The Egyptologist - Arthur Phillips [65]
Your great-uncle was a no-nonsense kind of man, an admirable man. Tough as a croc, big fellow, hair slicked right back, offered me a very fine cigar. In his great big study, he sat at a large, shiny desk and showed me an advertisement he was examining, turned the board towards me. “For the holiday season,” he said. “Trying to decide if I approve or not.” A drawing of a woman serving an enormous roast bird of some sort on a huge platter, and the words “Don’t serve fine fowl on foul finery! Trust Finneran’s Finer Finery for all your holiday needs! (Our goods last an eternity, guaranteed!)” The woman in the drawing was your aunt, you see, she’d modelled for it. “It took such a long time.” She sighed. “At least I didn’t have to hold the turkey, the artist drew that later. He was a bit of a sissy, I think.”
“That’s enough language,” muttered Finneran. “We have company. What can we do for you today, Mr. Harold Ferrell of Tailor Enquiries Worldwide all the way from Australia?” He examined my business card and rolled his unlit cigar back and forth between his lips. “I don’t think I’ve ever had any business in Australia.”
I told him I was working on the inheritance of an Australian fellow and that I thought his business partner Professor Trilipush might be able to help me find this missing heir, as the two of them might’ve known each other in the War. “Ralphie?” your aunt breaks in. “He’s a bit more than a business partner, Harry!” I liked how she named me Harry straightaway and never let it go.
“This gentleman has business with me, Maggie, so scram.” She raised her eyebrows, made a sarcastic curtsey, collected her dogs, and slammed the door behind her. I understood all about your aunt already, I thought: spoilt, charming when she wants to be, bit of a would-be snob, but she’s young and doesn’t have anyone to show her how it’s done. The money smelled new, no offence, Macy. No butler to answer the door, still a household with real people in it. Understand: I prefer that. I liked the way Finneran spoke, and I liked his home right off. He was a wealthy man (I thought), but still understood what drove real men, understood the limits of his money. I hope I’m describing you as well there in your New York mansion, Macy.
“High-spirited filly,” says her father after the door’s echo dies away. “But what she meant was, she’s engaged to Professor Trilipush.” That was intriguing news to me, Macy. “He’s a fine fellow,” continues Finneran with a certain tone. “Do you know him? No, well, he’s a hell of a fine fellow. Old English family, brave as hell soldier, expert in his field. Quite a thing. You don’t see many men like him, even in England, I wouldn’t figure, and to catch a fellow like that in Boston, and for Margaret to win his heart, we’re a pretty happy family here, Mr. Ferrell.” I might not have the exact words, but that was the thrust of it. As I was trying to explain just now, your great-uncle wasn’t all polished over with lacquer like the Marlowes, but if you’ll excuse me for saying it, I knew this was why he was so proud of Trilipush as a son-in-law. No question: this wedding would bump him up a notch or two or three in his Boston social scene.
I started slow, just explained the Davies inheritance case, and asked if Mr. Finneran could tell me where I could find Professor Trilipush. “Of course, of course,” and as he’s taking his address book out of his desk drawer, I asked, “Just out of curiosity, how’d you come to meet Professor Trilipush here in Boston?” He says Margaret introduced them, brought Trilipush round the house one day like a girl who’s bought a fine necklace. She’d seen him give a public lecture, she’d talked to him, become a friend of his, and then had really “taken a shine to the limey.” Were they already in love, then, when she introduced Trilipush to her father? “No, no,” Finneran says, “she brought him around as a favour to me. To have him describe the expedition he was planning, because she knew that a few of my business partners and me are always looking for investment possibilities,