Good Manors

by Victoria Blisse

  When I realized it was Harry, I found myself blushing. My cheeks heated as I remembered the scene from the other night.

  “Bloody hell, you two, I can speak, you know.” Graham humphed.

  “Sorry, boss,” the duo said in perfect synchronicity.

  “Well, since you’re here I suppose you can go check the wire fence up at the back there.”

  Graham pointed farther up the gardens, to the bushes.

  “Where is it, behind the shrubbery?”

  “Yes, it marks the back of the property.” He bent down, opened a toolbox and passed me a roll of wire, some red duct tape and wire cutters. “If there’s any gaps block ’em up. If there’s any areas that look weak mark them with the red tape. I’ll assess the damage at a later point and replace anything that needs replacing.”

  “Okay, no problem.” I took the proffered items.

  “Keep following the fence, it goes right around the estate. I don’t imagine you’ll cover all of it today, but you should manage a sizeable amount. Me and Tweedledum and Tweedledee here will work on the internal fences.”

  “Okay, I’ve got to go and see Xander at four, I’m interviewing him. So I’ll bring you your tools back before then.”

  “Make sure you do,” he grumbled then turned his back on me. Clearly Graham hadn’t got the message about being nice to me. I wouldn’t hold Graham against the whole of Mallard Hall, as much as I might enjoy cutting him down to size. I couldn’t risk anything negative in my report. I had to give it a glowing review and appease my guilty conscience.

  “Will you be all right on your own, India?” Jenny shouted up, and Graham shot her a look filled with dagger-sharp insinuation.

  “I’ll be fine, thanks, Jenny.”

  “But Xander says we shouldn’t work on our own, for health and safety.”

  “She’s only looking at the damn fence, it’s not like she’s really doing any proper work.”

  I took a deep breath and clenched my fist. What an obnoxious man.

  “But what if she gets hurt? No, I think I should go with her, boss, to be safe. You don’t really need me here anyway. You were complaining about me two minutes ago.”

  Graham clearly didn’t like that he’d been boxed into a verbal corner, and by a woman no less. I could see his mind whirring. I was almost convinced I could hear it too, the cogs grinding together.

  “Fine, you girlies go off and leave us men to do the real work.”

  Harry didn’t look very impressed.

  “Whatever you say, boss.” Jenny nodded, turned then beckoned to me.

  We walked away from the guys toward where I could only assume we’d find the fence.

  “Sorry about Graham. He’s a bit of a tosser. He’s a very good gardener, though.”

  “No worries.” I was slightly shocked by Jenny’s tone but I tried not to let it show. “I’ve met many men like Graham over the years. It’s not worth letting them get to you.”

  “Too right,” she agreed. “Harry isn’t thrilled to be stuck with him but he didn’t want you going off on your own.”

  “Harry was worried about me?”

  “Yeah.” She nodded. “He knew it wasn’t right to send you off on your own. He’s very strong on health and safety is Harry.”

  “Well, that’s very good of him, I’ll be sure to thank him later.”

  “He told me to volunteer to go with you. He would have done but Graham would have teased him something chronic. He’s really childish like that.”

  “Yeah, you don’t say,” I scoffed.

  We’d reached the protection of the shrubbery and I could feel just how cold my cheeks were. They were stinging from being in the wind. Jenny walked us parallel with the bushes.

  “There’s a break in the foliage somewhere round here. Oh yeah, Graham’s a wanker. No one really likes working with him at all— Ah, here it is.”

  It was even drier within the shrubbery, a shelter away from the storm.

  “Do you like working at Mallard’s?” I asked.

  “Oh yeah, it’s proper good.” She took the wire and the snips then passed me the red tape. “I get to do all sorts and mostly folks are nice. With a couple of exceptions.”

  “Who?”

  “Well, they have a letter of the alphabet in common and you’ve only just seen one of ’em.”

  It didn’t take me long to work out she meant Graham and Gerald.

  “Are you enjoying your time here?” she asked, taking a length of wire and measuring it against a gap in the fence.

  “Yeah, I am. It’s a lovely place and I’ve had a very warm welcome from most people.”

  “Oh, good. Mary says if you put a good write-up in your posh mag it’ll get loads more folks here. I hope so.”

  “I hope so too, Jenny.” I smiled.

  “If Mr. Patrick has to lose staff I’ll be the first out. Only started work here a few months back. Me dad supplies the shop with asparagus and apples and other artisan seasonals. I used to help deliver ’em. One day Mary was overrun at shop and I asked me dad if I could stop on and help her, like. Well, he said yes and I helped out that whole weekend when Cheryl was ill. She never came back so Mr. Patrick offered me a job.”

  “And here you are. Is your dad happy you work here?”

  “Oh aye, I’ve got three younger brothers all working on the farm. I’m one less mouth to feed.”

  “You live here, don’t you?”

  “Yep, mostly. I do go home sometimes, in the winter over the holidays when there’s not so much to do, like. But there’s not really room for me there now. Callum has to sacrifice his room when I go home and he doesn’t like it.”

  “So it works well for you, staying here, then.”

  “Yeah, it costs me a chunk of my wage but I get food and lodgings and I don’t have to pay bills. I’ve never been very good with stuff like that. Working out bills and shit.”

  I bit off a piece of tape and wrapped it around an area that was rusted.

  “But you work in the shop, I thought you’d be good with numbers.”

  I’d never been Miss Marple but I couldn’t resist that line of enquiry. If I could find out who was on the take, it’d be another boost for Mallard’s.

  “Oh, the till does all the hard work. I just scan the barcodes or weigh the stuff and put the code in. No real maths required.”

  I didn’t see a change in Jenny’s demeanor. She was very open and I couldn’t help liking her. I couldn’t believe she was the mastermind behind the shop scandal.

  “I’m not so good with numbers myself. Words and images are my thing.”

  “You’re very good, miss. Harry was showing me some of your articles and pictures and stuff when we found out you were coming. They have your magazines in the main reception of the hall, you know. Mr. Patrick keeps the old ones in the staffroom.”

  “Thank you, Jenny. I do my best.”

  “Have you taken much photos?” she asked.

  “No, not many so far,” I replied with a smile at her unique approach to the English language. “I’ve got some general ones of the hall and I got a great one of Mary yesterday—she’s laughing with a swede in her hand. I’m pretty sure I’m going to use it.”

  “Would you take a pic of me, miss? I know I’m not so very pretty, like, but I’d like a photo.” At this she looked around conspiratorially. “For Harry. For his birthday. I’m making this picture frame out of twigs, I’m weaving ’em together. It looks great but I need a photo to put in it and I don’t have none of me.”

  “Not a one?”

  She shook her head. “Nah, Dad brought us up. Mum died when I was little and he never thought of things like photographs. We don’t have any at all.”

  “Of course I’ll take a photo for you. I can take a photo of you and Harry together if you like?”

  “That’d be good, you can say it’s for your article, can’t you, and then he won’t know.”

  “Yeah, meet me at the bottom of the main stairs tomorrow morning and
I’ll take some photos before I go. I can post them to you when I’ve developed them.”

  “Oh, that’s so good of you, thank you, miss.”

  “Call me India.” I grinned and secured another strip of red around a stretched area of wire. “So are you and Harry an item then?” I tried to sound casual and not to think of the stables and the evidence I’d seen there.

  “Yeah.” She sighed. It was so sweet and completely not the kind of noise I expected her to make. “I fell for him the moment I met him, he’s so gorgeous. I didn’t think he’d look twice at me but you know, he did and we’re dead good together. We don’t let on to people, though—we work together and it might not look very professional. Neither of us wants to lose our jobs.”

  “No, I understand. But I’m sure it’s fine. Xander seems a reasonable man and as long as you’re both doing your work, it shouldn’t really matter.”

  “I guess you’re right, miss—I mean India—maybe we’d be okay, but it’s kinda fun keeping it a secret. Oh, what’s this? Blimey, this is a huge gap.”

  She was right, the wire fence wasn’t just twisted or worn away—a whole chunk of it looked like it had been removed.

  “We’ll have to get something to block that up for now. Will you mark it out with red tape and I’ll go and find summat. Gee wiz, it leads right out onto the road too, that’s dangerous that is.”

  The more time I spent with Jenny the less I could see her as a swindler and a fraudster. I still couldn’t determine who was taking the takings but I was certain it wasn’t her. She kept me company all day and we were firm friends by the time I had to leave to interview Xander.

  I barely had time to change out of my sodden jeans before I had to meet him. I didn’t have time to ponder what to wear, so I just threw on my favorite long red skirt and the first clean T-shirt I pulled out of my bag then raced down to the staffroom and on to Xander’s office.

  “Hi.” I gasped. “Sorry if I’m a bit late.”

  “It’s all right.” He waved at the chair on the opposite side of the desk. “I’ve been busy anyway.”

  “Yes, so was I. I’ve been out fixing the fencing.”

  “Oh, you’ve met Graham then.” Xander hunched his shoulders and winced.

  “Yeah, he’s erm, interesting.”

  “He’s not done anything to upset you, has he? Because if he has he’ll be out on his backside, I don’t care how good he is with Gran’s roses or that he cuts the lawn just right. I’ve given him enough warnings.”

  “No, no, he wasn’t exactly the most charming employee but don’t sack him on my behalf. I spent most of my time with Jenny, she’s lovely.”

  “She is.” Xander smiled. “She’s going out with Harry, you know.”

  My jaw dropped. “What? You’re not meant to know—”

  Xander laughed loudly. “I know, but they’re not very subtle, God love ’em. I keep pretending, though. I think they get a thrill out of keeping it a secret.”

  “Well, I’d worked it out and I’ve only been here a few days. They are pretty obvious.”

  “Have you enjoyed your time here?” Xander asked. It sounded like an innocent and kind of obvious question but I sensed an undercurrent—or maybe I put that in because all I could think about was the kiss we’d shared.

  “Sure.” I nodded and coughed. “Yeah, I’ve had fun. People have been kind.” I was convinced my cheeks were the same color as my skirt. I couldn’t look him in the eye.

  “Good, good. Well, I guess it’s your turn to ask the questions.”

  “Yes, sure. And I need to take some photos too if you don’t mind.”

  “I’m not sure.” He hunched up in his seat. “I’m not very comfortable with that.”

  “Well, okay then, no problem. I just thought it would be good to get a photo of the latest Lord Mallard to go with my article, but never mind, I can use others.”

  “I’ve spent so long out of the public eye, I don’t really want to be put back into it.”

  “No, it’s fine, I understand. Yes, no worries.”

  I scrabbled with my notepad and waved my pen above it. He didn’t trust me as much as I’d thought. I worked through my solid list of questions. Nothing too probing or heavy. Xander was clipped in his answers. Even though I tried to coax him out of his shell, to tell me more, he resisted my journalistic charms. It irked me.

  “Well, I think that’s it.” I finally gave up. I was more likely to pull Excalibur from the stone than to get a genuine, heartfelt response from Xander Patrick. “Thanks for that, Mr. Patrick.”

  “I think you can call me Xander now, India.” His tone was clipped.

  I cringed. I felt like he was telling me off.

  “Sure, Xander.” I smiled and scrambled out of the battered plastic chair. “Are you positive I can’t take any photos? I mean, you look good behind that desk.”

  “Well, thanks,” he replied with a wink. “But no, I still don’t want my face to appear in the media.”

  “Okay.” I turned to face the door without saying anything more. I wanted to be free of the office, of his gaze. I’d only do something stupid if I stayed.

  “You’re still joining me for dinner tonight, aren’t you?” he asked as I grabbed the door handle.

  Shit. I’d forgotten I’d agreed to that. I turned slowly and hoped a good excuse would leap to mind.

  “Well, I have a lot to write up. I like to get all my notes sorted while still on location then I can ask any questions if they crop up.”

  “Sure, I understand, but you still have to eat, right? Meet me here at seven.”

  He didn’t ask, he commanded. I found myself responding instinctively.

  “Yes, Sir.” I blushed, smiled and tried to cover my faux pas with a shaky wink to show I was being funny. “Okay, I’ll see you then.”

  “Bye, India. Wear something pretty, I’m cooking something special. It is your last night, after all.”

  “Okay.” I nodded. “See you later.” I just wanted out of the room before my face exploded. God that man turned me on and infuriated me in equal measure. Add to that the deep and abiding guilt that rested in the pit of my stomach every time I looked at him and I was surprised I didn’t throw up at his feet with the nerves of it all.

  It wasn’t until I was back in my room that I thought over what he’d said.

  “Something pretty?” I mimicked to the thin air. “How rude.”

  My style of dress was a little bit out there but that had really sounded like an insult. Maybe he didn’t regard a bright pink skull with falsies to be pretty—that was what adorned the black T-shirt I’d picked up to throw on. Clearly, he was telling me to smarten up my act, the bastard. Well, I’d show him.

  Chapter Ten

  Xander Patrick

  “Idiot, idiot, idiot,” I cried and slammed my head down onto the table in front of me. Why the hell had I said ‘wear something pretty’? She had been wearing something pretty. I was convinced she’d think I was insulting her. I wasn’t. All I wanted was her to dress up a bit because I had plans that involved a far more impressive location for her last night’s meal than the one of the previous night. I wanted to make a grand gesture but I’d ballsed it up in true Mallard tradition.

  She hadn’t said no, though. So I had to continue as planned and trust she’d turn up. I’d argued with myself all day over it. I was torn in two. Mum would have majorly disliked India. Not because of her personality but because of her career, and every time I looked at her I couldn’t help but think about that. My mum was the only person in my life I had ever totally trusted.

  “They’re cunning, son,” she’d said. “They’ll do anything at all to convince you they’re different, that they’re nice as pie and will never do anything to hurt you but the next day your dirty underwear will be all over the tabloids. It’s not worth the heartache, darling. Always be vigilant and never, ever trust anyone in the media.”

  I’d found it easy to believe her then because I’d never met a member of th
e media. Mum had kept them all away from me and from Mallard’s full stop. I’d believed her, instinctually I’d known she was right. Dad had never been perfect but if that photo hadn’t been leaked maybe he would have changed his life around and I’d have had a full and loving family, but it had been leaked and Dad had never had the opportunity to better himself.

  India confused me. She was so sincere and kind and enthusiastic. She’d given her time and expertise to deliver Harriet’s baby and refused all offers of payment. Mary liked her and she was a good judge of character. I’d even spent some time looking through her old articles in Good Manors and I hadn’t found anything at all that would be considered sleazy or in any way shock journalism.

  I wanted India Grace and I battled with that because I wasn’t sure my mother would have approved. How sad was that. Mum wasn’t even around and she was still dictating who I saw and what I thought. I loved her to bits but she had always been controlling, there were no two ways around it.

  I only had to think of Ariana to realize it. Ariana had first worked for us back in the day and she’d been beautiful. Eighteen-year-old me had been captivated by her and not very subtle either, because as much as I had tried to keep our trysts a secret from my mum she had eventually found out, and the next day Ariana had been sacked. I never saw her again.

  “She could have been the love of my life, Mother,” I’d yelled.

  “No, dear. She was just easy. You’re worth much more than that common girl, you’re a lord, for God’s sake. No, I know what’s best for you.”

  I hadn’t spoken to her for a fortnight after that.

  I pulled out my best suit—jet black and neatly pressed—and remembered the last time I’d worn it, at the gala opening of the Hall. It had been the first time I’d been in the place when it was bustling with people. The party we’d held had been huge and Mum had invited all the influential people in the area and some from farther afield.

  She had tried hard to match me up with a woman who had some vague connection to royalty but I hadn’t had any of it. Mum hadn’t been impressed. She had accused me of making a fool out of her.