Thick and Fast

by Tommy Dakar

the new rules if that was what the master preferred.

  We are creatures of habit, and change is not something we welcome. A memorised routine is comfortable and enables us to switch over to automatic pilot, thereby liberating the mind from the boredom of actually having to think about the task in hand. Still we accept that change happens, is a part of life’s evolution, is inevitable. Adapting to the new master would be difficult, or as Joe Stein put it, challenging. But adapt they would. If they all pulled together, if they avoided silly mistakes, avoided confrontation with Mr. Paulson, if they hung close to Andrea and Sydney, then the storm would pass. Eventually the new ways would solidify into routine, and become as dearly loved and defended as their previous version.

  During the week the place ticked over much as it always had, as Harvey was gone nearly all day, only returning late in the evening. Breakfast and supper was all he required, and as he was a man of fixed customs, his needs were easily attended to. Saturday was usually tolerable too, as it was used for sport, or travel, or visiting friends. But Sundays, long weekends, or seasonal holidays became increasingly indigestible.

  Then he would stroll around the house and the grounds like an overseer, like an insufferable, overcritical supervisor doing his rounds. At first he had made the mistake of allowing Andrea to accompany him on these tours, but he had soon realised that she was far too soft for managerial responsibilities. She treated the staff almost as if they were a group of volunteers that should be thanked for their efforts despite the mediocre results. Encouragement rather than punishment. She greeted them all with a smile and a genuine concern for their well-being, and appeared to accept any feeble excuse as a matter of course, as if further inquiry would be considered rude, or a lack of faith in their capabilities. So before setting off on his tour of the grounds Harvey would shake her off with some excuse or other and take on the windmills on his own.

  His favourite target was Ambrose, because Ambrose Ork was an easy prey. When Harvey had cornered Joe Stein, and started to pile up the work on him, there had been a tacit negotiation taking place. Harvey would push as far as he could, Stein would resist as far as he could. If either one of them overstepped the mark, then Joe Stein would be forced to leave, which was in neither party’s interest. Joe Stein was a necessary part of Haute House, and substituting him would be both difficult and impractical. The same applied to Señora Luz, who was virtually irreplaceable. Luckily she knew that, and in silence, but with elegant firmness, drew her lines. Mr. Paulson respected these limits, because he believed that everybody should mark their territory, should state clearly and honestly what they are prepared to accept, and what is simply nonnegotiable. Brendan too had made it clear that Haute House was not the only large house in the district willing to hire his by now legendry skills. So the inventory fell back little by little to its original three monthly routine, Brendan filled out his forms from memory in under five minutes, Stein collected them and handed them over to Harvey, who threw them in the bin. Petunia Ork managed to keep a low profile, and successfully avoided the new master by sticking to the kitchens and the nursery. She knew when he was approaching, and so slipped off. On the odd occasion that he sought her out and made it clear who was the new boss, she simply nodded and agreed to everything he suggested or demanded. Later she went about as always, heedless of his words. If that’s what he wants to hear, she told her brother. Just steer clear of him and avoid head on clashes, he just wants to be the king of the castle, that’s all, he’s no more than a bloody big kid. Just say yes, ok?

  Ambrose followed her advice to the letter. He let Harvey walk all over him without the slightest trace of self defence or rebellion. He would carry out his new master’s instructions to the best of his abilities, then patiently wait around while Harvey told him how badly he had done this or that, what a fool he was, how he had better watch his step and do better in the future. Or else. As Ambrose didn’t put up even a token resistance, Mr. Paulson could not help but be cruel. Here was a man who would obey his every command and take any abuse without so much as a murmur of complaint. In short, an idiot. And idiots get what they deserve.

  In Ambrose’s presence Harvey became malicious and psychologically sadistic. He had the illogical sensation that Ambrose deliberately chose to be slow off the mark just to annoy people like Harvey. His weakness was infuriating, and the further Ambrose withdrew, the further Harvey advanced, hunting him down, persecuting him. The more Ambrose ceded, the more Harvey demanded of him, as if his superiority grew proportionately to Ambrose’s inferiority. Mr. Paulson was the cutting edge of evolution, a creature designed for competence and success. Mr. Ork was a throwback, a failed specimen, and therefore totally superfluous to any notion of progress. So he would send him on mindless errands, setting him tasks that were absurd and designed only to ridicule, to underline Ambrose’s lack of criteria, his pitiful submission. He would wait until Ambrose had finished for the day before ordering him to clean out the rubbish bins. He would catch him just about to leave the premises on his day off, and make him clean up all the dog shit he could find in the grounds, supplying him with a stick and a plastic bag. One day he made him strip the storeroom of its contents and fittings, only to change his mind and say that he now wanted everything back to its original form. He appeared to be intent on driving Ambrose to his limit, to the breaking point where the man would eventually have to say no, enough is enough, I can go no further.

  It was the very same Harvey who was so respectful towards his parents and peers, so socially adept and correct, who now took secret pleasure in torturing Ambrose, in making him writhe. He was like a domineering father, who beats his wife and terrorises his children because he can, but who stands in awe of a uniform, a rule book, the scent of wealth. And Ambrose was like that man’s wife or child, unable to resist, unsure even if it was his place to resist. Mr. Paulson was the boss. Joe Stein and Pet had warned him to avoid confrontation. So he just got on with whatever he had to do, limiting himself to private complaints, or out of earshot grumbles, and the consolation of being able to rant to his heart’s content to his sister and the rest of the staff.

  It was something they all took part in, a purging they all enjoyed. Their insults and interjections were interchangeable, only varying in the amount of swear words employed. The overwhelming verdict was that Harvey had tricked his way into Andrea’s heart and into their world, leading them to believe he was ‘nice enough’ when really he was a scheming, megalomaniacal bastard.

  ‘Thinks he’s the fucking Lord of the Manor!’

  ‘I hate the way he follows me about.’

  ‘What I can’t understand is how she doesn’t notice what he’s really like. How can she be so blind?’

  ‘She does, she does, but it’s too late now, isn’t it?’

  ‘Maybe there’s another side to her that we don’t know.’

  ‘He gives me the fucking creeps. There’s something in his eye...’

  ‘Poor kid, that’s what I say. Poor little kid.’

  ‘And he’s got it in for Bro.’

  ‘He’s got it in for the lot of us.’

  ‘Why oh why did she have to go and marry a bastard like that?’

  ‘Give me Sydney any day, he was a gentleman.’

  ‘She’d turn in her grave.’

  ‘He’ll be the end of us. ‘

  ‘Fucking bastard.’

  It was then very hard for Pet not to say ‘I told you so’. But even if she had they would probably have forgotten her words by now and swear that she had never warned them at all. So she just joined in with the general abuse.

  Andrea watched as Harvey strutted about the place on his day off. His attitude amused her. He was so incapable of separating work from leisure, tried so hard to run the place as if it were a busy city office, would spend ages following the staff around to make sure they completed their allotted tasks well and on time. But it was like driving into a brick wall. Nothing he said or did seemed to make the slightest difference, and she assumed
that one day he would realise that and relax a little. In the meantime she was grateful for his interest in the running of the place; it was a weight off her mind.

  Anyway it was nothing compared to her real concern. Harvey and little Sydney did not appear to hit it off. At first that had been natural enough; they were strangers. Still she had hoped that over the months a bond would grow between them, something approaching a father and son relationship, albeit it in a watered down fashion. But so far neither of them had made any progress whatsoever. The little boy, understanding in his own way that he was not welcome in Harvey’s presence, simply acted as if his step-father did not exist. Which the astute Harvey then used to his favour, claiming that the child totally ignored him. That Harvey was responsible for the stand-off was blatantly apparent, but he took refuge in his man’s world, in his professional career, in his lack of experience in child rearing. He begged Andrea for comprehension, and received it. These things can’t be forced. Time would put everything in its place, he argued, so more time, please. There was little she could do, so she acceded. As long as he promised to make an effort, when he could, if he could. Anything would do. A small toy every so often, a walk