“You’re not in it!” Alejandro peered closely at the screen and Joe had the distinct feeling his verdict might be a scathing one. “That’s a very expensive haircut. It’s the haircut of a woman who gets what she wants!”
“You can say that again.” Joe scrubbed at his own hair, short but with a decided flop at the front. It certainly wasn’t expensive. And a source of irritation for Wendy. “I took the photo, that’s why I’m not in it. In fact, not sure I’m in any. I did definitely go out for Wendy’s birthday, even though there’s no photographic evidence!”
“Did you have a nice evening?” Alejandro strolled from the room, beckoning Joe to follow him. “What did you all get up to?”
It was wonderful. But Joe couldn’t possibly say.
“Erm…off out, a few drinks. It was a bit dull. When they weren’t boring on talking shop, they were pestering me about who I’d be working with next. And not only did I not know, I wouldn’t have been able to tell them even if I had.”
“It sounds tedious.” Alejandro paused at the top of the stairs, fixing Joe with his dark gaze again. “I need to change, then I have some things to do up here so I’d appreciate it if you’d keep yourself occupied? I’m sure we’ll bump into each other again, Sergeant, since you insist on being in my house. Love to Wendy, be sure to pass it on!”
With that he swept through a doorway and closed the door with a bang, leaving Joe alone on the landing.
Chapter Four
CPO work was, most of the time, not very exciting. Joe patrolled the house, discovering a room full of costumes and makeup, wigs and masks and God knows what, as well as the sort of rooms that ordinary people had. A kitchen, a very tidy utility room, and Joe now remembered how tedious the job could be. Although not quite as tedious as being off work ill for so long.
But the house felt like a home in a way that his never did, and Alejandro had only been in it a month. There were scarves and brightly embroidered Spanish shawls, elaborate ornaments and eye-popping paintings on every surface. As welcoming as it could’ve been, ignored by his resentful principal, Joe was in for a trying time indeed
But nowhere near as trying as Alejandro’s friends, the cackling, chattering group that poured into the house that evening and created more noise than seemed possible for half a dozen people. Alejandro sat at the heart of them like a young emperor, the king at his court, and Joe was more than happy to leave the lot of them to it.
That night, he slept clutching Paloma’s rose under the pillow and he woke up the next day with it still in his hand. Over breakfast, he looked through Alejandro’s Instagram account. He noticed some drag queens among the photos, and it occurred to Joe, as he thought of the rose lying hidden away, that maybe…maybe by some miracle, Alejandro might know Paloma.
But so what if he did? Joe couldn’t say anything. He couldn’t show Alejandro photos of Wendy one minute then ask him about the beautiful Paloma the next. And besides, everyone thought Joe was straight. He’d done his best over the years to hide the fact that he was gay, and he had to be careful because even sleeping in that ridiculously camp bedroom, he couldn’t allow his guard to slip.
Joe stood by the window of the front room, hiding just inside the curtains to watch the street outside. He made a mental note of everyone who came by and the cars that passed. And he’d do it again tomorrow too, because if the troll tried to come, Joe would be ready.
“You’re still here?” How long had Alejandro been watching from the doorway, a half-eaten apple clutched in one hand? He sighed and said, “I’m losing my touch. Have you eaten?”
Joe watched a cyclist puff along the road with a line of annoyed drivers behind. Now that was trolling. He let the edge of the curtain drop. “Yes, I’m still here. And my suit, too. I had some breakfast. I made myself some toast.”
“You should change, Sergeant. We’re going out to my studio for a makeup day and things might get messy!” He took a bite of his apple. “Zak’s coming over later and wants to see my monsters from the id, so there’s going to be paint and glue everywhere!”
This really is like babysitting.
“Well…I do have to try to blend in sometimes. I can’t always annoy you in my undertaker costume.” Joe grinned at Alejandro. “Do jeans pass master, Mr Fuente?”
“If they’re good jeans.” Alejandro nodded down at his own denim-clad legs, which he had paired with leopard print baseball boots and a fitted shirt in vivid blue tartan. “And not if you’re going to wear a shirt and tie with them.”
For someone so full of fashion advice, he certainly had a unique take on style.
“So what look is your look, Alejandro?” Joe began to unfasten his tie. “I’ve got classic 501s, if you must know.”
“This look is pure House of Fuente.” He grinned. “And I made this shirt myself, actually!”
Just like Paloma and her gothic gown, Joe thought, then told himself not to think it. What good would it do?
“So if I should get a tear in my suit saving your life from your personal troll, you’ll sew it up for me?” Joe could predict the answer.
“I’ll throw it on a bonfire and we’ll dance round it before I take you to a proper tailor.” Alejandro pointed to the ceiling. “Now change, Sergeant, my model will be waiting!”
Joe heeded his orders and went upstairs. He carefully hung up his suit, feeling rather sorry for the garment which had waited patiently in his wardrobe for the length of his sick leave but was not exactly popular with Alejandro. Once he was dressed, Joe lifted the corner of his pillow for a quick glance of the silk rose underneath it, then headed downstairs in his jeans, with a vintage leather jacket over his open-necked shirt.
Alejandro was perched on the arm of his enormous sofa, chatting amiably into his mobile. At the sight of Joe, he said quickly, “I have to go, Mel, see you in not many minutes!” Then he hopped up from his perch and looked Joe up and down. Literally up and down, with no effort to conceal it. Finally, he said, “I need that jacket.”
“So do I, or I’ll get cold!” Joe shoved his hands into his pockets. Now imagine that, something in his wardrobe that Alejandro actually liked. And it was the jacket Alejandro was interested in, of course. Unless looking him up and down was an attempt to wind him up.
Alejandro pouted as he strolled out into the hallway, took a coat from behind the door and pulled it on. It was a long frockcoat of dark purple with a black velvet collar that had just a touch of shimmer, a sprinkle of glitter almost. As he fastened the silver buttons, Alejandro said, “I’m sure you’ve read all about my little studio in Camden? Zak’s going to confirm the filming dates for his short this week and I’m in charge of makeup, so today you and me and lovely Melanie are going into the studio to turn Zak’s dreams into scary reality!”
“The studio was in your file. But not Melanie.” Joe looked Alejandro in the eye. “I’m sorry, but my colleagues will have to look into her background.”
“Well, absolutely you must.” Alejandro went to open the front door then paused and stepped back. Had he actually listened? Is he waiting for me to open the door? “If it helps you find her in your files, her dad’s the Earl of Southampton. Door, Sergeant, if you would.”
Joe tried not to roll his eyes as he opened the front door a small way and glanced outside. “How do you get to the studio?”
“Walk?” Alejandro’s voice was hopeful. “It’s a lovely walk over the heath on a day like this.”
Joe closed the door. “I have to advise you against that. We’ll go by car. I just need to make a phone call and it’s here.”
“But it’s sunny.” He pouted, a pout all too familiar from the Duchess of Albany. “It’s a lovely day!”
“A sunny autumn day, and the leaves are all orange, but…” Joe rapped his knuckles against his chest. “I’m wearing body armour under this, you know. If we walk and someone tries to shoot you, I’ll have you on the floor underneath me in a second. If we’re in the car, we’ll be safer. Not one hundred percent safe, I c
an’t ever promise you that, but…”
Alejandro looked down at his phone, his face set in a scowl. He was going to explode, Joe suspected. It was like waiting for a firework to go off in the middle of a crowd.
Then he swept his finger across the screen and began to read.
“Is that really the best they’ve got?” He glanced up at Joe and there was no anger there now, just fear. “Spending British money on a queer little cunt who’s polluting our royal blood. I’ll enjoy spilling some of it, his too if he likes.”
A spike of fear shot up Joe’s back. He covered the phone with his hand, as if it could contain the malice in that comment. “Oh, that’s nice, a threat against me as well. And an insult too. Do you see now? I’m sorry, because I wouldn’t mind a walk over the heath either, but…we can’t. Six months ago, I didn’t think I’d get to see autumn again, you know. I thought I’d never rustle through the leaves again. But it can wait. Next year, even. Maybe even next week, if this wimp’s collared soon. I’ll get the car and driver now.”
“You have people who are tracing these comments, don’t you?” The bravado was gone now, Alejandro’s voice suddenly quieter. “They are really looking for Leviticus?”
“Yes, I promise you they are. I’ve gone through your file, remember? They’ll find them.” Joe wasn’t sure that he could tell Alejandro the truth, that Leviticus was adept at covering their tracks. But they’d slip up eventually. Because Joe knew from experience that that much hate couldn’t exist without a sizable dollop of stupidity.
“I haven’t polluted anything.” Alejandro sank down onto the stairs, shaking his head. “I didn’t ask my mother to marry a fucking English prince, did I? Oh right, at fourteen I really wanted to be taken away from home and put into Eton, to have the world staring at me, calling Mamá a gold-digger, a foreign tart, all that racist rubbish they said about her behind their hands. Oh, isn’t it nice to have some ethnic blood in the royal family? Look at her olive skin, all exotic and mysterious. So fucking patronising! She makes the prince happy, he deserves someone who’ll love him. Do you know how I escaped from that school the second time, why they didn’t dare send me back? Do you?”
Joe crouched down on the floor in front of Alejandro. “No, you haven’t polluted anything. Don’t take this crap to heart, please. I know that’s easily said, but… And I know you don’t want me getting under your feet, I know none of this is ideal. I can’t imagine how hard it’s been for you.” Joe tipped his head to one side. “What did you do at Eton? Your mother never said.”
“The first time I just ran away. I may have stolen a teacher’s car to run away in, but I did leave a note under the wiper saying sorry and some money for petrol.” Alejandro peered up at Joe, then lowered his gaze again. “They’re not all very nice boys at Eton, especially to someone like me—they could be brutal. So the second time, when they were hammering on my study door and trying to get in, I…” He brushed his hand through his hair. “I sort of, well, jumped out of the window. It seemed the safer choice and I was so panicky that I forgot I was two floors up.”
“Two floors up?” Joe patted Alejandro’s knee. He’d never heard that particular detail, and wasn’t surprised that the duchess hadn’t mentioned it. Her son could’ve died. And after his father’s death… He shook his head. “That’s horrendous. I’m not surprised you ran off.”
“They were savage. They plastered my door in pictures of Mamá from her films because, apparently, the fact that she did nude scenes made her a whore. As though it was cheap porn! So I came back to my room and there’s photos of my mother, naked, all over my door.” He took a deep breath and pushed his phone into his pocket. “And right in the middle, a report on Papá’s death. And you know, nobody in my stepfather’s family has ever treated me like that. They own this fucking country and they’re still not as entitled and hateful as a bunch of nasty little rich schoolboys!”
“I think some of them must be working with Wendy now!” Joe attempted a smile. He’d been bullied a couple of times by boys smaller than him, who’d run off crying once Joe had said, ‘Okay, then, let’s wrestle!’ Or that he’d used that same ability to instil fear in bullies to frighten them off from the boys who weren’t as able to defend themselves. “Your stepfamily are a nice bunch to work for. I’m sorry you went through that. So, so sorry. But we’re not letting this troll win. You can go to your studio, I’m not suggesting you stay trapped in the house, but for now, you go in a car. No need to steal someone’s motor or jump out of a window two storeys up now.”
Alejandro blinked, then reached out and patted Joe’s shoulder. “Call our car, Sergeant. Let’s travel in style today.”
* * * *
Bulletproof cars presumably didn’t head to this bit of London all that often. Joe got out of the car first and scoped the area, then leaned down to Alejandro’s window. “It looks safe, but I’ll go into the studio first and check. Okay?”
“Don’t touch anything,” Alejandro warned, handing over a key. “The alarm code is 1234, but I bet you’re going to make me change it, right?”
“Yes, but not to 1812.” Joe gave him a wink. It wasn’t just the alarm code that needed to be changed, but the locks, too. Why hadn’t the other officers on this case done anything, or had Alejandro only come here after slipping his leash? Joe opened up and went inside, pressing his back against the wall. A train rattled overhead and Joe scanned the room, which had been fitted under the railway arches. The high, curved ceiling and the lack of windows other than at the front gave it the feeling of a cave. A magic sort of cave, it was like the room full of costumes that Joe had stumbled into yesterday but with even more costumes, and props, and monster heads in papier mâché and rubber.
This certainly wasn’t what he’d had in mind when he’d been selected for royal CPO duty. This was far from a palace or a Scottish shooting lodge.
Joe listened out for footsteps or anything moving, but apart from the rumble of another train, he heard nothing. He stepped carefully around the room. There were far too many places for someone to hide, but they would’ve had to have had an accomplice fasten the padlock on the outside, which didn’t seem likely. But Joe wasn’t going to leave that to chance.
After a few minutes, he returned to the door and beckoned towards Alejandro. “All clear. Come on in.”
Addressing the driver, he pointed to his watch, then made the international sign for ‘I’ll give you a ring’.
Alejandro climbed from the car and waved farewell to the driver. There was no look of annoyed scorn on his face for now, just a faint grin as he stepped into his chaotic wonderland of a studio.
“Home at last!” He beamed, closing the door. He gestured to a vast pair of feathered angel wings that were mounted on the wall. “Just your typical, subtle, understated sort of workplace.”
“I can safely say I’ve never been anywhere like this before. Well, apart from when your mum was launching that theatre charity appeal. We went backstage.” Joe tried to stay alert, but the studio was far too distracting. “I mean, your mother. Sorry. Her Grace.”
“She’s Mamá, you don’t have to call her anything special.” Alejandro took off his coat and threw it onto a hook behind the door. “I spent so long doing editorial makeup in New York, I thought I would go mad! Then I got the job with Cirque du Vegas and it was wild. They wanted unicorns, angels, devils, carnival. No more miserable models and nude tones, just Ken Russell on speed in a wind tunnel, riding the horses of the apocalypse. I’ve got so many offers for next year and Cirque du Vegas are coming to London too, but I have to do Zak’s film first. I promised.” He pointed to a glossy coffee table book that was sitting on a workbench. “That’s the Cirque du Vegas book, if you get bored, have a look. I’m so proud of that work.”
“Thanks. It sounds interesting.” And completely bizarre, but Joe wasn’t going to judge. He’d seen some of the films made by Alejandro’s father and starring his mother, and there was no way that Alejandro’s work could be ordinary.
He picked up the book and turned to a page at random, finding himself face to face with a creature that looked as if it came from the Island of Dr Moreau.
“Let’s have some music and a cup of tea.” Tea? But Alejandro was set on playing the host and was already heading to a corner with a rudimentary kitchen. Or at least the place where a kettle and the world’s smallest microwave teetered dangerously on top of a small fridge, next to a stainless-steel sink. “What bands do you like?”
“Guitar stuff, really. Blur, Manics, that sort of thing. Bit of hip-hop.” Joe wasn’t about to mention that he’d sobbed listening to Maria Callas sing arias from The Marriage of Figaro.
“I knew you’d say Beyoncé!” Alejandro pressed his phone screen and music filled the room. “The patron saint of fierce. When I read comments like the one this morning, I ask, what would Beyoncé do?” He offered Joe a wink. “She would slay, Sergeant Joe, and so will I!”
Before Joe could advise that slaying was never the answer, he heard a sprightly greeting.
“Knock, knock!”
“Melanie!” Alejandro pressed the switch on the kettle. “Frisk her, Sergeant, pat her down, then do me next!”
The truncheon and helmets jokes surely weren’t far behind.
Joe headed to the doorway, where their new arrival stood. Melanie, daughter of an earl, long chestnut brown hair tied onto the top of her head in a messy bobble, vape disappearing into her the pocket of her denim jacket.
“Lady Melanie?” Joe beckoned her inside, then shut and bolted the door behind her.
“Where were you last night?” Alejandro called in a comically admonishing tone. “There was a Melanie-sized gap in my movie night. It was like champagne with no fizz!”
“Sorry! I wore myself out at Pilates. I know, Pilates, right? But I was totally knackered, and had a nap, and next thing I knew, it was gone eleven o’clock!” Melanie laughed, that slightly husky, posh laugh that Joe heard rather often in his line of work. She looked over at Joe, then squealed. “Oh-my-god! Oh-my-god! New boyf, right? New boyf!”
The Reluctant Royal Page 5