Открыть фик целиком в отдельном окне
~~~****~~~
Peter sat in the car outside his home long enough that the single occupant inside began to fret. Mrs. McConnell had been with Connor a long time before he came onto the picture. A surrogate grandmother, well maiden aunt maybe, who doubled in the role of housekeeper come secretary, her brother Will came in twice a week to do maintenance work and Peter found he couldn’t let either of them go, despite the fact he didn’t feel he needed to be looked after.
She was a quiet solid presence, not like the memory of Connor who haunted his days and kept him company during the long night, but real and very much the brand that kept him going. He smiled despite himself when she opened the door and did nothing more than stand and wait for him to come inside. Lately it had been her way.
“Peter?” she asked in her soft lilting accent.
“Hi Mrs Mac.” He dropped a kiss onto her cheek and forced a smile onto his overtired features.
“You’ve had a couple of calls.” She handed him the small yellow notes and he squinted. One from Lindsey about the party and the other one from the Dean at Harvard regarding the offer they had formally made.
“I’ve just come from there.” He screwed the note up and threw it towards the bin. “I’ll return this one in the morning.” He hung his coat up in the hall closet and turned to look at her worried features.
“You also have a visitor sir, I’m sorry but he insisted on staying. Said it was quite urgent.”
“Who?” Peter narrowed his eyes as he ran his hand along the leather pouch again. ‘Why don’t they leave me alone so I can be with you?’ Peter thought sourly.
“He said his name was Frank Elsigner.”
Peter made a face, “It’s okay Mrs. Mac where did you put him?”
“In the den, he has the kind of face I don’t trust.”
Peter smiled again at her perception. “Could you make us a pot of tea please?”
“Aye I can, have you had dinner yourself yet?”
“Yes.” Peter lied easily about small things these days. “I ate at Lindsey’s party.”
“Hmm, well I know what party food is like, there is a pot of soup on in the kitchen.”
“Just tea Mrs. Mac.” He kissed her on the top of the head. “I’ll go see to our guest.”
The den was situated towards the back of the house; Connor had always enjoyed the view of the rolling park like grounds that surrounded the huge windows. Elegantly panelled walls complimented the antique timber desk and bookshelves, crammed full of text from the blindingly obscure to the more sedate issues of science journals. In deference to Connor’s naval history a brass ships bell was mounted on the wall, and on the mantle were photo’s of Connor and Peter both in full dress uniform, as well as several informal shots taken by trusted friends over the years. Two high wing backed chairs sat facing the desk. Expecting the evening to be cool Mrs. Mac had the fire already burning gently in the hearth of the marble fireplace and as Peter walked in he saw Elsinger still in his topcoat staring outside into the darkness.
“What are you doing here?” Peter asked with obvious ill humour.
Elsinger turned and smiled, “Bearding the lion in his den.”
Shrugging elegantly Peter took off the constricting tie and opened the top button of his shirt as he sat down behind the desk.
“I would assume that you want something that could not wait till the morning.” His voice a quiet controlled menace, the tiredness and lethargy only adding to its weight. Boredom hung on every syllable and he leaned back studying the man up close. Elsingers face was pale; the spiked light hair looked slightly dishevelled and yet still he stood in his cashmere coat, despite the warmth of the room.
“I wasn’t sure you’d come in in the morning.” Elsinger’s voice had that soft condescending tone that he doled out to menials, the one that totally failed to enrage Axon as it normally did.
“I wasn’t. You gave me a few days off to consider my options remember?”
At last he came to rest in the leather chair and smiled. “Yes I did. I’ve heard disturbing reports that despite the offer we will make you, you’ve decided to leave the OSIR.”
“I see the OSIR grist mill is working overtime to get into your good books Frank. I said I would look at your offer, I never said I would consider it.” Mrs Mac chose that moment to enter with the tea. Staffordshire bone china sat on the tray along with her famous shortbread, milk, sugar, lemon and two cups.
“Shall I pour?” she asked her voice still soft with its Scottish accent.
“No it’s alright, I think we can manage. I won’t be needing you for the rest of the evening Mrs. Mac.” Peter’s smile was gentle and despite the old woman’s frown at Elsinger she acquiesced courteously and repaired from the room.
“Your housekeeper is suspicious of me.” Elsinger laughed as he watched her retreating form.
“As are we all.” Peter poured the tea and offered one to his soon to be ex-boss and one for himself. “You still haven’t told me what you want.”
“Are you always this blunt?” Elsinger took up a piece of lemon and placed it in the cup as he took a bite of the shortbread.
“Only when I have unwelcome guests. With all due respect I am tired and I really don’t see that you and I have a lot to discuss. So what is it you want?”
“You’ll need to come back into Central Lab tomorrow, the legal people have some papers you will need to sign in order to finalize Doyle’s will.”
“You could have rung me for that, besides I already knew. Legal phoned me before you came down to my office. A fact I am sure you were aware of.”
“Alright Peter, truth is we don’t want to lose you. Consider this a peace offering or at least the beginnings of one.”
Peter laughed with ill humour. “Peace? You and I? Oh that’s funny. Let’s see what is it you have to offer? Money? Sorry don’t need that. Job security?” Peter put the cup down on the table and glared at the man in front of him. “Been offered that elsewhere. Take a look around you Frank, I live in a house in Scituate, been offered the chair at Harvard with a long-term contract. Without Connor’s will I have no debts and a good sum of money which allows me to live as I choose, so tell me again what it is you have to offer me?”
“Do you honestly think you’ll be happy teaching Peter?”
“Well now, am I honestly happy with you playing God every time you feel like it and leaving me the blame? No. So lets not concentrate too hard on what we have as being a good thing.” Peter bit into the buttery soft shortbread and smiled cynically.
“Why did you join the OSIR?” Elsinger adopted a different tactic. For years he had believed Axon to be a company man, easily manipulated and able to be controlled. This was not a fight or a side of him he expected and it chastened him to realise he was outmatched for this particular battle.
“Because you offered me something that at the time I was looking for. In retrospect I did it because you guaranteed me the opportunity of rising within the ranks and becoming a case manager. That carrot is no longer tempting.”
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