Kingdom

by Andy Tilley

  ‘Oh my Cristian, it’s absolutely beautiful! Have you done this yourself?’

  It was a ridiculous question and we both knew it; real craftsmen had laboured here.

  ‘Oh no, this is well beyond me. Do you like it? The whole of this floor and the upstairs landing has been restored to exactly how it was originally. I don’t know if you remember but this lot used to be paint and paper.’

  I did remember; yellowing gloss wood work and that heavy embossed wall paper that was inevitably snagged and ripped by the slightest of scrapes. But this, this place is truly amazing and to be honest, oozing money.

  ‘But the upstairs rooms and the third floor is more contemporary, more me. Now that part of the design I did have a hand in. Didn’t want the place getting too stuffy and uptight if you know what I mean.’

  ‘But isn’t Hartford Manor a listed building? I mean, aren’t there rules and things that you have to follow?’

  Cristian smiles at me but it isn’t smugness, it’s with genuine, cheeky pride.

  ‘True Rose, yes. But I find that there aren’t many minds that I can’t get to come around to my way of thinking.’

  Somehow during my survey of the entrance hall I’ve managed to turn myself right around until I’m looking up directly into Cristian’s face. I believe him when he says that he can make anyone do anything for him. I can feel myself melting into his dark brown eyes and hoping that he’ll ask me for something just so that I can oblige, no matter what. Without the beard he is as handsome a man as I have ever seen. Have I got my sums right here? The man I am with now has to be older than twenty five. Not because he looks it but because of the wisdom in his face and the perfect confidence of his hair, his nose, his lips. Neither of us have spoken for a moment or two but it doesn’t feel wrong in the slightest to stand here and look at each other. He is looking at me too and I wonder if it’s the spot on my chin that eventually starts the conversation up once more.

  ‘Anyway, I’ve given the staff the night off so if you come with me my Lady, I will show you to where we’ll be dining.’

  My host crooks his elbow and I laugh as I link him. Any other setting and Cristian’s joke about his staff wouldn’t have worked.

  ‘No seriously. I have. Except for James who’s doing the meal. I was going to try and cook for you myself but he wouldn’t have it. Hates anyone messing in his kitchen. Good job too because my food is always too ambitious and always a disaster.’

  Okay, I may be in the presence of serious money here but that doesn’t mean that I have to turn into some dizzy little blonde with nothing to say and that’s three times he’s spoken and I have contributed nothing. It’s time for me to take the initiative and show him that I’ve grown, that I can lead an interesting, intelligent conversation and that Rose ‘bud’ Williams, his childhood pal, has matured into somebody worth getting to know.

  ‘A squirrel jumped on my car and had a heart attack on the way here.’

  It sounded ridiculous but surprisingly he listens intently to my squirrel story. I manage to finish it, with the squirrel dramatically throwing its paws into the air and keeling over just as Cristian pushes a chair into the back of my legs to seat me. The table is huge and filled with glass and silverware. Whilst he lights the candles I ask him what he thinks might have happened.

  ‘You know it’s a strange thing Rose. I’ve been working on this place for what, six months would you say? Anyway, once the main construction crew finished back in September I started to notice things in the woods and on the roof of the house. Birds mainly, or at least to begin with.’

  ‘Really! That is strange. And are you sure they hadn’t been there a while?’

  ‘I did wonder but the three or four I came across were pretty fresh, barely a few days dead I would say. And then the other animals started turning up. There was a dead water rat out by the gate house, miles from the river and one of your squirrel friends that Sally found curled up on my bedroom window sill one morning. If I remember rightly, there…’

  ‘Sally in your bedroom?’

  The curse had struck so much sooner than I had hoped it would. These were private words forced into the public arena by my rising stress at the thought of Sally in my man’s bedroom. The moment I heard them out loud I knew that Sally was a maid or a cleaner too. Cristian had never mentioned this name in text or email or phone call and he certainly would have if she was a feature in his life. The only thing that had been kept from me over the years was his endeavors here at Hartford Manor, his family home but that was a mutually agreed secret if you like, one designed to keep this glorious surprise until the final reveal. I feel terrible that I thought anything else of him and even worse that he knows it but he’s gracious and let’s me off the hook completely.

  ‘Yeah Sally. She was making the room and found the poor thing all stiff and with the weirdest expression, similar to the one you described I guess. I actually kept that animal and took it down to Turners in the village. He had a look at it but couldn’t find anything so we put it down to natural causes.’

  It’s all bit creepy this talk of dying animals and from his rueful look and the way he has started to fiddle with the salt cellar I can see that it isn’t only me that is concerned that our relaxed intimacy is stiffening. I need to find something to change the subject quickly and I scan the room for anything of interest. Unfortunately, what I do find is possibly worse than if I had rummaged through the side board and came across a dead horse. It’s a picture, sat on the mantle piece to my left. It’s a photograph of Cristian’s mother and it reminds me of the forgotten horror that happened in this building almost ten years ago to the day.

  Chapter 3

  Initially, I‘m glad to see that my mum is still up when I get home but her puzzled expression reminds me that the clock has barely ticked through eleven and I am well early considering both our expectations.

  ‘I know, I know. But it isn’t what you think and honestly, we had a lovely time mum. And I couldn’t believe what he’s done to the place. Honest mum, you wouldn’t recognize it.’

  Mum’s are no different to girl friends when it comes to gossip, especially if it’s romantic in nature and there’s no way that she’s going to be deflected by my attempt to smuggle away the gritty details of her daughter’s love life and replace them with a discussion about period renovation. Her face is still a little unsettled.

  ‘Honest mum, it went fine! And if you must know we’re meeting up again tomorrow. Cristian’s taking me hunting so you can take that look off your face and do us both a brew like a good mummy should.’

  I’m not being rude and she knows this role play well enough to curtsey as she backs away into the kitchen mumbling ‘yes m’lady’. I kick my shoes off and throw my shawl over the banister but I’m barely settled in the lounge when the fishing starts.

  ‘But you are back early love. Any particular reason?’

  The truth of it isn’t to be shouted through the house so I don’t reply, pass the time finishing my text to Ruby (who is suspiciously quiet and must be up to no good with her bloke) whilst I wait for mum to come into the room. She has biscuits, drinks and a huge quilt that she throws over us both as she joins me on the settee. I raise my knees, snuggle up and wait until the first slurp of hot sweet tea has been taken before beginning my story. I tell her everything; how handsome he is, how relaxed we were together and how lovely the house is. I tell her about the squirrel and about how he has Sally to tidy and James to cook. Finally I get to the explanation of why I‘m home so early.

  ‘It was just seeing his mum’s picture like that. It knocked the wind out of me. I couldn’t stop looking at it for the rest of the meal and although he didn’t mention anything I’m pretty sure he knew what I was thinking. The way I saw it, better to make some excuse and leave early rather than to let, oh I don’t know, some awkwardness develop between us, ‘specially as we’ve only just really met each other again after such a long time. So do you think I did the right thing mum?’


  Mum nods and agrees but I can feel her feet fidgeting under the blanket and her breathing occasionally deepens until it sounds like an almost sigh.

  ‘What is it mum? Do you think I should have said something? Maybe asked about her and fronted it out?’

  ‘Oh no love, definitely not! And anyway, I’m not sure what you could of said are you? I mean it isn’t an easy subject to talk about under any circumstance, never mind over a romantic dinner and you were only a kid when it happened.’

  Mum shuffles her bum and sits up a little more so that she is looking at me straight in the eyes.

  ‘What do you remember about Dawn Chevalier anyway?’

  She was something that I had thought about quite a bit during the drive home (in equal measure with planning Cristian’s future and watching the road) but I hadn’t found many memories at all of Mrs Chevalier. I had been only six or seven when my mum had worked at the manor. She took the job when dad left home and from what I remember of seeing the two women together they soon had developed a kind of friendship, at least something beyond simply boss and employee. That’s why I was always so welcome I guess and I used to love going to work with mum although not so much on school days when my plans for fun would be anchored by a bag full of homework. Saturdays were the best. That’s when Cristian and I would have pretty much the whole day outside together to chase and play in the grounds and being outside all the time was probably the reason why I didn’t have much to say about the man and the lady who actually owned that kid’s paradise.

  ‘I don’t recall much really when I think about it. She was quite plump I remember, but very pretty too. Oh but not as pretty as you mum!’

  I am amazed that I haven’t earned a smile for this.

  ‘And when she died, do you remember that?’

  I shrug my shoulders to let here know that I didn’t, not directly anyway. I did remember being so very sad that my mum lost her job and that the boy I was in love with was taken from me without even a chance to say goodbye or pinch his nose one more time. Kids are selfish like that so I’m not beating myself up about it. I get the feeling too that my mum’s intensity isn’t disappointment that her daughter has a complete lack of awareness about another’s personal tragedy either; it’s tells me that the success of my date with Cristian has triggered a conversation that she has hoped would never have to be held. She makes her decision, twists around and grabs my laptop from the side table, opens it up and turns the screen and keypad toward me.

  ‘Google Cristian Chevalier.’

  I’ve never been out with anyone who I could seriously consider Googling before and excitement buzzes through me. I suppose that even if I had Googled my ex-boyfriend I’m pretty sure I would have received at most two or three relevant hits (all about his car accident which did make the local rag) and certainly nothing approaching the three hundred and seventy two articles that are listed for Cristian. Taking a quick scan of the first page of hits doesn’t tell me much that I didn’t already know; that Cristian, in spite of his years, has become one of the most successful business men in the country and has the earning power of a captain of industry three times his age and experience. The latest article, taken from the Financial Times newspaper, describes him as a phenomena and recommends no less than seven of the nine companies which he owns or directs, for investment.

  ‘Okay mum so we know Cristian has done amazingly well but what am I looking for exactly?’

  ‘Go to page six, about halfway down it should be.’

  I’m puzzled with my mum’s assuredness of where I need to navigate too. How often has she done this and more to the point, why the hell would she? I realize that I’m not actually doing as she has instructed, just wondering at her when she raises her eyebrows to urge me on. And there it is.

  Does Tragedy Make the Man?

  My mouth is drying quickly and making it hard to finish my cookie so as I wait for the article to load I drink my tea, peeking over the rim of the cup at mum who is watching my face, searching for any early warning of an emotion with such weight that she may need to step in and support me. Her readiness to act is reassuring but scaring me a little too, making me wonder if I really want to know what the page building in front of me has to say about Cristian’s past. That same expression also tells me that these are things that I must know if I am to be part of Cristian’s future so I begin to read. I do this silently to begin with, the first two paragraphs setting the scene, introducing Cristian and adding nothing to what I already know but as the story reveals its dark heart I repeat the words out loud so that my mum can validate with sad tutts and reassuring hand squeezes that this terrible tale actually happened at Harford Manor in a room not far from where I had dined less than an hour ago.

  ‘Cristian Chevalier, the boy, had a mouth crammed full with silver spoons. His father, Thomas Chevalier, had made his fortune in a series of fabulously successful land and property deals, one of which would yield the magnificent Hartford Manor; the Cheshire country pile that the Chevaliers called home. It was here that Cristian grew up. Horses in the meadow, dinghies on the lake, private tutors and maids ensured that..hey mum, that’s you isn’t it?’

  Mum snorted and spat a little tea onto the duvet.

  ‘No you cheeky thing! I wasn’t a maid! I did a bit of cleaning that’s all. And to be honest, Dawn wasn’t big on the idea of servants and those so-called maids were nothing more than occasional helpers. I don’t think any of them actually stayed over, except Cristian’s nanny but she left soon after I started there.’

  Under my breath I whisper ‘yes m’lady’ and ignore her playful slap, concentrate instead on picking up the thread of the story to continue reading.

  ‘But as is often shown to be the case, fame and fortune are no guarantee of happiness and Cristian’s idyllic life was to be mercilessly taken from him shortly after his fifteenth birthday by an event that would make the most hardened horror fan cringe. It should have been such a happy time too; Christine Lucy Chevalier arriving in the world shortly after midday on the 19th August 2000. Hey mum, I didn’t know he had a sister!’

  ‘He did love, briefly. Best read on eh?’

  Briefly? I restart, backing up a bit to be sure that nothing is missed.

  ‘…..arriving in the world shortly after midday on the 19th August 2000. Having left nurse and mother to clean the baby, Tomas Chevalier and Doctor Jeremy Ernest Hill were already in the library drinking brandy when the first scream was heard. Hill later was to testify that he entered the room some moments after Chevalier having been knocked down by the fleeing nurse who he then stopped on the stairs and attempted to console. When he eventually did enter the bedroom the scene before him was described at the inquest as one of complete and bloody mayhem. Christine Chevalier, wrapped tightly in a blood soaked towel, was lying motionless across her mother’s belly.’

  I have to stop. I’ve seen the next few words. I already know what they say but that doesn’t make it any easier to release them from the page because there they can do no harm. This is Cristian’s life! This is the tragic death of his baby sister barely ten minutes old. Surely the fact that she is dead and buried is all that we’re required to bring with us. Why the hell shouldn’t the rest of it be left in the past where it belongs? What right do these next few disgusting words have to pollute my present? This is one reason why I hate the man who wrote them, for recording so clinically something that the man I am falling in love with so desperately needs to forget. The other reason I hate him is his ‘matter of fact’ description of baby Christine; innocent and impossible to resist.

  ‘A small, silver crucifix had been stabbed into each of her eyes…oh jesus mum, is all this for real?’

  I’ve read enough and mum knows it. She pushes gently on the laptop lid and closes it to a click.