Lockwood & Co. The Secret Of Penelope Fittes

Chapter Eleven

Somehow Lockwood had managed to organize a meeting with Erich Willow. And two days later, there was an energetic knock on our door. George lowered his comic: "Did he not see the bell?"
Lockwood turned around before he left the room: "Be polite!"
George puffed and returned to his comic.
I waited eagerly for our visitor. Almost three minutes, which was, as the skull put it in a civilized way: a fucking long time, Lockwood came into the room with a medium-sized, somewhat chubby man. Probably in his late thirties. He seemed a little nervous and when Lockwood offered him a chair by the fireplace and started questioning him, his answers sounded like a mixture of French and English. He spoke very quickly and kept looking at his watch.
After a while Lockwood only tried to ask simple questions, but that didn't help much as the answers became less and less understandable.
After ten minutes Lockwood gave up and leaned back exhausted. He made a thoughtful face, bit his lower lip and, to my great surprise, began to speak to Erich Willow in fluent French.
"Je pense que vous préféreriez que je vous parle en français: Puis-je vous poser quelques questions sur Penelope Fittes?"
My mouth dropped and George looked out over his comic.
Erich Willow seemed relieved: "Merci! C'est très gentil de ta part. Bien sûr, je vais essayer de répondre à toutes les questions."
Unfortunately, I only understood so much of the rest of the conversation that I could only answer two things: One, it was in French. Two, Lockwood was not entirely satisfied with the answers. The rest didn't make sense. I should have been more careful in school!
"Why the hell does your Locky know how to speak French?" it came from the shelf on the wall.
In response, I just shrugged my shoulders and pretended that i could understand everything. After another ten minutes George also gave up reading and watched the act with a thoughtful expression.
"You understand something?"
I whispered to him.
"Not much."
"Did you know he speaks French?"
"Nope."
Before I could ask any more questions, Lockwood and our guest got up, shook hands and walked out of the room. We heard the door drop down into the lock and waited (still with my mouth open) for Lockwood to return. A second later he came into the living room in a good mood just to look at our perplexed faces.
"What's the matter with you?"
I closed my mouth and took two deep breaths to calm myself down a bit. Then I continued, extremely calmly and extremely slowly: "Since when can you speak FRENCH!"
He looked at us confused: "I don't know about you, but I had French lessons at school."
"Yes, we too...", George wiped his glasses on his sweater, "But never that much that we could speak it fluently!"
I nodded: "I expected this from George, but not from you!"
Lockwood shrugged his shoulders: "It's no big deal. Many here in London know French."
He sat down on his chair again. I looked at him. There was something else:
"What other languages do you speak?"
"Why would you think I speak any other languages?"
"Lockwood, we've known each other for over three years! You think I wouldn't know if you didn't tell me something?"
He sighed: "All right. Well, let's put it this way: I could communicate in Germany."
And for the second time my mouth dropped today. George also stared at him in surprise: "German? GERMAN!?"
"Not as good as French, but yes. But that's not all," he took a short break, "I can play the piano too."
We probably sat in the same position for five minutes until Lockwood cleared his throat: "Could somebody say something now?"
"That explains the piano in your room!"
"How do you know he has a piano in his bedroom?"
"Because I have eyes in my head with which I am able to see, George!"
He opened his mouth, but I wouldn't let him speak:
"What did Erich Willow say now, Lockwood?"
"Unfortunately, nothing we didn't know before," he said disappointedly, "but we can talk about it later! Or have you forgotten that we still have an assignment today?"

.........******..........

Lockwood, George and I took a relaxed walk through Hyde Park with all our equipment. Today we had to check after a ghost in a house at the end of the park, where we would also meet Kipps. Holly still hadn't contacted us. I hoped that the events in the mausoleum had not hit her too hard. After all, she was attacked by a violent maniac. All right, we too but we had more experience with it than Holly, who had worked almost exclusively as secretary
As we strolled through the park I heard a strange voice behind us:
"Anthony?"
Lockwood froze and slowly turned around. George and I did the same. A middle-aged woman with way to high High Heels, staggered at us. The way she was dressed, I concluded she wasn't from London.
"Who is that?" I asked Lockwood.
He shrugged his shoulders: "I have absolutely no idea!" He put on his polite client smile: "But let's find it out: Hello, I'm Anthony Lockwood, what can I do for you?"
The woman stopped gasping in front of us and looked at Lockwood with astonished eyes: "Unbelievable! It really is you. I almost didn't recognize you!"
"Uh?", Lockwood was obviously confused. The lady continued:
"You certainly inherited the good looks from your father!"
Lockwood seemed like he'd just been slapped in the face.
"You knew my father?"
The woman, who had only stared at Lockwood's coat and suit, now looked him in the face and noticed the confused look on it.
"Oh, you have no idea who I am, haven't you?"
Lockwood shook his head: "Sorry, should I?"
She sighed, "No, you certainly shouldn't. It's been more than ten years, hasn't it? ..."
Lockwood still couldn't get a light.
"... it's me, Charlotte!"
Lockwood raised his eyebrows in surprise when he recognized the woman. He didn't look very happy, though.
"Charlotte, of course. What a surprise that you recognized me after so many years."
"Yes, isn't it. Like a little miracle. What are you doing here in London?"
"I'm the head of an agency."
"Oh, yes.", she took a condescending look into the park, "You have a little ghost pro-... Wait, what? You're an agent?!"
Lockwood raised an eyebrow: "Yeah, why not?"
"Well, because your parents never wanted for you to fight ghosts!"
Lockwood still tried to be polite, but now his smile faded:
"Well, my parents are dead!"
Charlotte didn't seem to have understood that she had just hit Lockwood's sore spot, and kept chattering:
"Oh, yeah, that's right. This tragic accident. Just like sweet Jessica. Her death was so horrible!"
Gosh. The woman just wouldn't shut up! Apparently Lockwood thought the same, who looked at her angrily: "Yes, really awful!"
Charlotte wanted to continue talking, but Lockwood interrupted her:
"Listen Charlotte: It was nice to see you again, but my colleagues and I have another case today and are already late...", which was not true, because we still had more than an hour left, "... Goodbye," Lockwood  turned around and rushed away. George, Charlotte and me stared at him in astonishment. We mumbled our goodbyes and rushed after Lockwood. We had trouble keeping up with him as he was now almost running through the park.
When we had reached the west gate, he finally slowed down.
"Whew," puffed George, "I never thought I'd see you leave an acquaintance standing! Respect, Lockwood!"
"Oh come on!", Lockwood rolled your eyes, "She would have just kept talking about my deceased family anyway, which I can confidently live without!", he now sounded angry again.
I tried to change the subject quickly:
"How do you even know her?"
"She was an old friend of my family," he hissed, "I never liked her! It's a wonder she even recognized me!"
I had to smile: "Why? Did you ever have blond hair in your youth?"
That made Lockwood smile: "Don't worry: The hair was always perfect," he winked at me, "Come on! We still have a lot to do today!"