Chapter 9: Ceremonies and Traditions

Peter was sitting in the Silverado talking on his cell phone to Maggy who had called him from her office in Bellevue. He was parked next to the Whiteriver Indian Hospital in Rainbow City and kept the windows up to shelter him from the cold blustery wind. The five girls were inside doing well-baby checkups for Abigail and her sister and attending to a severely sprained wrist that Charity obtained under circumstances she wasn’t willing to share. It happened at or after school — that was the only information he knew.

“Microsoft is working on releasing another version of Windows which will mandate an upgrade of all previous systems,” she explained. “They are projected to report earnings next month that will blow away estimates again. If you recall last September they beat earnings per share by nearly 20% and revenue by 5%. So I think you are safe holding on to your December calls for now. Open Interest has fizzled completely because they have become too expensive for thicker-blooded investors,” she added.

“Where do they stand right now?” he asked picturing the spreadsheet in his head that tracked all of his stock holdings.

“After the three-for-two split last June, you were left with 1,500 December 29 Calls, 1,500 December 30 Calls, and 3,000 December 31.5 Calls — all of which you spent the princely sum of nearly $3 million for. MSFT opened at 54 and an eighth this morning so everything you own is in deep money.”

He could hear her typing in the background as she pulled up the option chains. She whistled into his ear.

“Nicely played, Cher! I mean Peter ... sorry, sir,” she drawled hesitantly. Her reserved tone was unlike her and he began to wonder about it as she mumbled to herself while she typed in his ear. “Let’s see,” she muttered. “the 31.5 calls are bidding at... 33 and a quarter ... the 30 calls are... 43 even and the 29 calls are ... Goddamn son! 61 and a half!” she gasped. “Holy shit, Cher ... you could close out right now and pocket twenty million!”

He smiled pleasantly through his Oakleys at the pedestrians walking back and forth from the medical facility. “Don’t make any hasty moves just yet, Mags. But be ready to execute all of it after they post earnings. They like to wait until the week they expire for some damn reason. So just hold tight and be ready to jump back in with the same spread two quarters out as well as another spread the following quarter. We are just getting started with Microsoft, and they are going to continue dominating the sector for decades.”

“It’ll take me a few to program the trades if you want to hold on the line, sir?”

He frowned. “Alright, what the fuck is going on?” he demanded gruffly.

“I beg your pardon?” she replied hesitantly with a softer voice.

“Maggy, something is up. I can tell by your tone. You never call me ‘sir’ and you’ve never used my first name. It’s always ‘Cher’ or ‘Cher-ee’. So spill it! Is everything okay?”

There was a long pause and he heard her typing slowly in the background. Finally, she sniffed and sighed, “Everything is fine. I apologize for making you second guess me,” she replied calmly. “Jeremiah is trying to ‘tame my wild streak’ as he puts it. And...”

“Why can’t I speak with him?” he interrupted. “Is he sick or something?”

She didn’t reply immediately and that was telling in and of itself. He felt a cold sensation creeping up his back as he waited, “Maggy?”

“I’m sorry,” she sniffed. “Jeremiah has been feeling under the weather lately. I will pass along your concerns and well wishes when I speak with...”

“Maggy?” he repeated patiently.

“Yes?”

“Have you ever heard of a fellow named Geronimo?”

“Of course,” she replied curiously. “He was the famous Apache Chieftain who led his tribe on countless successful raids and battles against the Mexican and American armies.”

“Yes, he was,” Old Peter replied. “There are many tribal nations scattered around these parts and they all have their differences. But they all hold him in high esteem. He is also famous for some speeches and quotes that he made over his lifetime. My favorite is a quote that even the Navajo to the northeast of us revere.”

She didn’t reply and he continued, “The Apache language is closely guarded and they don’t like to share their secrets but the Navajo pronounce it like this: “Nahat’ádeeh doo bíhígíí dóó ákót’éego nihookaahgo da.”

He cleared his throat and took a sip of water.

“I ... I’ve never heard the Navajo language before,” she replied softly. “It sounded beautiful. What does it mean?”

“I will tell you, and then I want you to write it down and put it over your desk. The future of our relationship will depend on this. Do you understand?” He asked with a firm tone that shook the woman on the other end.

“Y ... yessir, Cher,” she stammered.

“The translation goes like this,” he continued, “Hurt me with the truth, but never comfort me with lies.”

There was a long silence and he thought he heard her sob away from the phone before sniffing loudly.

“Do you understand?”

“Yes,” she whimpered. “I understand.”

He remained silent and waited while she came to terms with his ultimatum.

She sighed in his ear, “Peter, he’s really sick,” she stated with a worried tone. “He won’t tell me what is wrong, but I can tell. I ... I think he’s dying!”

Tears sprang unbidden to his eyes and a cold knot of dread clenched deep in his gut. He cleared his throat, “Where is he?”

Maggy quickly recovered from her emotions and began speaking to him with her strong rich southern accent again, “He’s back down in Lafitte,” she replied somberly. “He felt a calling to return to the bayou where he was reared.”

“He won’t have his phone on him then,” Peter grumbled unhappily as he considered the kindly, but no-nonsense man who mentored him.

He heard a tearful laugh, “You know it.”

He emitted a long sigh and shook off his emotions. “Okay then,” he replied. “Look, Maggy ... thanks for letting me know, okay? I promise I’m not gonna hunt him down or anything. He places a great deal of trust in you and I’m not about to jeopardize that. And we are good going forward, hear?”

“Yessir, thank you,” she whispered back.

“I mean it,” he repeated, “We are good. I need to get off the phone and go check on my girls. But I want you to jot something down.” He gave her a second before continuing, “I’ve been reading up on a new company. They are a powerhouse in the semiconductor field and they are making breakthroughs that will be at the vanguard of telecommunications for the next couple decades. They are talking about going public soon and when they do I want you to get greedy, okay? Stocks, options, preferreds, everything you can get your claws into — grab it.”

“Okay then,” she replied resuming her energetic character. “What’s this company called?’

“Qualcomm.”

“Got it, I’ve heard of them,” she replied. “Do I have a limit?”

“Anything I can spare. Even if you have to liquidate the Microsoft options early.”

“You are sitting on eighteen million in liquid accounts right now, plus another thirty-six in offshore trusts in Nevis, Grand Cayman, and Tuvalu. And you will be receiving stock dividends that I can set aside rather than DRIP them.” She was referring to the direct reinvestment of proceeds that allowed his stock holdings to grow quarterly without commission.

A familiar old Dodge truck caught his attention and he watched it pull into a nearby parking spot. “We will speak again about it. In the meantime familiarize yourself with the company, and review their business plan. Hell, fly down to San Diego and have drinks with them. I leave the details to you. I gotta go for now.” He recognized the tall strong figure of Bradly Littlewolf as he climbed out of the cab and placed his black Stetson with its flashy turquoise and silver hat band, onto his head.

“Au revoir, Cheri.”

Peter climbed out of the Chevy and turned his collar up to the cold wind.

Brad noticed him and nodded. “Ya’ateh, paleface,” he smiled. “Why are you hiding out in your truck?”

Peter grinned back and offered his hand. “You know, how it is. I find myself outnumbered by females lately, so I take every chance I get to enjoy the quiet.”

The tall Apache Trader chuckled, “Amen, brother.”

“What brings you to the hospital?”

The man’s smile faded. “I just got done talking to the school where Charity goes. She got into it with a boy she’s been moaning about for months. Goes by the name of Toby. His family name is Longfeather, but Char calls him ‘Fatty’ or ‘Stinkyfeather’ or something.”

Peter grimaced. “I brought her here to have her arm looked at,” he said. “She wouldn’t talk about it to me or the girls, but I could tell it was hurting bad.”

“I had to pull her from school, pending a hearing,” the man grumbled.

“Jesus! What the hell did she get into?” he asked as they walked toward the big white building.

“I don’t know how it came about or what she did exactly, but her teachers are pretty pissed off,” Brad replied. “I guess she and Toby got into a fight because of who knows what, and she pinned him to the ground and held him there with his face between her legs.”

Peter stopped in his tracks ten feet from the door. Bradly turned to look at him, recognizing the sudden understanding in his eyes. Charity often wore long colorful skirts — embroidered with tribal patterns, to school. She had worn one today. “Uh ... shit,” he muttered in disbelief. “She sat on the kid’s face?”

He could see the emotions vying for expression on her father’s face as he stoically nodded. “Even worse,” he added, trying to control the twitching in his jaw.

‘Worse?’ Peter thought. ‘What adolescent boy doesn’t dream of a girl sitting on his face?’

Bradly sighed and looked to the ground, shaking his head and effectively concealing his face as he continued, “She trapped him under her dress and farted on him.”

There was a moment of absolute silence as Peter visualized the transgression in his mind. Then his raucous outburst of laughter echoed through the parking lot. He doubled over, grabbing his knees as he struggled to catch his breath, wiping tears from his eyes. Bradly glared at him by the entrance to the hospital.

“Laugh it up pale face!” he glowered. “You don’t know how bad that girl’s gas is...”

“The hell I don’t!” he wailed, “We had to ride back from Show Low after feeding her at Abuela’s Cantina!”

“I have to take this matter seriously,” the man grumbled.

Peter straightened and peered at the man in disbelief before losing it again in a fit of giggles. “Yeah right!” he gasped. “I wonder how you even managed to drive here!”

He could see the Apache struggling to keep a straight face and he finally resorted to biting his upper lip. “It was not without its challenges,” the man confessed.

Moments later they stood outside the exam room and Peter just shook his head with a huge grin. “I can’t...” he chuckled. “If I see her face right now I’m gonna come unglued!”

The trading post owner nodded seriously, “Then perhaps it is best if you wait out here,” he agreed and knocked on the door before pushing it open.

Peter just shook his head again, “Who am I kidding?” he chided himself as he strode forward. “I wouldn’t miss this for the world!”

“You broke your arm in a fight?” Lenna exclaimed several minutes later. Charity had become unnaturally submissive with the appearance of her father who explained to her how she was suspended and why. Kathy was staring at her boyfriend with a quizzical frown, trying to interpret his red face and pained expression. Each of the women held a sleeping child in their arms.

The girl was seated on an examination table with her left forearm suspended beneath a contraption that held her fingers inside several coiled wires. They reminded Peter of Chinese finger cuffs. Her elbow was bent at a 90-degree angle and a cord holding several round iron weights dangled beneath it. He could tell she was trying to remain calm but her discomfort was evident in her expression. An older nurse was starting an IV in her other arm and the stick made her flinch.

“Sorry hun,” the woman soothed. “That’s the hurty part.” She gathered her equipment and stepped back with a smile. “You’re gonna love the next part though.” She winked and whispered conspiratorially, “Dilaudid.”

“What’s that?” her father asked curiously.

“Hydromorphone,” she replied. “It’s like a synthetic form of morphine but a lot more powerful.” She smiled and stepped over to the opposite door. “Be right back.”

“Oh boy — I’m gonna get high,” Charity mused under her breath. She was feeling particularly picked upon by all of the adults standing around her. Only Peter kept his peace though he looked like he had swallowed a bug.

“Char, what the hell happened?” Lenna demanded irately. “This isn’t like you!”

“Oh yes, it is,” her father countered and turned a sharp eye toward Peter when he barely contained his snort.

“And what’s your problem?” Kathy asked irritably when he caught her staring at him and looked away quickly.

“Oh no!” he wheezed. “Not my bull, not my rodeo,” he quipped, struggling to contain his laughter. He patted the taller man on the shoulder. “Go ahead... ‘dad’.”

Kathy and Lenna each gazed at the two men intently before turning to look back at Charity who suddenly became red in the face. “What did you do?” her aunt growled under her breath.

The girl shrunk down, tucking her chin defiantly. “Nothing! Toby Stinkfeather kept trying to look up my dress out in the yard! So I pinned him to the ground and sat on him!”

“Sat on his face,” her father corrected with a deadpan expression.

“What?” Lenna cried, “In your dress?”

Kathy whirled on her boyfriend when he began snorting and gasping out of control again, “Peter!”

“She Dutch-ovened him!” he gasped before turning around to lean into the wall.

“What?” Lenna asked, staring at his shaking back. “What does that mean?”

Kathy looked shocked with her mouth open and her hand rising to cover it. “Char!” she gasped. “You didn’t!”

“He deserved it!” the fourteen-year-old retorted sulkily.

“Oh no!” Peter gasped, breathlessly. When he turned back there were tears in his eyes again. His voice was harsh and whispy, “No one deserves that!” He reached for the doorknob and slipped out of the room where they heard him guffawing through the wall.

“Excuse me for a moment,” Bradly stated neutrally and abruptly turned to join the other man out in the hallway.

It took them several minutes before they were composed and able to keep straight faces. They stepped back inside just as the nurse was administering a syringe, partially filled with medicine, into Charity’s IV. She raised the back of the exam table so the girl could rest upright while they tried to stretch her arm.

“Whoa!” the teenager mumbled suddenly and her entire body relaxed as she bobbed her head. “Oh wow! Good nursey,” she sighed with a lazy smile.

“Told ya,” the nurse grinned and stepped back out.

“Oh my goth,” she mumbled as a string of drool leaked from the side of her mouth.

“Any secrets you need her to share?” Peter asked bemused. “Now’s the time to ask them.”

“What were you thinking? Sitting on that boy’s face?” Lenna asked in frustration.

“Like you’ve never?” the fourteen-year-old replied dreamily as she rolled her head from side to side. “Mmm, I can’t keep my eyes open...”

“What are you talking about?” her aunt demanded crossly, her face turning red. Her eyes darted uncomfortably towards Peter and Kathy before boring into the girl once more.

“Yep,” Charity added, popping her lips in emphasis. “I rode dat boy like a... ‘stallion’.” She kept her eyes closed and her face tranquil. “Then I ‘fahted’ right in his mouth, an he started bucking like a... ‘wild stallion’!”

“Jesus! Char!” Kathy gasped while simultaneously elbowing her mate in the ribs. “You could’ve killed him with your stinky ass!”

“A weapon of ‘meth’ destruction!” Peter cried as he failed to keep his composure.

“Ah hah!” the girl howled drunkenly, snapping the fingers of her right hand. “I see what you did there Petey-boy! That’s so funny!”

“Well, I see we are having a good time,” a voice said from the doorway where the nurse had disappeared. It was a middle-aged man in a white coat. He wore wire-framed glasses and had a large bald spot on his crown. He stepped into the room and sat on a small stool at the foot of the examination table.

“Oh ... Hey there ... doctor-man,” his patient greeted him. “Howsh it going?”

“It looks better, from what I can tell so far,” the man said as he carefully touched her forearm, prodding the lateral aspect.

“Oh! Ow! Dude!” she swayed forward drunkenly. “That’s not nice, man! No touchy!”

He smiled warmly at her. “It feels like the Ulna is back in place, or almost there. We need to get another x-ray to know for sure,” he told her before spinning on the stool to face the grownups. “I’m Doctor Kennedy by the way,” he greeted. “I am one of the orthopods here. Because she only broke the Ulna, we may be able to send her home in a cast, without having to pin it.” He tapped on the outside of his left forearm to demonstrate. “But we need to make sure it’s back in place first and reset it completely if needed.”

Charity nodded her head sagely and placed her right hand on top of his bald spot. “You’re not gonna cut off my arm?” she slurred.

He chuckled back at her. “Certainly not, my dear. You will hopefully get to go home in a few hours.” He rolled his eyes as she rubbed his scalp, curiously.

“You’re a good ... doctor-man,” she assured him with a friendly pat on his bald spot. “Imma needs it to beat Stinkyfeather’s ... ass.”

“I will send her home with a narcotic to keep her comfortable while the bone heals,” he added before getting to his feet. “I’m going to bring an x-ray machine in here, so we’ll have you all step out into the hallway for a bit. If the bone needs more coaxing to set it back in place, I will do it immediately while her arm is relaxed. That way we can reshoot to film to make sure it’s good before we put her in a cast.”

Moments later they stood in the hallway, glancing around quietly. Kathy thrust the one-year-old into Peter’s arms to force him into behaving and took the baby from Lenna who was pacing irritably.

“What has gotten into that child?” she muttered bitterly.

“You weren’t much better as far as role models go,” Brad replied calmly. He looked at the other two. “She’s only five years older than Char,” he commented. “She once tied a bunch of rattlesnake tails to the door of her classroom and hung a dead snake above, so it fell on the teacher when she stepped inside.”

Kathy gaped at her friend with her mouth hanging open while Peter snorted.

Lenna turned on the man and glared up at his smug face. “Whatever cuz,” she snapped back. “I remember you lighting an entire brick of firecrackers in the cafeteria!”

There was a ruckus inside the room, followed by, “OW! Fuckers!”

“It looks like a big chunk of cold water to me,” Peter stated dubiously as he hovered over a large topographical chart that featured much of the UK, including the Northsea, Netherlands, Denmark, and Norway. Near the upper left corner, a hand drawn arrow pointed to the northwest with a scribbled legend that read, Iceland. He had received the huge map in a parcel that included letters, documents, dozens of color photographs, and a small booklet titled 12^th Century Scottish Castles, which was well worn and had several pages dog-eared. Also inside the well-packed box was a handwoven scarf of reddish brown wool that Peter admired briefly before setting it aside with several flat, oval-shaped cans of kippers and caviar that were labeled in Scandinavian characters he didn’t recognize. The map was laid out on the dining table in Lenna’s home and his cell phone lay nearby on speaker.

The house was quite busy at the moment with several visitors and a handful of children who had been recruited into various chores. It was Wednesday, December 18^th, and the Winter Solstice — which was a sacred holiday to nearly every Native American tribe in the country, was coming up on Saturday. The Apache Reservation was no different and it was gearing up to be a huge celebration in recognition of the last harvest, the light of the sun, and a bunch of ancestral stuff that Peter tried to understand but failed. Even Kathy was drawn into the frantic bustle and insisted on representing her ancestral heritage by shipping in 50 big salmon from Pike Place Market and arranging for them to be prepared traditionally with cedar planks and woven stakes, which she also had delivered. Scattered around the big living room were boxes of streamers and colorful banners as well as fragrant branches of pinyon pine that filled the house with a heady forest scent.

“Mate, there are hundreds of small islands scattered along the north shore there,” Alistair replied.

“And damn near every one of them has a bloody castle or three,” Monty chirped in. “They were troubling times back then when you had to look over your shoulder as you fished for cod, never knowing when another boatload of Norman raiders was gonna pop up out of the fog, waving axes at you.”

Peter grinned looking up at Kathy’s face as she stood behind him, rubbing his shoulders and looking down upon the pile of curiosities. She mouthed a bunch of words to several people who were gathered around and then patted his head before skipping off to their room. She returned seconds later holding a photo album. She set it on the table before Nana Shima and opened it to a page with a bunch of color pictures of their Hawaiian vacation. She pointed out an image of the Quinten brothers where they were posed holding her laterally in their arms as she stretched out in a scandalously small two-piece bikini. Peter was lounging in the sand at their feet wearing his mask and snorkel over his face. He wore his prosthetic fins and held a large yellow fish with blue lines running down its side. A spear gun rested in the sand before him.

Peter laughed aloud when she pointed it out to the people gathered around the table. Grandma Clearwater was not impressed and muttered something foreign as she sipped her coffee.

“What so funny, Lad?” a heavy English accent chirped over his phone.

“Nothing,” he snorted and then explained the setting around him. Lenna took a break and sat beside the ancient woman after refilling her cup. Charity went outside to oversee the preparations of the deer and Elk that had been hunted for the feast. She had grown impatient waiting for the okay to begin playing records on Kathy’s turntable again — once the phone call ended.

“Ah lovely Katherine,” Alistair sighed wistfully. “My heart still flutters at the memory of your beauty.”

“Leave your nocturnal emissions out of it, ya cad,” Monty grumbled.

“Ah, you wily flatterers,” Kathy cooed as she wormed her way into Peter’s lap and pored over the map. “So where’s this Island at?”

“Look to the north of the Scottish shoreline,” Alistair instructed. “You’ll see a red circle just to the east of the Isles of Orkney.”

She traced her finger to the spot. “Got it.”

“That is the Isle of Netter,” he stated. “And right smack in the middle is Castle Corcoran.”

Peter held up several 8x10 black and white photographs of the ancient structure. “It’s seen better days,” he remarked. “Who built it?”

“Polton of Clan McGiven, he started it in 1470 but never finished it. The entire region was caught up in a turbulent affair that caused the island and many others to change hands for a while.” Monty answered. “Turns out he was a right bastard who made freely with the peasants and took many of the wee lasses to bed. He was dragged out of his castle in his nickers and drawn and quartered ... by red Northies.”

There were several curious stares around the table. Peter bit, “And what, pray tell, is a red Northie?”

“Ah that, me lad, is one of the prime reasons we were drawn to the place,” Monty replied. “It is a special sort of sheep that only lives on a few of the islands in the region. They are a cross-breed between the hearty old Cotswold that’s been around since Roman times and a dark Hebridean. They are famous worldwide for the wool they produce.”

“Check out the scarf, Petey,” Alistair added.

He didn’t have a chance to because it was promptly snatched from the table by several curious women who touched it studiously before passing it around.

“Wow!” Kathy chimed a second later, “It feels soft as air.”

“This is good wool,” Nana Clearwater agreed, “There’s nothing like it around here.”

“I’m sorry,” Monty quipped, “Whom is speaking?”

Peter introduced the ancient woman who was promptly lavished in introductory eloquence as only a proper Englishman can do.

“So this kind of wool is rare?” Kathy asked as she draped the scarf around the old woman’s neck and kissed her cheek. Nana Clearwater patted her hand affectionately and then gripped the cloth possessively, daring anyone to try and take it.

“Indeed, but what is especially unique about the red Northie is that they are shorn twice a year because of the cold winter climate and the particular care they receive from the farmers who raise them,” Alistair said.

“It is so coveted that your Hudson Bay Company uses a thirty percent blend in their famous blankets that they charge 900 quid a pop for,” Monty mused.

Peter frowned, “My Hudson Bay? Dude, that’s a Canadian company.”

“Same side of the pond, mate.”

There was a cold draft as Charity burst back inside, her cheeks rosy from the cold winter air.

“Okay,” Kathy pondered. “So we are looking at a small island with a broken down Castle, that was built by some Scottish ass-hole, and a herd of red sheep...”

“Wait ... wait ... wait,” Peter interrupted. “I want to know more about how they used sheep to rip this poor dude in half. Aren’t they supposed to use horses for that?”

“‘Quartered’, you git! Seriously Peter, get your vernacular straight,” one of them chided. “And they didn’t have horses, so they had to make do. Seriously man, don’t disparage the peasant class for working with what they had.”

“But how?” he insisted. “You’re killing me here. Sheep? Ripping a man limb from limb?”

“How should I know, mate? Maybe they used big surely Rams and tantalized them with lovely red locked ewes.”

“And you call us ‘savages’,” Charity retorted from the other side of the table. “We just scalped our enemies.” She picked up one of the cans, “What’s this?”

“Who might we be speaking to now?” Alistair asked.

“That is Charity,” Kathy replied beaming. “My baby sister from another mister.”

Once again the twins lavished eloquent introductory praise on the girl, enough to make her blush.

“And she’s holding a can of ... fish.”

“Oh, not just any kind of fish, Lass,” Alistair replied. “Those are some of the finest Glyngore-style smoked kippers you can find.”

“In mustard sauce,” Monty added.

“Eww!” the girl groused and pushed the can away from her disgustedly.

“I’ll second that,” Pete snorted.

“You bloody yanks don’t appreciate the finer things in life!”

“So these sardines are canned on Netter Island?” Peter’s girlfriend interjected from his lap.

There was a heavy sigh on the other end which brought a devilish grin to the girl’s face.

“They are ‘Kippers’,” Monty moaned. “Like I would even feed sardines to a cur ... And it is pronounced ‘Isle Netter’, please Katherine, you’re tarnishing my memory of your beauty.”

Peter began shuffling through the documents before him, while Alistair cut in.

“And yes, besides fine wool, the Isle of Netter is renowned for its famous Kippers and North Sea Caviar which is caught, processed, and canned right in the tiny fishing village that nestles the Southern shore.”

Peter tuned out the conversation while he read through the financial disclosures and legal documents regarding the proposed purchase. There was a sealed envelope marked ‘sensitive’ which he set aside. He pursed his lips as he studied the charts indicating the castle boundary, accompanying township, and fishing village.

“Hey guys, not trying to butt in here ... but I can’t make heads or tails of what this property disclosure means. There are no survey reports or listed coordinates, or ... anything.” He turned back through the stack of papers, forms, and documents. “Have you sent any of this to Magdelaine?”

There was a pause on the line. “Your financier is privy to everything we have sent you, yes,” Monty replied. “What is it you are asking?”

Peter felt a curious sensation in the back of his head and knew instinctively that Old Peter was equally confused. He glanced into Kathy’s eyes and she regarded him with a knowing look. “I guess I’m just trying to wrap my head around the idea of buying a castle,” he replied.

“I see,” there was a hushed discussion in the background on the other end of the line. Then Monty cleared his throat, “Since we are now entering the realm of finance and politics ... might you be able to slip away to a more private space so that we may discuss certain issues?”