Chapter 82: Chapter 82 – Drawing towards the fated end

It didn't take long for Oscar to find out what Peter Northrop meant when he said that they didn't need to accompany him to the event. A few days after Albert had notified of what was being organized, he was given an invitation to the ball by the directors of the publishing house.

And no, that was not a Northrop thing, although, at first and given how well informed they seemed to be on the subject, it seemed so.

The planning of that ball was in charge of the members of an illustrious society of authors who, not so coincidentally, used to meet at the same lyceum where the protagonist worked —and in which, of course, this celebration would take place. —. Because of this, and since most of the guests belonged to the literary field, invitations were extended to the most prestigious publishers in the capital, as well as to authors who, although did not belong to any select club, did want to make a name for themselves in the literary world.

The novel written by Oscar was still in the editing process. In fact, at the rate it was going, it was likely that until the end of that year it would not be able to be sold in bookstores. But, anyway, that did not exempt him from being a participant in the event. It didn't do it because, apart from the fact that he was already considered another author from the moment he signed the contract, he was employed as a publisher.

In other words; attending these types of balls, sponsored by important people in terms of culture, was something he would have to start getting used to, given his occupation.

But what about the Northrops? How could they also come? The answer was as simple as that, since they had a business through which they often had to deal with high-ranking people, someone would have to invite them. If it wasn't one of their regular customers, it would be one of their friends. Those who knew this family often stopped by to buy merchandise from them, and if we add to that the fact that Mr. Northrop had the most diverse friends, it would not come as a surprise that one of the hosts for that evening was an old acquaintance of his.

In the end, both in terms of culture and in the business to which that family was dedicated, everything came down to making contacts and knowing how to maintain them. It did not matter that a part of the guests did not work in the same sector.

Now, knowing that both Oscar and the Northrops would have to attend the lyceum, it was a little strange that he and Albert had to leave the same house on the day of the ball, only to meet at the same meeting point a few hours later.

And it is that, while the villain left for his father's house that afternoon, Oscar headed towards the publishing house, where his own editor, the directors and several colleagues and authors had agreed to meet before traveling together the short journey to the building where they would be waiting for them: Mr. King had been farsighted enough to hire several carriages beforehand, so when all those who were due to come arrived, they had only to get into the carriages and let them carry them to the place.

Perhaps one day, when Oscar was rich and famous, his hosts would welcome him with open arms. Perhaps, as he saw what they did with writers who had already made a name for themselves in that world, as soon as he got out of the carriage he would have to deal with greetings and praise from people who admired him but whom he did not know. The press might even be lining up for an interview or a photo, who would know?

But for now, Oscar was just another editor. Not even his facet as an author was known, apart from those few who worked with him and were aware of his activities.

Therefore, he had to settle for sharing a carriage with three other people, also in charge of correcting manuscripts or organizing that publishing house that they all had in common. They were all essential individuals for the proper functioning of the business, although they were also complete strangers to the public.

Because of this, when they finally got out of the car, they received hardly any attention. And, still at the gates of the majestic building where noblemen used to meet, Oscar could only watch from afar as the Northrops had already arrived and were beset by a crowd of decorated people.

Not that he suddenly liked crowds, but he wished he could take a few steps to stand next to Albert! From where he was he could see his face and, even though he tried to look relaxed, he knew that he was really nervous.

If Oscar didn't like being mixed up in the tumult, it could be said that Albert hated it. But, if necessary, it was clear that he would have to deal with it alone. Wouldn't everything have been easier, given the case, if Oscar were there to free him from that burden...? Because Mr. Northrop, despite having good intentions, tried to push his son to talk more. And knowing Albert, that would only make it all the more awkward and difficult for him.

If Oscar were with him, he would take care of answering the awkward questions or, failing him, he would divert people's attention so the villain wouldn't have to worry too much about it.

Of course, this was just raving about situations that couldn't be fulfilled. Not that day and not in that context, at least. Well, it wouldn't look good, and it would even make it worse, if someone like him happened to walk up to the Northrops and strike up a conversation. No, that would not only increase the curiosity of the media, but it would leave him as a nobody with a desire for prominence. Which, of course, he couldn't allow.

So he had to stay where he was, following the instructions of those in charge of the event and trying not to attract attention. Thinking that, once inside the premises, the press would not be able to enter and the people would disperse. So it would be much easier to be able to approach whoever he wanted without having to be so fussy.

And yes, he waited until they ushered him into the great hall, where first the banquet and then the ball would take place, before even thinking about approaching Albert again.

Despite his lack of popularity, neither Mr. Meadows nor his own publisher forgot about him, taking the initiative to introduce him to a few bigwigs whose trade had to do with literature. According to pre-established rules of etiquette, Oscar should let his superiors invite him to say hello to some people as they went through the corridors and rooms. Therefore, he just let himself be guided. Repeating to himself that this was really a work meeting and that he should be kind and attentive to all those poets he met, so that in the future he would have someone to endorse his next work.

Now, it was a novelty that, after half an hour of introductions, Oscar skipped the protocol and decided to address someone without having been given the right to do so. Someone, to be specific, who had nothing to do with the Northrops.

“Why are you here?” Oscar had omitted greetings, even going directly to ask this question.

His excellent state of mind threatened to dissipate while a fake smile greeted him, exposing himself in this way to the acquaintances he was chatting with when he was interrupted:

“Dear cousin, I wasn't expecting you here! Although mother told me that you were in London trying to progress in life, I did not imagine that you would make it to this event!” Turning to the three people he'd been talking to, who knows what untruths, he added, “Sorry for the rude way in which we have been interrupted. My cousin Oscar here is a nice person, but the poor guy never got an education, so he doesn't really understand how these kinds of celebrations work.”

"True, I haven't had the opportunity to visit many balls. Even less as a guest,” Oscar pointed out, trying to hide his annoyance from the rest of the guests. “I apologize for appearing so abruptly, but in truth, it has been an indescribable surprise to find my cousin here.”

In fact, it would have been much less surprising to hear from his aunt and uncle who were heartbroken that Thomas had been arrested for this matter that, if they didn't already know, they would soon find out. How the hell had this fellow managed to sneak into London before the police caught him? Did Crane just say that he reported it to the authorities for fulfilling his moral duty but, in reality, he never went to the police station with the evidence?

It was impossible.

This was a serious agency, there was no way they would let a criminal go so easily. Where would his professionalism be, in such a case? If Thomas was here now, it was either because he was not in Oxford at the time of the raid, or because he had somehow managed to escape when it took place.

Whatever it was, Oscar planned to find out.

"Come on, were you so expectant to see me? We meet the other month!” Thomas had laughed, playing along. “I could have written to tell you that I was coming but then I said to myself, I'd better surprise him! You know? Oscar and I were always very close when we were little, almost like brothers. That is why it is a joy to know that today...”

“If you'll excuse us, since we haven't seen each other for so many days, would it be possible for you to let me rob you of my cousin for a while?” Oscar inquired curtly.

He had only agreed to play the mild-mannered familiar because he didn't want to cause a stir. It had been wrong enough to approach like that, so he hoped he could have made it right by waiving.

Luckily, the people who had been talking to Thomas turned out to be reasonable and there was no need to ask them twice. As soon as Oscar made his request, they left him alone with his cousin, having briefly said goodbye to him before leaving for another end of the room.

"You're so stupid…" Thomas muttered, resuming his original personality, as soon as that group of people left. “I was about to close an important deal with them. I was even going to introduce you, to see if that would put you out of your misery! But you've messed everything up, like always.”

"Is that what you've come for? Business?"

“Is it not obvious? The gallery is doing great and I have met so many kind patrons that when I was told that a representative of our humble establishment would be able to attend this ball, I couldn't resist saying yes.”

"Not if you're going to turn out to be an important person now after all."

“I´m important!” Thomas pointed out. “Although your tiny brain may not be able to process this, I am currently declared the director of the most important gallery in the entire city of Oxford. And, as such, it is normal that from now on I will be seen in these kind of places.”

Oscar couldn't help but smile with pure irony when he heard that. Important, did he say? Yes, he probably was in crime circles.

“Yeah, sure. And can I find out what business you wanted to do with these people? Because, I may not have much idea how the rich behave, but I highly doubt they'd agree to buy you one of those ridiculous paintings you're selling if they cost even a penny more than the price of admission to your place.”

“How deluded you are, cousin!” Thomas laughed, making a couple of people turn to look at him. “No, I have not come to sell my precious works. Only their authors have the power to do so. I'm just here today as a mere observer… although hey, if I can get someone to rent me a larger property in London, I'd appreciate it. The business is expanding at a breakneck pace! That's what I was talking about before you had the rudeness to barge in.”

“How come? Isn't the one you have enough to accommodate the multitude of visitors that I have seen you have daily?” Without giving time to answer, Oscar continued. “Or it may be the fault of the facilities on the top floor. I mean, I couldn't see much when I went up, but it was dark and colder than downstairs. Not to mention dirt. It must be hard to give your all for a business while living in such an unsanitary place!”

Quiet as ever, Thomas didn't respond to the taunt. Instead, he preferred to try to reverse the situation raised:

"If I have it bad, you can't be much better, dear cousin," he began. “What are you doing here alone? Don't tell me Albert Northrop already saw what a piece of trash you are and decided to get rid of you. Because, if that's the case, it would be very unfortunate if you showed up at this ball just to change his mind.”

"How could anyone tire of me so easily?" Oscar questioned, letting out a fake laugh. “No, I have not come for that. My bosses, at the publishing house where I work, thought it would be a good idea for me to introduce me to the members of the lyceum. Since, in a few months, my first work will be published.”

“Oh, but are you going to publish something? Wow, to be honest with you, I don't know what surprises me more. Whether it's the fact that you've overcome your inherent illiteracy and managed to put two words together, or that those publishers are crazy enough to let you play at being an author. What is it about what you will publish, by the way? Is it a guide on how to clean the stables? Because I doubt you know how to do anything else… Except, perhaps, how to coax a noble into your bedchamber.”

“It's funny that you mention cajoling, when it's crystal clear that you're far better than me at that. You still haven't told me what your trick is to prosper so much in a business in such a short time.”

"Why? Do you want to be like me?" Before the other could reply, Thomas was quick to say. “Don't be ashamed to admit it. After all, when we were kids you were the one who always followed me around, trying to act more like me and please me in everything. It's a pity that over the years you have become so rough to deal with…!”

Oscar didn't say anything for a few moments, looking at his fake cousin with a disgusted face.

No, the original manuscript had not touched on the subject of his character's childhood with Thomas. Not from Oscar's perspective, come on. But, from what he had been able to find out, considering his character in the novel and the multiple clues about how Thomas himself treated him, it was easy for him to think that everything mentioned was real.

As much as he disliked him, the truth was that the original Oscar loved his cousin. Probably more because of the obligation he felt when he saw himself as an intruder in someone else's house, for having accepted the kindness of his uncles in welcoming him, and not so much because of the affection professed for him.

"Anyway, I hope you stay away from me today," Oscar finally said, deciding that he didn't want to talk to this unpleasant guy anymore. “Don't cause unnecessary trouble.”

“Believe me, I won't. As much as I'd like to tell all these people what kind of person you are, cheating men of position to win you a few pounds, I have no intention of putting you in that spot. After all, we can't afford to see our good name dragged to the ground, can we?”

There, Thomas's intentions became clear. He hadn't held back from ratting him out because he didn't realize who he continued to date or because he was looking for the best time to destroy him. No. The fact that he had that information was just life insurance for him.

Just as he did with his parents, dropping the bomb at the most convenient moment, he didn't intend to talk about Oscar unless it was an urgent situation. For example, right now he couldn't say anything about his person because, aside from being backed by the Northrop family and lacking tangible evidence of impropriety, scandal would engulf him if Oscar was linked to the gallery. If only because of the kinship they shared.

And likewise, Oscar couldn't imply to the public that there was anything illegal about Thomas's activities. Even leaving evidence of it would have been risky. Well, even if someone came to believe him, what would society think of someone capable of ratting out a family member in front of a crowd?

In short, they both had secrets that it was convenient to keep to themselves and, therefore, the two agreed to a truce for the remainder of the evening. Neither wanted to see the other, so they would simply pretend they hadn't seen each other and, if they ever found themselves in the same rooms again, they would pretend they didn't know each other.

That was the plan that Oscar agreed to, to have the party in peace, but the reality was that he was already thinking of turning his cousin over to the authorities as soon as he had the remotest opportunity to slip away. From what he learned in this conversation, Thomas did not seem to be aware the police was looking for him for drug trafficking.

Didn't his friends even send him a telegram to let him know? No, maybe there was no occasion. Assuming the raid was successful and these people were arrested before Thomas returned to the gallery—it seemed he'd been on a few business trips and hadn't been to that town in a while—there would be no way they'd contact anyone from a cell.

And, of course, it was obvious that Thomas wouldn't go around introducing himself to the public, with the name of his fraudulent gallery if he knew he was being investigated for it.

No, he shouldn't know anything... And it was better to continue like this. Then, Oscar told himself, he would find a way to report him anonymously, before he left the event and lost track of him again.

“Oscar, where have you been?” Ended calling him Clemons, who had also come as one of the guest editors, once he had parted ways with Thomas and headed back to where he came from. “I was going to introduce you to some friends, but you ran away.”

“Sorry, I thought I saw a rat running through the crowd and I thought it was my duty to go and scare it away.”

“A rat?”

“Lately I've been meeting all kinds of animals in public places. It would surprise you” Not wanting to give more explanations about it, he intervened. “But who did you want to introduce me to?”

He had barely finished asking this question when he saw the Northrops approaching.

If it had already been uncomfortable having to act since that morning as if he were living alone, it was even more strange to find himself face to face with Albert and his father in a situation like that. And what could he say or do in such a case? It would be wiser to salute as usual and wait for Mr. Northrop to take the lead.

Should they pretend that they had just met, or would it be okay to say that they had known of each other's existence for decades? Oscar didn't have to think long because, despite Peter Northrop's still serious expression, he was the one who first pointed out that they were neighbors to the family Oscar's uncles worked for. And, therefore, they knew him a little.

That "a little" was a little vague, but under the circumstances, Oscar didn't care. After everything that had been put together, it was normal that Mr. Northrop did not feel like saying to third parties that he was a good friend of his family. Mentioning other than that, like he was dating his son was something that simply couldn't be said. So the mere fact of accepting they knew each other, without giving further explanations, could already be considered as a symptom that his rejection was not absolute.

At least Oscar preferred to retain that bit of optimism.

A heightened optimism as he noticed how Albert smiled slightly at him, while Mr. Northrop and Clemons chattered unimportantly, as if to say that everything was going to be fine. They couldn't discuss private matters here, let alone it was time for Oscar to confront Peter Northrop. But it was good to know the villain intended to keep his word that he would be there until the end, come what may.

"I've been told your son has decided to go at it alone, starting at the bottom of the family business," Clemons was commenting. “It must be complicated.”

“I'm adjusting well,” Albert pointed out, though what had been said would have been more for Peter Northrop than for him. “Fortunately, Mr. Holloway makes things easy for me. It's just a matter of time and practice before I start handling around the store with ease.”

"Personally, I think it's important that people work at the same thing as the humbler folks, from time to time," said Mr. Northrop. “It is good to acquire skills and see how one lives belonging to the working class, being aware of the privileges we have for having been born where we did. Now though, I wish this stubborn son of mine had stayed at home, instead of looking for an apartment of his own, while continuing to work there.”

"Well, it's natural for children to want their independence when they reach a certain age.”

"Right, but he wasn't like that before!"

"Anyway, I think I would have chosen to leave sooner or later," Albert murmured, though no one but one seemed to hear him. “Regardless of how events had unfolded.”

Oscar found that statement as amusing as it was unreliable. No, Albert wouldn't have left home if he wasn't dating someone who craved independence. And it's not that the villain was very attached to that London mansion, or that he had somehow forced him to choose. Simply, with the idea of moving to the capital, the idea arose naturally.

If Albert had stayed in his father's home for so long it was only because nothing had been lost elsewhere. But, now that he had the opportunity to prosper next to another person, he considered it appropriate to find a separate apartment. Not just so he wouldn't bother his father, but so Oscar could keep his independence. Well, Albert knew well that his partner was not a person attached to family and that, although he could endure a few days visiting someone else's house, he would much prefer having his own space.

"Worst of all, he's moved to a poor neighborhood with modest shops and tiny apartments," Peter Northrop continued, as if his son wasn't listening. “I have nothing against the place itself. I´ve got great respect for the people who can live in these places, so lacking in comfort, without complaining. But it is that he doesn´t even have service! How is he going to have time to do household chores and work at his trade?”

"It's not that complicated," Albert protested.

"Must be hard for someone used to having servants," Clemons pointed out. “I also live in a similar neighborhood, although I have my wife and the housekeeper to take care of the cooking and cleaning. Of course, it is not comparable, but it is a good help.”

“Imagine, he settled in a building where there is only one old housekeeper. She doesn't cook, she doesn't clean… The most she does is offer him tea from time to time! And no, don't start again with that those are not the tasks of that woman. I already know that and I'm not saying it's wrong on her part either. I'm just pointing out that if she's not going to take care of those things, you should hire someone who will.”

"I'd rather take care of that stuff myself," Albert said quietly, still embarrassed by the unorthodox way his father said he was handling the whole moving thing. “I don't want to depend on anyone and I'm not excited to have strangers walking around my apartment either. That is precisely why I chose a modest neighborhood, to be able to live in peace.”

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“Ah, but it must still be difficult to work and also dedicate yourself to household chores. More if you had never done it before.”

“I'm fine.”

“Is that so? Good to Know! I was going to suggest here that Oscar gave some advice, since he, too, has just moved to the city and is living in a small apartment, in similar circumstances. But then I remembered that he is living with his girlfriend.”

Clemons laughed at this memory, while Mr. Northrop's face grew cloudier, as if a bucket of cold water had just been dumped on him.

Albert, for his part, just tried to keep his expression imperturbable as he was. Although in his eyes it could be perfectly read that he was wondering what the hell Oscar had been making up every time someone inquired about his private life.

"As Clemons said, I'm afraid I'm not the best person to give good advice," Oscar said, deciding that if all was lost, he could at least play along so his partner wouldn't suspect how bad things wer around those parts. “We may not have service, but it's not like we need it either. My partner and I usually take turns doing housework. Which includes, of course, the kitchen.”

"Do you take turns?" Clemons was surprised. “Shouldn't she take care of those things since you're busy with work and your book?”

“No. She also works, it would be unfair if she had to take care of everything.”

"This is what I did not expect. So you cook too?”

"Why do you make it sound like it's so weird?" As Oscar inquired this already starting to get annoyed, he could see that Mr. Northrop still hadn't raised his head; It must have been a blow to him to know that his son was working as a part-time maid. “We both cook. If one day no one feels like it, we just go out to a restaurant.”

“I wouldn't even know where to start... My wife throws me out of the kitchen as soon as she sees me intending to enter. The damned only calls me if there are potatoes to peel and wants to save time!” Clemons laughed. “Oh, but what does your girlfriend do for a living? You never told me.”

“I didn't think it was relevant to bring up the subject, although now that you mention it, she has her own establishment. And no, I'm not going to tell you where because I see you as quite capable of going there just to talk instead of buying anything.”

"You say that, but I'm sure it's because you want her all to yourself. But don't worry, I'm not going to steal her from you!”

"It's a relief to know."

And it was, but for an entirely different reason. Oscar couldn't confess that the person he was dating was the man before him and, in the same way, he didn't want to continue the lie, inventing a woman and a false company.

"Actually it's too bad Mr. Northrop isn't seeing anyone," Clemons continued, looking like he really wanted to die. “If so, it might be more bearable to deal with household chores.”

"But I am dating someone," Albert interjected and, ignoring the warning expression from his father, added. “It's just that she doesn't live with me.”

“I understand. You've known each other for a while, right? I suppose that's why it must be early to even think about living together, but I'm sure she'll be a great help at home, anyway, when she comes to visit.”

“She is, I can trust her with the apartment without any problem. I know that this person is capable of tidying things up and keeping the place clean much more effectively than I am. Now, the kitchen… better leave that to me.”

"What about her way of cooking?" Oscar hastened to inquire.

At home you have never complained, he would have liked to add.

“Oh nothing, really. I mean, it's okay, I'm just saying that it works out better when I´m the one who does it.”

“Is it appropriate to criticize the way your partner does things in front of other people?”

The situation became somewhat awkward after that question. Albert was afraid that he had said something he shouldn't have and hastened to apologize; as perceptive as he could be, he didn't realize that Oscar had said that with irony, since he hadn't minded the criticism. Peter Northrop could no longer bear the embarrassment of the situation, since he did capture the nuances in the things that those two said to each other, and after excusing himself, he decided to retire for his own good.

As for Clemons, he was confused for a couple of seconds, not understanding what was happening. Then, taking advantage of Mr. Northrop leaving by his side, he too proceeded to make an excuse and leave. Perhaps wondering if everything that had happened in the last few minutes had been his fault.

He looked at Oscar to indicate that he should come with him but, perhaps not so surprisingly, he seemed to want to stay and chat with Albert for a while longer. Which, by the way, Clemons didn't find strange: hadn't they said they were neighbors? It was plausible that they wanted to catch up on events, since it had been so long since they had seen each other.

Therefore, Clemons said nothing and only slipped into the crowd after saying goodbye. It wasn't right for a novice editor to talk to someone high up without someone from the publisher acting as the go-between during that first contact. But if both parties knew each other from before, then there would be no problem. Oscar would be lucky if he could get more than a couple of terse sentences out of a guy as quiet as Albert Northrop, anyway.

Of course, Clemons had no idea that, as soon as he had left, Oscar had stated to the villain:

"I was joking with what I said before, you know?” he laughed. “I know you cook better than me, so don't be upset about saying you don't like something once in a while.”

“It wasn't meant to be, it's just that since it was mentioned… Ah, but you have other talents! And that is greatly appreciated.”

“I know, I know, don't stress yourself. Now who worries me is your father; Won't he think twice about what he was going to say to me after this little exchange?”

"I don't think so, my father has always been firm with his decisions," Albert murmured, although he didn't sound completely convinced. “Maybe he wasn't comfortable with the topic of the conversation, but if that´s enough to change his mind… He hasn't interrupted us, which is good.”

"Or maybe he was just testing the ground, to see how we would act in public. Anyway, when is he going to want to talk? It still seems like a terrible idea to talk about our business around here.”

“Don't think it's so bad, there are some offices on the top floor that could be used for this. In fact, my father would like to use them to speak, after the banquet is over and before the ball begins.” Pausing here, Albert pointed out another possibility. “Unless, really, you don't consider it appropriate. If that's the case, I think I can convince him to have a meeting at his house.”

"No, no, it's fine here."

With the number of characters that have passed through that mansion in recent times, it could even be said that there was more privacy in a room full of strangers than there.

"Then wait for me when the banquet is over and we'll go upstairs together."

Oscar had no objection to that and, after a couple more minutes chatting with the villain, he let him go. Since they both came with different companies, they would have to sit at different tables. The separation was inevitable, then, at least during the space of time that would be used to serve the meals. Then, with the beginning of the music and the end of the presentations, they would have more freedom of movement and could go wherever they wanted without so many restrictions.

As soon as Oscar left Albert, he hurried to find Clemons or some other employee of his publishing house. All he wanted was to get the day over with as quickly as possible, have a civil conversation—for better or worse—with Peter Northrop, and then return to his humble apartment like any other day. He didn't even want to be at the ball. Therefore he also did not understand why, just that afternoon, he was meeting all the undesirable presences that he wanted to avoid.

He had already seen Mr. Northrop and had a run-in with Thomas. Shortly after, while he was walking through the halls, he had seen Patrick Seymour from afar while he was chatting with some friends. And that the protagonist was so close could only imply one thing: Dianne could not be very far.

Realizing this, Oscar was even more in a hurry to find someone close with whom he could stay for the rest of the evening, until it was time to leave in the villain's company. The last thing he wanted was to talk to Dianne! Or argue, rather. But it's not like he needed to hide either; the writer was a bit calmer than Madeleine, in the sense that she seemed more aware of her surroundings. So despite of the fact that her impulse when she saw him would be to run to claim him, he did not consider that she would raise her voice if being in his company. Everything was so as not to cause a scandal that would splash her.

Thus Oscar stayed away from the area where he had spotted Patrick and, having found some of his companions, he kept with them for a good part of the afternoon.

When the hosts announced that it was time for dinner, Oscar could see Dianne in the distance as they all made their way to the long tables that had been set up along the length of the dining room. And, not only that, the writer also gave him a look among all the crowd. And, it is likely, she would have run to join him if it weren't for the fact that she was also busy with her social group. Group that she, how could be otherwise, she shared with Patrick Seymour.

Dinner, then, passed normally. Or well, with the normality that could be expected in a situation like that.

Oscar had taken a seat at a table reserved for the King & Meadows staff. While he was eating, since the waiters came and went with new dishes every few minutes, he couldn't help but feel that at least two people were watching him from other tables. One of them, which he also watched from time to time, did so with affection. As if he wanted them not to be separated by so many meters in the room and that they could dine next to each other, as was their custom. The other, on the other hand, seemed to be trying to get him to drop dead right there, with a single glance of hers.

It would be unnecessary to clarify who was who.

What Oscar did not expect was that, after more than an hour sitting there, Dianne would gather the courage to go to his table to approach him. And no, it didn't cause a ruckus. On the contrary, she was extremely careful. Enough to choose the moment in which the desserts had already been served and people were already beginning to vacate their seats, wanting to get up from the tables and wander around the room. Whether it was to socialize with other people or to tell the members of the chamber orchestra to play a piece.

When she got to Oscar she apologized for barging in and asked permission, sounding like a civilized person, to speak to him alone. Permission that, because his patience had long since evaporated, was denied.

"In that case, I'll just ask a quick question and be gone," Dianne had said, trying to force a smile. “Have you seen Madeleine? I've been looking for her all evening, but I still haven't been able to find her. And I was so sure she could be here!”

“I haven´t seen her”.

Oscar wasn't trying to cover it up, though, to be blunt, since this toxic cliché leading lady was reforming, he was tempted to. But no, he wasn't lying when he said he hadn't even seen her from a distance.

“Is that so? How strange…” the writer continued. “Since she was living with the Northrops I thought it would be natural for her to come with them. Couldn´t be that you´re wrong?”

"No, and I would appreciate it if you would speak to me with more respect. You should start treating me with respect”.

“You? How! If we've known each other since...”

"In that case, I'll have to refuse to continue talking to you." Saying this, he turned to the person who was sitting next to him to comment. “These people invited to society balls these days are very rude, don't you think? They address other guests too familiarly. They didn't even introduce us and they are already expressing themselves as if we were lifelong friends.”

Dianne's face turned red, and then purple, before returning to her normal color. It was obvious that she was holding herself back from exploding in front of these people who didn't know her; if she stopped doing it and yelled everything she would have on her mind by now, there was no doubt that they would call security and throw her out of the event. Which would prove fatal to her plans.

Therefore, she could only verify, in the calmest tone she could:

"Okay, my apologies. It was my mistake” Dianne spat these words as if her mouth were filling with blood, it was really funny to hear her take a step back. “It's just that my friend has always liked these kinds of events and I thought she might have come. I even asked Mr. Northrop about her, but he told me that she had not come with them because she was not invited.”

And it can't be that she's not here, despite that, because with her desire for prominence she would have slipped in anyway, Oscar thought she would add. But Dianne kept quiet after that. It didn't suit her that everyone knew about Madeleine's unorthodox methods.

"If only she had come with us…!" She continued-. “Mr. Seymour could have brought her, as his fiancée. But it turns out that, asking a little more, it seems that not even Letitia Northrop has come. Although she was invited, since she has a guest at home who didn't feel like coming, she preferred to stay. Isn't it a bit scandalous that only the opinion of one of the Cornell sisters is taken into account…?”

“As you can see, these people are not only uneducated,” Oscar continued, speaking to anyone except the author, “they also have certain hearing problems. You let them ask a short question, and five seconds later they are already telling you about her life.”

“You…!”

"Should I notify the organizers that someone is bothering us? Oh, better not!” He answered himself in a stroke of brilliance. “Didn't she say that she knows the Northrops? Perhaps it would be better if I went to talk to them about her behavior.”

That last sentence had a magical effect on Dianne: pissed off as she was, she didn't dare reply to him, having to turn around and leave without having achieved anything.

Oscar rightly thought that the writer had not believed anything he had said. That she, somehow, was trying to stop Madeleine's plot from taking its course. And therefore, if he didn't take care of her, he would try to make conversation with him again. Not only to continue with her interrogation, but to claim him for this scene of the poor success that had come over her, revealing a supposed ego that Dianne believed to be true.

It was all so annoying…!

The worst thing was that Oscar had to end up moving from his table, because the place emptied and the colleagues he had been with were heading towards the dance floor or to other tables, joining the same groups of people they previously greeted.

Oscar shouldn't stay still in his seat, but he couldn't be the one looking for the villain either, since he saw that he was still as busy as his father, attending to other guests a few places away. He couldn't interrupt, making a particularly bad impression on Peter Northrop. And it was also not advisable to stay at the same table where Dianne spoke with him, for fear that she would return in a while.

Somehow, that had become a race to know who would kidnap him first: the crazy author or the villain who had nothing malevolent.

In such a situation, Oscar waited for a moment, for his gaze to meet Albert's again, to get up from his chair and go to the other end of the room, blending into the crowd. If he had chosen this moment to stand up, it was because he wanted the villain to know where he was going, so that when it occurred to him to go looking for him, it would not be difficult to find him. In the same way, he was trying to distance himself from Dianne and her group of toxic friends, who had begun to find partners for the first pieces of the evening.

He would not go upstairs. First, because it would be risky, and second, because he didn't have the permission to do it either; No one was allowed to go up, unless had previously asked permission from one of the hosts. Therefore, an employee always remained near the stairs, in the concierge, making sure that no one went up without the aforementioned authorization.

Faced with this restriction, he only remained to wander aimlessly on the lower floor.

He left the great hall because an hour came when he found himself unoccupied, while his companions were deep in conversations with people who were strangers, having wanted to go out on the dance floor, or even occupy the grand piano to delight the rest of the guests with a soft melody. Anyway! Not that Oscar was surprised to be left alone: he had been in the company, especially Clemons and his own editor, for most of the afternoon. It was obvious that sooner or later they would separate.

It wasn't safe to stray too far from the room, but nothing prevented him from going through some corridors where there were still people chatting. Perhaps the best place to stay would be some small room on the east side, near the servants' wing. Well, it was unlikely that the author would think of looking for him so close to the kitchens.

Wasn't that a lyceum? Even in the rooms where its members did not usually meet, there could be archives, libraries and ample spaces for holding conferences.

Oscar was thinking about where to go until he found a small room, more like an office than anything else, which he considered ideal for waiting for Albert. The place had no door, but was separated from the corridor by a half-open curtain. The kitchens were only a couple of steps away, and from there, one of the entrances to the ball room could be seen perfectly.

If Oscar stayed there, he would be able to find out when Albert was leaving the place. And, in any case, that would not take long to happen, since they had agreed to meet again shortly after dinner ended. So, at most, he would have to wait another ten or fifteen minutes.

"Oscar?" someone inquired before he had time to enter the place. “What the hell…? Are you hiding too?”

"No, I just have a hobby of spending my dead time in dark and lonely places," he replied sarcastically, recognizing that voice. “How did you get here?”

It might sound predictable, but just as Dianne guessed, Madeleine was there. Before him, she was wearing a dress, so elegantly designed, that it was worthy of being worn on a special occasion. She had put her hair up in a high bun and also used a minimum of makeup so as not to appear too vulgar. Which, by the way, told Oscar that she got dressing advice; Madeleine wouldn't be going anywhere in such a discreet disguise if she hadn't first been advised by someone that it would be best.

That is why Oscar wanted to know how, and not why, she got into the lyceum. Well, even though he could figure out the answer to both, he still needed confirmation for one of them.

 

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