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The morning after the concert, Solange shows up to Lucas's rooms as prearranged. She knocks on the door.
The door is opened by Gaston, Lucas' lugubrious manservant who, somewhat unexpectedly, lays a finger to his lips enjoining silence.
"M'signeur wishes to know if you would care to join him for breakfast on the balcony," he says to Solange, in a near whisper.
"Certainly," Solange replies, sotte voce. "Um...why are we whispering?"
"Madame and the children are still asleep," Gaston responds in hushed tones. He then leads her into the suite that Lucas and his family occupy, through the small dining room and out through the window to the balcony beyond. It's not a vast space, but there is enough room for a small table and a seat at either end. The farther one is occupied by Lucas who is wearing a navy and white striped matelot jersey, sun glasses pushed up and back a la film star (although his hair is, as usual, carefully arranged to conceal the mutilated ear). He rises, and Solange catches a glimpse of navy trousers.
Solange is wearing a white poet's blouse, jeans, and sandals. Her hair is loose.
"Cousin!"
"Please," he says, "join me."
He indicates the chair, and the table set with fruit juice, coffee, warm croissants (she can smell 'em), cereals and coffee.
"Good morning, Lucas," Solange greets him warmly while eyeing the coffee and croissants with something close to rapture. "I missed breakfast."
With a smile she slips into the proffered chair and immediately reaches for the available source of caffeine. "And how are you this beautiful morning? I'm surprised the wee ones are not up."
"They are sleeping the sleep of the infinitely entertained," responds Lucas, offering to pour from the cafetiere. "Solace too, who is not strong at the moment."
Solange gestures to her cup. "Thank you."
"Besides, if they were awake, we tend to breakfast en famille, and the balcony is rather too confined a space for enterprising young Amberites, no matter how beautifully they can behave. And they would be rather bored by our conversation, I feel. They have not yet reached the age where the exchange of information and the concomitant plotting have much interest for them, unless it pertains very directly to their personal hierarchy of needs. Do try a pain au choclat. Gouter has rather a talent for them, I feel."
"Oooo...pastries filled with chocolate, very decadent," she grins, easing one deftly onto her plate with fork and knife. "Perhaps Solace and the children will be up before I leave. Now, about Lord Hardwind and dubious affairs...?"
She adds cream and sugar to her coffee.
The pain au chocolat is perfect - a plug of solid bitter dark chocolate at the centre, melting around its edges into the hot buttery soft patisserie.
Lucas is regarding her with some ironic amusement over the rim of his coffee cup.
"So much your father's daughter," he murmurs. "But then it is perhaps only to be expected that my mother's son would indulge in polite small talk before coming to the nub of the matter ...
"Tell me, cos, has your brother ever said anything to you about his investigations into the Paresh?"
"Business before pleasure and all that," Solange replies pragmatically. "We can chat awhile first, if you'd rather. I just assumed you would have things to do today and I didn't want to take up any more of your time than necessary."
Lucas waves a neglient hand, indicating he is prepared to bypass the chitchat.
"As to the answer to your question," she continues, "no, not that I recall." She takes a bite of the pastry and makes an appreciative noise.
"The Paresh," says Lucas, "is one of those small doomsday cults that spring up from time to time in Shadow. Unusually, it took hold here in Amber, in some small way. It seemed to specialise in dire prognostications of the doom that was to overtake us all here in Amber. Not just the Sundering, but something even more apocalyptical, apparently."
Her eyebrows raise in sudden recognition, but she doesn't interrupt. She sits back and sips her coffee.
"And interestingly enough, unlike many of these cults, they did not hang around in the belief that one day they would be transported up to whatever they conceived of as Heaven. Instead they packed their bags and got the hell out of Dodge, displaying an unusual level of sensible behaviour for a doomsday cult. An Amberite ship was detailed to follow them ... it went missing. As did their vessel.
"I think I missed some of this being away on trade missions. You might have been away too ...
"At all events, your brother looked into it and reported back that there was nothing too troubling - although it was a mystery at the time where the Paresh got the money to undertake their removal.
"Not," he added, "any more."
"I now remember Vere telling us about them at one of the Council meetings." She pauses. "What does this have to do with my foster uncle?"
"It appears," says Lucas carefully, "that the reason his estate is in such a parlous state is that he had been funnelling funds into the Paresh for some years."
Solange raises her eyebrows. "Interesting. I had no idea he was sympathetic to their cause." She pauses, remembering the night of the coronation and her futile attempts with the guard to keep her foster uncle alive through CPR. "I find it interesting that he, a supporter of their cause, died the day they prophesied Amber would end."
She sets her cup down, forcing the images from her mind and returning to the present. "How much money are we talking about? And how did you find out about it?"
"My belle mere asked me to look into it. Poor Aunt Felicity was being harried by the solictors who wanted to know where Lord Hardwind's money had disappeared to. Opal Hardwind was - with some cause, I fear, suspicious as to what had become of her father's estate and - it must be confessed - her own inheritance. I felt the need was to rescue dear Aunt Felicity, and save her from further irritation."
Though Lucas didn't answer her first question directly, his answer to the second one implies a considerable amount. "Do Aunt Felicity and Opal know about this?" Solange asks.
"I have been reluctant to cause either of them more distress by exposing the ... pecadillos, shall we say? ... of one who was dear to both of them," replies Lucas. "One way to achieve this, it seems to me, is to place them both into positions where the activities of the late Lord Hardwind become of lesser importance to either. Opal Hardwind must learn that the money is lost, and not through her stepmother's carelessness. But she will be offered future prospects that will accord well with her talents and spirit. Aunt could be protected from the worst of this by being given a new position in a new environment. I have asked my mother to take her as a lady in waiting when she goes to Paris, and the idea has found favour, I believe."
Solange gazes at Lucas appraisingly. "You seem to have taken care of most everything already. I'm grateful, since I was not here to attend to it myself. So...I believe all that's left is straightening out Uncle's accounts, which I'm happy to do. Anything else in regard to this matter?"
Lucas smiles. "You could say I was following your brother's instructions. Even before my belle mere started to ... ah ... importune me in her usual indomitable style, Vere had left me a note inviting me to poke my nose into three matters which he felt needed urgent attention. One resolved itself rather tragically ... the matter of Dame Aisling. A second had already attracted the attention of other people I felt more qualified than myself. The third ... was this.
"As for your uncle's accounts ... " He gives a little shudder. "You are most welcome to them. I'll have Gaston convey them to your rooms. They should not be regarded as ... ah ... light reading."
"Undoubtedly," she sighs. "I'll send for coffee as well."
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XXXIV: Fireworks in Amber | Index | XXXVI: Escape to Xanadu
