The Face

Lecter.”
        Although amusement at the expense of a fellow member of the senior staff was unquestionably bad form, Ethan laughed. “You may think differently, but I’m confident that if Mr. Hachette tells you it’s veal he’s put on the plate, it will be veal and nothing worse.” He rose from the edge of the armchair. “Well, I had two reasons to come looking for you. I wanted to warn you not to open any exterior doors for the rest of the evening. As soon as I’m sure the last of the staff has left, I’m going to set the house-perimeter alarm.”
        Again Fric sat up straighter in his chair. Had he been a dog, he would have pricked his ears, so alert was he to the implications of this change in routine.
        When Fric’s father was in residence, the house-perimeter alarm would be set when the owner chose to set it. In Manheim’s absence, Ethan usually activated the system when he retired for the night, between ten o’clock and midnight.
        “Why so early?” Fric asked.
        “I want to monitor it on the computer this evening. I think there’s a problem with fluctuations in the voltage flow at some of the window and door contacts. Not anything that’ll set off false alarms yet, but it needs repair.”
        Although Ethan was a more confident liar than Fric, the dubious [457] expression on the boy’s face most likely matched that with which he regarded Mr. Hachette’s veal.
        Hurrying on, Ethan said, “But I also came looking for you to see if we shouldn’t have dinner together, being as it’s just the two of us bachelors rattling ’round the place this evening.”
         Standards and Practices contained no prescriptive against senior staff dining with the boy in the absence of his parents. Most of the time, Fric did, in fact, have dinner alone, either because he enjoyed privacy at mealtimes or, more likely, because he thought he would be intruding if he asked to join others. From time to time, Mrs. McBee induced the boy to have dinner with her and Mr. McBee, but this would be a first for Ethan and Fric.
        “Really?” asked Fric. “You won’t be too busy monitoring the flow of voltage?”
        Ethan recognized the sly jibe in that question, wanted to laugh, but pretended to believe that Fric had swallowed his lie about why he must turn the alarm on early. “No, Mr. Hachette prepared everything. All I have to do is warm it in the oven according to his notes. When would you like to eat?”
        “Early’s better,” Fric said. “Six-thirty?”
        “Six-thirty it is. And where should I set a table?”
        Fric shrugged. “Where do you want?”
        “If it’s my choice, it has to be the dayroom,” Ethan said. “The various other dining areas are strictly for family.”
        “Then I’ll choose,” the boy said. He chewed on his lower lip a moment and then said, “I’ll get back to you on that.”
        “All right. I’ll be in my quarters for a little while, then in the kitchen.”
        “I think we have wine this evening, don’t you?” Fric asked. “A good Merlot.”
        “Oh, really? Should I also just pack my bags, arrange for a taxi, write myself a letter of dismissal in your father’s name, and be ready to leave as soon as you’ve passed out drunk?”
        [458] “He doesn’t need to know,” Fric said. “And if he knew, he’d just figure it was typical Hollywood-kid stuff, better booze than cocaine. He’d make me talk to Dr. Rudy to see maybe does the problem come from when I was the son of an emperor back in ancient Rome, when maybe I was traumatized by watching the stupid lions eat stupid people in the stupid Colosseum.”
        This cheeky rap would have seemed funnier to Ethan if he hadn’t believed that the Face might, in fact, have reacted to his son’s drinking in pretty much that fashion.
        “Maybe your father would never find out. But you’re forgetting about She Who Cannot Be Deceived.”
        Fric whispered, “McBee.”
        Ethan nodded. “McBee.”
        Fric said, “I’ll have Pepsi.”
        “With or without ice?”
        “Without.”
        “Good lad.”

CHAPTER 70
        
        ALTHOUGH FRIGHTENED, BITTER, AND struggling against despair, Rachel Dalton remained a lovely woman, with lustrous chestnut hair and blue eyes mysterious in their depths.
        She was also, in Hazard’s experience, uncommonly considerate. Having agreed by phone to an interview, she had prepared coffee by the time he