The Altogether Unexpected Disappearance of Atticus Craftsman Read Free Page A

like James Bond’s, in order to return punctually, every Sunday, to the library at home in Kent, where his thousands of alphabetically arranged books and a roaring fire awaited him. He needed nothing more.
    Until one day Marlow Craftsman called him into his office.

CHAPTER 3
    A tticus, son, we have an unpleasant issue that requires an urgent solution. I need your help.”
    By that point, young Mr. Craftsman had turned thirty. He had his life laid out: solid friendships, a healthy sum in the bank, an enviable physique, and the freedom to go where he liked without a care in the world, with no other duties than attending to his pleasant work at the publishing house from Monday to Friday, his lovers on Saturday, and his books on Sunday.
    â€œCome, take a seat,” his father told him, pointing to one of the office’s two leather chairs.
    Atticus felt as comfortable there as in the living room at home. Portraits of the same men hung on the walls, there were photos of the same family members in silver frames, and his boss was the same hero who had banished his nightmares when he was a little boy. He was tempted to put his feet up on the mahogany desk, but his father’s worried expression stopped him. He opted for a more formal posture: legs crossed at the ankles and a hand on his chin. Just like his grandfather Dorian in his portrait.
    â€œYou see, Atticus,” began Marlow, before changing smoothlyfrom father to boss, “First and foremost I want to thank you for your work. You’ve become an important part of the company, and I’m very proud of you. As you know, when Mr. Bestman retires next year you’ll be named development director.”
    â€œUm-hmm,” mumbled Atticus, who frequently received the same information from his father: congratulations and the reiteration of his next promotion as a prelude to a delicate assignment. He was sure that the surprise would come next.
    â€œGood.” Pause. Cough.
    â€œUm-hmm?”
    â€œIt’s an unpleasant matter.”
    â€œYes.”
    â€œIt requires an urgent solution.”
    â€œRight.”
    Marlow drew breath. He got up. He started pacing around the office.
    â€œI’ll start from the beginning,” he said. “To bring you up to speed,” he added. “The matter dates back to 2006.” Pause. Cough. “Therefore, as you will have deduced, the problem arose six years ago. Although at the beginning it wasn’t a problem, it was an investment.”
    He really was struggling to get going. Atticus felt an urge to get up from his chair and shake his father like a snow globe, to see if he could make it snow once and for all.
    â€œBack then, the business was expanding healthily,” Marlow explained. “We were opening offices in several European capitals. One of these, as you know, was in Spain, in Madrid.”
    Atticus nodded.
    â€œMr. Bestman had a visionary idea.” He frowned. “He thought that to support our book sales it would be advisable for Craftsman & Co.to also publish small literary magazines in each country, so as to promote our titles.”
    â€œVery astute,” Atticus acknowledged.
    â€œWe rolled out those projects, and I must say that, to date, they have more than fulfilled their purpose. As you must understand, they don’t make a lot of money, but they are valid tools. Some, like the German magazine Krafts , have even come to be considered among the most prestigious literary publications in the country.”
    Marlow went back to his desk. He let himself fall heavily into his chair.
    â€œAll bar one, that is.”
    â€¢Â Â â€¢Â Â â€¢
    That afternoon, after the meeting, Atticus Craftsman felt the need to drink alone. He went into a pub and ordered a cold pint. He downed it in one. He burped.
    His briefcase contained the documents his father had given him. It certainly was a thorny issue, hence Marlow’s initial reluctance to spit it out.