downstairs and have a brunch with me. Since breakfast, it seems you have been hiding from me."
I opened the door and Roshni stood in the hallway dressed in a checkered frock. Her hair was tied back in a bun. I checked the time on my pocket watch as I closed the door. "I haven't been hiding from you, Roshni. But I must go out soon."
"Where to, father?" my daughter inquired.
"To see a friend, my dear," I said, even though I couldn't call Desmond Dean a friend yet.
"At least, have a slice of toasted bread and tea with me. I have taken pains to make those."
I just smiled. I knew she was pulling my legs. "Alright, I agreed," seeing as I had some time to spare.
We sat on the third terrace, the left side of the building, which overlooked a row of green trees and some colorful flowers a certain Mrs. Gladys had decorated her abode with.
"I remember you used to steal flowers from there when you were little," I said, pointing a hand.
"Then it never dawned on me that someone would watch me from up here. And I wouldn't call it stealing, father. Mrs. Gladys has a lot of those."
"I guess the house helps saw you frequently."
She nodded and sipped her tea.
"Is there something on your mind, Roshni?"
"Just my mind playing tricks on me."
"What tricks?"
"I keep thinking if those men would actually go ahead with their threat if you fail to deliver," and as she said this, she looked into my eyes. Roshni was searching for some guarantee that I wouldn't fail.
"I do not plan on going to jail, Roshni. Whether they want to go ahead with their threat or not. And by the way, thinking too much about that will only make me worried. I do not want to lose my morale at this critical time, my dear."
She nodded. "I am proud of you, father. Whatever happens, know this."
I rewarded her with a smile. "What are your plans for today, my dear?"
"Check with mother at the seamstress shops to see what they are up to. If we are fortunate enough, I can get some funds from them."
"Why?"
Roshni just looked at me like I've spoken in a strange dialect.
"Oh, alright," I said, finally getting it. "How... thoughtful of you, Roshni."
"Thank you, father."
I consulted my pocket watch again. I had to go. Rising up from the chair, I kissed my daughter on the forehead, and told her that I was leaving.
"But you haven't even touched the bread," she exclaimed.
"I will when I get back," I answered.
Truth be told, I was too nervous to eat anything.
************
Desmond Dean's house was a palatial structure. Everything was big, from the gates, to the vehicles, to the fountain sitting in the center of the premises. There were even huge looking men that served as his bodyguards. I wondered who he needed protection from. He was single and didn't even have a wife or a child. What was he afraid of? It was one insecurity I noticed about the man.
When I had such money, I never hired bodyguards, even though Roshni started to become the apple of people's eyes.
I was escorted into an awe-inspiring sitting place, where a maid told me that, "Mr. Desmond will see you soon. Can I offer you anything, Mr. Austin?"
I wasn't surprised that the maid knew my name. But I shook my head anyway. "Just had brunch with my daughter a while ago. I am full, thank you."
"As you wish, sir."
I spent some couple of moments admiring the beautiful paintings on the walls before the man of the house walked in. Desmond Dean was a man of average height. Young, dark in complexion, had no single strand of hair on his head, and sported long goatee all over his jaw.
I stood up acknowledge him. "Mr. Dean."
"Do you like paintings, Mr. Austin?" he asked, his voice was smooth, and I bet he didn't smoke like Frankie did.
"Paintings? Not really."
"Why not?"
"Haven't had the time."
"Might be the truth or it just might be that you don't want to give it time."
I said nothing to this.
"Paintings tell a story. Just like books. That you can agree to, no?" Desmond asked.
And he was already approaching my matter already.
"Yes, books do tell a lot of stories."
He gestured for me to sit just as he sat down. "Then there is no difference. You must like paintings as well."
"Very well, then," I managed a tight smile. His words had gotten me a tad uncomfortable. Because to me, Desmond seemed the man who forced actions and behaviors into people's lives. I wondered about the words.
"Why have you come to see me, Mr. Austin?"
"I met a friend. Frankie. And he told me that you could help me get what I need. He arranged this meeting."
"Yes, I know Frankie. But what is it you need me to help you with?"
"Austin Books."
"Your company."
"I am sure by now that you must have read the news about our operations and how low the angels have fallen."
"Indeed I have," Desmond said, caressing his goatee, obviously trying to figure out where I was heading to even before I would tell him. I took him for a subtle kind of chess player.
Moving to the edge of my seat, I said, "I want my company back, Mr. Desmond. And I need your help to make that happen."
"A proposal?"
I was going to say a plea, but I thought the better of it. It was not wise for me to seem too desperate. I wouldn't want to be at the mercy of a younger man. "Yea, a proposal."
"I hope it is worth hearing. Do tell."
- Writer
