“Okay. So, as to the purpose of my visit, it would be convenient for me, and I hope not an inconvenience for you, if I stayed for a month or two in the gatehouse.”

He put one of each pastry on his plate and replied offhandedly, “Yes, of course.”

This took me by surprise, and I said, “Well… that’s very good of you.” I added, “I can draw up a short-term lease for one month, beginning on Mrs. Allard’s death, with another month’s option. So, assuming we can agree on a rent-”

“There is no charge, Mr. Sutter.”

This, too, took me by surprise, and I said, “I insist-”

“No charge.” He joked, “Do you want to complicate my American taxes?”

Actually, that’s how I made my living, but I said, “Well… that’s very kind of you, but-”

“Not at all. I ask only that you be out by September the first.” He added, “Of course, if Mrs. Allard is still living at that time, then you are still her guest. But otherwise, September the first.”

“That won’t be a problem.”

“Good.”

“But why don’t I draw up an agreement to that effect?” I explained, “Legally, it would be good for both of us to have this in writing.”

“We have a gentleman’s agreement, Mr. Sutter.”

“As you wish.” Now, of course, I was supposed to offer my hand – or did we cut open our veins, exchange blood, then dance around the table? After a few awkward seconds, I extended my hand and we shook.

Mr. Nasim poured more tea for himself, and I took a sip of mine.

He said to me, “I just had a thought.”

My antennae went up.

He continued, “I’d like to ask a favor of you.”

I suddenly had this flashback to the evening when Frank Bellarosa invited Susan and me to Alhambra for coffee and Italian pastry, and afterwards don Bellarosa and I retired to his library for grappa and cigars, at which time he asked me for a favor that wound up ruining my life. Mr. Nasim did not indulge in alcohol or tobacco, but otherwise I was certain he and the dead don had a lot in common.

Mr. Nasim inquired, “May I ask a favor?”

“You may ask.”

“Good.” He popped a rather large pastry in his mouth, then plunged his fingers in his finger bowl and wiped them on a linen napkin. He chewed thoughtfully, swallowed, then said, “With Mrs. Allard in the gatehouse and Mrs. Sutter in the guest cottage, I have felt a lack of privacy. You understand?”

I reminded him, “You have nearly two hundred walled acres of land here, Mr. Nasim. How much privacy do you need?”

“I enjoy my privacy.” He further informed me, “Also, I could make use of the gatehouse for my own staff, and I would like to have the guest cottage for my own use as well.”

I didn’t respond.

He continued, “I was about to make an offer to the owners of the guest cottage for their house and the ten acres when, suddenly, I discovered that Mrs. Sutter had purchased the property. And so I made her a very substantial offer for the property, but she refused. Very nicely, I should say, but refused nonetheless.”

“Make her a better offer.”

“I would, but I take her at her word that the property is not for sale at any price.” He added, “Of course, there is a price, but…” He looked at me and said, “She told me that this is her home, with many memories, a place where your children grew up, and where they can visit, and… well, a place that she associates with a good time in her life…” He continued, “And, of course, it is a part of this estate – Stanhope Hall, where she grew up. And so she intends to stay here, she said, until she dies.”

I didn’t respond, but I thought that made at least two people in the neighborhood who wouldn’t mind if Susan were dead. Finally, I said, “That sounds like a pretty definite no.”

Mr. Nasim sort of shrugged and said, “People, as they get older – Not that Mrs. Sutter is old. She seems quite young. But people become more nostalgic as the years pass, and thus they have an urge to revisit the places of their youth, or they become attached to an object or a place. You understand. And this can lead to a degree of stubbornness and perhaps the irrational making of decisions.”

“What is your point, Mr. Nasim?”

“Well, I was wondering if you could reason with her.”

I informed him, “I couldn’t reason with her when we were married.”

He smiled politely.

I continued, “We don’t speak. And I have no intention of speaking to her on this subject.”

He seemed disappointed, but said, “Well, I thought this was a good idea of mine, but I see that it was not such a good idea.”

“Can’t hurt to ask.”

“No.” He switched to a more important subject and said, “You haven’t eaten your Rangeenak.”

To be polite, I popped one of the date-things in my mouth, then rinsed my fingers in the rose petal water, dried them and said, “Well, I won’t hold you to the free rent, but I do need the place for that time.”

He waved his hand and said, “I am good to my word. No strings attached.”

That’s what Frank used to say.

My business was finished, and I didn’t want to be asked to take off my shoes to stay and pray, so I was about to take my leave, but he said, “My offer to Mrs. Sutter was four million dollars. Far more than the property is worth, and more than double what she paid for it only a few months ago. I would be willing to pay someone a ten percent commission if that person could facilitate the purchase.”

I stood and said, “I am not that person. Thank you-”

He stood, too, and replied, “Well, but you don’t know that. If you do speak to her, keep this conversation in mind.”

I was getting a little annoyed and said brusquely, “Mr. Nasim, what in the world makes you think I have any influence over my ex-wife?”

He hesitated, then replied, “She spoke well of you, and so I assumed…” He changed the subject and said, “I will walk you to the door.”

“I can let myself out. I know the place well.”

“Yes. And you were going to tell me the history of the house.”

“Perhaps another time. Or,” I suggested, “Mrs. Sutter can give you a more detailed history.” I extended my hand and said, “Thank you for tea, and for the use of the gatehouse.” I added, “If you change your mind, I understand.”

He took my hand, then put his other hand on my shoulder and turned me toward the doors, saying, “I insist on walking you out.”

Maybe he thought I was going to roll up a Persian carpet and take it with me, so I said, “As you wish.”

As we walked down the gallery, he handed me his card. “This is my personal card with my private number. Call me if I can be of any assistance.”

I thought about asking him to help me load up Elizabeth’s SUV tomorrow, but I didn’t think that was what he meant.

He pulled my calling card from his pocket, looked at it, and read, “Stanhope Hall. I assume this is an old card.” He made a joke and continued, “Or did you just have these printed in expectation of my agreeing to your request?”

I replied, “These are old cards. But rather than throw them out, I’ll make you an offer for the whole estate.”

He laughed. “Make your best offer. Everything has a price.”

Indeed, it does.

He asked me, “Do you have a cell phone?”

“Not yet.” I got nosy and asked him, “What sort of business are you in, Mr. Nasim?”

“Import and export.”

“Right.”

He said, “Please feel free to make use of the grounds.” He added, “Mrs. Sutter runs or takes long walks on the property.”

Good reason not to make use of the grounds.

He added, “I have maintained the English hedge maze.” He smiled and said, “One can become lost in there.”

“That’s the purpose.”

“Yes.” He asked, “Did your children play there?”

“They did.” He’d opened the subject of the estate grounds, so I asked him, bluntly, “Did you remove the statues from the love temple?”

“I’m afraid I did, Mr. Sutter.”

He didn’t offer any further information, and I didn’t want to be too provocative by asking what became of the statues.