THE MCBEE REPORT WAS DETAILED AND businesslike, as usual, yet also friendly, presented in calligraphy that made it a minor work of art and lent to it the aura of a historical document. Sitting at the desk in his study, Ethan could hear in his mind the musical lilt and the faint Scottish brogue of the housekeeper’s voice.
After an initial greeting to the effect that she hoped Ethan had enjoyed a productive day and that the Christmas spirit buoyed him as much as it did her, Mrs. McBee reminded him that she and Mr. McBee would be off to Santa Barbara early in the morning. They were spending two days with their son and his family, and were scheduled to return at 9:00 A.M. on the twenty-fourth.
She further reminded him that Santa Barbara lay but an hour to the north and that she remained on call in the event that her counsel was needed. She supplied her cell-phone number, which Ethan already knew, and her son’s phone number. In addition, she provided her son’s street address and the information that less than three blocks from his house was a large, lovely park.
The park features many stately old California live oaks and other trees of size, she wrote, but within its boundaries are also at least [280] two generous meadows, either of which will accommodate a helicopter in the event there should arise a household emergency of such dire proportions that I must be ferried home in the style of a battlefield surgeon.
Ethan would not have believed that anyone could make him laugh out loud at the end of this distressing day. With her dry sense of humor, Mrs. McBee had done so.
She reminded him that in her and Mr. McBee’s absence, Ethan would serve in loco parentis, with full responsibility for and authority over Fric.
During the day, if Ethan needed to be away from the estate, Mr. Hachette, the chef, would be next in the succession of command. The porters and maids could attend to the boy as needed.
After five o’clock, the day maids and the porters would be gone. Following dinner, Mr. Hachette would depart, as well.
Because the other live-in staff members were off on an advance Christmas holiday, Mrs. McBee advised Ethan that he must be certain to return before Mr. Hachette went home for the day. Otherwise Fric would be alone in the house, with no adults nearer than the two guards in the security office at the back of the estate.
Next, in her memo, the housekeeper addressed the issue central to Christmas morning. Early this day, after speaking with the boy in the library, before driving to West Hollywood to investigate Rolf Reynerd, Ethan had raised with Mrs. McBee the matter of Fric’s Christmas gifts.
Any kid would have thrilled to the idea that he could submit a list of wanted items as extensive as he wished and that he would receive on Christmas morning everything he requested, precisely those items, nothing less, but nothing more. Yet it seemed to Ethan that this robbed Christmas morning of its delicious suspense and even of some of its magic. As this would be his first Christmas at Palazzo Rospo, he had approached Mrs. McBee in her office off the kitchen to inquire as to the protocol of leaving an unexpected gift under the tree, for Fric.
[281] “God bless you, Mr. Truman,” she had said, “but it’s a bad idea. Not quite as bad as shooting yourself in the foot to observe the effect of the bullet, but nearly so.”
“Why?” he had wondered.
“Every member of the staff receives a generous Christmas bonus, plus a small item from Neiman Marcus or Cartier, of a more personal nature—”
“Yes, I read that in your Standards and Practices,” Ethan had said.
“And staff members are thoughtfully forbidden to exchange gifts among themselves because there are so many of us that shopping would take too much time and would impose a financial burden—”
“That’s in Standards and Practices as well.”
“I am flattered that you have it so well memorized. Then you’ll also know that the staff is kindly forbidden from presenting gifts to members of the family, primarily because the family is fortunate enough to have everything it could want, but also because Mr. Manheim considers our hard work and our discretion in discussing his private life with outsiders to be gifts for which he is grateful every day.”
“But the way the boy has to prepare a list and knows everything on it will be there Christmas morning—it seems so mechanized.”
“A major celebrity’s career and life are often one and the same, Mr. Truman. And in an industry as large and complex as Mr. Manheim, the only alternative to mechanization is chaos.”
“I suppose so. But it’s cold. And sad.”
Speaking more softly and with some affection, Mrs. McBee had taken him into her confidence: “It is sad. The boy is a lamb. But the best that all of us can do is be especially sensitive to him, give him counsel and encouragement when he asks for it or when he seems to need it but won’t ask. An actual unexpected Christmas gift might be well received by Fric, but I’m afraid his father wouldn’t approve.”
“I sense you mean he wouldn’t approve for some reason other than those in Standards and Practices.”
Mrs. McBee had brooded for a long moment, as though consulting [282] in memory a version of Standards and Practices much longer than the one in the ring-bound notebook that she presented to every employee.
At last she’d said, “Mr. Manheim isn’t a bad man, or heartless, just overwhelmed by his life ... and perhaps too in love with the flash of it. On some level, he recognizes what he’s failed to give Fric, and he surely wishes that things were different between them, but he doesn’t know how to fix it and still do everything............