Any Day

by Brian Lancaster

  By nine-thirty, they decided to end the evening. Finally, the rain had stopped, and a full moon had even decided to turn out. Adrian offered Pippa a lift, but she only lived a short walk away in the opposite direction and chose to enjoy a stroll in the cool night air.

  After bidding her goodnight, Adrian walked alongside Lenny as they dodged puddles in the lamplit car park, skirting the building and heading towards Adrian’s truck. When Lenny breathed out a tired and steamy yawn into the evening air, Adrian grabbed him by the arm and pushed him up against a wall.

  “Wh-at?” laughed Lenny, his eyes wide with surprise.

  “Oh no, you don’t,” he said. “You’re not sleeping on me. We’ve got plans tonight.”

  And with that, he brought their lips together and felt Lenny chuckle into the embrace, before stilling, taking the kiss deeper and groaning. After a second, he pushed his hands on Adrian’s chest.

  “Okay, point taken. Let’s get back.”

  Adrian got them home on the empty roads in record time and parked the truck beneath the tree canopy. Lenny went ahead to unlock the front door, and when Adrian reached him, he had already stepped across the threshold, to flick on the hallway light. When he turned back to Adrian, a glint in his eye, he sauntered seductively backwards into the house, smiling his intention. Adrian snorted and had been about to grab at him when something caught his eye.

  “Lenny. Stop moving.”

  Lenny must have seen the seriousness on Adrian’s face because he halted and looked around.

  “What, Ade? What is it?”

  “The floor. Look at the floor.”

  A set of damp footprints still glistened and darkened the dusty floorboards, moving from the hallway to the living room then back out towards the front door.

  “We’ve had a visitor.”

  Chapter Fifteen

  London

  On his drive back to London on Sunday, Leonard mulled over the events of the night before. After a thorough sweep of the house—and finding nobody hiding, ready to pounce out on them—he and Adrian had locked and bolted the exterior doors, front and back. Nothing had been touched. The dresser, hidden beneath a dust sheet, had not been disturbed. All the intruder appeared to have done was to stroll as far as the French windows overlooking the back garden then retrace his or her steps out the front door. No footsteps had marked the stairs.

  Adrian had been fearless, prepared for any confrontation, his fists clenched in readiness. Leonard had been impressed with his quiet but determined resolve, something that must have served him well on the streets. But the fading footprints had been enough to convince Leonard. Whoever had been in the place had long since departed.

  “Should we call the police?”

  “And tell them what?” Leonard had asked calmly. “There are no signs of a break-in. And most of the footprints have already dried up.”

  “I took some pictures on my phone,” said Adrian. “And there might be fingerprints. By the size of the footprints, these are clearly men’s shoes, so this has to be your cousin Matthew.”

  If he was going to be honest, Leonard had thought the same thing initially. But he had read enough mystery books and seen enough television crime shows to know associating shoe size with gender would have even the most junior of police constables raising an eyebrow in disdain.

  “We don’t know that, Ade. Yes, the person clearly has a set of keys to the house. But my aunt could have had more cut. Wouldn’t it make sense to give a set to someone locally in case of emergencies? This is my fault. I should have changed the locks the moment I got here. On any other job, I would have done. Let’s not push this. Nothing’s been touched or taken, and nobody’s been hurt. But if you could arrange for a local locksmith to come in during the week, that would put my mind at rest.”

  “Bugger that,” said Adrian, still rattled. “I’ll do it myself. As soon as Toni gets here, I’ll find a local hardware store, buy the bloody locks and fit them myself.”

  “Whatever you say. And once we’ve finished the renovations, I’m going to invest in a home security system. I have a close friend who will do me a good deal.”

  In the bedroom that night, Leonard thought the intrusion might have dampened Adrian’s sexual ardour, but the opposite occurred. As soon as they stepped into the room Adrian grabbed hold of him, kissed and undressed him, and made love to him as though Lenny were a patient needing special care and attention.

  One thing was for sure. Adrian had relaxed into their coupling, slowing down and allowing Leonard to take control sometimes, no longer fast and furious as though he was on the clock. But also, something inside Leonard had reawoken. The actual act of sleeping next to Adrian felt as intimate as their lovemaking, more so perhaps, something he realised he had missed in his life, missed with all his heart and soul.

  Even with the cheerful thought of catching up with his team in London, leaving Sunday morning had been an emotional wrench, especially when Adrian had taken the lead to kiss and hug him goodbye at the front door.

  * * * *

  On Monday, after visiting his solicitor’s office for the official call with Dawson, Leonard arrived at his London office just before midday. After doing a round of greetings, he stayed at his desk, catching up on paperwork, signing letters and looking over contracts. Although tempted by the offer to go for lunch with his team, he chose to get the backlog of work out of the way. Other things could wait.

  Helen Wallis’ advice had been pretty much as expected. Unlike Dawson, she did not maintain any of the old-world politeness and charm associated with her profession. Neither did she mince her words. In her early seventies, she had fought her way around a courtroom and bettered many of her male counterparts. These days she preferred loose-fitting, comfortable clothing she could wear just as easily in the garden, her hair tied up with a scarf—and wore the same attire to her office. The handful of clients she agreed to retain were long-standing and accepted her quirks along with her sharp legal mind.

  “Short of proving you’re not Leonard Day, not actually Colin Day’s biological son, that is, or that your father was of unsound fucking mind when he signed the will—which according to Dawson, he wasn’t—then there is not a court in the land that would rule in favour of your dear Aunt Millicent. These carrot-crunching fuckwits at Hope and Masters know that, but they’ll still happily take the case and empty her bank account. From what you’ve told me, this woman is bordering certifiable, so I strongly suggest you find somebody she will listen to and get them to bitch slap some common sense into the old bag before she pours a fuck-ton of money down the drain.”

  “That’s essentially what Dawson said. Without the expletives. If this were to go to court, how much are we talking? An estimate?”

  “All depends on the angle they take and the complexity of the case. If they insist on DNA tests and getting medical professionals involved and goodness knows what the fuck else, then I’d say she should make sure she can put aside between a hundred and fifty to two hundred thousand. Hopeless Bastards will most likely ask for a retainer. How much is this property worth?”

  “I’ve not had it valued yet. But at a guess, I’d say around three hundred thousand.”

  “Seriously, Colin. Is there someone who can drum some fucking sense into this woman? Even if by some miracle she were to win, she’d only end up having to sell the property to pay off her legal fees.”

  “That’s the problem. I don’t know her that well. I might see if I can reach out to her daughter.”

  “Can I suggest you do that sooner rather than later?”

  On the drive back to the office, Leonard had wracked his brains to figure out how to contact his cousin Mary. First he’d reluctantly considered phoning his mother, until he remembered Pippa saying she exchanged Christmas cards with Mary. Perhaps Pippa might have an email or a home address.

  Back at his desk, settling into his plush chair, he was about to compose a text message to Adrian, but then decided he needed to hear his voice. After on
ly two rings, Adrian picked up.

  “Hey, sexy. How’s your morning going?”

  Leonard could not help the smile and warm feeling filling him at the endearment.

  “Pretty good. Call between Helen and Dawson as predicted, and I’ve just arrived at the office. How are things going there?”

  “Toni works like a demon. We’ve already got the equipment in place to take the wall down. And the Redfern outfit turned up first thing this morning. They’re already making quick work of the front garden. We’re stopping for a spot of lunch right now.”

  “Shit. I wish I was there to see it all come together.”

  “Yeah. Me too, Lenny.”

  Adrian’s soft, subtle tone of yearning was not lost on Leonard, and he stalled for a moment, overcome by the sudden flood of emotions.

  “I changed the locks front and back. Drove to the superstore yesterday and found a fairly decent hardware place,” continued Adrian. “I’ll let you have a set of keys when you get here Friday. Toni helped me make sure all windows are secured properly. You might want to think about setting up a motion detector light at the front and back. Oh yes, and I also sent you some more design ideas for the kitchen and bathroom this morning. Thought you may want to think about getting orders in for kitchen units, in case there’s a long lead time. If you need help with that, let me know.”

  “You’re an absolute star. I’ll get onto that. And I’m thinking about furnishing the house with pieces from my antique furniture catalogue, maybe use the place as a kind of showroom. Hey, if she’s there, can you ask Pippa if she has an address for my cousin Mary? She mentioned sending her a Christmas card.”

  “Will do. What time do you think you’ll get here Friday?”

  “I’ll try to leave early and be with you by four. Why?

  “I’ll make sure Toni’s gone by then. Missing you. I’m going to make dinner or get takeaway so we don’t need to go out. And you may need to bring more—um—supplies, if you know what I mean.”

  Leonard smiled down at the phone just as a shadow fell across his workspace. When he looked up, he saw the grinning face of Kieran, who slumped across the partition between their desks. Leonard felt his cheeks heat up and coughed involuntarily into the phone.

  “Will do, Ade. Uh, I’d better go. Got someone hovering, waiting to see me. Give me a call during the week, let me know how things are going?”

  “Will do. Take care, sexy.”

  “Um, you too.”

  Leonard shook his head, annoyed at being forty-seven and still feeling flustered, as though he had been caught out doing something illicit or embarrassing.

  “Bit of privacy here, Kieran,” he said, pointing to his phone. “This could have been confidential.”

  “In which case, you’d have taken the call in the fish tank. So come on, Len,” said Kieran, propping his elbows on the partition and cradling his head in his hands. “What’s going on? You’re grinning at that phone like you’ve just won the lottery. Or did your father also leave you a vintage Ferrari and private airplane to complement the Welsh farmhouse?”

  On a video call, he had explained to his whole team about the home his father had bequeathed him, a building that needed extensive renovations. A few soft comments of ‘sweet’ and ‘wow’ had come down the line, but he knew they all equated the place to just another job added to his company’s long list of makeovers.

  “Hello, Kieran. I’ve missed you, too—”

  “Oh fuck,” said Kieran, jumping back and placing a hand over his mouth as though Leonard had just struck him. “You got laid, didn’t you? While you’ve been away? That’s what’s written all over your face.”

  Leonard’s eyes flashed around the rest of the office, which was thankfully still empty.

  “Keep your voice down!”

  “I knew it! You finally got your end away. Wait until I tell Kennedy. Who is he?”

  “Not a word, Kieran. I’m serious. It’s all new and may not lead to anything.”

  “But look at you,” said Kieran, waving a hand in a circle at Leonard. “You’re so—so—unknotted.”

  “What? What the hell’s that supposed to mean?”

  “Less tense, less wound tight. Chilled. Beaming. Was it good? It was good, wasn’t it? Give me details.”

  “I’m not giving you details, you little perv,” said Leonard, chuckling. “Get back to work before I sack you.”

  “Yeah, that’s never been much of a threat,” said Kieran, his eyes brightening again. “Hey, tell you what. Bring him over Sunday for lunch. Kennedy will cook. We need to give him a thorough professional eval—”

  “Oh, no. No, you don’t. Like I told you, it’s all new. And anyway, he lives in Norwich. Besides, I’m driving back to Wales next Friday for a—”

  “Dirty weekend?”

  “Site inspection. And we’ve still got a whole load of work to do on the place, including sanding and plastering. So, yes, there will probably be dust and— Kieran! Will you stop smirking at me like that!”

  No matter how hard he tried, he could never keep a serious face with Kieran around.

  “You’re spending a lot of time at this place. You do remember that you have tickets for the Harrogate Classic Car Show the second weekend of May? And you’re also booked in to view a couple of properties in and around Dublin the weekend after? Or do you want me to take over?”

  Kieran’s offer was genuine. Leonard knew him well enough to know he would step in if asked, and wouldn’t even complain. And the truth was that Leonard was enjoying his weekends in Wales, spending time remodelling the house, working alongside Adrian and especially sharing a bed with him. But Kieran needed his weekends, needed to spend time with his young family, and Leonard was not about to mess with that.

  “No, I’m still good for both. We’re getting to a point where there’s not much else I can contribute to the building work, where I need to step back and let the professionals take over. And on that note, can you have a word with your husband? I need to have a state-of-the-art security system installed once the remodelling is complete. If I give you Adrian’s contact number, can you get one of Kennedy’s team to call him?”

  “Ah, so his name’s Adrian, is it? And he’s a professional builder. Very nice. You know we’re going to have to meet him one day, don’t you?”

  “Let’s see how things pan out. With the house, too.”

  “Ooh,” said Kieran, reaching behind him onto his desk for an envelope. “And on that note, boss—I got you the original plans and history of the house from the Land Registry that you requested. Very interesting reading.”

  “How so?”

  “Did you know the house was commissioned in 1888?”

  “I do now. But that’s kind of what we thought.”

  “Hang on, that’s not the best bit. The house was commissioned by Lord Charles Hawesworth.”

  “Okay,” said Leonard, shrugging. “Sorry, should the name ring a bell?”

  “He was a lord, dummy. Don’t you find that interesting? Anyway, there’s more. But let me start at the beginning. Being the curious but adorable person that I am, I did some digging around and Lord Charlie’s father, Lord Theophilus Hawesworth—who the hell calls their child Theophilus—owned a bunch of textile mills in the Midlands. On the research, he is listed as an industrialist, philanthropist and social reformer. Oh, yeah, and did I mention that he made his fortune exploiting the working classes in Victorian sweatshops, making quality cloth for the upper-monied classes? Philanthropist, my arse. Charlie was his youngest of three.”

  “Very interesting. Is there a point to all this?”

  “Oh, it gets better. Lord Charlie became an architect and drew up the plans for the house, his own pet project, by the sound of things. Died of tuberculosis in 1897 at the ripe old age of forty-seven, poor sod. And guess who he left the place to?”

  “Queen Victoria?”

  “Ha ha. No, he left the place to one Harold Hampton Day. Your great, great grandfather.”
r />   This piece of news caught Leonard’s attention.

  “Why?”

  “How the hell should I know? Give him a ring and ask him. After that, the property remained in your family.”

  “Give me that,” said Leonard, snatching the envelope from Kieran.

  “And that, Mr Day, is why you pay me the big bucks. So are you at least going to show me a photo of this hottie of yours?”

  The question stalled Leonard. For the first time, he realised he had no photos of Adrian.

  “Actually I don’t have one. But I tell you what. I’ll snap one next weekend, and show you next time I’m back.”

  “The hell you will. You know how to add a photo to a text message. I know you do, I showed you. So send me a copy as soon as you snap one.”

  “You’re a pushy little so-and-so, aren’t you? How does Kennedy stand it?”

  “He’d be lost without me. So would you.”

  Leonard would, too, but said nothing. If Kieran was as much of a fireball in the bedroom as he was in the office, then Kennedy was one lucky—if perennially tired—husband.

  * * * *

  Friday couldn’t come soon enough.

  Even with the hectic distraction of the office, Leonard had gone back alone to his empty house each night. Never before had doing so been an issue. He had resigned himself to the idea of living out his final days alone in the house he’d once shared with Kris.

  Something fundamental had shifted.

  A couple of times that week he had found himself in the office whistling or humming tunelessly along to a song on someone’s playlist, something he had never done before and much to the annoyance of those around him.

  On Monday, Pippa had texted Leonard the home address for Mary Whitby, his cousin. She had no telephone number or email address, so Kennedy used some of his company letter-headed paper and sent her a note asking if she could call or email him