Gothic Gaye
by
Victor J. Banis
© Copyright, Victor J. Banis, 2005
GLB Publishers
Chapter 1
Jackie Holmes glanced out of the window of the car as
the Mercedes
rounded a sharp curve, the big sedan remaining perfectly level despite the
obviously rough surface of the road. They were driving into the hills now,
making their way gradually upward. If his estimate was correct, they would
reach the end of their journey before long.
Castle Gaye—his pulse quickened at the thought of
his destination.
He thought of the many people who would have gladly paid any price to be
in his shoes. Castle Gaye was known throughout the world; the rare few
photographs that existed of it could be seen in virtually every book or
magazine
that touched upon architecture. It was regarded as the finest example of
the
Portuguese Manuelin architecture to be found in the United States, perhaps
even in the world. More than a hundred years before, the castle had been
transported from Portugal, stone by stone, to the mountains of California,
where it had been painstakingly reconstructed.
Yet despite the fame that surrounded Castle Gaye, and
despite its long
residence in the country, only a handful of people had ever set eyes upon
the
structure, and fewer still had ever been inside. Many of those who had been
so fortunate had died long years since, for they had seen the Castle when
it
had first been completed, before Castle Gaye and its dark secrets had been
shut away from the world.
He thought of the song they had used to sing as children,
especially at
Halloween: "On the road to Castle Gaye, where the ghostly homos
play…."
Now, at last, the isolation was ending. It was true that
the gates were still
barred, and guarded, but Jackie was thrilled by the knowledge that he would
be among the few of his century to enter beyond those gates. He was well
aware that the man who would soon welcome him into the castle, a man of
wealth and handsome charm, was nearly as world famous as the castle itself.
There were many who might wish to be in his place, traveling
at high speed
toward such a destination. "Or, would they really?" he wondered with a
smile
as the thought lingered in his mind. Would they care to visit Castle Gaye
if
they had been handed exactly the same invitation as he had been offered?
After all, he had been promised more than a welcome, more than luxury and
the attentive devotion of a world famous figure. Jackie had been promised
that he would die at Castle Gaye.
According to the terms of his invitation, he was riding
swiftly and surely
to meet his death.
It had started with an automobile show, a Concours
d'Elegance, as they were known.
The proceeds had been pledged to a worthy but often neglected charity and
when Jackie, whose collection of classic and rare automobiles was extensive,
was approached to lend one of his cars to the display, he had generously
agreed.
Thus it was that he found himself at Los Angeles' vast Pan Pacific auditorium,
wandering about among the cars on display. With few exceptions, there was
nothing on display that he did not already have in his collection, and his
were
almost invariably in better condition.
"I beg your pardon," someone said from behind him.
Jackie turned at the sound of the voice, and found himself
facing an elegantly
dressed gentleman with what seemed at a glance a slightly overbearing
manner.
"Yes?" Jackie answered, deciding that he did not know
the gentleman.
"I'm trying to locate the owner of one of the cars on
display here," the stranger
explained. "Someone suggested you might be able to help me."
"I might," Jackie said courteously. He did know many
of the collectors whose
cars were on display, and he was always happy to be of assistance when
he could. "Which car is it?"
"The Voisin, sir. It's the black sedan near the
entrance…." His tone was
patronizing, as though the man thought himself to be speaking to a novice,
or someone ignorant of automobiles.
"I know the one you mean," Jackie interrupted a bit curtly.
"As a matter of
fact, the Voisin is mine."
"Yours?" The imperturbable mask crumbled with the surprise,
and the
eyebrows went up.
Jackie smiled at the reaction. He knew full well that
he did not fit the usual
image of the motorcar enthusiast. Small, slender and noticeably effeminate,
the young blond looked more the sort who would be interested in laces and
fine crystal, if one believed the stereotype.
The stranger managed to recover his composure. "I see,"
he said. "In that
case, you are the one with whom I wish to speak. My employer has decided
he would like the car."
"I'm sure he would, if he had one," Jackie said. "It's
a very nice car."
"I am afraid you do not understand, sir. I have been
instructed to purchase
the automobile." To support the statement, the gentleman withdrew a
leather-
covered checkbook from his breast pocket.
"I'm afraid you didn't understand," Jackie said firmly.
"The car is not for sale."
"I have been instructed to offer twenty five thousand."
Jackie shook his head.
"Thirty, then." This produced only another shake of the
head. "Very well,"
the stranger said with a sigh, "Perhaps you would care to name a figure.
I can assure you, I am prepared to meet it."
"That's very generous," Jackie said, amused and somewhat
intrigued
by the situation. He was accustomed to the fact that his cars attracted
attention, and envy, and he was often approached with offers to buy them.
This offer, however, was certainly being presented on a grand scale.
"However, the car is part of my own collection, to which I'm attached.
I have no interest in selling it, for any price. I'm afraid you'll simply
have
to express my apologies to your employer."
With a nod, Jackie turned and walked away, leaving the
man speechless.
The scene remained with Jackie, however, and he made his way to where
the car in question was standing. It was a handsome car, he knew, stopping
to admire the Voisin. It mirrored the styling of the thirties, and in fact
it was
a 1934 model, but it displayed a modern silhouette uncommon to its vintage.
"Quite handsome, is it not?" Someone asked beside him.
Jackie turned,
and his breath caught in his throat. The man standing beside him was as
handsome as any Jackie had ever seen—and he was accustomed to seeing
handsome men. The carefully combed hair was nearly all gray, with only a
few strands of a darker shade scattered here and there. The face smiling
back at him, however, had stubbornly resisted age. It was a mature face,
to be sure, but the high forehead, the rugged cheekbones, the firm set of
the chin and mouth, and the shockingly vivid blue eyes, were virtually
ageless.
There was more, though, than mere good looks; in Los
Angeles, good looks,
even spectacular good looks, were commonplace. This man, however, had as
well a confident air of breeding and taste, and the unmistakable aura of
wealth.
Jackie, who was an expert in gems, did not need a jeweler to tell him that
the
emerald flashing from the man's ring was genuine, as was the diamond
stickpin.
The conservative black suit had obviously come from one of the finest, and
the
most expensive, of the world's tailors.
Jackie regained his aplomb, finally, and replied. "Very
handsome," he said
breathlessly, and he wasn't referring to the car alone.
"I must confess, it is a make I have never heard of
previously," the stranger
went on, his glance returning to the car.
"Voisin was a French aircraft designer before World War
I," Jackie explained,
quick to appreciate the man's interest in the car. "He introduced what was
probably the first attempt at an aerodynamic design. This model was his
piece de resistance. He went out of business only a few years later.
The body,
incidentally, is by Henri Chapron, one of the finest Parisian coach-builders
of the day."
The stranger flashed a dazzling smile that almost made
Jackie's knees
bang together. "I suppose you have had numerous offers to purchase the
car?"
"Yes. As a matter of fact, some stuffy bird with an accent
just…." He
caught himself suddenly, and felt his face turning crimson. This man knew
the car was his; that could only mean he was the "employer" that the
previous
offer had come from.
The man nodded, and his lingering smile indicated that
he was not angry.
"Yes, that was my man," he said. "Apparently he was not very successful."
"I'm afraid not, but that's no fault of his," Jackie
explained hastily. "He did
try quite earnestly. I'm just not interested in selling."
The man shrugged. "I suspected I would be no more successful,
but it
would have made a nice addition to my own collection."
"Perhaps you'll permit me to make amends," Jackie offered
hesitantly.
It was out of character for him to be shy with anyone, and yet he could not
help but be in awe of this breathtaking stranger. "I have several rather
unusual
motor cars in my collection. If you would care to come by sometime and see
them, I'd feel very flattered."
The stranger's vivid blue eyes sparkled even more
brilliantly. "I would be
delighted," he answered. "If it is not too great an inconvenience for you,
that is."
"Not at all," Jackie insisted, genuinely thrilled at
the readiness with which
his invitation had been accepted. He found a card in his pocket, and handed
it to the stranger. "I will be free this evening, if you would care to stop
by about eight."
"I would be delighted, Mr. Holmes," the man said, reading
the card quickly.
He offered Jackie one of his own cards. Jackie glanced
briefly at the card,
but even a glance was impressive. It informed him that he was speaking to
nothing less than a Baron—the Baron von der Gout. He mentally kicked
himself
for not having recognized the man sooner. It was a rare week that the
newspapers
did not carry the Baron's picture, and some mention of his activities.
Reportedly,
he was one of the world's wealthiest men, though no one could say for certain,
however. There were only a few in the Baron's class, and no one knew—
or would say—exactly how much money any of them had. In the Baron's
case,
some said it was too much to calculate.
"Are you in town for long, Baron?" Jackie asked.
"Only passing through, I am afraid," the Baron said.
"I must leave tomorrow
to take a look at some real estate I have just purchased."
"Real estate? Then you're going into land development?"
Jackie asked.
He knew that the Baron's interests were many and varied—shipping, mining,
oil, among them—but real estate, if his memory served him correctly,
was a new venture.
The Baron laughed softly, but without malice. "No, it
is just a piece of land
I have long wanted to own. Perhaps you have heard of it: Castle Gaye."
The image of the handsome Baron remained with Jackie
when he left the auto
show. In his line of work, he was accustomed to meeting handsome men from
all walks of life. As a homosexual, he had known many of them intimately.
None
of them, however, had aroused within him the feelings that the Baron had
inspired.
Try though he might, however, Jackie was unable to define
those feelings.
This was something new to him, or else so old he had forgotten its
existence.
"Careful there," he cautioned himself with a grim smile.
"If there's one thing
you can not afford, it's to fall in love."
His warning to himself was not without justification.
The slender homosexual
was a secret agent of a very special sort. His job was a dangerous one that
sometimes took him around the world, and often took him into areas of danger.
He had seen what falling in love did to other agents. They thought too often
of
the person they had waiting at home for them, and they became careless, or
else became too careful, avoiding danger because they had something special
for which to live. Worse, the nature of their work put the ones they loved
in danger too.
Their enemies were too often unscrupulous, constantly alert for an Achilles
heel
through which to strike. A loved one made an easy target.
No, he told himself firmly, falling in love was a mistake
for anyone in his profession.
He had long ago promised himself not to mix the two—it could be either
his work,
or love, but not both.
As he contemplated all this, he had driven into a somewhat
seedy section of town.
Nearing his destination, he watched for and found a parking space by the
curb.
Parking the car, he walked a few yards, and entered the door of an inconspicuous
bar called The Round Up.
At first sight, the Round Up did not offer a very appealing
picture. Not even the
dim lights, which left the interior in near darkness, could manage to lend
any sort
of charm to the battered counter, or the stools with torn plastic hanging
loose, and
the floor was covered with sawdust mixed with debris the nature of which
he was
happier not to know.
The customers, too, might have been described as debris
of a sort. Some bars
catering to homosexuals employ a certain discretion, and the customers often
imitate
that discretion. Neither the Round Up nor its patrons could have been given
credit for
such thoughtfulness. The photos pinned to the walls, pictures of nearly nude
young
men, identified the bar for what it was, a gay hangout. The patrons were
as easily identified.
Jackie paid little attention to either the bar or its
patrons, however. He walked
straight toward the rear. There, a curtained doorway opened into a small
passageway,
from which Jackie entered the men's restroom. The room was empty; Jackie
went
directly to one of the two stalls provided and, ignoring a sign that read
OUT OF ORDER,
he entered the first of the stalls. Inside, he lifted the toilet tank and
plunged his hand
into the cold water, feeling about for the switch that he knew was hidden
there.
With a click, the wall swung open and closed after Jackie as he stepped
through.
It was as though he had stepped into another world. He
had entered from a seedy,
dirty bar; now he stood in a spacious and luxurious apartment. Crystal
chandeliers
glittered brightly overhead, candles cast flickering shadows on velvet-covered
walls.
Twin sofas covered in pale chameuse flanked a fireplace in which a fire was
burning low.
The apartment was in fact the office from which Jackie
worked, one of many such
offices belonging to an organization known only as C.A.M.P., and known to
only a
few at that. A worldwide, super-secret organization, C.A.M.P. was dedicated
to the
protection and advancement of homosexuals. Not even Jackie knew how extensive
the organization really was, except that it was vast. Special branches devoted
their
attention to improving the lot of the homosexual legally, while others worked
with
the tools of psychology, science, and the arts. Jackie worked in the police
branch,
and his job was simply to protect the homosexual in whatever way possible,
protect
him from violence, mistreatment, blackmail, sometimes murder. As a person
technically outside the law, the homosexual was often the victim of ruthless
fiends
who prayed upon his helplessness. Jackie's work was never ending and a job
to
which he had devoted himself for many years.
As Jackie entered the room, another man entered from
the opposite end. Unlike
Jackie, this newcomer would probably never be recognized as a
homosexual—
a football player, maybe, or something equally rugged and masculine. He stood
six feet five inches, and was built like a bull, handsome in a rugged, brutish
way.
"Hello, Rich," Jackie greeted him. "Anything happening
today?"
Rich returned the greeting with a warm grin. "Not a thing,"
he said. "It's been
nice and quiet for the last day or so. How about you?"
"No business but I had some exciting pleasure," Jackie
said. "Ever hear
of Baron von der Gout?"
Rich whistled appreciatively. "Heard of him? He's about
the only person I
can think of who could afford to buy C.A.M.P., if it were for sale."
"That's the one," Jackie said. "I met him today at the
auto show. He's coming
by this evening to look at some of my cars."
"Not your etchings?" Although Rich's tone was a light
bantering one, there
was a more serious undertone that Jackie did not fail to note. He knew that
Rich was quite fond of him; in his own way, he was fond of Rich, too, but
they
were both dedicated to C.A.M.P., and Jackie had never permitted their feelings
for one another to get out of hand.
"For all I know, the Baron doesn't swing that way. After
all, he's quite famous,
and there's never been a hint of that sort of thing."
"If he's got it in him," Rich said without malice, "you're
the one who'll bring it out."
Jackie grinned and started for the door again. "Thanks
for the vote of confidence,"
he said. "I just wanted to be sure there was nothing on for tonight here,
in case
something should come up at home, if you get my meaning. I'll see you
tomorrow."
The Baron arrived punctually at eight. Jackie's miniature
white poodle, Sophie,
rushed to the door as Jackie ushered his guest in.
"Careful," Jackie said, sweeping Sophie up into his arms
before the Baron could
pet her, "She's trained to kill and her teeth are razor sharp. Let her have
a good sniff
at you, so she'll know you're a friend."
If the Baron was surprised that Jackie had such an
unconventional pet, he gave
no indication of it. Indeed, it was quickly apparent that he and Sophie had
become
fast friends. She sat at the Baron's feet while he and Jackie sipped a
brandy
and engaged in casual conversation.
"But let me show you the cars," Jackie said finally.
Sophie at their heels,
he led the Baron to a private elevator, operated by a key, that carried them
to the basement garage. The entire garage was filled with stalls, each of
them
filled with one of Jackie's cars. The collection was extensive, and a
connoisseur's
dream. Even the Baron's careful composure slipped once or twice as he caught
sight of an unusually rare item.
"A Bugatti," he exclaimed at one of the stalls. "Type
55. Is it in running condition?"
Jackie assured him that the car was in perfect running
order. "All of the cars in
my collection are," he added. "In fact, I drive them often. I see no point
in a collection that only gathers dust."
"But where do you find the mechanics to keep up this
collection?" the Baron asked,
astonished. "Some of these motorcars are so rare, I should doubt you would
find
anyone qualified to work on them."
"Most of the work I do myself," Jackie answered. "The
routine jobs, cleaning,
painting and such, those I turn over to the mechanics who work for
my…company."
"You do them yourself? I would not have thought…."
The Baron caught himself in time.
"…That I looked like a mechanical sort?" Jackie
finished for him, not at all offended
by the remark. He was aware of the impression he created of effeminacy and
helplessness. In fact, it was an impression he created deliberately, one
that he
had found useful in his work for C.A.M.P. "You should know that appearances
can be deceiving."
"In India," The Baron replied, with an apologetic smile,
"they say you cannot
judge a tiger's temper by his tail."
"Touché." Jackie laughed. "Although I don't know
just how my tail got into this."
Despite his remark, however, his tail was twitching.
He found himself again in
awe of the handsome man with him, and alarmingly attracted to him. He would
not
have gone so far as to make a pass, but at the same time he knew he would
never
be able to refuse if an opportunity presented itself to become more intimate
with the Baron.
They returned finally to the apartment upstairs. "But
I've bored you with conversation
about me and my interests," Jackie apologized as he warmed fresh brandy over
a
candle. "When you are the one with interesting things to tell. You mentioned
earlier
you had just purchased Castle Gaye."
"Yes. Actually, it was purchased several months ago,
in a secret deal, and since
then my men have been busy at work on the restoration—quite a job,
considering
how long the castle has been closed up. This is my first opportunity to see
it for myself, however."
"You mean you purchased it sight unseen?" Jackie could
only guess at the
cost of the Castle, but he knew it would be considerable. An expensive whim,
he thought.
"As you must have guessed, I like to collect the rare
and unusual," the Baron said.
"The sort of thing that no one else, or very few, can duplicate. It is one
of the joys
of immense wealth." The Baron seemed unembarrassed in explaining away his
whim.
"I'm surprised that there hasn't been any publicity over
the deal," Jackie said
thoughtfully, seating himself beside the Baron on the sofa. "Castle Gaye
is a legend
to architects, artists, scholars. They've all tried for years to get a look
at it, without any success."
"That is why the deal was kept secret. I knew that if
it were made public, I would be
deluged by the curious and the sightseers. I have finally agreed to a small
press
release, just a brief mention of the purchase, in one of the American newspapers.
Once that is printed, I suspect there will be publicity enough, but by then
I will be at
Castle Gaye and I can personally consider the requests, and decide which
ones justify approval."
"Then you are going to live at the Castle?" Jackie asked,
thinking of the stories of
haunting and eerie deeds.
"For a time," The Baron said. "As you may know, my chief
home is in Greece,
but my business managers have recommended a vacation for me. It sounds as
though
I am, how do you say it, on the lam, but it is actually nothing that drastic.
Simply,
they are negotiating some business deals, and using a little psychology.
Their
offers are all approved by me, but they are giving the men they are dealing
with
the impression that bargains can be negotiated while I am not around to
approve
or disapprove. It is a method we have used before, with some success; so,
I am
here for a few months in your country."
"I must admit, I've always been a little curious about
Castle Gaye myself,"
Jackie admitted. "There are so many stories and legends connected to it,
and it's
always remained so mysterious."
The Baron swirled his brandy in the glass. "Yes," he
agreed thoughtfully.
"I found it mysterious also, and for that reason all the more intriguing.
The legends,
you know, came with the Castle from Europe."
"As I remember, it was transported here stone by stone,
and painstakingly
reconstructed, by an eccentric millionaire of some sort. But I don't think
I've ever
heard anything relating its history before it came to California."
"It is quite interesting, actually." The Baron's voice,
and his expression, were
those of a man warming to a subject that interested him greatly. Jackie was
glad.
He experienced a sensation of pleasure at hearing the Baron speak, and seeing
him happy.
"Originally, the Castle was built early in the sixteenth
century," the Baron explained,
speaking slowly and emphasizing his words with quick nods of his head.
"Portugal,
you may remember, was in her golden age then, at the peak of her importance.
It
was a time of powerful rulers, and much royal intrigue. The original castle
was much
smaller than it is now. It was a gift from one of the important rulers to
his daughter's
husband, a French nobleman for whom the castle was named. The marriage, like
most of them at the time, was politically contrived; in this instance, the
French
wanted to ally themselves with Portugal, who was then exploring and discovering
much of our modern world. The princess, however, was very young and, it seemed,
very romantic also. From what one is told, she was also quite beautiful,
and filled
with those passions for which the Latins are so famous. So it was no small
disappointment for her to discover that her new husband, a dashingly handsome
man who had gone to great lengths to court and woo her, was not at all interested
in her loveliness."
Jackie suppressed an amused grin. "You don't mean he
was…?"
The Baron grinned, and nodded. "Yes, his name proved
to be appropriate,"
he said. "He arrived at the Castle with the young man whose company he preferred
to that of the princess, and proceeded to establish his young lovely as virtually
the
lady of the house. The princess, needless to say, was furious. When her
husband
only laughed at her unhappiness, she angrily threatened to flee the Castle
and
return to her father. The Frenchman had no doubt that, if she did so, the
precarious
alliance would be disturbed, so to prevent it, he had her imprisoned in a
dungeon.
She died in a dismal cell in the Castle, but not before she had time to call
down a
curse upon her husband, and upon the Castle. She warned him that he would
not
long enjoy the love of his young companion. Death, she cried, would be his
friend's
suitor, and Death would win the hand of any young man whose lover brought
him to
castle Gaye."
"Did her predictions prove correct?" Jackie found himself
enchanted by the tale,
carried away into the realm of romantic legend.
"Tragically, yes," the Baron said. "The father of the
princess learned of her
imprisonment and came with his army to free her. He arrived too late, for
she
was dead already, but in the siege of the Castle, the Frenchman's young lover
was slain."
The Baron paused for a moment, sipping his brandy. "For
a time," he went on,
"The Castle remained empty. After some years, it became a gift to another,
lesser ruler.
The story goes that he fell in love with a beautiful young slave boy, whom
he took to
his bed. Soon afterward, the slave boy fell to his death from one of the
towers."
"Then the curse remained with the Castle?" Jackie said.
"Yes, and came with it to this country. The man who brought
the Castle here was a
German prince in exile, as a result of a scandal involving a young male lover.
He saw
the Castle while pausing in Portugal on his way to this country—that
was early in the
last century. The romantic legend attached to it fascinated him, but he was
not a
superstitious man. He thought the Castle an amusing gift for his young friend,
and
so he purchased it, and had it moved, as you know, to California, but the
legend
moved with it.
"As you can imagine, the project enjoyed considerable
fame, although the
relationship between the two men remained a secret. Everyone waited eagerly
to see the Castle finished, recognizing it at once for the masterpiece it
was. It
had been enlarged by then, some of it during the seventeenth century, and
again
during the eighteenth, and was now more than double its original size, and
a
work of art in its own right. But only a few ever saw this work of art after
it was
transported here. When the work was finished, the prince threw a ball for
his
international friends. From all reports, it was a lavish affair. It is from
this occasion
that the few sketches of the Castle date. But the affair ended tragically,
soon after
it had begun."
"The curse again?" Jackie asked.
"So they say. In any event, the young man was just coming
down to make his first
appearance at the ball, when he fell, and tumbled down the steep stairs,
to his death.
"That was when the Castle was closed. The prince vowed
that the Castle and its
curse would remain isolated from the world. He moved out, closing down the
Castle,
but he kept an army of guards posted to keep everyone from entering. After
his death,
his immediate heirs respected his wishes and maintained the isolation for
more than
a hundred years.
"But times have changed. The heirs who most recently
possessed the estate are
no longer moved by the story, nor do they have the wealth they once had.
It was not
difficult to persuade them to part with the Castle. Soon, I shall be the
first person to
reside in the Castle in a century. That, you must admit, is a unique
accomplishment."
"Indeed it is," Jackie agreed thoughtfully. He was thinking
of the lonely Castle
on its bleak mountain. Soon its windows would glow again with light, its
halls echo
with the sound of voices and perhaps merriment.
But he could not help but wonder if time had lessened
the power of the tragic
curse that had so long haunted Castle Gaye. He thought of a silly nursery
rhyme
they had used to sing: "On the road to Castle Gaye, where the ghostly homos
play…."
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