- More Bonds
- Part 3
- by Jen
Bonds. I couldn't help myself and I joined the ranks of the many.
Summary: Like I said, just another postscript to Bonds. I saw
the episode and was sitting at the computer, and was in a depressed
mood to boot. Feedback is welcome, though this isn't exactly
the epitome of talent. I'm not sure whether to add more or let
it stand on its own where you can make up the rest; you tell
me. Whether or not I finish depends on feedback.
- Sandra was getting a little worried. She
tapped her fingers impatiently against the kitchen wall in Daniel's
London flat, hoping that someone would pick up soon at Salvatore's
villa. The brunette that had been stubbornly refusing to move
from the living room kept sending her suspicious looks, and while
Sandra wasn't exactly sure what a private investigator wanted
with her tenant and occasional acquaintance over tea, it probably
wasn't anything that would be good advertising for the apartment
- She hung up the phone with a click louder
than intended, and the woman -- Holt, she was fairly sure --
snapped her head up.
- Sandra winced at the sharp tone. "I'm
sorry, Miss Holt; Mr. Chalmers' friend doesn't seem to be picking
- "What friend? There was an address?
Who did you just call?" The rapid-fire questions seemed
almost to have an air of desperation in them.
- "Er, well, when Mr. Chalmers left,
he told me that he wouldn't be back for a few weeks because he
had to see some chap in Italy, and he left this number for an
" She looked worried for a moment, remembering
his instructions. "But he did mention that I wasn't to give
it to anyone who came looking, no matter what, on account of
that it was
well, I don't quite remember that bit."
- "While I understand your apprehensions,
I'm an old friend of the family, and I really don't think it
- Be firm, Sandra told herself. Don't want
to lose a paying customer like Daniel Chalmers, and such a gentleman
too. "Look, Miss Holt, I'm terribly sorry about this but
I do have a certain respectful relationship to retain with all
my tenants, and I'm sure you're the dearest chum their family
has ever known, but I'm afraid I can't give you this number."
She placed the slip of paper back on the mantel. "Is there
anything I can get you before you leave?"
- Miss Holt looked about to refuse, then
suddenly smiled at Sandra for the first time. "Why yes,
actually I would really appreciate a drink, just whatever's there
- When Sandra returned to the living room
with a generous cup of tea, Miss Holt took a very small sip and
politely thanked her for her time, leaving in a seemingly much
- Odd, thought Sandra. Those private investigator
types were always like that, though. At least, the ones on all
the late channels. But at least she'd been firm, like Eric was
always on her about, and not given away Mr. Chalmers' private
information. She turned to bring the unwanted tea back to the
kitchen, and paused on her way to pick the telephone number off
the mantle. There was another odd thing, she mused. She could've
sworn she'd left it face down, and it wasn't anymore. Just old
age creeping closer again, she supposed. Better make another
- "Alright, I'll take that and call.
What have you?"
- "Full house, queens over threes."
- "Two pair. Damn, I can't believe
I'm losing to an eleven year old."
- "Well, you shouldn't have taught
me, then. Up for another round, Harry?"
- Chiara, overhearing the exchange on her
way to the deck, scolded her. "Corinna! I tell you often,
address elders with some respect!"
- Harry intervened on behalf of one of his
favorite "nieces". "Chi, it's alright, I told
her it was ok to call me Harry, so don't-"
- "And you! You are teaching my children
English curses! You may not do that if you wish to eat tonight,
- Harry looked meek. "Ah, sorry Chi,
won't happen again. Anyway, Italian curses are worse than anything
we English could ever think up, you know. That one that the old
man two streets down was yelling the other day
- "You are contradicting me?"
- "Absolutely not. NO. Forget it."
"Good. Supper is in five minutes, so finish soon."
As soon as she turned the corner she broke into a huge grin and
tried to keep from laughing. Rather unsuccessfully, prompting
Daniel to pass by and look her up and down, arms akimbo.
- "Anything in particular, my dear,
or has the stress of trying to head an enormous family of Italian
rascals finally gotten to you?"
- "It's just that Harry-. That poor
boy is always so worried he'll do something wrong in my house.
I just tease him, you know. I'm glad he is so much better, though."
- "No, it's just that he's positively
terrified of you. Awe, I think. And I'm glad too; he's certainly
not recovered, but he's at least a fourth of the way towards
being able to act completely normal. Nice to see him occasionally
playing with the children. He's rather more fond of them than
he admits, really; I wouldn't be surprised if he ever mentioned
wanting some of his own."
- "If that woman ever treats him right
Daniel sighed heavily. "Yes, that's pretty much the case."
- "Good. It is easily fixed. We find
her, bring her here, and if she doesn't love him immediately,
we will force her to eat my brother's cooking, eh?"
- "Good Lord, don't tell me he made
any of the dinner tonight! I don't think I could stand the sight
of the table!" Both of them laughed, and then Chiara shoved
some plates into his hand and so recruited him for table-setting
before he could protest.
- "Magdalena! Go ring the supper-bell
for the men on the boats!" Chiara presided over the kitchen,
directing the numerous family members and others to different
jobs bringing out the feast. In the midst of it all, the telephone
rang, barely noticeable over the intense clamor. Chiara made
her way to it with more than slight effort, and picked it up
with a quick greeting. She repeated herself, not sure if she
heard anyone speaking.
"Are you there? Who is this?"
- Very faintly, she heard a woman trying
to make herself understood, but all she caught was something
about a man and a city in America. She continued to try and hear
her for a moment, then her two-year-old boy knocked into the
phone cord and pulled it off the counter. It disconnected with
a crash, and she shrugged and put the whole thing back before
scooping up her baby and leaving for the dining room. Whoever
it was, they didn't have any good manners anyway. Who on earth
would have reason to call right at the start of suppertime in
More than a country away, a near-desperate woman sank into an
impersonal hotel sofa and put her head in her hands.
- End Part 3
- To Part 4
- Back Home CaseBook