Red Rainbow by G Johanson (top books of all time TXT) 📗

Deveral had talked the black widow into her transatlantic journey for this, recruiting his own executioner and accomplice. Hilaire had never met him and focused on the task at hand.

Florence started placing bets on bystanders, betting on who would enter the synagogue and who would keep on walking. Hilaire played along, her eyes looking at an old bald man with a long thick white beard who came into sight, placing her bet on him. The black suit was a bit of a clue, though he did have a colourful scarf pulled up to cover his ears, the beard hanging proudly loose in front of it.

“Obviously him. You’re cheating now,” Florence protested.

“You could have said him.”

“You got in first. I thought you had bad eyes.”

She was right – that was why she wore glasses. Hilaire said smugly, “These bad eyes can see him walking through the door.” Hilaire had never met Deveral Meyer, but Florence had given her a summary of the sort of man he was. Hearing that he was friends with Georges Steil, a man she knew well, helped her paint a clearer picture. She could easily imagine the man down on the street – now in the synagogue – as a friend of Georges’.

“It doesn’t mean he’s attending the funeral.”

“That’s not even the game. The game is who’s going inside. There’s still what...” Hilaire looked down at her watch. Just under twenty minutes. It was very possible attendees could still come. “You can guess the next one. The woman there just crossed the road. Is she going in or out? In or not, I mean.”

“I’ll just keep saying in, then I’ll be right.”

Hilaire watched the woman walking without commenting until it became clear where she was going. “Bad luck.”

“Tell it to the door you smashed...”

The choice of venue for Deveral Meyer’s funeral surprised Patience Condeh, as did the announcement in the paper. She saw it for herself, and one of her friends mentioned seeing it in another paper. Patience bought a national, her friend a regional, and while it was just a tiny notice, it still beggared the question of who requested it be put in there. Deveral had organised his death and could have organised his funeral and the notification, except his actions showed he didn’t want anyone there.

Deveral hadn’t listened to her when she asked him not to go through with his suicidal (and homicidal) plan. She opted not to follow his wishes either. She’d been working on a market stall selling jewellery for years prior to his kind offer of employment, which improved her life dramatically. The only form of the arts that was in her life in any meaningful way before that had been music, Patience a fan of the live experience. Now she was peering behind the curtain and watching a variety of plays, revues, the odd comic turn and occasional band, and she felt a part of it. She was the wardrobe department with nobody to answer to – or help her if things went awry. That responsibility felt great, Patience spending many afternoons travelling the city in search of costumes to buy or rent, textiles for her to run something off on (or get her friend Mthandeni to create for the trickier fare). She was at the theatre before the shows to help the cast with their makeup and was at hand for any quick changes and for any costume emergencies, but she could also work on things at home as well as her time spent out and about on the prowl. It was better than the stall, no question. Working with the general public was enjoyable 9 times out of 10 but that rogue 1 was enough reason to completely change career path.

This was the main reason she attended the funeral, gratitude at what Deveral had done for her. She was also there representing her father and returning the honour Deveral showed when he came to her father’s funeral. She was showing her respects now, even if it did mean not respecting Deveral’s explicit wishes. Technically, he’d said there would be no funeral, that they’d throw his body in a ditch. Patience thought about this as she sat in the front row of pews next to the sole other mourner. Deveral had not organised this funeral or the notice. She would ask Maurice after the service if it had been him. The vicar (she didn’t know what to expect here, rabbi or vicar – the location suggested rabbi, the deportations made this seem unlikely) gave a commendable service, doing well under the circumstances considering he admitted from the outset that he hadn’t known the deceased. It was quite possible to sympathise for the loss of a stranger, and he conveyed this well, not touching on the mystery cause of death or the other rumoured deaths that accompanied his passing.

Maurice got up to say a few words, reminiscing about the shows they had put on back in 1900. Patience knew bits and pieces about this; Deveral, her father and Maurice and three others had put on midnight performances at theatres during the Paris World Fair. He didn’t go into detail here, but she knew that the performances had included magic, a mix of fake and the real, some otherworldly. Her father had summoned spirits and brought them into play for the crowd, transfiguration adding a visual element. Maurice spoke to her of how the characters of the six organisers were different, but each man was competitive and wanted to one-up the other as each took it in turn to organise an event, six shows running in total. He finished his speech by patting the coffin and stating solemnly, “You one-upped us all here, friend.”

Deveral – or whoever was behind this service – opted for cremation. Maurice escorted Patience out as the coffin was taken away. He said to her on the way out how Deveral had been a very good fire-eater. Another of the group who’d died earlier had been an