Your Perfect Year by Lucas Charlotte

Author:Lucas, Charlotte
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2019-10-31T16:00:00+00:00

29

Jonathan

Thursday, January 4, 10:07 a.m.

When Jonathan N. Grief didn’t wake until shortly after ten the following day, he felt no pangs of conscience. It had been a long evening, so it was hardly surprising that he didn’t jump out of bed as he usually did at six thirty. But he felt a slight malaise, a certain wistfulness, an indefinable . . . well, an indefinable feeling.

No sooner was he out of bed than this small, intangible worry vanished. A glance at the Filofax reminded him of the decision he had made only a few hours ago: he would invite Leopold to stay with him for a while.

In a cheerful mood, Jonathan marched into the bathroom, took a long shower, and got dressed. Not in his sports gear—that would be ridiculous after a shower—but in pants and a turtleneck sweater. He could catch up on his daily jog later. Or—a reckless notion—even miss it altogether for one day. He simply didn’t feel like it, and Leopold’s advice to live life more on a what-makes-you-happy basis seemed to make at least as much sense as avoiding carbs after six in the evening. At least as much.

He went downstairs, approached Tina’s room, and knocked.

As he opened the door, Jonathan took a step back so as not to embarrass his guest, who might not yet be dressed.

“Leopold!” he called through the door. “Good morning! It’s me, Jonathan!” While waiting for a reply, he smiled at himself for announcing his name. Who else would it be? Silence reigned in the room, so Jonathan knocked again. “Leopold? Are you awake? Come on, rise and shine!” No reply. Jonathan knocked again, then entered.

Tina’s room was empty. The door to the bathroom was open; Jonathan saw no one there either. The bedclothes were rumpled with the flowery bathrobe and a used towel on top. But these clues aside, there was nothing to indicate the presence of another person.

Puzzled, Jonathan went out into the hallway. Where had Leopold gone? He looked over to the coat stand—the army coat had vanished, as had his new friend’s boots.

Jonathan felt a sudden apprehension. Was he really such an idiot? Had he thrown all his reservations to the wind, only to discover that he’d been taken in by a trickster, a swindler? A man who had used his hospitality and had taken off with as much as he could carry? Jonathan hadn’t even locked the important rooms like the study or the dining room (the fine family silver!)—he had simply stumbled into bed in a wine-fueled haze.

Was he really such a—how had Leopold put it?—such a dunce?

Apparently so.

Jonathan could hear his father laughing at him, loudly and with schadenfreude, on seeing that his “feckless son” had once again proved his inability to cope with life. Intuition? Ha, what intuition?

No. Jonathan N. Grief squared his shoulders. It could have happened to anyone. Anyone who, like he did, still believed in morality and respectability, who . . .

Oh, why stand here talking to himself? He

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