The Lost Diamond

Someone I did see again was her accountant. On the return trip from the restaurant to the city, I tried to ease the tense situation by explaining, in as much detail as possible, what my job entailed, which left him quite intrigued.

A couple of years later, I received a call from him inviting me to lunch. I recognized him by his enthusiastic and good-natured voice. We met the following day at an Italian restaurant he frequented, as he confessed. While we enjoyed a delicious pasta, he told me that one of his clients had problems with a haunted house. I also didn’t specialize in de-haunting haunted houses, but I had already turned him down once, and I was sure he knew what kind of work I did. So, I replied that I couldn’t guarantee I would take the case, but that I had no problem meeting with his client and discussing the supposed haunted house.

The only condition I set was that they be respectful of my time. I had no intention of traveling to the outskirts of the city and then waiting for an hour for the person to arrive, as had happened with the widow. The accountant also added his own condition. He told me that my potential client would want to have lunch with me to discuss the case, and that I should request that the accountant also be present at that lunch. I had no problem with that, as we had done it that way the last time.

With everything clarified, the accountant called his client and gave him my phone number. He called me immediately. We quickly agreed on the price for my services and on the two conditions, that they would not waste my time and that the accountant had to participate in our meeting. We arranged to meet the next day for dinner, instead of lunch, at a place called “The Paris Fencing Club.”

It was a brief conversation in which he told me that he would give me the details of the problem at the right time. He ended by saying that if I needed directions to the club, I should talk to the accountant, as he knew where it was located.

Once outside the restaurant, I didn’t want to be left in doubt.

“Forgive me if I’m too curious, but what is it about that haunted house that has you so interested in visiting it?” I inquired.

“No…, the haunted house…? No... I have absolutely no interest in the haunted house,” the accountant replied in an excess of honesty.

“But you were the one who insisted on being present at our meeting. I’m curious why you want to be there,” I pressed.

“I couldn’t care less about the haunted house, and to be honest, the meeting between you two, I couldn’t care less either. Moreover, I will tell you the truth, whether you take the case or reject it... I don’t give a damn either!” His face turned red, and I couldn’t help but find it amusing.

“So why did you insist on being part of our meeting if you’re so uninterested?” I asked.

“Mr. Nagha, have you ever heard of The Paris Fencing Club?” he inquired.

“Never,” I replied.

“Never?”

“Never.”

“Now I understand. Of course, you wouldn’t know. Let me explain. I want to go with you so that I can visit the Fencing Club for the first time in my life. It’s a very exclusive place, for men, and you can only enter as a member or, in very special cases, as a guest of a Class A member.”

“Oh, my God, a Class A member, what’s a Class A member?” I asked, quite confused.

“While I don’t know all the details in depth, the Club has three types of memberships. Class A is the most expensive and it’s hereditary. Class A members pay an annual fee that costs a fortune. Can you imagine that? Belonging to Class A means that some of the founding members passed their membership down to their children or a person of their choice, and it continued through generations until it’s the turn of the current Class A member.”

“What an incredible honor! How I envy them,” I said with a touch of irony.

“No, wait... Mr. Nagha, wait, let me explain. Class B members can buy or sell their membership, but there’s a catch, a new Class B member must be approved by the board of directors of the Club. Class A membership is a kind of inherited right, while Class B membership is a major privilege and extremely expensive, though cheaper than Class A membership.”

“To be honest, I don’t quite understand all of this. I’m sure I’ll never be a member of that club,” I remarked.

“No, uh... wait..., wait, you might get to know it! Wait to get to know it, Mr. Brandon,” he sorts of softly clapped his hands in unbridled enthusiasm. “And lastly, there are Class C members, although in a way, they’re not really members. Let me explain, Mr. Brandon. Class C is more like a waiting list for which you also must pay. I hope someday to be accepted as a Class C member. But at least now, I’ll be able to dine at the Club...! I can’t wait for that moment.”

It all seemed quite unusual to me, so much membership in such a tiny part of our planet, while there’s an unlimited universe in front of our noses that we might one day begin to populate. Viewed from Mars, Class A membership wouldn’t look much different from absolute non-membership. Nevertheless, I encouraged the kind man to do what was right for him.