“This is a golden opportunity, Charlie. Golden!”
“Indeed, this fortuitous prospect is a veritable gift. And from one of the wisest men of our day, no less. Who could ask for more?”
Charles blinked at the Magi, who’d encircled his desk the moment Mr. Harrison had vacated the premises. Judging by their exuberance, he’d not imagined the events of the past fifteen minutes. Mr. Harrisonhadoffered him the short-term position of event coordinator for AlvanT. Harrison, Incorporated’s upcoming fiftieth anniversary gala at Westminster Hall.
If he accepted, Charles would be in charge of organizing press coverage, invitations, catering, and music for the grand event, along with arranging commemorative displays of gadgets from the archives to illustrate the company’s history of technological innovation—a myriad of tasks that would make it impossible for him to continue working for the Magi as well. The thought of leaving them in the lurch, even temporarily, after they’d graciously taken a chance on him felt beyond disloyal. Yet, if he declined, he’d be turning away a significant boon that would restore his depleted savings and family’s financial cushion.
Charles pinched the bridge of his nose. Bach and Beethoven, whatever was he to do?
A hand clapped his shoulder and gave it a squeeze. Westland’s bass voice soothed like the strings of a cello, warm and deep. “Now, now, Charlie ... you’re fretting so loud, it’s giving me a headache. Take a breath, lad.”
Charles drew in a long draught of air and looked up at the Magi. “I can’t just—”
“Stop right there.” Bailey held up hand. “You are not to worry about us.”
“That goes without saying.” Barton blinked as his spectacles slipped toward the end of his nose. “Except when it doesn’t. In which case, it needs to be said.”
Bailey quirked an eyebrow at Barton and then shook his head. “As I was saying ... you are not to worry about us, Charlie. Not for a moment longer, leastwise. Will we miss having you about the place? Certainly. But we can make do without you for a few months.”
Charles raked a hand through his hair. Even if he didn’t worry about the Magi, there were other factors to consider. “The job will take me farther away from home. What if something happens to Father? What if I’m needed and can’t get there in time?”
Bailey’s shoulders lowered as though suddenly weighed with understanding. “It’s been five years, son. The chances of another episode occurring are slim, and even if one did, your mother and Mrs. Kettle are more than capable of handling the matter. Besides, you can’t put your life on hold forever, waiting for the other shoe to drop. Your position here was only ever meant to be temporary as well, you may recall.”
That was what Charles had told his family when they learned he’d sold the Steinway. That the secretarial work would be temporary. That he fully intended to return to performing once Benjamin resurrected Father’s practice. But deep down, he’d known once he shut the door on that part of his life, he’d not be opening it again. He’d not make the mistake of putting music before his family a second time. “I’ve never planned a gala.”
“But you’ve the skills to give it a proper go,” Bailey argued. “You’re organized, detail oriented, thorough. And you conductyour work with a level of excellence that’s garnered you a sterling reputation. There’s a reason our competitors have been trying to steal you away from us, son. Your aptitude has outgrown the four walls of our modest establishment. Just think, the Lord could use this opportunity to open a whole new world for you, Charlie! Unbelievable sights. New horizons to pursue.”
A grin tugged at Charles’ mouth. Bailey always did see the possibilities in every situation, the silver lining amid the darkest storm. A character trait he admired but couldn’t seem to emulate. “I don’t know. This job ... it just seems too good to be true.”
“Nonsense.” Exhaling an exaggerated pshaw, Westland gave Charles’ shoulder a good-natured shove. “It’s not as though it’s a long-term commitment. Assuming the experience doesn’t present an opportunity of greater permanence and appeal, you can simply resume your work for us after the gala in September.”
Bailey grinned from ear to ear. “Exactly. Which means you’ve absolutely nothing to lose!”
Charles nodded at the Magi’s logic, his mind slowly coming around to the idea of accepting the position, even as a knot of uncertainty formed in the pit of his stomach. Taking this job might be a low-risk proposition, but he knew all too well that as long as one had people to love, one always had something to lose.
Chapter
5
There was nothing so mutually heartening and frustrating as the persistent encouragement of an observant friend. For alas, Margaret didn’t wish to be encouraged at this particular moment. At least not regarding her prospective involvement in the purloined patent case. At this particular moment, she wished nothing more than to seek sanctuary in her familiar workshop, keep company with her reliable tools, and pretend she didn’t have to give the chief an answer by tomorrow.
Accelerating the speed of her mechanized wheelchair, Margaret zoomed through the swinging door of her experimenting room at D.O.G.S. headquarters. Before she could reach her worktable’s remote—and the button that automatically locked said door—fleet-footed Helena burst inside, one hand holding Flopsy Cottontail and the other planted firmly upon her hip.
Helena huffed, rustling a trio of leaves snagged in the rumpled plait draped over her shoulder. “Stalls are for horses, Maggie.”
“I’m not stalling.”
One of Helena’s brows arched as her brown eyes narrowed. “You’re stalling. And what’s worse, you’re hiding.”
“Nonsense. I’m just ... retiring for a moment’s reflection.”
With a dramatic roll of her eyes, Helena shifted her gaze to Flopsy Cottontail. “Did you find that at all convincing?” The lop-eared bunny responded with a twitch of her white nose, and Helena sighed. “Me neither.”
Placing Flopsy atop the table, Helena crossed her arms and pinned Margaret with her gaze as though she were mounting a butterfly for study. “Maggie, how long have we known each other?”
Margaret mentally calculated the duration of their friendship. “Twelve years and eight days, to be precise.”
“To be less precise and more succinct, I’ve known you for an age. Long enough for a child to mature from the nursey to the schoolroom. Long enough to know that any disturbance of routine results in your scurrying off to this workshop to hide while youthinker.”
