Cravendish
CHAPTER TWELVE
Neville Cotes greeted Cravendish at the door to Suite 213 of the Royal Monarch Hotel, partially destroyed by an active lump of a child, being ignored by her Mother.
"Bunny, dear? I believe this Gentleman has something for you?" Neville carefully removed the diamond-studded collar from about the cat's neck, handing it excitedly to the monstrous visage that was Bunny Cotes, with only two coats of makeup on today.
"Oh, and I see you've also returned the cat? Oh well. Princess?! Take your cat and go play, will you?" Bunny sounded rather disappointed, but for the sake of her Daughter, she accepted the animal back into the fold.
Cravendish handed the cat to the girl, pulling her aside for a much needed word. The cat retained it's smug expression, even through its ordeal, "Listen, Princess, and please take this advise in the best of intentions, for you and your future; I'm not going to tell your Mom or Dad what actually happened, because I believe in giving people second chances. I am going to extend this courtesy to you, and keep this secret between me and you. But, and I implore you to heed this advice, if you intend to become a better version of yourself, you will confess to your parents what you've done. We understand each other?"
That girl called Princess stared deeply into Cravendish's eyes with the briefest of smiles, pertaining to the deeper understanding of what he had done for her, not only now, but for her maturity and future life. However, she simply shrugged and stated, "Nope. Don't think so!" before dragging the cat out onto the balcony and dangerously dangling it over the edge.
There was just no helping some people.
Later, and in a better mood from seeing Antonia Berngaard and Kurt Hoehler in the grip of each other's hands, came the light to dismay the darkness in his soul. Two people very much in love, and the grin of appreciation greeted Cravendish upon his arrival.
"I can never repay you, Cravendish!" gushed Kurt in his inimitable and Teutonic way. He felt compelled to grip Cravendish warmly by the arm, and Cravendish allowed it. Antonia, however, forewent convention and hugged him deeply.
"I owe you my life." she pawed gently.
"You owe me nothing. Neither of you. I am just glad I could reunite the two of you. There's not enough pure love in the world, and you two, well, you two represent so much more." Antonia kissed him warmly on one cheek, while Kurt kissed him on the other. Quite frankly he liked the first, but could have done without the second - but it was accepted with all the grace Cravendish could manage. He waved them off as they set about their walking holiday once more, off to new pastures, new towns and new adventures.
Then came time for Celeste Peabody.
Cravendish was rooting away in the garden when Celeste came out of her house to investigate.
"What on Earth are you doing down there?" she insisted.
Cravendish rose to his feet, brandishing a small silver brooch, "Your Sister's, I take it?" he said handing it to Celeste, with all the grace of a dump truck.
"Yes! But how -"
"The girl dropped it in her effort to save an animal from drowning. I'm sure your Sister Primrose of the Seven Continental Airports will be pleased?" said Cravendish with a smidgeon - a modicum of conceit and sarcasm as he turned, plunged his hands into his pockets and whistled a tuneless version of the Devils Galop as he strode confidently toward town.
#
It was never meant to be, and he could see that now.
As if proof were needed, there she was, avidly listening, googly eyed at the feet of the idiotic guitarist she fell in infatuation with only yesterday. He was handsome, sure, but he was also vapid, emotionless, a player, and a heartbreaker of the highest order. Yet she could not see it. She could not see that same trap she had set for Cravendish himself, of the months and months of desperate obsession for someone who was quite obviously entirely wrong for him. Sure, she could flirt the hind legs off a giraffe, but to what end? A less tall giraffe? What would be the point? Who would eat the leaves from the higher trees? Besides, there were other places to drink. Perhaps he would set up office somewhere else, closer to home, closer to Mom? At least then he could keep a loving eye on her and care for her as she had for him, with all the altruistic intentions of a man with an unburdened and happily filled soul. There was enough in Brayburn for a man like Cravendish; enough excitement from a man who thought two coffees in a day was excessive, and who thought that walking was a good day's travelling and that, damn it all, his suit was as much a part of his personality as was his posture, his words and his manner.
Cravendish put his hands in his pockets and strolled down the high street, attempting once again the whistling tune of the Devils Galop, faltering once or twice on the melody and the pitch, which was quite surprising, and made all the more remarkable, given that Cravendish was, in fact, an android.
No. Not really.
END
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