Chapter Twenty
In which there are lasers, and priests.
Chapter Twenty
The Catholic Church was so pleased, Luc got a bonus and a special dispensation to stay and work on the St Thomas property when Mr Carvell began the renovation. Clearly, the representative who spoke with Félix about the purchase said, they had been right in hiring Luc Legard to do this work. Félix, who was keeping his own counsel, nodded and smiled and told them they could not have hired better, and he would be sure to work as quickly as possible, so as to allow them the use of him once more.
Félix's parents, on the other hand...
Well, he hadn't told them about the church yet, but the idea of him leaving the country, alone, was enough to incite shouting matches. Malo was angry that he'd been hauled back to France, Danielle was angry that Félix wasn't taking the business seriously, and the Carvells parental were annoyed that their eldest son was turning out to be a shiftless wastrel with no national feeling at all and not a bit of interest in the family's welfare. Needless to say, Félix was Carvell Non Grata in Paris.
Oscar and Portia hadn't seen extensive dealings between Félix and his parents before, and didn't really see it then; like Oscar, Félix preferred to deal with family fights in private. The Carvells had always, with the exception of an awful seduction attempt by Danielle, ignored the pair of them as hangers-on that could be dismissed if necessary. Which, it turned out, was what Félix did, in a manner of speaking.
"How's Paris?" Oscar asked the speakerphone, as he loaded a roll of film into his camera and stocked his pockets with several others. Portia, nearby, was clearing the digital camera's memory cards.
"Angry with me," Félix replied.
"Remind me again why we're here and you're there?" Portia asked.
"I want you to start work as soon as possible after the property transfer clears. I'm greasing the wheels, so it should be tomorrow morning. The money's going through a wire transfer and the deed will be signed over -- Eugenia's taking care of all the paperwork."
"We're photodocumenting today, and tomorrow I'm going up to London to do some historical research," Oscar replied. "Luc's planning on seeing about groundplans, since the Church hasn't got any in their official archives."
"Excellent."
"When are you telling your parents you've bought a church?" Portia asked.
"You don't know the half of it," Félix replied, amusement in his voice. "It's not what I've bought, but what I'm doing."
"Oh, dear," Oscar sighed.
"Don't worry about it, Oscar, let me do that. What I want you to do is worry about the church. Find out how sound it is, structurally, and what we'll have to do to reinforce it. Water, electricity...and replacing that rose window."
"It's near enough to the town that we should be able to tap into whatever they use for energy," Oscar said, snapping a photo of Portia as a test. "We might have to install a well for the water."
"Costly?"
"Not extravagant."
"Have Luc look into it?"
Portia made a note. "On it."
"I'll be there in three or four days. I may have to stay in Paris officially, but I'll be around," Félix said. "The Channel's hardly much separation, and I think I can creep out of the country without my parents noticing so long as I don't go too far."
"There's going to be stories about this, you know," Oscar said.
"Yes -- I imagine so," Félix agreed. "Félix's Folly, I would think. The more tasteful magazines might run a piece about the church on its own, but a lot of them are going to dig out the photographs of the L & L on fire."
"Let 'em," Portia said. "This kicks ass."
"One thing I will say for Portia," Oscar said to Félix, grinning at his assistant, "Once you start paying her for the job, she gives it her heart and soul."
"I'll see you in a few days. Malo sends his love."
There was a click, and Oscar sat on the bed of the little room in the village's solitary hotel.
"I think I'm ready," he said, taking a deep breath.
"You're not giving birth, for god's sake," Portia replied.
"No, but it's the first time since the hotel..."
"So? Come on, let's go take pictures. We hardly got to explore at all last time, and I want to have a look at the old vicarage, or whatever they call it."
"Yeah, that's a little weird, isn't it? The house falls down before the church does?"
"Well, it looked like it was made of wood, and wood rots."
"I wonder if Félix'll want to tear up the foundation. It's very eighteenth-century-landscape-gardening."
"What?"
"Well, you know. The old landscapers who used to build ruins in the middle of the grounds, to add a gothic air to the place. He could hire a hermit to live there." Oscar grinned. "Hermiting wouldn't be so bad, as a job."
***
Félix was gone for another four days, and by the time he came back to England, Luc was working on their utilities options and Oscar had wallpapered their hotel rooms with photographs. They'd had no luck finding the groundplans of the old church in the town archival office, and Oscar had a call in to Raoul, the insane Italian archaeologist, about a laser plotting device for re-creating a layout of the church. Luc had spent his time tapping on walls, testing mortar, and calculating load, as his job would have been if he hadn't been sidetracked.
Their activity in and around the church had not gone unnoticed, either, as Oscar discovered when he was approached one morning over breakfast. He and Portia had bought sausages in pastry from the bakery, and were dining al fresco on a park bench in the village green, when a man in a black cassock appeared, striding towards them purposefully.
"If he starts doing any kung-fu or multiplying himself, I'm so out of here," Portia said to Oscar.
"Mr Anderson, would you like a sausage in a bun?" Oscar replied, in a passingly good imitation of Agent Smith. Portia had just enough time to compose herself before the man arrived, and she saw Oscar mentally preparing his Soothing The Potential Client speech, with modifications.
"Good morning!" the priest said, in a kind but rather firm manner. "Lovely day for breakfast in the park, eh?"
"They all seem to be, in these parts," Oscar replied, setting down his pastry. Portia, having finished her own, promptly began picking at it, staking her claim over several very interested park birds. "What can I do for you this morning, Father?"
"Ah! You've divined my intent," the priest replied. "My own little pun. I'm Father Wright, with the St Thomas parish. I was wondering if I might have a word with you about the old church."
"What does he want?" Portia asked, in French. Oscar glanced at her, but she was beaming up at the priest, now. "I no speek zee Eenglaise," she added.
"Oh, uh, I beg your pardon," the man said, looking confused.
"This is my associate, Portia Rainer," Oscar said, plunging ahead into what was fast becoming a deep, smelly mire. "I'm Oscar Shelley."
"An American! How charming," came the reply, and Oscar blinked. Charming was not the general reaction his American accent got.
"Er, thank you," he replied. "I guess you've seen us hanging around the old church?"
"Yes, and then I received a telephone call from my superiors, informing me that someone has purchased the grounds. I have to say I'm terribly surprised," he said. "Are you the investor?"
"No, I'm his architect."
"Ah! That explains the inquiries at the town archives."
"We've tried to be circumspect," Oscar said apologetically.
"I'm bored with this guy already," Portia said in French, popping another piece of Oscar's pastry in her mouth.
"Mr Carvell is returning from France shortly," Oscar continued. "In his absence, I'm handling his affairs in town. Did you have anything specific you wanted to discuss?"
"Well, I would just like to speak to Mr Carvell, tell him how happy we are he's purchased the property. We've assumed he's trying to restore it?"
"I don't believe Mr Carvell has firm plans at the moment," Oscar answered. "I can arrange for you to meet with him when he returns. We're expecting him any day now."
"That would be grand, if you would," the young priest said with a smile, reaching into an inside pocket for what turned out to be a business card. Oscar was vaguely impressed; he didn't think priests carried business cards. "Please feel free to have him contact me at any time. Is, er..." he paused. "This is a rather delicate question you understand, but I assume Mr Carvell is, uh, of the faith?"
"Yes, as far as I know," Oscar said with a smile. "If his intimate knowledge of the Ave Maria is anything to go by."
"Oh, splendid. And yourself, Mr Shelley?"
"I'm a....an employee," Oscar said with an apologetic smile.
"Well, we shall hope to see you at services this Sunday, nonetheless. The doors of the church are always open."
"Bet they get a lot of bird crap in the rafters," Portia said, amusedly, in French. "We certainly do."
"Hush, Portia," Oscar said sternly. He turned back to Father Wright, and spoke again in English. "Thank you -- I'll have Mr Carvell contact you."
"Good day to you both," the priest said, and smiled as he walked away.
"He's tasty," Portia said, once he was out of earshot.
"He's a priest!"
"So? I can't marry Michaelangelo's David, either, but he's still hot shit."
You are going to hell in so many ways."
"Well, then I might as well enjoy the time I have left," she said, finishing off his breakfast with a smile.
"There's a logical fallacy somewhere in that."
"Save it for the Pope, boss."
"Portia, he's going to find out you speak English."
"The Pope? Please, he has better things to do."
"Father Wright. And lying to a priest, shame on you!" Oscar said, reaching for his pastry and sighing when he found an empty sheet of waxed paper.
"I've been faking the French Diva thing remarkably well. I don't think anyone's caught on yet."
Oscar sighed. "I clearly don't keep you busy enough."
***
Félix appeared, unnanounced, the same day that the laser-mapping technicians did; in fact, Oscar and Luc were so engrossed in their new toy that they didn't notice his presence for half an hour, as they worked with the techs and crowed over the emerging blueprint image on the laptop. Portia was busy trying a three-dimensional scanner they'd brought along, which was re-mapping the eroded decorative carvings into a second laptop.
"Félix!" Oscar cried, looking up from where he was investigating Portia's work. He dusted his hands and hurried to the entryway to greet the younger, be-eyelinered man. "You didn't warn us you were coming! Come see the laser surveying tool, it's really amazing."
"I seized the opportunity. Now I know how Malo felt. Sweet freedom," Félix laughed, as Oscar led him to the computers. "My parents think I'm seeing to legitimate investments. They saw the purchase go through, but since it was to the church...eh, a charitable donation for my sins, hm?"
"Nice," Oscar agreed. "We've been mapping all morning -- just the space, for now, and the technicians are going to do the outsides tomorrow, but we should have full blueprints, at least of the ground, in a few days."
"Good -- I think that's important," Félix said. "There will be alterations."
"Oh?"
"Yes -- we should discuss them tonight, but dinner's the proper time. I should leave you to your work -- "
"Well, I'm really just getting in the way," Oscar grinned. "Come see what Portia's doing."
Portia was running a hand-sized cylinder of black plastic over a column, shining a line of red light as she went. She grinned and waved at Félix, then jerked her head at the laptop. Félix bent over it, watching as a digital rendering of the column appeared.
"Lovely," Félix said.
"And they're working now on these things where you can print a three-dimensional copy -- it takes hours and the machines cost about fifty thousand dollars, but can you imagine?" Oscar said, grinning like a schoolchild. "And they're mapping this for free because it's good training."
"Free is good," Félix said with a smile.
"Hey, Oscar, tell him about our interview with the cloth," Portia called. Félix looked at him inquiringly.
"Oh, we had a priest come talk to us..." Oscar said, feeling his pockets for the business card and passing it over. "He wanted to speak to you about buying the church. I think he likes you already, personally."
"Took a shine to Oscar," Portia replied.
"Only because you told him you don't speak English," Oscar retorted. Félix snickered. "He said to call him anytime."
"Oh, we'll invite him to dinner too," Félix said. "Is this the man who prepared the research for Luc?"
"Might be. He had that really young, earnest look," Portia answered.
"I'm sure he can tell us many interesting things about the town and the church," Félix said.
"Félix, are you Catholic?" Portia asked. "He asked us."
"Baptised," Félix replied.
"Lapsed?" Oscar inquired, with an unusually shrewd look. Félix tapped the toe of his shoe against one of the stone pew-brackets, thoughtfully.
"Depends on your definition," he said with a smile. "Come. Show me my church, and then we'll see if Father Wright would care to dine."
Chapter Twenty
The Catholic Church was so pleased, Luc got a bonus and a special dispensation to stay and work on the St Thomas property when Mr Carvell began the renovation. Clearly, the representative who spoke with Félix about the purchase said, they had been right in hiring Luc Legard to do this work. Félix, who was keeping his own counsel, nodded and smiled and told them they could not have hired better, and he would be sure to work as quickly as possible, so as to allow them the use of him once more.
Félix's parents, on the other hand...
Well, he hadn't told them about the church yet, but the idea of him leaving the country, alone, was enough to incite shouting matches. Malo was angry that he'd been hauled back to France, Danielle was angry that Félix wasn't taking the business seriously, and the Carvells parental were annoyed that their eldest son was turning out to be a shiftless wastrel with no national feeling at all and not a bit of interest in the family's welfare. Needless to say, Félix was Carvell Non Grata in Paris.
Oscar and Portia hadn't seen extensive dealings between Félix and his parents before, and didn't really see it then; like Oscar, Félix preferred to deal with family fights in private. The Carvells had always, with the exception of an awful seduction attempt by Danielle, ignored the pair of them as hangers-on that could be dismissed if necessary. Which, it turned out, was what Félix did, in a manner of speaking.
"How's Paris?" Oscar asked the speakerphone, as he loaded a roll of film into his camera and stocked his pockets with several others. Portia, nearby, was clearing the digital camera's memory cards.
"Angry with me," Félix replied.
"Remind me again why we're here and you're there?" Portia asked.
"I want you to start work as soon as possible after the property transfer clears. I'm greasing the wheels, so it should be tomorrow morning. The money's going through a wire transfer and the deed will be signed over -- Eugenia's taking care of all the paperwork."
"We're photodocumenting today, and tomorrow I'm going up to London to do some historical research," Oscar replied. "Luc's planning on seeing about groundplans, since the Church hasn't got any in their official archives."
"Excellent."
"When are you telling your parents you've bought a church?" Portia asked.
"You don't know the half of it," Félix replied, amusement in his voice. "It's not what I've bought, but what I'm doing."
"Oh, dear," Oscar sighed.
"Don't worry about it, Oscar, let me do that. What I want you to do is worry about the church. Find out how sound it is, structurally, and what we'll have to do to reinforce it. Water, electricity...and replacing that rose window."
"It's near enough to the town that we should be able to tap into whatever they use for energy," Oscar said, snapping a photo of Portia as a test. "We might have to install a well for the water."
"Costly?"
"Not extravagant."
"Have Luc look into it?"
Portia made a note. "On it."
"I'll be there in three or four days. I may have to stay in Paris officially, but I'll be around," Félix said. "The Channel's hardly much separation, and I think I can creep out of the country without my parents noticing so long as I don't go too far."
"There's going to be stories about this, you know," Oscar said.
"Yes -- I imagine so," Félix agreed. "Félix's Folly, I would think. The more tasteful magazines might run a piece about the church on its own, but a lot of them are going to dig out the photographs of the L & L on fire."
"Let 'em," Portia said. "This kicks ass."
"One thing I will say for Portia," Oscar said to Félix, grinning at his assistant, "Once you start paying her for the job, she gives it her heart and soul."
"I'll see you in a few days. Malo sends his love."
There was a click, and Oscar sat on the bed of the little room in the village's solitary hotel.
"I think I'm ready," he said, taking a deep breath.
"You're not giving birth, for god's sake," Portia replied.
"No, but it's the first time since the hotel..."
"So? Come on, let's go take pictures. We hardly got to explore at all last time, and I want to have a look at the old vicarage, or whatever they call it."
"Yeah, that's a little weird, isn't it? The house falls down before the church does?"
"Well, it looked like it was made of wood, and wood rots."
"I wonder if Félix'll want to tear up the foundation. It's very eighteenth-century-landscape-gardening."
"What?"
"Well, you know. The old landscapers who used to build ruins in the middle of the grounds, to add a gothic air to the place. He could hire a hermit to live there." Oscar grinned. "Hermiting wouldn't be so bad, as a job."
***
Félix was gone for another four days, and by the time he came back to England, Luc was working on their utilities options and Oscar had wallpapered their hotel rooms with photographs. They'd had no luck finding the groundplans of the old church in the town archival office, and Oscar had a call in to Raoul, the insane Italian archaeologist, about a laser plotting device for re-creating a layout of the church. Luc had spent his time tapping on walls, testing mortar, and calculating load, as his job would have been if he hadn't been sidetracked.
Their activity in and around the church had not gone unnoticed, either, as Oscar discovered when he was approached one morning over breakfast. He and Portia had bought sausages in pastry from the bakery, and were dining al fresco on a park bench in the village green, when a man in a black cassock appeared, striding towards them purposefully.
"If he starts doing any kung-fu or multiplying himself, I'm so out of here," Portia said to Oscar.
"Mr Anderson, would you like a sausage in a bun?" Oscar replied, in a passingly good imitation of Agent Smith. Portia had just enough time to compose herself before the man arrived, and she saw Oscar mentally preparing his Soothing The Potential Client speech, with modifications.
"Good morning!" the priest said, in a kind but rather firm manner. "Lovely day for breakfast in the park, eh?"
"They all seem to be, in these parts," Oscar replied, setting down his pastry. Portia, having finished her own, promptly began picking at it, staking her claim over several very interested park birds. "What can I do for you this morning, Father?"
"Ah! You've divined my intent," the priest replied. "My own little pun. I'm Father Wright, with the St Thomas parish. I was wondering if I might have a word with you about the old church."
"What does he want?" Portia asked, in French. Oscar glanced at her, but she was beaming up at the priest, now. "I no speek zee Eenglaise," she added.
"Oh, uh, I beg your pardon," the man said, looking confused.
"This is my associate, Portia Rainer," Oscar said, plunging ahead into what was fast becoming a deep, smelly mire. "I'm Oscar Shelley."
"An American! How charming," came the reply, and Oscar blinked. Charming was not the general reaction his American accent got.
"Er, thank you," he replied. "I guess you've seen us hanging around the old church?"
"Yes, and then I received a telephone call from my superiors, informing me that someone has purchased the grounds. I have to say I'm terribly surprised," he said. "Are you the investor?"
"No, I'm his architect."
"Ah! That explains the inquiries at the town archives."
"We've tried to be circumspect," Oscar said apologetically.
"I'm bored with this guy already," Portia said in French, popping another piece of Oscar's pastry in her mouth.
"Mr Carvell is returning from France shortly," Oscar continued. "In his absence, I'm handling his affairs in town. Did you have anything specific you wanted to discuss?"
"Well, I would just like to speak to Mr Carvell, tell him how happy we are he's purchased the property. We've assumed he's trying to restore it?"
"I don't believe Mr Carvell has firm plans at the moment," Oscar answered. "I can arrange for you to meet with him when he returns. We're expecting him any day now."
"That would be grand, if you would," the young priest said with a smile, reaching into an inside pocket for what turned out to be a business card. Oscar was vaguely impressed; he didn't think priests carried business cards. "Please feel free to have him contact me at any time. Is, er..." he paused. "This is a rather delicate question you understand, but I assume Mr Carvell is, uh, of the faith?"
"Yes, as far as I know," Oscar said with a smile. "If his intimate knowledge of the Ave Maria is anything to go by."
"Oh, splendid. And yourself, Mr Shelley?"
"I'm a....an employee," Oscar said with an apologetic smile.
"Well, we shall hope to see you at services this Sunday, nonetheless. The doors of the church are always open."
"Bet they get a lot of bird crap in the rafters," Portia said, amusedly, in French. "We certainly do."
"Hush, Portia," Oscar said sternly. He turned back to Father Wright, and spoke again in English. "Thank you -- I'll have Mr Carvell contact you."
"Good day to you both," the priest said, and smiled as he walked away.
"He's tasty," Portia said, once he was out of earshot.
"He's a priest!"
"So? I can't marry Michaelangelo's David, either, but he's still hot shit."
You are going to hell in so many ways."
"Well, then I might as well enjoy the time I have left," she said, finishing off his breakfast with a smile.
"There's a logical fallacy somewhere in that."
"Save it for the Pope, boss."
"Portia, he's going to find out you speak English."
"The Pope? Please, he has better things to do."
"Father Wright. And lying to a priest, shame on you!" Oscar said, reaching for his pastry and sighing when he found an empty sheet of waxed paper.
"I've been faking the French Diva thing remarkably well. I don't think anyone's caught on yet."
Oscar sighed. "I clearly don't keep you busy enough."
***
Félix appeared, unnanounced, the same day that the laser-mapping technicians did; in fact, Oscar and Luc were so engrossed in their new toy that they didn't notice his presence for half an hour, as they worked with the techs and crowed over the emerging blueprint image on the laptop. Portia was busy trying a three-dimensional scanner they'd brought along, which was re-mapping the eroded decorative carvings into a second laptop.
"Félix!" Oscar cried, looking up from where he was investigating Portia's work. He dusted his hands and hurried to the entryway to greet the younger, be-eyelinered man. "You didn't warn us you were coming! Come see the laser surveying tool, it's really amazing."
"I seized the opportunity. Now I know how Malo felt. Sweet freedom," Félix laughed, as Oscar led him to the computers. "My parents think I'm seeing to legitimate investments. They saw the purchase go through, but since it was to the church...eh, a charitable donation for my sins, hm?"
"Nice," Oscar agreed. "We've been mapping all morning -- just the space, for now, and the technicians are going to do the outsides tomorrow, but we should have full blueprints, at least of the ground, in a few days."
"Good -- I think that's important," Félix said. "There will be alterations."
"Oh?"
"Yes -- we should discuss them tonight, but dinner's the proper time. I should leave you to your work -- "
"Well, I'm really just getting in the way," Oscar grinned. "Come see what Portia's doing."
Portia was running a hand-sized cylinder of black plastic over a column, shining a line of red light as she went. She grinned and waved at Félix, then jerked her head at the laptop. Félix bent over it, watching as a digital rendering of the column appeared.
"Lovely," Félix said.
"And they're working now on these things where you can print a three-dimensional copy -- it takes hours and the machines cost about fifty thousand dollars, but can you imagine?" Oscar said, grinning like a schoolchild. "And they're mapping this for free because it's good training."
"Free is good," Félix said with a smile.
"Hey, Oscar, tell him about our interview with the cloth," Portia called. Félix looked at him inquiringly.
"Oh, we had a priest come talk to us..." Oscar said, feeling his pockets for the business card and passing it over. "He wanted to speak to you about buying the church. I think he likes you already, personally."
"Took a shine to Oscar," Portia replied.
"Only because you told him you don't speak English," Oscar retorted. Félix snickered. "He said to call him anytime."
"Oh, we'll invite him to dinner too," Félix said. "Is this the man who prepared the research for Luc?"
"Might be. He had that really young, earnest look," Portia answered.
"I'm sure he can tell us many interesting things about the town and the church," Félix said.
"Félix, are you Catholic?" Portia asked. "He asked us."
"Baptised," Félix replied.
"Lapsed?" Oscar inquired, with an unusually shrewd look. Félix tapped the toe of his shoe against one of the stone pew-brackets, thoughtfully.
"Depends on your definition," he said with a smile. "Come. Show me my church, and then we'll see if Father Wright would care to dine."