An old man sat facing her, his eyes piercing straight through her, as he did, he transformed what appeared as a glare of warning into an embracing grin. She felt it obligatory to smile back.
“Hi my name is Victoria, I was told to visit you by my father, Richard Godwin,” she said. At the sound of the name the old man’s face filled with hatefulness and abhorrence, but Victoria continued, “he told me to give you a message.” She felt as if the sardonic atmosphere had disappeared, only to be replaced by an awkward silence. As she stood there waiting for a response, she could not help but notice the architectural splendour of the room. Architecture had been her father’s life; he used to be at the forefront of architecture and interior design. So she had been brought up to appreciate it in all its forms, from Romanesque to Minimalist. The room was surrounded by masses of books and paintings from a few of the great masters: Cézanne, Toulouse-Lautrec, and Degas. Cornices surrounded the ceiling and friezes lower down, depicting decorative acanthus leaves and ornate ivy motifs and the floor was made from the finest oak parquet.
Victoria walked closer to him, as she knew she wasn’t going to get a response.
“So – you – did you know my father?” Yet again there was no reply, the old man just pointed to a chaise longue next to the piano. Victoria took that to mean that she was invited to sit down, she walked over and sat on the chaise longue.
“This, unfortunately isn’t a social call, there is a reason behind my indecorous visit,’ Victoria declared, “My father is terminally ill and he wished me to give a message to Mr Parmigiano, and I’m guessing that is you.”
Terminally ill, serves him right. I do all the work and he gets the credit. The old man smiled again, but Victoria didn’t know quite what to make of it.
“He told me to apologize on his behalf, but didn’t tell me why, I was hoping that you would be able to tell me,”
Mr Parmigiano rose from his seat, and moved towards a row of books, and he instinctively knew which one he was looking for, pulling out a thick leather bound book and in red ink; ‘The Seven Wonders of the Architectural World by R. Godwin” was scrawled on the cover. He walked back toward Victoria and placed it on the table. Victoria recalled from her childhood how famous this book had made her father, every other architect in the world aspired to him when it was published, it was like a bible to designers and architects alike.
A letter and a newspaper clipping fell out of the book as Victoria picked it up. She retrieved the letter and looked at Mr Parmigiano for conformation that she was allowed to read it. He nodded. It was addressed to A. Parmigiano. As Victoria was reading, she noticed that the handwriting was somewhat familiar; the formation of the g’s and the dots on the i‘s uncannily resembled her father’s handwriting. Then she began to read the article from the newspaper. It claimed that Mr Parmigiano had used Mr Godwin to become a world-renowned author and architect.
“So – I’m confused. What really happened?”
“I cannot speak here – the place is bugged.” Mr Parmigiano muttered in a continental accent.
Bugged? Victoria seemed rather confused. By whom?
“It has been 23 years since your father claimed I was using him, when in fact it was the opposite way round. He didn’t know anything about architecture and that’s why he came to me for help”
“You’re –“
“- Shh!” Mr Parmigiano told her.
“- Lying!” she whispered arrogantly.
“No, it is true, when Mr Godwin came to me he was nothing but a high school drop out. But when he came to publish the book, I had found out that he had been recording everything that I did and said for the past two years, sapping what knowledge I had left.”
“It can’t be. I won’t believe it” Victoria cried. Unconsciously, she knew he was telling the truth. He seemed to be trustworthy.
“Why do you think he told you to come this far to find out the truth? He doesn’t have the guts, he’s ashamed” Mr Parmigiano exclaimed.
Alfred had been watching and listening to the CCTV ever since Miss Godwin had arrived in a secret room, there was something suspicious about her impromptu visit, something that she wasn’t telling. Now both of them were whispering. Do they know?
“I have been quiet for the past 23 years, stuck in this house, but in that time I have learnt how to play the piano. A small price to pay in making sure your father doesn’t get any more famous” Mr Parmigiano whispered.
Victoria was awestruck, her father had been her idol, the only man she respected, now it turns out that she was worshipping a con man. Why hadn’t he told me sooner?
Alfred was getting agitated; he knew that they had both realized they were being watched. He had to make a move. What though? Think! Alfred opened his drawer, and rummaged around, he had found what he was looking for. His hand’s gripped round a narrow, black, cold, cylinder. The silencer. He withdrew the pistol from his drawer and left.
“Alfred has probably already realized that we know that we are being spyed upon,” Mr Parmigiano declared.
This statement confused Victoria even more. Why would Alfred realise? Is he part of the spying? So many questions.
“You’ve got to leave now”
“Leave? Why?”
The doors of the foyer slammed shut, footsteps could be heard reverberating through the cupola.
Click. Alfred cocked his pistol.
“Quick you’ve got to leave now!”
The footsteps got louder and more frequent.
“Go!” Mr Parmigiano pointed to a bookshelf, “you’ll be able to escape through there,” She ran over and pulled frantically at the books, hoping that one would be the handle to a secret escape. She found a book that didn’t budge, she pushed it and the bookcase swung round, taking her with it. As the bookshelf clicked back in to place, she heard the doors slammed open into the lavish hall.
Bang!
She felt as if her stomach had just jumped into her throat. She had no time to think; the footsteps were getting louder, meaning that he was coming for her. Her brain was telling her to move, but her body didn’t react. She was lifeless, motionless. An icy chill ran down her back. Is this it? The end?
She heard Alfred searching methodically for the book, she mustered enough energy to run, and she ran down the stony egress lit only by torches, as she ran the wind was blowing out the torches behind her, the darkness was creeping up on her encasing the passage in darkness. The end was in sight, then a dark figure of a man appeared at the exit, she began to slow, the features where becoming more familiar, it was Alfred the butler. But he was behind me! She stopped dead. Someone was still chasing her from behind, she turned around, and it was Mr Parmigiano. I thought you were dead.
Alfred moved closer pointing the gun in the middle of her chest and then Mr Parmigiano pulled out a gun as well. She was trapped!
“I trusted you Mr Parmigiano!” she wailed.
“I trusted your father, see where that got me, nowhere” he proclaimed. He levelled the gun at Victoria’s chest, Victoria’s panic turned inward, her senses on overload. She reacted on instinct as the gun went off. Launching towards Mr. Parmigiano, she hit the floor hard. The stone cushioned her fall with the grace of cold steel. Footsteps closed behind her. She began scrambling blindly for her life, but to no avail, she froze. Another bullet exploded. It hit her right in the chest. The burning pain seared through her. She felt her soul being sucked away whilst ebbing in and out of consciousness. Even in the shadows of a stony passageway, Victoria retained an air of quiet dignity. The flames of the torches flickered softly and then with a final gust of wind they blew out completely.
the end
