Decorated to Death

by Dean James

  “Hello there!” A voice called. “Are ya there, Mr. Kayjay? It’s me, Vi Glubb.”

  Giles made it into the hall to greet Violet ahead of me. I found her beaming up at Giles with the same kind of entranced look he had received from Cliff Weatherstone last night. Upon sight of me, however, she transferred that adoring gaze to Yours Truly.

  Maybe Violet couldn’t help it and anything male in pants got the same treatment. Hoping I wasn’t going to regret hiring her, I said, “Welcome back to Laurel Cottage, Vi, and good Tuesday morning to you. Ready to start whipping the place into shape?”

  “Go on with you, Mr. Kayjay,” she said, giggling. I winced. “I don’t expect as I’ll be having all that much to do, for you looks like a proper tidy gentleman. Not like some, I could tell you.”

  I decided I’d better forestall her before she did tell me all about the Cholmondley-Peases, and at great length. “Nevertheless, Vi, I’m sure the place could use a good and thorough cleaning. Every room except my office, that is. I’d prefer not to have anything done in there. Giles and I between us will see that it’s kept tidy.” I smiled. “As tidy, that is, as it can ever be.”

  Violet giggled again. “Whatever you say, Mr. Kayjay, whatever you say. Now, has you had your lunch yet? You want I should make something up for you? And you too, Sir G.?”

  “No, thank you, Vi,” I said, hastily. “I’m a light eater, and I don’t require anything for lunch.”

  “Go on, Mr. Kayjay, a big man like you must have quite an appetite.” She giggled again and actually batted her eyelashes at me. I wondered what kind of appetite she was referring to, but I decided I had better pretend ignorance.

  “A hearty breakfast, Vi,” I said, matching my tone to the words, “that’s the ticket. Sticks to my ribs and lasts me most of the day. No need for much else during the day.”

  “Whatever you say, Mr. Kayjay,” Violet repeated. “What about you, Sir G.?”

  “Thank you for the kind offer, Vi,” Giles said, carefully not looking in my direction, “but I have other plans for lunch today. I’m meeting a friend in the village.”

  From the way Giles was acting, I decided I knew the identity of this friend. Cliff Weatherstone, to be sure. No doubt they had much to discuss about the use of Blitherington Hall for the filming of Harwood’s program.

  And the queen was planning to ask Parliament to abolish the monarchy.

  “Until time for your appointment Giles,” I said sweetly, “perhaps you wouldn’t mind focusing on the job I pay you rather handsomely to perform?” I ignored his expression of outrage and turned to Violet. “I just realized, Vi, that you are quite a bit early today. I thought we had agreed upon afternoons, had we not?”

  Giles stomped off while Violet glanced uncertainly back and forth between us. “Sorry, sir,” she said, more subdued than I had yet seen her. “I can go and come back later, if that’s what you’d like. But I thought, this being my first day and all, I might come a bit early and give everything a good going over.”

  “That’s quite all right,” I assured her. “Have at it, and if you need anything, I’ll be in my office, and Sir G. will be in his.”

  Violet ducked her head and loosed a nervous giggle. “Sure thing, Mr. Kayjay. I’ll be so quiet, you won’t even know as I’m here.”

  So saying, she headed for the kitchen at the back of the cottage, and I went back to my office and sat down behind the desk. I stared at the computer screen. I was now in a foul mood, and trying to write when I’m like this is impossible.

  I roused from my unprofitable thoughts when I heard the sound of a throat being cleared. I looked up.

  Giles stood there, a frown marring his handsome face. “If it’s all the same to you, Simon, I think I might take the rest of the day off. I’ve really nothing very pressing at the moment here, and there are a number of matters I should be attending to at home and in the village. So, with your leave?” He turned to go, as if my acquiescence were a foregone conclusion.

  “Go right ahead,” I said. “I’ll get along just fine without you this afternoon.”

  From the set of his shoulders, I guessed that Giles was doing his best to keep his temper with me. “I’m sure you will, Simon,” he said in an odd tone. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

  The door closed behind him with a distinct “thump” moments later. Well, I thought, that was certainly odd. What had gotten into him?

  I mulled it over for a moment, then grimaced. If Giles thought I was going to make a fuss and insist that he stay here with me the rest of the day, he had been sorely disappointed. If he wanted to play little games with his handsome television producer, he could go right ahead. I had no time for such silliness. I had more than enough work to do, with or without him.

  Back to Marianna and Charles, I decided. I had only a couple of chapters to go, and the latest opus by Daphne Deepwood would be done.

  I worked steadily for another couple of hours, my fingers flying over the keyboard, as I did my best to get Marianna and Charles together by the requisite point. For some reason, however, it just wasn’t working. Finally, I hit the command to save what I had done and powered the computer down in disgust.

  I headed up the stairs to freshen up and change clothes. Perhaps a stroll through the village might lighten my mood. I hadn’t visited the local bookshop for several days, and there might be something new to tempt me there.

  As I reached the head of the stairs, I saw Violet coming out of the bathroom wearing rubber gloves and toting a bucket full of cleaning supplies. She gave a start upon seeing me.

  “Blimey, Mr. Kayjay, you do give a body a surprise, creeping about like a cat.” She clutched one gloved hand over her heart, and her face flushed with a touch of red.

  “Sorry, Vi, didn’t mean to startle you,” I said. She seemed a bit more nervous than the situation warranted, but perhaps she was one of those people who startled easily. “I’ll be going out for a little while, Vi, but I should be back before you’re done here.”

  “Not a problem, Mr. Kayjay,” she assured me, having regained her composure. “I’ll hold down the fort until I’m finished. You want I should answer the phone?”

  “Certainly,” I said. “If someone should call, just jot down the message. There’s a pad and pen by the phone in the kitchen.”

  “Righty-ho,” she said before moving past me and clumping down the stairs. I shook my head at the sound. Graceful she was not.

  I nipped into the bathroom, remembering belatedly that I had never taken my morning pill. I had been so caught up in writing that I had forgotten it until now. Timing isn’t all that critical with the medication, as long as I take a pill every twelve hours or so. Being a few hours late was no biggie, but I shouldn’t go much longer without one.

  The bathroom gleamed with cleanliness, not that it was all that messy before Violet’s ministrations, mind you. Still, I was pleased with her work. I opened the cabinet and reached for the pill bottle. Twisting off the cap, I tilted the bottle and shook a pill out into my hand. I popped the pill into my mouth and swallowed it dry, then replaced the cap and restored the bottle to its place on the shelf.

  In my bedroom I stripped off the slightly disreputable shirt and jogging pants I wear when I write and replaced them with a suit and tie. When I appear in the village, I like to look my best. Besides, I need to keep as much skin covered as possible. The medication helps with the sunlight, but the less flesh I expose to the sun’s rays, the better I feel.

  Collecting hat, gloves, and sunglasses from the table downstairs near the front door, I called to Violet to let her know I was leaving, then let myself out.

  The day was cool and cloudy, a perfect late October day. The village was resplendent in its autumn finery, the trees sporting lovely red and gold. A brisk walk down the lane took me past St. Ethelwold’s Church to what passed for the village High Street, and I paused at the window of the bookshop, The Book Chase, to examine the display.

  I groaned in annoyance. I might hav
e known that the presence of Zeke Harwood in Snupperton Mumsley would bring out the proprietor’s mercenary instincts. Stacks of Harwood’s latest volume of decorating tips crowded the window, and a sign advertised that Zeke Harwood would be signing the book that evening at seven. Trevor Chase, the owner of the shop, had to sell books in order to stay in business, but I deplored the fact that he had to cater to the public in such an obvious way. No doubt the shop would be mobbed.

  I turned away from The Book Chase, my desire to browse the shelves fading away. Instead, I might as well toddle along to the pub and see what might be going on there.

  Snupperton Mumsley’s one pub, the rather prosaically named Hare and Hound, dated from the sixteenth century. What might have been charming, had any of the Elizabethan origins been left untouched, or at least updated with care, was instead modernized into bland and utilitarian. Despite the fact that it lacked any distinction in appearance, it did have a good reputation for its food and drink, and I knew that if Giles were truly lunching somewhere in the village with Cliff Weatherstone, I’d find them here.

  Not, of course, that I was specifically looking for them. But I couldn’t deny a certain curiosity, and as long as I was at loose ends, I might as well see what was going on.

  I paused just inside the door of the pub and removed my hat, gloves, and sunglasses. The lunch crowd had settled in, and there were few seats available. I sauntered up to the bar and ordered a half of mine host’s best dark ale. After paying for it, I picked up the glass and took a sip. I had never developed a liking for ale when I was alive, and being dead hadn’t changed my taste all that much. I couldn’t stand around in the pub drinkless without attracting notice, however, so I usually held on to a glass until I could discreetly tip the contents into one of the sad-looking plants the pub sported as decoration.

  I moved to the end of the bar so that I could see around to the back of the pub where there were several tables, each ensconced in its own little nook with walls that reached nearly to the ceiling. There, in the farthest corner, huddled Giles and Cliff Weatherstone, chatting over their pints and gazing soulfully, no doubt, into each other’s eyes.

  Giles had his back to me, and Weatherstone seemed so intent upon Giles that I doubted he would notice if I moved closer. The table in the alcove next to theirs was vacant, luckily for me, and I made my way to it quickly and quietly. Neither of them paid any attention as I sidled near them, my face averted, and sat down with my back to the wall between my table and theirs. Since I hadn’t ordered anything to eat at the bar, perhaps my luck would hold, and the barmaid would leave me alone long enough for me to hear what was going on at the next table.

  “So why do you keep working for him if he doesn’t appreciate you?” Cliff Weatherstone asked.

  Giles laughed. “He appreciates my work, Cliff. That’s not the problem.”

  “I get you,” Cliff said, sniggering in response. “It’s all professional, and you wish it were more personal. Naughty, Giles, very naughty. It’s not a good idea to mix business with pleasure.”

  “There doesn’t seem to be much danger of that with Simon,” Giles said, his tone sour.

  I itched to pour the contents of my glass over his head. The ungrateful wretch!

  “I swear he’s got a heart of stone,” Giles said, “or else he’s got absolutely no interest in sex.”

  “If he’s managed to keep his hands off you this long,” Cliff said, “he must be dead.”

  Very funny, Cliff, I thought. Little do you know.

  “He’s different, no doubt about that,” Giles said, sighing. “But enough about Simon. Tell me more about your work. It sounds quite glamorous.”

  “Yeah, right,” Cliff snorted. “Glamorous, sure. Most of the time it’s bloody hard work. And I don’t mind telling you putting up with that jerk is enough to drive anyone round the bend. You have no idea what he’s like.”

  “I think I’m beginning to have an idea,” Giles said. “But he seems quite fond of you.”

  “Don’t believe everything you see,” Cliff said. His voice had turned ugly.

  “Sounds like he’s done something pretty nasty to you, then,” Giles said.

  Cliff snorted. “He’s damn lucky I haven’t slipped poison into his tea, I can tell you that!”

  CHAPTER FOUR

  Not a surprise, I thought. So Zeke Harwood’s minions hated him. Big whoop.

  “Heavens, Cliff,” Giles protested mildly. “Whatever has the man done to you?”

  There was a pause, while Cliff took a long draught of whatever he was drinking. I thought for a moment he might shrug off Giles’s question, but then he answered. “The bloody bastard has stuck a knife in my back, that’s what!”

  “What do you mean?” Giles asked.

  “He’s going off to the States, isn’t he, to build on the success of ‘Tres Zeke’ and that one appearance on ‘Oprah,’ and guess who’s not being asked to go along? The ungrateful sod is dumping me, after we’ve worked together so closely for the past three years. He finally decided to tell me this morning.” He made a sound of disgust into his drink. “Never mind how hard I’ve had to work to make him look good and sound good and get the right guests for the show.”

  “When is all this going to take place?”

  “The program we’re going to do here,” Cliff said, “is the last time I’ll work with His Majesty. Then he’s resting for two weeks while he gets ready for the States. When he and his little crew board the plane at Heathrow, Yours Truly will be left behind.”

  “That’s too bad, Cliff,” Giles said in a comforting tone, “but surely someone as talented as you won’t have to look around very long for another job. Everyone will know how successful you’ve been with Harwood.”

  “Oh, probably,” Cliff said, a bit too casually. “But I was looking forward to getting a toe in the door, so to speak, in the States. This could have been my chance to make some connections there.”

  “I’m sure you’ll get your chance,” Giles said. “Besides, if Harwood is a big flop in the States, you wouldn’t want to be a part of that.”

  Cliff laughed heartily. “The sod isn’t going to flop, Giles. You know how the Yanks eat up anything with an English accent, even Zeke bloody Harwood. They’ll lap up the tripe he ladles out, just you wait and see. He’ll be as big as anything on daytime telly there in three months.”

  “Maybe,” Giles said, “but surely even Americans draw the line somewhere.”

  Cliff laughed again. “Have you seen any of their daytime programs? There is nothing too stupid, nothing too salacious, nothing too degrading for daytime television in the States. They’ll eat up our Zeke’s decorating advice with a spoon.”

  “Is he really that good?” Giles asked. “From what little I’ve seen, some of his work is bloody awful.”

  Cliff snorted. “In the beginning, he was good. Before he got famous. These days, all he believes in is all the lovely lolly he sees rolling in. It doesn’t matter much what he does, the ratings keep going up. In fact, the more hideous his work, the more the public seems to love it. And if that cable deal comes through in the States, he’ll get even bigger and more outrageous. He’ll make millions.”

  “Nice work if you can get it,” Giles said, a touch of envy in his voice.

  “Enough of His Majesty,” Cliff said. “I’m bloody sick of him. Let’s talk about something much more interesting. You.”

  I rolled my eyes at that one. How obvious can you get? I thought, Surely Giles wasn’t going to fall for that inane patter, no matter how handsome Cliff was?

  I listened for a few minutes longer, but I found I had no stomach for Cliff’s nauseating form of seduction. If this was what Giles wanted, then he was welcome to it. I slipped out of my alcove and kept my back to them as I walked away, as quietly and unobtrusively as I could.

  Rain clouds had gathered in the sky, making the day considerably darker, so much so that I was able to forego my sunglasses. My mood had darkened along with the sky, and I
stumped homeward in no pleasant frame of mind. A pestilence upon Zeke Harwood and his entourage.

  “There you are, Mr. Kayjay.” Violet’s voice sang out as I shut the front door of Laurel Cottage behind me and began divesting myself of hat and sunglasses. “Ooh,” she said as she came into the hall to stand and watch me, “don’t you look scrumptious in that suit. I do thinks a man looks better in a suit any day, Mr. Kayjay.”

  “Thank you, Vi,” I said, attempting to make my tone as repressive as possible. The last thing I needed was an amorous charwoman. If she kept up this behavior, she would have to find herself another job.

  She sensed my reserve, for I could feel her disappointment and hurt. Perhaps she only meant to be friendly, trying to ingratiate herself with a new employer, but I thought it best to nip any incipient crush in the bud. I didn’t want her becoming too familiar this early in our relationship as employer and employee.

  “From what I can see so far, Vi,” I said, deciding to relent a bit, “you’re doing a bang-up job with the cleaning. I’m very pleased. Laurel Cottage has never looked so clean and bright.”

  She preened at that. “Ta, Mr. Kayjay. I do pride meself on me work.”

  “Quite.” I glanced at my watch. “Are you done for the day?”

  Violet nodded. “I was just about to go, Mr. Kayjay. No phone messages or anything. So, if that’s all, I’ll see you on Friday?”

  “That’s fine, Vi. See you then.”

  She vanished for a moment, then came back with her purse and sweater in hand. “Ta,” she said, as I opened the door for her.

  After closing the door behind her, I went upstairs to change clothes. I might as well work for awhile this afternoon. I hadn’t yet decided whether I would attend Zeke Harwood’s signing at The Book Chase this evening. I had no intention of buying one of his books, but I was quite curious to see what kind of crowd he would draw.

  Most of the time, when I sat down to write, I had little trouble getting on with the task at hand. This afternoon, however, I found myself feeling restless and less able to concentrate. What was bothering me?